The Would-Be Runner and the Pox on Her House

Once upon a time, there was a very out of shape old lady who decided to take up running.  She joined a group, bought some really ugly shoes, started a blog, purchased an iPod and many songs from iTunes, and she began a running program.  She even signed up for a 5K that would take place many, many weeks in the future.

She walked and ran.  She sweated.  She huffed and puffed, and she might have said some really ugly words under her breath.  She definitely said some of them right out loud.  But she stuck to the program for several weeks, and she started to feel a tad bit proud of herself.

And then she missed a week because a couple of real-life road bumps got in the way.  There were issues with work.  The father-in-law had surgery to repair an abdominal aneurysm.  Her mother needed some help with a few things.

Then she missed the next week and a half because a pox fell upon her house.  The husband and two boys were sniffling and coughing and moaning and groaning, so she stayed close to home and wiped noses, soothed coughs and sore throats, picked up mountains of icky Kleenex from every surface imaginable, and made all sorts of soups and comfort food.

As her people started to see the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, the very out of shape old lady (VOOSOL) noticed a slight itching of the throat, the stuffiness of the nose, and the beginnings of a headache that would last for four days.

And the VOOSOL knew that the pox was all up in her grill, as she's heard some of the younger folks say.

After a sinus cocktail shot, a mighty round of antibiotics, and nearly ten days of feeling like her head was stuffed with wool and rocks, the VOOSOL felt alive enough to lace up her ugly shoes, snap on her new iPod, and hit the pavement again.

It wasn't pretty, not that it ever was, but she threw caution to the wind.  She walked a little and then ran until she couldn't run another step, and continued the pattern  until the 30 minutes were blessedly over.  She stretched and said a few ugly words out loud...just for good measure.

The VOOSOL learned that she very much disliked NOT being able to run.  She even felt a little guilty.  And she realized that while she is not yet what one would call a proper runner, she will be one eventually.

So, in the end, the very out of shape old lady bought a few more songs for the iPod, washed and folded the running clothes, and put them (along with the really ugly shoes) on top of the dresser...all ready to go for the next run.

The End.

When Life Gets in the Way

Oh...sometimes life gets in the way, and this week has proved it.  No run/walks so far, and it's Saturday morning.

Tuesday's answer to running/walking was a big NO, and then Thursday afternoon turned into 93 different kinds of crazy.

I was really looking forward to Thursday's session since I missed it Tuesday, but I spent Thursday afternoon making sub plans and getting everything ready to be off Friday.  I am not kidding when I say that it's usually not worth it to miss school because preparing for a substitute takes a sweet forever.

Our boys' school was holding parent/teacher conferences Friday (which meant no school for them), and I originally scheduled our appointments for early in the morning so that I could attend without taking a half-day off of work.  David was going to go to the conferences with me and then stay home with the boys and do lots of father-son stuff, like sit on the couch all day playing games and watching various sports channels while eating nothing but junk and making gross noises that daddies and little boys think are hysterical.

However, as it turns out, we learned that David's dad would have surgery Friday morning to repair an abdominal aneurysm.  (The surgery went quite well and we expect him to make a speedy recovery.  Whew!)

So, I booked a sub for Friday, and and after a couple of hours of getting sub plans written, pulling materials, and making copies, it was 6:30 before I was ready to leave school Thursday afternoon, and by that time the running club was long gone.  Not to mention the fact that my people were still 30 minutes away and HUNGRY.  I packed it up and called it a day, feeling very sad (and, perhaps, a little grouchy) that day two had now been missed.

We went to the conferences Friday morning and then headed out for the rest of the day.  David's dad's surgery was in Jackson, Tennessee, about 80-90 minutes from Memphis, and our hometown is in between here and there.  David dropped the boys and me off at my mother's house and then went on to the hospital.  We figured that the last thing the patient needed was two young boys crawling all over the bed with him, which is exactly what these two would prefer to do.

The boys and I piddled around at Mama's house and ran some errands with her and then spent most of the afternoon curled up on the floor in front of the fireplace.  Memphis (and the southern United States) has had unusually warm weather the last week or two, but it finally cooled off again and I don't think the temperatures rose above 35 degrees yesterday. (I suppose I could've worked in a session while we were there, but the world's best fireplace and two snuggly boys won out.  I'm only human, after all.)

Today's the day, though, that I'll get back to it.  It's only been three weeks and I'm not even running for very long stretches at a time, but I am hooked.  Hooked, I say!  After B's last basketball game of the season, I'm headed to the track later today and I cannot wait.

Dust in My Brakes and The Missed Session -- What Do I Do Now?

Forgive me, running gods, for I have missed a session.

I was supposed to start the 4th week this afternoon, but I had to miss out.  My very old Volvo station wagon, complete with the faded bumper and scratch down one side, was partly to blame.  When we were off for Martin Luther King day on the 19th, I took old Velma in for her 135,000-mile checkup.  In addition to all of the regular stuff, like changing the oil and topping off fluids, Velma had to have new rear brakes, pads, and rotors.  Ouch.

The next day I noticed a faint whistling sound as I was driving to work.  Then it got louder and was accompanied by a hum and a squeak.  Man, I thought.  That car coming up behind me is in bad shape.

Yeah, there was no car behind me.  I was the one in bad shape.

I drove Velma back to the dealership before school the next morning and my best-friend-Bob (that's what I call the service manager at the dealership because we've spent so much time together over the years) said the mechanic had figured out what the problem was.  He may have used more technical language, but some thingamadigger on part of the engine whatchamacallit had either come loose or broken altogether.  I can't say for sure.  Whenever my best-friend-Bob talks to me of mechanical things, my eyes glaze over and I hear sounds like fingernails on a chalkboard.  I really appreciate the effort he puts into his explanations, but they clearly have no meaning for me other than THIS IS GOING TO COST YOU AND THANK YOU FOR MY FAMILY'S SKI TRIP THIS WINTER.

Anyway, he had to order the part and said it was not a big deal to fix, he'd call when he had the new whizbanger, and that it was perfectly fine to drive until then.  So Velma and I squeaked along to work and tootled around for several days.

David (the husband) was nice enough to take my car yesterday to have the flibbity-gibbit replaced and then texted me to say that Velma was fixed, meaning that she (sadly) would not be able to have any more baby Volvos.  Haha!  Well...she is pretty old.

Then today, imagine my horror when, after getting about halfway to the boys' school -- and more than 30 minutes away from mine, I heard a familiar whistle...and then an oddly recognizable squeak that turned into full-blown squawking and screeching by the time I pulled into my school's parking lot.  I was pretty sure that Velma's stitches had come loose.

My best-friend-Bob, whose number is on speed dial now, said to bring her back in this afternoon.  The only problem with that is that my school is a late school, meaning that we don't dismiss until 4:00 and it's about 4:20 before I can leave.  And that's on a good day.  In order for someone to look at my car, I had to have it there by 5:00, and it's about a 30-minute drive to the dealership.  I was pushing it to get it there in time for a mechanic to look at it, and the thing that irritated me more than having to take my car in for the third time in eight days  was the fact that I was going to miss my training session.

It's like I don't even know myself anymore.

Anyway, after a test run and a quick date with my-other-best-friend-Thomas-the-mechanic, the problem all came down to dust and grit, a little bit of which had gotten stuck between the brake pad and whatever is next to the brake pad.  The brake?  The rotor?  The spark plugs?  The spare tire?  I really have no idea.

By 5:20, I was on my way to our older son's basketball practice and once again GIDDY because, hello -- indoor track around the basketball courts!  I was back on track (literally) for my training session.  I even beat David and the boys to the school gym and was already changed by the time they walked in, at which point David said, "I need you to go straight home.  Duke (our nine-year-old yellow lab) got sick all over the kitchen right before we left.  I cleaned most of it up, but you've got to go check on him."  (Oh, and finish the clean-up.)

I don't blame him at all for pushing that one off on someone else, and he had certainly taken care of the brunt of it while trying to get two children ready and out the door to practice on time.  I'm really not complaining about that part.  And if Duke, the sweet yellow angel, was sick I didn't want him to be alone.

But, oh-my-stinking-heck, I missed my session.  There was no chance of getting it in after supper and the boys'  bedtime because, um, well...it's cold and dark.  I'm not necessarily afraid of running around our neighborhood at night because let's face it.  If anyone made the mistake of coming after me, I swear they'd return me quicker than you can say that's one mean woman.  But David sort of frowns upon my roaming around at night, so I let it go.

What to do?

I haven't run since Saturday afternoon, so now I have three consecutive rest days hanging over me.  It's not like I've built up that much stamina, and week 4 calls for me to run a few five-minute stretches.  That's not a lot, I realize, for most people, but I know that the first day of this week will be a struggle.

The next opportunity I'll have to work in a session is Thursday afternoon.  Should I just repeat last week's plan this Thursday and Saturday and then pick up with week 4 next week?  Or do I go for broke and try to do week 4's plan this Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday?

I'm One of Those People

NOTE:  I've been writing this post since Thursday, but I made the horrible mistake of trying to post while catching up on a couple of episodes of Downton Abbey.  Try as I may, I can't concentrate on anything other than Maggie Smith and all my other fictional best friends living across the pond.  It occurred to me that if someone would pull a little wagon with a TV playing Downton Abbey episodes in front of me when I'm trying to get through a session, I could run to Nashville and back.  I finally gave up trying to write anything, because nothing I'll write is more interesting than (a) the dilemma surrounding Lady Edith and Marigold, (b) Lady Mary's decision to go away with her suitor, (c) any scene in which Isis makes an appearance, and (d) well, almost anything else in the world.  (And the people said Amen.)


What a difference a day makes.

I still have no idea what happened Tuesday, but Thursday afternoon was much better.  My knees were still a little sore, but not so bothersome that I wanted to duck out of giving it another go.

My coach, Tammy, caught up with me just as the first 90-second run started and she stayed with me for about 10 minutes.  I don't even know how to explain how helpful it was to have her run and walk along with me.  We talked a little about Tuesday's disaster, and she asked about my pacing and if I thought I might have been trying to run a little too fast.  I think she might have nailed the problem on the head...or the knee, perhaps.

While Tammy and I were running and walking, we were able to carry on a conversation (even though I was huffing and puffing toward the end way more than she was), which I know means that the pace was about right.  When I was trying to chug around the track Tuesday, I couldn't have spoken my full name, much less carried on a conversation.  Thursday was much different.  Running the 90-second intervals were easier than the week before, and the three-minute intervals weren't so difficult.

If you've always been a runner, or if you were able to just go out one day and run five miles, then WOW --- you are my hero.  I wish I were one of those people.  You know, the ones who say, "Well, I just decided to start running one day and 12 days later I ran my first marathon.  And I won my age group.  And I didn't have any blisters, and none of my toenails turned black and fell off."

Clearly, I am not one of those people.

I'm one of those people who has to build up to running any respectable amount of time.  I'm one of those people who'll have to follow the training plan Tammy created for me.  I'm one of those people who'll have to focus on one week at a time.  I'm one of those people who'll probably struggle here and there to run the 5K I've signed up for in May.  I'm one of those people who may crawl across the finish line.  And I very well may be one of those people who looks like a goat running through a turnip patch.

But I hope I'll be one of those people who thought she couldn't stick with it and then proves herself wrong.

The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day...With a Side of Scarlett O'Hara

I've channeled my very own Alexander.

Today was Week 3, Day 1.  The plan?  After a brisk 5-minute warm-up walk, run for 90 seconds, walk for 90 seconds, run for three minutes, walk for 3 minutes, and repeat the walk/run cycle until it's time to cool down with a 5-minute walk.

I think it should've been fairly simple.  But it was awful.  The 90/90 part wasn't bad, but as I started the first three-minute run it was as though I had immediately stepped into a huge pool of quicksand.  Not only did I have NO energy, but I felt like I had strapped an extra 30 pounds to each leg.  Plus, the insides of my knees felt weak, if that makes any sense.  It was just an awful feeling.

I ran the three minutes, listening to my iPod as Katy Perry told me I was a firework, and tried to figure out why this was harder than easier.  Shouldn't it get easier as the weeks go along?  I'm following the training plan.  I'm watching what I eat (before today's walk/run: banana, whole grain toast, Lean Cuisine lunch, 1/2 grapefruit, raw sweet peppers, 4 peanut butter crackers).  Other than one cup of coffee (okay, sometimes two) in the morning I only drink water, and I drink a lot of it.

I've heard of marathon runners hitting wall somewhere late in the race, but a new runner feeling like she's pulling an elephant behind her as she runs for ONLY three minutes?  I could not have felt more like a loser if someone had hung a sign around my neck.  By the time the second 3-minute interval rolled around, I could only run for about two and a half minutes.  I was  convinced that I was running in slow motion.

If this had been an actual race, I would've quoted Erma Bombeck:  I'm so far behind, I think I'm first.

I finished my 30 minutes, got in my car, and once I reached the highway for my half hour commute home, I just cried.  Other than my pride, nothing was really hurt.  But it's a mean old slap in the face to realize that what probably would've been easy in my 20s or 30s is not so easy in my 40s.

In all honesty, I'm discouraged.  And maybe a little mad.  And I'm a whole lot embarrassed  because there were people behind me who had to see me trudge around the track in such a frightening state.  Let's face it...you can't unsee that.

But I'm still determined.

So it's all very well that, like Alexander, I had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.  But, as we all learned from Scarlett O'Hara, I just won't worry about that right now.  Why, I'll whip up some new running clothes from the draperies in the parlor windows, and I'll think about it tomorrow.

Oh, iPod Shuffle, Where Have You Been All My Life?

I'll be the first one to admit that I am not what you would call tech-savvy.  In fact, the technology is kind of a boogie-man to me.  I'm still afraid that I'm going to break the internet, so I have been very wary of doing anything thing like downloading or syncing or hacking.  So it stands to reason that I have not bothered with purchasing fancy gadgets like the iPod until now.

Well, guess what?

I have been downloading and syncing like a maniac since my very sassy, pink, engraved (One step at a time), scrabble tile-sized iPod arrived on our doorstep last week.

And it only took me four days to figure out how to get the songs I bought from iTunes onto the actual iPod.  I am clearly a technological genius.  (And to think that at one point MANY years ago I told my college roommate's boyfriend, who was a computer engineering major, that this whole "home computer" and "email" business that he kept preaching about was just a fad...much like the pet rock.  I am sure he's glad he didn't listen to me since he goes to work every day at Lockheed Martin.)

Anyway, I didn't go for a walk/run today because I was held hostage by a small mountain of laundry to be ironed AND I had to take my very old nerd station wagon in for its 135,000-mile service checkup.  (I'm not sure what was more painful...ironing for two hours straight or writing a check to the Volvo service department for an amount that is most definitely more than my car's value.)

But I digress.

I did listen to my playlist while I ironed and I was as happy as, well, as happy as you can be while ironing.  I may have copped a little attitude while Kelly Clarkson sang "Since You've Been Gone" and "Stronger."  I'm pretty sure that I danced around the ironing board to 10,000 Maniacs, Katy Perry, and Melissa Ethridge.  I know for certain that I rocked the air guitar with U2's "Where the Streets Have No Name."  And thanks to Blue Man Running's suggestion, I got my Elvis on with "A Little Less Conversation."  That may be my favorite song on my playlist.

I am almost giddy about tomorrow's training session, even if it means that Week 3 says I have to run for (gasp!) three minutes at a whack.  I think it's doable.  (I mean, heck.  Remember what I said about the internet and email and look what happened.)

Here's to you, little iPod.  You complete me.

The Would-Be Runner Family

Honestly, I have become the worst person in the world when it comes to taking pictures.  I think it's because I'm too busy and frazzled to stop and snap a few pictures every day, but there are some other things at play, too.

I'm not of the ALL-TECH, ALL THE TIME generation.  I learned to type on an electric typewriter.  I was well into my second job before I had a home computer.  And my first cell phone was one that lived in a bag and only came out from underneath my front seat for emergencies.

I still don't understand the need to have my cell phone on my person at all times.  I keep it handy...if you call staying in my purse "handy."  Oh, I take it out at night to charge and I use it as my alarm each morning, but I don't carry it around with me constantly like, say, a glass of wine.

Also, I still think the best pictures come from a nice and proper camera, and I haven't had one of those for years.  In fact, the last quality SLR I had used actual film.  I know, I know.  I think it's species died out when the meteor hit the earth and killed all the dinosaurs.

Plus, our boys are getting older and I don't feel the need to document every minute of every day like I did when they were babies and toddlers.  I'm afraid of being one of those parents who holds unsuspecting strangers hostage by showing them 2,308 pictures of the same thing.

"Oh, look, here's another shot of him eating sweet potatoes!"

So, I've backed off on the photo shoots.  But, for anyone who happens by the blog, I thought I could at least pull out some kind of but still stretching it recent pictures of my people.

Here are my husband and our two sons.  B is eight, and JF is five.  I won't bother you with David's age, but I will tell you that he is older than I am by several years and that's all the really matters.  Haha!  This was taken at JF's Thanksgiving play back in November.  JF's stage debut consisted of singing a couple of songs with the rest of the Junior Kindergarteners and saying a very important line, "But many of the Pilgrims got sick."  We expect Hollywood to be calling any minute now.

I can't remember when I took this one, but I think it was about a year ago.  We visited a safari park (of sorts) about 90 minutes from Memphis.

This one is a couple of years old and was taken at my mother's farm about an hour from here.  The boys love to ride her small garden tractor, and she is just the kind of grandmother who says YES way more than my brother and I ever thought she could when we were children.  (As she says, "Children could certainly be a lot less spoiled, but everyone is afraid to spank the grandmother.")  She's right. By the way, that's me in the middle, along with all of my big hair.  (My hair and its issues should have its own blog.  Night. Mare.)

Finally, here we are a couple of years ago.  It is nearly impossible for us to get a good family picture, mainly because one child or the other wants to be silly or uncooperative.  This is as good as we could manage at the time.

That's our little family.  My three fellas are mainly why I've taken up  this whole running (eventually) thing.  I'd like to improve my health.  I'd like for it to be a stress reliever so that I'm not so quick to be cranky.  (And let me tell you...I can get mighty cranky mighty quickly.)  I'd like our boys to see me set a goal and reach it, even when it's hard and takes extra effort.

Welcome to the Would-Be family, folks.

Does This Mean I'm a Registered Rookie?

Well, as we say in the south, I have gone and done it now.

I've registered for my first 5K.

It's not until May, so there's plenty of time to get over my whining about only running 90 seconds every two minutes.  Surely by the first week of May I'll be able to run three miles all together.

Surely.

It's a Blacklight run, so we'll stagger around for a while in the dark.  I think that's a good idea.  I feel sorry for people who can see me run in daylight.  It's just not pretty.

Speaking of things that are not pretty, today's 30-minute training session was...um...interesting.

Our older son plays basketball every Saturday, usually at noon, so we almost always go somewhere to eat afterward.  Today, after his team beat the other team by about 15 points, we celebrated at a favorite Mexican restaurant.  I swear I went in with the idea of getting a small salad, but before I could help myself I had ordered the chicken enchiladas.

Sucker.

I knew that it was probably a bad idea to have eaten such a heavy lunch, but I didn't want to put off today's outing until tomorrow.  So I piddled around for a couple of hours and then decided it was time to head out.

Everything was fine for the first 20 minutes.  I walked when I was supposed to.  I ran when I was supposed to.  I was enjoying the 58-degree weather with a light breeze.

And then it hit me.  The truth and stupidity of what I had eaten for lunch hit me like a ton of bricks.  I checked in with my coach after I got home and told her of my mistake, and she was worried that I'd gotten my first case of something I'd never heard of...runners' trots.  (What an awful term, don't you think?)  Then she sent me a few links so that I could read up and become more educated about the matter.

Oh.  My.  Word.  (Had I known that this was a real thing to consider when running, I bet I would never have signed up for this program.  I mean...really?  I could cry just thinking about it.)

No, thankfully, that didn't happen today.  I mainly felt like I had swallowed several cement blocks and was trying to run uphill at about a 90-degree angle.  It was uncomfortable, to say the least.

I finished the last 10 minutes (and I'll just bet that I looked mighty scary doing it) and scurried back home where I immediately laid down on the floor and rolled around for a good 15 minutes, moaning and wailing.

I'm guessing this is what's known as a rookie mistake and most definitely NOT what they call the "runners' high," right?

Lesson learned.

Week 2 : It's Like Piano Lessons All Over Again

We started our second week, and my handy C25K app and running coach have me running for 90 seconds and walking for two minutes during this week's cycle.  I didn't think the extra 30 seconds of running would bother me, and it didn't...until the last 90-second stretch.

It's not that I was winded or tired or sore.  In all honesty, I felt like I could've plodded on for another half hour or so if I hadn't had to scoot out of there if I wanted to catch most of our older son's basketball practice (which, of course, I did).

But I felt kind of...I don't know...blah about things.  Ninety seconds of running and two minutes of walking.  Will all of this really lead to my being able to run for 30 minutes straight?  Will I ever be able to run for longer than that?  Will I ever be able to write about going out for that long run in preparation for a 10K or a half marathon?

The truth is that I want to be able to run for extended periods now.  I don't want to be a walker who runs for a few minutes here and there.  I want to step out of my front door and run, just like that.

I had the same feeling when I was about seven or eight years old and my parents bought a piano because my older brother and I were going to start taking piano lessons.  I really wanted to be able to play the piano.  After a little while, though, it became clear to everyone involved that I couldn't even borrow musical talent.  I had NONE.  What's more, I hated the lessons.  And I couldn't read music anymore than I could read a French novel.  I mean, I could tell you what the notes on the paper were, thanks to remembering that "Every Good Boy Does Fine" and "All Cows Eat Grass."  But in order for me to play anything, I had to memorize segments at a time and then put it all together.  At best it was a disaster.

Finally, after what seemed like half my life had gone by, my parents said that I could stop torturing everyone and they let me quit.  When my grandfather found out, he actually thanked me.  I don't think he could've taken one more screech-filled recital.

I guess my point to all this whining and moaning is that there's a seven-year-old trapped inside me, once again, screaming that she wants to be able to do it NOW.  I don't want to think about taking it slowly.  I don't want to practice and learn the steps.

I want the end result at the beginning.

Of course, the times in my life when I've tried to make things happen that way I ended up (a) playing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" 34 times because I couldn't read the sheet music OR remember how to end the piece, and (b) with shin splints.

So...90 seconds of running and two minutes of walking it is.

Day 3 -- You've Really Got to Watch Out for Those Grocery Store Injuries

Today's adventure in becoming a runner was mostly uneventful.  My plan, since it was kind of cold and drizzly, was to go to the church and run around on the nice upstairs track that encircles the basketball courts.  The boys wanted to go with me, so we piled into my nerd wagon and off we went.

It was a great plan except for the part when we pulled into the parking lot and realized that the gym isn't open on Sunday afternoons.  You'd think I would've checked on this yesterday when we were there for our older son's basketball game, but it never occurred to me that the church gym would be closed today.  I really should pay more attention...  And I really should've used the church gym before now...

Any-old-hoo.  I went to plan B, which was simply to brave the elements and run outside.  Our older son decided that he'd rather stay at home than plod around in 40-degree weather that might see rain, so he wished me luck and settled himself under a blanket on the couch with  his dad for a little football.  Our younger son, who is five, decided that it was up to him to keep me company.  And if we just happened to go to the nearby park, which has a nice little walking path around it, even better.

So that's what we did.  I staggered around in circles while he played on the swings and slides.  (By the way, I've decided that it is biologically impossible for five-year-olds to NOT jump in, kneel in, slide into, or sit in puddles.  Because that is what he did for 30 solid minutes, and I must say that he had a fine old time doing it.)

When the lady on my app told me that it was time to cool down with the last five minutes of walking, we started for home and by the time we got to our front door, I was done.  The little fellow and I both changed our clothes, he joined his brother and daddy, and I went on my merry way to the grocery store.

Now, when I started this program many moons ago last week, I knew that I might sustain an injury here and there.  It's just part of it.  No matter how many stretches and warm-ups and cool-downs I do, I'm bound to hurt something at some point.  I expect it, at some point, from running.

But from Kroger?

I have to admit.  I never saw this one coming.

Now, let me be the first to say that no one has ever accused me of being graceful.  Or particularly attentive to my surroundings, or the least bit coordinated, for that matter.  I mean, I have injured myself in some pretty embarrassing ways.

For instance, during a high school homecoming parade in which I was riding on the back of a convertible, I managed, somehow, to roll right off into the street while the car was at a complete stop.  I'm still not sure how it happened, but I had some pretty nice bumps and bruises to show for it.

Then there was the time when my mom and I were at the food court in the mall and, while I was carrying our tray, I missed a step down into the dining area and dropped to the floor, spraining my ankle (but not spilling the first bit of food, thank-you-very-much).

And my favorite was a few years ago when the toe of my shoe caught the edge of the top step of our front porch and I went barreling into the front door, bruising my kneecap and blackening my eye.

But, until today, I have managed to never have a grocery-related injury.

It went something like this.

We were out of peanut butter, and that is a mighty big deal around our house because it's one of about six things we can count on the five-year-old to eat.  As I reached down to get the twin pack of Jiff off the bottom shelf, I managed to drop my pen, which rolled about halfway into the aisle behind me.  So I grabbed the peanut butter with one hand and turned ever so slightly to pick up the pen with my other hand, and that's when I felt it.  The tiniest little twinge waaaaay over to the left in my lower back.

Okay, in all honesty, the twinge wasn't so little.  It was more like kind of sharp.  I may have staggered sideways a little bit.  Or, perhaps, all the way across the aisle.  One of the shelves may have broken my fall.  And about 427 a few boxes of Frosted Mini-Wheats might have fallen to the floor.  I very well could've said hell-damn right out loud.  I don't really know.  It's all kind of a blur.

At any rate, I got myself together, gathered the rest of the things on my list (and tried like the devil to find a brand new bottle of PRIDE...with no luck...) and came home, a little worse for the wear.

I suppose now I'll have to start stretching before going to the grocery store.  Goodness knows, it couldn't hurt.

Day 2 --- Baby, It's Cold Outside

Well.

Someone challenged Mother Nature to show us what she's made of here in Memphis, and she came to play, baby.  Because it's cold outside.

I think it was something like minus 147 six degrees when my alarm went off this morning at 5:30, so I stayed in the bed until it warmed up to a balmy seven degrees.

What makes it even more fun for us is that we live in an old -- and I mean OLD -- house with varying ceiling heights and sub par insulation at best, so even though we set the thermostat at 72, a more accurate temperature in the house this morning was about 39.   At least that was my guess as I took the quickest shower of my life and prayed for the house to catch on fire at that very moment because of the heat the flames would provide.  (I begged my husband to buy this house 14 years ago.  It's quaint, I said.  It's charming, I said.  It has character, I said.  These days all I can say is Hell-damn.  It's cold.) (Thanks to my Great-Aunt Billie, hell-damn is my favorite ugly word combination.  I apologize if it offends anyone, but as Mark Twain said, "Under certain circumstances, urgent circumstances, desperate circumstances, profanity provides a relief denied even to prayer.")

As the day wore on and the wind chill never rose above the legal drinking age, it became clear that running outside, especially for wimps beginners, probably wasn't going to happen.  So we teachers moved it inside and did what we tell students NEVER to do in the school building.  We ran up and down the halls.  I'm not going to lie...that part was kind of fun.  Some teachers even ran up and down the stairs.  We really know how to walk on the wild side when students aren't there to see us, eh?

I am pleased, and quite pleasantly surprised, to say that today was easier than Tuesday.  Our coach and a couple of other experienced runners told me this morning that today would be better and that I would only beg for something like life in prison rather than the sweet release of death that I prayed for Tuesday.  (You know, thanks to all the fat-whacking pain and all.)

It turns out that they were right.  I didn't dread the running intervals, and the whole session seemed to go by more quickly.  Plus, I'm not as sore as I was this time Tuesday.  Now it only hurts when I sit down, get up, and climb stairs as opposed to hurting during those activities and when I stand, walk, bend over, or breathe.

Score.

The next walk/run will be sometime this weekend, which will more than likely be Sunday.  Since the temperatures aren't supposed to climb above freezing this weekend, I am sure my ugly shoes and I will find somewhere indoors where Mother Nature cannot control the thermostat.

Brrrrrrr!!!!!

Day 1 -- I Have Some Thoughts...

I realize that this will post on Wednesday night, and our first day of running/walking/crawling/dragging was Tuesday.  I haven't even gotten going properly and I'm already behind.

Fantastic!

Our coach sent each of us our training plans over the weekend, and most of us are on a walk/run program, much like you'd find in the Couch-to-5-K program.  After a five-minute warm-up, we alternate walking for 90 seconds and running for 60 seconds for 20 minutes and then we cool down with a five-minute walk.  This will go on for a week or two.

Or until I lose the will to live.

Whichever comes first.

Anyway...

When I read my plan for the first time I actually thought it sounded great.  Piece of cake, I said to myself.  I'll be zipping along to my first 5K in a matter of days, I told myself.  I hope my coach won't mind upping my training schedule, I said.  Running for a minute every other minute and a half?  I'm all over it.

Here's the funny thing about my sense of reality.  I have none.

We started with a few tips on stretching.  We asked questions.  She answered.  And then she turned us loose.

The five minute warm-up?  I loved it.  It felt great to be outside and walking at a nice brisk pace, laughing with a group of funny friends, breathing in the cool crisp air.

And then the timer went off.  It was time to run.  So I ran.  And a few things crossed my mind.

• Fat hurts.  I mean, it HURTS when it has nothing to do but jiggle around and smack its host.  It's like being hit with 38 wet towels in the stomach.  And in other places.  Ouch.
• Can you exercise in Spanx?
• Sixty seconds is not very long when you're, say, watching a movie and eating a bowl of popcorn.
• Sixty seconds can seem like an eternity when your fat is giving you a good fat-lashing.
• You can repeat the phrase hell-damn sixty times in one minute.  (Guess how I know?)
• Have I mentioned that fat stings when it is jostled about?
• When it's 37 degrees outside and you're engaged in physical activity, your nose will run.  It will run faster than your legs are moving.  This is not comfortable.  Nor is it attractive in the least, I'm sure.
• Would it be strange to run with a roll of toilet paper somehow attached to your nose?
• How completely out of shape must I be to find running 6 minutes out of 20 taxing?  Am I part sloth?
• I am glad I do not live in an area that is very hilly.  Hills, to a runner, must be slopes of evil.
• Stop me if I've already said this, but bouncing fat does not give you a warm, fuzzy feeling.

After my app told me that I could cool down and then stop, I went back inside the school and our fearless leader went through some stretches with us.  I like the stretches.  They didn't make me want to use profanity.  Much.

With day 1 behind me, I got into my car and started the 30-minute drive home.  I started thinking about the previous half hour, and (if I'm completely honest) I felt kind of low for a few minutes.  If running for a minute at a time was no picnic, what in the world makes me think I'll ever run for 30 minutes (or more) straight?  Am I kidding myself into believe that I'll be able to do this and like it?
The bottom line is that this is going to be harder than I thought for a little while.  It might be hard until the end of the program.  I'm not sure I'm up for this.

And then I had a few more thoughts.

• So what if it's hard?  Stay with it until it's not.  See it through.
• In general, I'm pretty healthy.  I need to lose a few pounds, but other than that, I'm healthy.  Should I really complain about running (or walking, biking, swimming, whatever...) when there are others who would gladly use what I take for granted?  
• The timing of this program is too perfect.  I am supposed to be doing this.  Now.  There is a reason that the opportunities fell into place as they did.
• I feel good.  (Now that the fat isn't jiggling, of course.)  But something about those 30 minutes feels good.  
• My head feels a little clearer. (Perhaps it was because everything in my head ran out of my nose.  Who's to say?)  
• I laughed. (When I wasn't gasping for air, obviously.)  And laughter is the best.

The bottom line is that those 30 minutes were worth the effort.  And they'll be worth it on Day 2.

The Playlist

With my iPod ordered and on its way and the first meeting of our little running club just a few days away, I thought I'd list some of the tunes that I hope will keep me at least interested motivated to stick with it.

A girl can dream, right?  So here goes...

Rolling in the Deep, Rumour Has It, Set Fire to the Rain  (Adele)  -- I love Adele.  I hope I don't lose my mind and start singing along as I try to run.  Oh, who am I kidding.  I'll be too focused on breathing and not falling down.

Dream On (Aeromsith) -- Maybe this should be my theme song.

Staying Alive  (The Bee Gees) - No, wait.  THIS should be my theme song.

The Thunder Rolls, The Beaches of Cheyenne, Standing Outside the Fire, We Shall Be Free, Callin' Baton Rouge (Garth Brooks) -- Who isn't in a better mood when Garth is singing?

A Matter of Trust, We Didn't Start the Fire (Billy Joel) -- Billy Joel's music just makes me happy.

I'm on Fire, Born to Run, Streets of Philadelphia (Bruce Springsteen) -- I do love some Bruce!

That's the Way it Is, A New Day Has Come, I Drove All Night (Celine Dion) -- Don't judge me...

Roar, Firework (Katy Perry) -- I put these on my list so that my boys will think I am the coolest mom ever...rather than the nerdy mom who sings along with Celine Dion.

Breakaway, Since U Been Gone, Because of You, Stronger (That Which Doesn't Kill Us), Miss Independent (Kelly Clarkson) -- Who doesn't love Kelly Clarkson?

Safe in the Arms of Love, When God-Fearin' Women Get the Blues, This One's for the Girls (Martina McBride) -- Preach it, Martina!

Come to My Window, I'm the Only One (Melissa Ethridge) -- I like her music.  I'm not sure I spelled her name right, but I'm too lazy to look it up right now.  That laziness does not bode well for my running.

I Try to Think About Elvis, Here I Am, You Can Feel Bad, She Drew a Broken Heart, Timber...I'm Falling in Love (Patti Loveless) -- I love Patti Loveless.  She's old-school country.  And I'm old, so there.

Is There Life Out There, Fancy, The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia, Because of You (duet with Kelly Clarkson) (Reba McEntire) -- I couldn't include country music without songs by one of its queens.

Pride (In the Name of Love), With or Without You, Where the Streets Have No Name, One  (U2) -- I think every playlist needs something from U2.  But what do I know?  This is my first one.

Come to think of it, what song(s) should be on a good (running) playlist?  If anyone stumbles across ye old blog here and has a suggestion, please let me know.  I need all the help (and motivation) a girl can get.

Getting Over Myself

So after yesterday's panic attack and meltdown on the blog, I decided that I have two choices.  Return the shoes and give up before I even start  OR get over myself.

I've decided to get over myself.

I'm probably the last person left on earth who doesn't own an iPod of ANY variety.  I've just never seen the need for one or felt the urge to get one.  First, I'm not that big of a music person in that I don't need to listen to it for long periods of time.  I'm perfectly happy to listen to the radio or the CD player when I'm in my car.  Second, I have never been a fan of earphones, and I'm fairly certain that ear buds would drive me completely nuts.  Thus, I've resisted any kind of portable listening device for the last 100 years or so.

Until now.  Last night, after I shut down my pity party and put my big girl underwear-britches  on, I ordered an iPod.  Just the shuffle.  No need to go crazy when the ear buds will most likely drive me berserk anyway.

Then I downloaded about 392 songs from the iTunes store and they're just sitting there in some cyber-holding-cell waiting for the arrival of the iPod.

Who knows?  Tomorrow I might turn into one of those people who rides along in the car listening to her iPod instead of the radio.

(I seriously doubt it, though.  I'm just trying to get over myself, not ahead of myself.)

Running Amuck

So far, two things have happened on this would-be runner journey.  A journey that, I realize,  hasn't even started.

First, I've bought a pair of good, albeit ugly, shoes.  (Okay, and a pair of socks.)

Second, I've nearly worried myself to death over this whole running business, and I haven't even taken the first step.

What if it turns out that I am, in fact, the worst and slowest runner on the planet?

What if I run like Phoebe on Friends?

What if I can't get the breathing right?  The stretching?  

What if I've set this first goal of running a 5K and I never make it?  There will be no hope of a 10K.

What if I am a complete fool and injure myself right out of the gate?

What if this is yet another great fail?

Is it normal for beginning runners to feel so completely overwhelmed?  Intimidated?  Scared?  Nervous?  Anxious?

Clearly, the only thing that is actually doing any running around here is my worry...and it's running amuck.

Off On the Wrong Foot, So to Speak

It's the first day of 2015 and I'll soon start a running program with a group of teachers at my school.  I'm such a horrible runner that I figure I'll at least provide them with some comic relief.

Our running coach suggested that, over the holidays and before we officially get started, we buy a good pair of running shoes.  So, a couple of days after Christmas, I made myself roll out of bed, take a shower, and get dressed for the shoe hunting expedition.  

Like most days, I should have just stopped at getting dressed.

After putting on the most comfortable clothes I could find, I reached into my unlit closet, felt around for some tennis shoes, found them, slipped them on, and headed to a local store in Memphis known for fitting runners with just the right shoes.

Since I'm new to this whole running thing (other than a brief affair with it YEARS ago that left me with nothing but shin splints) I'm more than a little intimidated.  Let's face it.   I'm in my mid-forties with a husband, two boys under the age of 10, and a full-time teaching job.  I'm carrying about 15 extra pounds, and I'm not in the best shape of my life.  Walking into a store where every staff member runs multiple marathons a year is enough to me slink to the nearest restaurant and hide behind a bowl of chips and salsa and a very large margarita.  

After sitting in my car for a sweet forever, I mustered up all the courage I had and walked in.  I held my head up high, told myself that I'm going to be runner.  I belong here.  These will be my people, and I will be one of theirs.

A nice lady named Loralee greeted me and asked to help, so I explained why I was there and we set off to find the perfect pair of shoes.  I sat down and she said, "Well, let's see what you're already wearing."

That's when it happened.  She looked at my feet, stifled a chuckle, looked away, then looked at my feet again.

Gaining her composure, she asked, "Do you know that you're wearing different shoes?  And, look, they're not even made by the same manufacturer.  Do you have a little card on you with your name and address, just in case we need to help you get home?"

I suppose I would've been offended if it weren't for the fact that (a) I have no trouble laughing at myself and (b) sarcasm is my love language.  

We had a good laugh and by the time she'd brought out the first pair of shoes for me to try on, all the salespeople and the store owner had come by to meet the sad woman who can't match her shoes and clearly needs to replace the lightbulb in her closet.

I tried on shoe after shoe.  She watched me walk.  She watched me run.  She had the kindness not to laugh.  She said something about mild over-pronation in my left foot, and she used a couple of other words and phrases that meant nothing to me.  (Much like the idea of matching my shoes.)  Apparently, runners speak an odd second language.

I ended up buying the ugliest but most comfortable shoes I've ever put on.  And, yes, I wore them out of the store. 

Just because you start off on the wrong foot -- or in my case, in the wrong shoes --  doesn't mean you can't turn it around in the end.