Fitbit is Funny!

I woke up yesterday with a sore throat, a full head and a sort of ornery attitude. Jim's had a couple of nasty sinus infections this spring and I was not about to put up with that crap.

So by last night, after a day filled with moving boxes for our office move, I was kind of all in by about 8:30 p.m. I set my mind, and my alarm, to get up in time to ride my bike to RIPPED this morning at 6:30 a.m.

I'm a big believer in the "kill it or cure it" approach to anything resembling a cold.

Since I hadn't been on my bike since last fall, the trip into town was a bit of a wake-up call for my quads. And it took a bit longer than I planned, but I made it, ran through RIPPED and headed home.

Curious to see how Fitbit would read the biking part of the trip, I logged in once I got there.

This is what I found:

The ride in, between 5:50-ish and 6:35-ish didn't look too strenuous. The hour of actual class usually registers shy of 4000 steps and less than 2 miles. I left class about 7:45 and then stopped to chat with some friends in our old neighborhood. I was home by 8:45 or so. But look, the ride home was considerably more active than the ride in.

Except for the part where I apparently fell asleep:

I Am Not a Gardener

Today was the annual Planting of the Flowers Day.

It's not my favorite day of the year. In fact, I kind of hate it.

I like buying the plants. I think it's great fun to mix and match the colors, textures, heights and shapes. I'm big on purples and greens. Actually, I ONLY like purples and greens, but mix in a few other things to keep it interesting.

It's the planting I don't like. It's dirty and hot and sweaty.

And it's inevitable that once I get started, I find plenty of weeds to pull, which leads to a dozen or so trips back and forth to the fence line where I toss the pullings. Then there's 40-lb. bags of potting soil to tote from the front porch to the back deck and around again. And then there's the 5-gallon buckets of water that get hauled, hoisted and poured. And the ceramic pots filled with dirt that I decide should be moved around and more artfully arranged.

Before I know it, I have a decent workout in and need yet another shower.

Maybe I should learn to like gardening.

The truth lies somewhere between this ... 

And this. 

Searching for Balance

I can't stand on one foot for very long.

At the end of RIPPED classes, during the cool-down, Peggy almost always runs us through a series of stretches that require me to stand on one foot to stretch quads, hips, glutes. I almost always have to "touch down" with the other foot to keep from falling over.

It makes me think my balance just isn't that good. Or my muscles are somehow sort of weak.

And I think it's an enormous metaphor for what's going on in my head right now.
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I took last week off from exercise. Almost completely and totally off. If you're friends with me via Fitbit, you can see that my step total sort of fell off the radar.

The burnout was real. Part of it was the training for the half marathon. But not all of it.

Part of it was Spring. As in spring wardrobe. As in, my clothes from last year were not all fitting so smurfy.

You know how that thinking sprials ... I've talked about it a million times before. I feel bad, so I get down on myself. I get down on myself and start making bad choices. A few bad choices lead to a few more bad choices and pretty soon you're stuck in a dark pit and it's hard to get out.

The choices I was making? Eating pretty much whatever I wanted to and trying to out-exercise it.

This, dear readers, does not work. It cannot work. It has never worked.

So I took a reset.

No running. Only one morning of RIPPED. No weights. No biking.

In addition, no feeling guilty about eating "bad." No beating myself up for gaining weight. No crappy self talk about getting fat or having no self control. No poor me. No whining.

I wanted to give myself some grace ... to prove that the world will not end if I just chilled out for a bit to get my head back on straight.

Guess what? The world didn't end.

I didn't exactly eat well, but I ate better. I made a conscious effort to not pummel myself, and that's easier said than done for me. I tried on some clothes that I was convinced wouldn't fit and the truth was they weren't as terrible as I'd feared. (Though, don't get me wrong ... there are plenty of others that don't button.)

I thought about waiting for the urge to come to me.

It did. I woke up Saturday morning itching to do my traditional 4 miles. So with a little fear, I hit the treadmill ... and everything was fine.

I waited again for the urge to eat better to arrive. It didn't happen on Mother's Day ... I was responsible for brunch, served at my house, and things got a little out of delicious control.

But, last night, the urge to eat better hit.

And today, I did.

Burpees and Pushups Suck

I was back at RIPPED this morning. My attendance has been a little spotty these past few weeks as I was trying to find time to get my running miles in and sometimes I had to skipped class to do it.

The good news about skipping is that I got to sleep in a few extra days. The bad news is that essentially all of the sections changed while I was gone and I'm sort of lost with the new choreography.

Now, I don't mind being lost for a few classes. I eventually catch up and catch on. And, truth be told, it makes me smile, while I'm out there bouncing around erratically, to imagine myself as a fly on the wall watching how completely dorky I look as I try to figure it out. It must be hilarious.

But here's the kicker: the new sections include a shit-ton of burpees and pushups.

Ugh.

There's nothing cute about 47-year-old me, still stiff from Saturday, and 15 pounds heavier than I'm used to being, trying to pop up and down like a pogo stick. The Burpees are particularly cruel because my parts just don't bend like they need to, fast enough, for me to look remotely coordinated or fluid.

And don't even get me started on the pushups. Man, you don't do them for month or two and it's all over. It's like you're starting out with wimpy Olive Oyl arms.

The only way to make it better is to keep doing it, I guess.

So that's what I'll do.

My Favorite Wisconsin Marathon Moments

1. The anticipation in the car on the drive to the start line in the dark. It's the moment anything is possible.
   
2. The Mayfly orgy on the picnic table before the race started. (Thankfully, the breeze picked up and the swarming Mayflies were history by the time the race officially started.)
   
   
   
3. The conversation overheard at the start line about Mittens. Even in May in Wisconsin you have to think about mittens? No. The Mitten Challenge is a two races in two states in two days event shared by the Wisconsin Marathon and the Kalamazoo MI Marathon. You could run the half (called Half & Half Challenge) or the full (the Mittens Challenge) and get a cool medal for doing it. More power to 'em, but I'm pretty sure that's not me.
   
4. The thinking how nice it would be to live on the race course itself. At one point, a guy and girl behind me were discussing pulling over at his house so he could swap out his running tights for shorts and so she could use the bathroom.
   
5. The guy with the green trombone that first appeared between Miles 1 and 2, then again between Miles 3 and 4 ... and finally on Mile 10-ish. He was playing the "Go Big Red" jingle from Badger games in the beginning and some slow, sad, New Orleans-sounding thing at the end. I often wonder what possesses people to participate in an event like that.
   
6. Which brings me to my two favorite spectators. The first I'll call FrankenShe. She was a very tall (as in sideshow tall) woman and had gray hair, glasses, and that "giantess" look about her. She must have been walking on the beach because she was sporting two walking poles. I passed by her just after Mile 5. She was cheering from the sidelines ... her hands raised up in the air, fists pumping. "You are all amazing! I am so proud of each and every one of you! You did the work! You trained so hard! You are doing it! Good job! You look strong!" She was yelling at the top of her voice, and she kept on yelling as everyone passed.
   
7. The second, Coach Clapper. He was mid to late 50s, I'd guess. Fit, tidy, shorts and a windbreaker.  His voice was HUGE and he was stationed on the downtown stretch, around Mile 3. I heard him before I saw him, pacing the "sidelines" like a coach at the Final Four, clapping and shouting. "Looking good. Looking strong. Good job! That's it!" He was still standing in that spot ... which become Mile 11 on the out-and-back route ... when I had just wrapped up a miserably slow Mile 10. The woman in front of me was walking. I was, too. "NO ONE WALKS IN FRONT OF ME!" he said. "NO ONE! You've got this. You can do this! You've got something left in the tank, I can see it!" And she started running. So did I. Miserable or not, I wanted to please him because he genuinely seemed to care. He showed up again at the 26-mile mark ... or .2 from the finish line for me. There he was, clapping and cheering, like the best high school coach you ever had. "Only .2 to go, kick it in! You got this! Finish strong! Good job! Good job!" By now we were old friends, or so it seemed, and I kind of wanted to hug him because I needed to hear those words at that moment. I couldn't tell if he had someone in the race, if he was part of the volunteer race crew or just a guy who liked cheering people on.
   
8. The signs made by spectators, designed to inspire runners. Or make them giggle:
   "Run faster ... I just farted!"
   "Pain is temporary. Internet results are forever."
   
9. The Polkaholics. Yes, that's right a rock/polka band. They were pretty amazing. I imagine it's weird to play a gig at 7 a.m. on a Saturday. They were wearing purple sequined vests ... I mean, what else would you expect?
   
10. The guy who said, "Lisa Sympson! Looking good!" I was just approaching Mile 6 and he had already hit the turn around, so he was a good 3 or 4 miles ahead of me. I turned to look to see who it was, responded with a "HEY!" and a smile. But I have no earthly idea who it was. I searched the race results for someone from Janesville or Beloit or Fort Atkinson and found no one I knew. It's a mystery.
    
11. The soft-spoken runner in the yellow and white striped running skirt who came up behind me at Mile 10 and barely whispered, "You're doing great. Keep going." She caught me off guard. "I'm pissed at myself," I blurted out before I could edit ... as if she wanted to hear my internal dialogue. "We're almost there," she said. "Only a 5K to go. You can do it." And off she went. It was nice of her. And it reminded me that that's the person on the course I want to be.
    
12. The sun coming up over the lake and this patient, kind, brave, strong, handsome man there with me to watch it. (His favorite part of the day was not this one. It was watching a guy take off his shoe at the finish line to reveal a completely bloody soaked sock. Which, honestly, makes me love him even more. 

Half ... Fast! Or Half-Assed?

I considered so many titles for this post. Among the contenders:

A Bad Day to Have a Bad Day
A Beautiful Day for a Jog
Here's My List of Excuses Justifications
The Training 101 Lesson I Forgot
Get Over Yourself
13.1 is 13.1, No Matter How You Look At It

I waited until today to write this, hoping something poetic would come over me and I could find a way to put into words what I was feeling about my run yesterday.

The day had a beautiful and promising start. They all do, right? 

Since divine intervention has not come, I'm just going to give you a quick rundown of the facts first:

1. The weather was picture perfect. Sunny enough. Cool enough. Breezy enough but not too much.
2. The course was really wonderful ... we ran along the lake for much of the time. And when we weren't in the park alongside the lake, we were in some truly beautiful neighborhoods of Kenosha with grand, old-money homes or on the charming streets of the historic downtown. It was also very flat with just a couple of low rolls. 
3. The race was really well-organized for such a big event ... 4000 runners. Parking was a little complicated, but that's to be expected with such a big group. 
4. I started strong ... maybe too fast. The first 5 miles flew by. Note to self: Buy a running watch.
5. My most important muscle started giving me trouble at Mile 6. My brain, that is. My hips started hurting around Mile 10. 
6. I stopped to pee, which I've never done in a race before. Not once. Not twice. Not three times. No, I had to pee FOUR times on the course. Or thought I did. 
7. I walked all of Mile 11. I walked because I had to pee so badly that I was afraid to run. And when I got to the port-a-potty at Mile 12 (which was out of hand sanitizer by the way), essentially nothing happened. I couldn't go. The only water I was making, so to speak, were a few frustrated tears. 
8. I had another thee-quarters of a mile of walking throughout miles 6-11, too. 
9. I was beyond pissed off at myself for apparently not training right. 
10. I finished 27 seconds ahead of my "if you go over this time, you have failed miserably" time at 2:29:33. That's 20 minutes behind my first half and a whopping 6 minutes ahead of my half walk/half run effort in 2013. 

I'm struggling with how to process this. The day didn't go like I wanted it to and I finished about 15 full minutes behind where I thought I would. I'm mad at myself for letting my head get in my way. I am disappointed that I put all that time in to train, but didn't do it right. So was it a waste of time altogether?

It sucks to be disappointed in yourself.

On the other hand, I had a bad day. Bad days happen. I still finished 13.1 miles and that's nothing to sneeze at. The real lesson in this is what I do from this point. Where do I go from here? I can feel sorry for myself or I can chalk it up as experience and move on. I know now how important training my brain is. I also know now that I can't, apparently, train only on a treadmill for a big event.

Maybe that's the lesson I'm supposed to take from this. The lesson of how to NOT let my finish time or the walking get to me. The lesson of how to find my mental toughness again and keep going.

Because the funny thing is that never once on the course did I feel like I wouldn't finish. Never once did I doubt crossing that line. In fact, at the turnaround point for the Half, where the Full marathoners kept going straight, I had the thought that I knew I could walk another 13 if I really wanted to.

I'm stiff today. (More proof that I didn't train right.) But I'm feeling better about it all. Part of me is eyeing up future races because I want to prove to myself that this was a fluke.

So, this story might not be over yet.

I think this might be me. Or at least it's the me I want to be.
Standing tall. Strong. Ready to take on whatever the day brings.
(The park where the race started/finished was full of interesting art.)