It is Sunday, day of the long run. Even though my runs are not long right now, Sunday still arrives with high expectations, and worries about not meeting them. I went to bed last night knowing that I would go to the gym today, since the Arctic front that the Eye On The Sky guys are so enthusiastic about has not let up for days.
Weirdly, my most memorable dreams in waking up this morning were of the fried dough variety. I dreamed I went to Dunkin Donuts and bought a cup of coffee and one chocolate frosted. Apparently, I wanted to eat many, many donuts but I was too embarrassed to actually buy them. So then I went to the grocery store and bought 7-8 huge frisbee-shaped donuts from a display case that was a cross between a vending machine and the DVD racks like they have at Waterfront Video. I have to believe my desire to buy secret donuts is wrapped up in my guilt over what I am and am not (yet) doing to get my butt in gear with my running goals.
So I went to the gym. I warmed up on the treadmill, and then went upstairs to the track to try my first speed work since training for Montreal. As I stood stretching at the edge of the track entrance I couldn't help but notice that, of the few runners passing by, each was wearing a shirt from some year of the Vermont City Marathon. Because really, who else would be spending a Sunday on an indoor track but people who really need to be there?
The speed workout went well -- I planned to do four 200s but I struck up a conversation with another runner and we raced one last lap. (He smoked me. Total hustler.) It felt good to realize I still have some speed, while the stinging in my lungs and tiredness in my legs were a good reminder of what sitting around for a few months does to your fitness.
Afterward, I went to Dunkin Donuts. Weirdly, they now sell mostly bagels.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Advice from a dentist
I love my dentist, Dr. B. He's funny, eccentric, tells it like it is, and he really loves dentistry. For a long stretch, the approach of my twice-yearly cleanings filled me with guilt and dread because I knew I was not flossing as often as I should. (Which is to say, I would floss relentlessly for two weeks before the appt with Dr. B and hoped I could pull one over on him.)
At one such appointment, he bursts into the room with typical high energy, laughing, smiling, "How ya doing?!" "I'm kicking myself for not flossing and I'm afraid to admit it," I say. "Why do you feel so bad about it?" he asks. For a brief moment I think I've found a wormhole in the dental universe, that it actually doesn't matter if you floss regularly. But then he elaborates, with a bit of advice that I've found useful is countless situations since: "I'm mean, it's just flossing. Don't get emotional about it, just get it over with. You'll feel good."
Don't get emotional, just get it done.
You'll better afterward.
I had intended to start running seriously again at the beginning of January. First Run was a good start, but I found in the weeks that followed that I was psyching myself out of running: I'm too tired. I didn't eat well today. I've got too much work. I deserve a break. It's too cold, and the gym is too far away. I have 81 hours of Gilmore Girls episodes on the DVR, and the show isn't going to watch itself.
Really, I was worried about how hard is to get going again, how much longer 26.2 miles seems when you're struggling through mile 3. I was kicking myself for letting my fitness slide (again) and for not having gotten myself in gear yet. When you're in that state of mind, a weird inertia takes over in which continuing to do nothing makes more sense than trying to do even a little bit. Because what's the difference between a tiny bit of work and zero work, when measured against a goal as a big as a marathon? I've got a stack of unread magazines calling my name.
Don't get emotional about it, just do it.
The second weekend in January, I woke up to my typical Sunday morning routine: scrounge some kind of breakfast that is mobile enough to eat on the couch while watching a steady stream of political talk shows. When I finally clicked off the TV, a fuzzy half-formed thought emerged, "I should go running." Before I could let my consciousness get involved, I forced the actual thought out of my brain and went into autopilot: running tights, fleece layer, swig of water, shoes on, out the door.
I was actually a 1/4 mile from house before I let my conscious brain in on the action. That's right. You. Are. Running. As I headed up East Shore Road past the summer camps that are closed up against the cold, past the frozen bay full of ice fishing shanties, past the stubbly snow-covered cornfield, I thought about that day in Dr. B's office.
You'll feel better afterward.
Vermont had been cloudy for endless weeks and months, until a brief few hours that day when the sun came out. I ran evenly, the cold stinging my eyes only a little behind my sunglasses. I felt better for having gotten out the door, than I did for the run itself. The sun - actual bright sun! - seemed like the reward for not talking myself out of it.
I ran four miles that day, my longest run of 2010 and my longest run in 3 months. I believe now, there is more to come.
At one such appointment, he bursts into the room with typical high energy, laughing, smiling, "How ya doing?!" "I'm kicking myself for not flossing and I'm afraid to admit it," I say. "Why do you feel so bad about it?" he asks. For a brief moment I think I've found a wormhole in the dental universe, that it actually doesn't matter if you floss regularly. But then he elaborates, with a bit of advice that I've found useful is countless situations since: "I'm mean, it's just flossing. Don't get emotional about it, just get it over with. You'll feel good."
Don't get emotional, just get it done.
You'll better afterward.
I had intended to start running seriously again at the beginning of January. First Run was a good start, but I found in the weeks that followed that I was psyching myself out of running: I'm too tired. I didn't eat well today. I've got too much work. I deserve a break. It's too cold, and the gym is too far away. I have 81 hours of Gilmore Girls episodes on the DVR, and the show isn't going to watch itself.
Really, I was worried about how hard is to get going again, how much longer 26.2 miles seems when you're struggling through mile 3. I was kicking myself for letting my fitness slide (again) and for not having gotten myself in gear yet. When you're in that state of mind, a weird inertia takes over in which continuing to do nothing makes more sense than trying to do even a little bit. Because what's the difference between a tiny bit of work and zero work, when measured against a goal as a big as a marathon? I've got a stack of unread magazines calling my name.
Don't get emotional about it, just do it.
The second weekend in January, I woke up to my typical Sunday morning routine: scrounge some kind of breakfast that is mobile enough to eat on the couch while watching a steady stream of political talk shows. When I finally clicked off the TV, a fuzzy half-formed thought emerged, "I should go running." Before I could let my consciousness get involved, I forced the actual thought out of my brain and went into autopilot: running tights, fleece layer, swig of water, shoes on, out the door.
I was actually a 1/4 mile from house before I let my conscious brain in on the action. That's right. You. Are. Running. As I headed up East Shore Road past the summer camps that are closed up against the cold, past the frozen bay full of ice fishing shanties, past the stubbly snow-covered cornfield, I thought about that day in Dr. B's office.
You'll feel better afterward.
Vermont had been cloudy for endless weeks and months, until a brief few hours that day when the sun came out. I ran evenly, the cold stinging my eyes only a little behind my sunglasses. I felt better for having gotten out the door, than I did for the run itself. The sun - actual bright sun! - seemed like the reward for not talking myself out of it.
I ran four miles that day, my longest run of 2010 and my longest run in 3 months. I believe now, there is more to come.
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