Correction on my previous post of September 6, 2009.

You CAN become insanely bored on a treadmill. Anything over the 2 hour marker should suffice to drive you suitably insane.  Better yet, have your IPod either die on you or refuse to play anything but your 70's Disco Mix; that should be enough for you to strangle the coughing, hacking, perfume doused bastard next you. 

A discussion on boredom…

I have been asked on multiple occasions, “Don’t you get bored running on the treadmill?” My answer typically is fairly honest, no. But people look at me in disbelief as if I had just tried to pass of my knock-off Prada as the real deal. So I will attempt to take you through the process of an average treadmill run’s thought process.

Stage 1 – the warm up: First thoughts have to do with whether or not I have to go to the bathroom, do I have sufficient reading material, does my water-bottle rattle distractedly in the treadmill’s cup holder, what is my hair doing, what garment has the highest potential for chaffing, and most importantly are my shoes tided?

Stage 2 – actual running begins: Pain. Odd random pain in either foot, shin, calf, or hip. Nothing that lasts more than 15 seconds. My body’s way of saying to me, “Fuck you and all your damn running!” Again more thoughts on possible bathroom usage. Legs and hips are stiff and will remain so until mile 2 is complete. I find that I am continuously flipping through my magazine looking for something pretty and distracting (articles about shoes are the best). I must keep the red flashing numbers covered at all times, or I will watch them with the fever of watching paint dry.

Stage 3 – My profuse sweating is making my hair stick to my head and my shirt to my body. I look around for one other woman who is by chance as sweaty as I. A sister or a comrade in our sweat-dom. No such luck. My looks around the gym have caught the attention of the older woman in perfecting matching track suit sweat band combo. The look of utter disgust on her face as she sees my sweaty appearance is enough – apparently her gym clothes are not meant to be sweated in. I then start to visualize that I am running in NYC on marathon day. I am running through the barrows so excited and pumped. This little dream last about 5 minutes, before it feels stale. I check my running posture and the time. I still have approximately 30 more minutes ahead of me. I flick through the songs on my IPod and find that song. You know that song that back in the day you would dance to in the clubs with your girlfriends using your sexiest moves. The same song that if anyone you knew today heard you listen to, would mock you endlessly for having it on your play list.

Stage 4 – Make your self utterly deaf and do not make eye contact. A fellow gym member has decided to take up residence on the treadmill next to me. They causally glance at me and start their run. They are running faster than me, but that is fine. I have a distance race ahead of me, not a speed race. For some reason they pound their treadmill like a drum and the beat of their foot strike is utterly distracting. I turn up the IPod. It appears that the fellow runner has drunk a tall glass of milk. I assume this because they are now coughing and hacking something fierce. I continue my run hoping that they will finish soon and leave me in peace. What’s this? The runner has a friend! Great! Fantastic! Now he and his buddy (obliviously a milk lover as well) are loudly chatting, hacking, coughing and pounding the treadmill as if was pizza dough. Better yet, new runner has decided to wear lots of cologne. Its times like these that I wished I had a terrible case of gas. I get them. And they are the stuff of legend. But no, I can even muster up a burp at the moment, let alone a toxic gas event. I use my frustration to power me through my last 1 mile.

Stage 5 – Cool down: Total time on the treadmill 60 minutes. Now I have a cool down of 10 minutes. The guys have left their treadmills after their 15 minute runs. Too bad, I really wanted to know how the Blazers were going to make it to the final four this year. As my sense of smell starts too slowly return to normal – who still wears, no make that bathes in Drakkar anymore? Really! I realize that I am starving and think of dinner. Mmmm, I do love me some din din.

And that my friend, is what I think about when I am on the treadmill. No, I am not smashing atoms. It’s boring and repetitive. But you try doing complex thought on the treadmill. I have tried to do simple math and you would think I am trying to calculate the amortization schedule of my loans. That is how Chris end’s up falling off the treadmill (twice). No thank you.

Time to play is not for today…

Labor Day Weekend has arrived. The last days of summer are upon us and for many here in the Pacific Northwest it’s a last rush to enjoy all that is bright and beautiful about the summer before the drizzly days of winter are upon us with their relentless grey skies and wet chilly mornings. You can smell that crisp cool air coming in from the ocean almost 100 miles away, a sure sign that winter is sure to follow.

When you go to the stores, Halloween decorations are now in full display. Halloween is typically one of my favorite holidays, but not this year. This year Halloween has put sheer terror in my heart. For Halloween is the day before my 1st marathon. The race is less than two months away and my panic is really starting to set in. I yearn to get out of my apartment to do something else other than buy supplies, work or run. But now is not the time to play hooky. Marathon training, to me is a kin to a prisoner work release program. You go and work then dutifully return back to you cell (apartment) to continue on the next day. Hopefully at the end of the program you’ll get some time off for good behavior. Don’t get me wrong I am so ecstatic that I have somehow managed to get into the marathon and that I am moving along in my training. But after almost two years of training for one race or another, I could use a break and a martini.

The height of my excitement this weekend – I went to a movie. Oh I know what you’re thinking “you, rebel”, but you see, if it weren’t a three day weekend, then I would have had to run my long run today and then I would have been too tired to do anything the rest of my weekend. Friday night I would have had to go to bed early so that I could do today’s long run and Sunday would have been reserved for recovery and prepping myself & the apartment for the next week. Yep, I am a real ball of fun right now. Woo freaking woo, people.

Melvin, Atomic or Hanging – at mile 5 it all feels the same…

That’s right – I am talking underwear people. I have been fighting a battle now for over two years. A silent battle of wills - so to speak. I will that my underwear will stay in its intended place while I run. However, the underwear has repeatedly refused to remain decent. The underwear appears to know where to “wear” on my last nerve. I have tried brief, bikini, thong, boy-cut (worst decision EVER), high-leg and so many other options that my drawer looks more like the discount bin at Victoria Secrets than an underwear drawer. My more “earth mama” friends have suggested commando, but that is ultimately just not me. I prefer that protective barrier between me and my clothing. I just prefer my undies to have some measure of manners.

Confuse by this rant? Let me detail to you my worst experience ever. I have a typical outside run ahead me. Not my long run, but I have at least an hour + ahead of me outside. Without thinking about it, that morning I put on the cutest pair of boy-cut undies. They matched my bra, why wouldn’t I have picked them? Oh, let me tell you why! Boy-cut or boy shorts cover your tushie more than let’s say a bikini would, but not so much that you feel your wearing granny panties. Herein lays the problem. You see, cotton granny panties cover you butt, but they follow the shape of it completely. As you sweat they just stick to your butt – completely, but respectful. Boy shorts allow a little tushie to hang out below. As you run that butt of yours moves, really moves and those cute little boy shorts start going for a ride. Now if let’s say your on a public and popular trail where attractive people are and mothers are walking their infants, its perhaps bad form to pick your underwear. So I continue on thinking and hoping that at some point I will dislodge - what now feels like yards of fabric from my buttocks. No rest for the wicked, it is apparently “Everyone Be Outside On This Damn Path Day”. 30 Minutes have passed and I am almost ½ through my run. I decide that perhaps if I run faster the underwear will dislodge themselves or at the very worst I’ll get back to the privacy of my car that much faster. WRONG. My underwear feels as if its convinced my innocent track pants to participate in this torture. My wedgie has now transformed so some sort of hybrid Melvin/Atomic wedgie. Did I mention that even at my top speed I am also the slowest runner on the planet? The old, weak and infirm taunt me as the wiz by me on their Rascals. Bastards! Not only am I my normal sweaty self, but I am about 99% certain that I am sporting a fashion faux pas – starts with a camel and ends with an –o-. Thank god my running pants are black!  I arrive at my car, blessing the stars that there is virtually no one in sight and I immediately adjust myself with no subterfuge. Ah the relief…and the giggles. Not my giggles, no that would be from the local high school track team that has just passed my car to start their nightly run. Go ahead and laugh my pretties. I can see your panty-lines from here and I have a pretty good idea where there going to be headed.

Sidewalks, Dead-ends & Roadkill - Oh my!

With my long runs becoming longer and longer, I have taken to plotting them on Google Maps. This is a wondrous web service; right up there with email and Fandango if you ask me. Google is about 90% accurate (in my opinion) and I can finally have a way of more accurately measuring the distance of my runs, before I run them. Oh but there is one hitch. I live in Tigard, Oregon, population of approximately 46,000+. Do you think that perhaps the city could hire one damn civil engineer and implement their suggestions?!

My frustration stems from the fact that like many areas of the Northwest, not every street is labeled with a sign, sidewalks are limited if they exist at all, and little if any street lights. Add to that some streets are not through streets (with no signage). Perfect example: there is a street about 2 blocks from my house. Now from Google maps, using the satellite view it appears to be a through street, so much so that Google recommends this route. As I proceed on my run down this street it becomes immediately apparent that this is not a through street because someone never finished paving the damn street. Oh look, some kindly neighbor has decided to extend his fence across the street as well. Great! Now I have to either jump a fence to trespass on this guys made up boundary line or worse run back up the street and find an alternate route. I choose the later. Tigard police don’t give warnings. They give citations - big fat citations with matching fines.

I figure that this dead-end is a once in a blue moon kind of deal and continue on my run. But wait; there is more – as I continue to run following the remainder of my route, I again come to an unmarked dead-end, but this time there is no fence. This time there is a very deep and stinky creek that I have to traverse. WTF! I am on mile 13 of my run. My legs are shaking and now I have to do some kind of American Gladiator move to cross this damn creek! I find an aqueduct and use that to cross the creek. After completing this run and all the additional mileage as a result of my re-routing, I decide to see if the local Parks and Rec website can give me a map of available trails to use in my future runs. Well, there are some small parks and some of them are honestly very nice. Thank God! But none of the parks are linked in any way to each other. Oh there are proposals to one day, maybe link some of these trail together, but that is years and many dollars away. So to complete my blithe rant, I will continue to run in Tigard; dodging road kill & traffic, exploring dead-ends, and getting lost in my own neighborhood - over and over again.

Like a hamster on a wheel...

Running. Always running. That is my life. When is my next run? How far is that run? What elevation, incline, speed, terrain, etc? Am I sore, tired, fatigued, stiff or is it that one moment of rarity where nothing hurts and I have enough energy to think of something to clean. This training has becoming all encompassing, but I have come to the point that as much as I am sick of it – in some sick way I relish it. I love that I am getting stronger, faster and more determined than ever. Yesterday, I ran 16.29 miles – outside and up some serious hills (okay I walked up the hills). A year ago that would have been unimaginable. Now it’s only the most recently accomplished challenge. Next week 17 miles is my long run. Already I am trying to plan my next route.

Don’t get me wrong – I miss having time to seriously do my art (or at least think about creating). I miss not being able to hang out with my friends and family members because I have to prepare for a run for the next day. There are days (like today) where I am just sick of it all and would like to take a long nap and forget it. However, there is something so incredibly self servicing and freeing about this training for me. Knowing that I am preparing for a battle that is nothing less than against myself, is as fear inducing as it is exciting. There is nothing that is going to stop me short of serious injury, from doing this marathon – nothing that is except me. When people say that running is a mental game – it’s all too true. Your body could be at its peak in performance, but if your mind isn’t – you aren’t running. Too often we discount this connection. But where your head is – will determine when your feet will follow.

Slacker is my name-O!

Marathon training requires allot of discipline. More perhaps than most are willing to dedicate and sacrifice their time in pursuing the goal of running a marathon. I understand this more fully now than ever. I love the fact that I am pursuing this goal and that I am able to see my progress, however slow it may feel.

August is proving my most difficult month thus far in my training. Every weekend has a social engagement, a weekend getaway, or some other event of which I have promised my attendance months previously. This normally inspires excitement and anticipation from me. I am, by nature a social butterfly. But with my long runs on the weekend becoming more and more demanding of my energy and time, I find that I am forced to breakup these runs into two separate runs to accommodate my time and energy. I fear that these mini-long runs are a poor substitute for the intensity of the true long run of 13+ miles that is scheduled for me. Another side effect is that I am missing my rest days, if not all of them during the week, then at least one. I was very excited for this past weekend. I was going to run with the Portland Marathoner Training – 5 hour group. Their run, which was scheduled at 8:00 AM, was an 18 mile run. Since they are more advanced in their training than I; I was planning on only running 13 miles.

This plan was perfect; however I decided to go for a run Friday night to make up some miles I had missed earlier in the week. When I came home about 9:30 PM, I found I could not fall asleep and was restless, but tired. When I finally fell asleep, it was 1 AM. When my alarm went off at 6:30 AM for my run with the Marathoner’s group, I was so tired, I felt nauseous. I made an executive decision. I was miss the run and meet up with the group the weekend after next. Unsure of where to run and having a commitment later that day, I completed a 5 mile run along the waterfront in downtown Portland. On Sunday, I ran another 8 miles in my neighborhood. Sunday night I was exhausted. Exhaustion, I am learning will make my sometimes less than smooth social skills even less effectual; case in point – completely forgetting at the bridal shower the bride-to-be fiancée name was Page and loudly asking what a “page” had to do with a wedding. Ouch!

Tired, I can manage. Exhaustion is something I am beginning to understand requires rest to recover sufficiently from. Gumption or sheer force of will, will only take me so far.

I am blessed to have so many wonderful friends. I wouldn’t imagine missing someone’s wedding, bridal shower, or some other once in a lifetime event. But honestly, I can not wait for September. No plans, no commitments – only running. Lots and lots of running.