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Not a Good Week, But a Not Bad Run

It has not been a good week for running.  Monday I was melancholy, Tuesday I had rehearsal, Wednesday we got our taxes done (more melancholy there, too, but never mind that), and that bring us to Non-Sequitur Thursday.  I am training for the Boilermaker 15K.  I was determined to run.

The weather report said we might be getting freezing rain or snow or some such stuff tonight, but nothing had started when I got home from work shortly after 3 p.m.  My thermostat said it was 45 degrees out.  That is my cut-off temperature for shorts and short sleeves.  I hesitated, though, because I can’t say I’m really back in shape yet, and it is just getting to 45 degrees.  I would have felt better at 46 degrees.  I compromised on leggings that came just below the knee and a short-sleeved t-shirt. A wide headband could cover my ears.  I put my sweatshirt and a bottle of water on the deck for my cool-down walk and set out.

A lot of the snow that Stella dumped on us has gone; the sidewalks were mostly bare and dry.  I could rock this.  I turned left onto German Street, to do my usual down Caroline, up Margaret, down Henry, up Bellinger route.  I was moving pretty slowly, but you’ll definitely have that after three days off.  The temperature was not bad at all.

Until the wind picked up, which it soon did.  No matter, I would just keep running till it warmed me up.  I find that works better for legs than for arms and hands, especially hands.  It was still no matter, because I was determined to keep running.  I concentrated on how much I appreciate bare, dry sidewalks.  I made nothing of the few puddles.  I ran through or around some remaining snow.

At one point, two little kids were playing in front of a house while their mother sat on the steps.  The little boy was drawing on the sidewalk with chalk.  The little girl was moving shovelfuls of show, annoying the boy by dropping some on his picture.

“I’ll try to step around your art,” I said.  I also had to dodge the little girl, who stepped right in front of me.  Luckily we did not collide and I ran on.

A little later, I passed a man and said hello.  He said, “Boilermaker?”

“I hope so,” I answered.

“Good for you!”

I ran on before I had time to say thanks.  I wondered why I said I hoped so instead of “Damn skippy” or “You bet!”  After all, I am pretty damn sure I will run the 15K and make it through the whole thing.  On the other hand, it cannot be denied that shit happens, and those who are too sure of themselves sometimes come to grief.   I kept running, realizing that this would help keep me from coming to grief on the Boilermaker.  This is me, getting into shape, I told myself.

It was quite pleasant when the wind was still, which was not often.  However, I managed to run for 29 minutes, equal to my last longest time.  And I see now that I have over 500 words, a longer blog post than I have managed lately.   I say not bad for Thursday of a melancholy week.

 

Can You Dig It?

Well, it is Wuss-out Wednesday today.  I got the day off work due to Winter Storm Stella (I like “winter storm” better than “nor’easter”; it makes me feel like I’m under 70 and I still have all my teeth) (was that a dreadful thing to say?  There is nothing wrong with being over 70 and toothless; I may be there myself one day) (but this is not that day).

Where was I?  Ah yes, telling you a little about my day.  The best part was going back to bed after I got up and found out all shifts were cancelled at my place of employment.  The worst part was spending over two and a half hours shoveling the driveway. However, even that had its moments.

I wanted to take some “before” pictures for this blog.  When the extent of the task became apparent, I abandoned the Tablet and just started digging.  For another reason, I was afraid the sheer whiteness of the view would make it harder to see where the snow ended.  I could barely see where the snow ended, and I was right there.

Our neighbor, who owns half the two car garage and has driveway rights, had snow-blowed a path from his half of the garage (where he keeps his snowblower) to the sidewalk.  That definitely helped, because the rest of the driveway was quite impassible.  I think he also blew out the very end of our driveway, because although it was completely filled in by the plow, it did not look as deep as other areas.  We dug and dug. I tried to keep my spirits up.

“We are bad-hyphen-ass,” I assured Steven.  Many things become more bearable if you can feel that you are bad-ass when you do them.  I paused to admire the bare trees against the grey sky.  No, I did not make it back outside to take a picture of those.  Sorry.

I sang, “High Hopes,” you know, with the verse about that little old ant who thinks he can move a rubber tree plant.  I tried to put new words and make the song about us, but I could not think of a word for “old farts” and a word for “snowbank” that rhymed.

“How you doing, honey?  How you feeling?”  I kept asking Steven.  This was not just me being silly.  People have heart attacks while shoveling snow all the time, and my husband is not a young man.  He also does not lead the healthiest of lifestyles, but perhaps I can help him improve on that.

At one point, the neighbor kids were out playing.  The boy did a cannonball off his deck into the snow.

“I wanted to do that!” I said.  Unfortunately, I did no such thing.  As we shoveled, my feet and hands were becoming more and more cold.

Finally we decided that good enough was good enough.  Both vehicles are clear enough to move, with enough space to make it to the road.  It ain’t beautiful, but it’ll do.  I hit the showers.

And almost cried when the warm water hit my toes! My thighs, which were bright red, stung like hell as well.  What a dreadful feeling!  It is good we did not take any longer than we did with our shoveling.  I do not need to lose any toes to frostbite; I need them to count to twenty!