The roads in my neighborhood are still too messy and icy to run safely outside, even if the temperature is teetering on comfortable. I know myself well enough to know that I won't drive into town to find cleaner pathways. With those two pieces of reality hitting me in the face, I sucked it up and hit my treadmill.
What I love about running is that every run is different. Every single one. What should be a routine, ordinary, even dredge-like treadmill slog is still sort of full of quirks. Here are the highs and lows:
Bruises:
Yesterday, I indulged in a massage. My left shoulder has been hurting ... for years ... but the past few months have been really unbearable. My GP ordered some PT at my last visit, but I just haven't gotten around to making the appointments yet. So while I was getting a pedi yesterday (yes, another small indulgence that usually only happens during sandal season), I noticed that a) the lady administering it went positively medieval on my sore calves while doing that leg lotion thing and b) the salon sign said they offered back massage.
I got a little giddy with the thought of her pounding the crap out of my shoulder. (I hope that doesn't sound perverse.) The truth is when it gets really sore, the only way to make it feel better is to have Jim poke at it as hard as he can. This leads to me screaming in agony. And then it leads to temporary relief.
I asked about the massage, they set me up and off we went.
Before I knew it. I was face down and this teeny, tiny woman was standing on the table, her feet at my hips, and she was using her entire body weight to put pressure on my lower back and shoulders.
OMG.
I can't even tell you how much it hurt. And then just when I thought I couldn't take another second of it, it would feel better. She'd go back to the exact same spot that was freaking killing me 30 seconds before and it was not painful at all.
I woke up this morning and my whole back was sore to the touch. Without a doubt, there will be bruises by tomorrow. Every single step of that first mile vibrated through all that soreness. But I know better than to judge a run by the first mile and it eventually stopped throbbing.
Jelly Beans:
We're approaching Easter. I love jelly beans. What better excuse to eat them than the long run? Pop a few around Mile 6 for a little burst of energy and I'm a very happy girl. I don't need those fancy "energy" beans anymore. Good, old fashioned Brach's work just fine. My favorite colors? Orange, white and purple in that order. Least favorite? Black, green and pink, in that order. Tolerable? Yellow and red.
The DVR:
Ten miles is a long time to spend on a treadmill; longer when you add in the 2.5 miles I walked as cool-down. I watch DVR'd TV shows to make the time go as quickly as possible. On today's playlist? Two Duggar episodes, one Wahlburgers and two Love, Lust or Runs, commercials mostly forwarded through. It was not my best "mix tape." I shouldn't admit I watch this crap, should I? For the record, however, I wish someone would give Stacey London a better show. I love her, but LLR is no What Not To Wear.
Seriously ... it had better be warmer, and the roads drier and snowless, next week.
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