I impose all torture on myself…. While yesterday’s 3 miler was uneventful, I’m with you Lumpy, my 4 miler today was well, let’s just say not so good and I did it on a treadmill…ugh. I won’t blame it on any furry creatures (or on Sally) instead I will blame it on the tamale and chile relleno overload - when will the holidays end?!?!  The famila will not stop cooking!!! I guess I’ll just need to learn to make wiser food choices…well, that’s never fun! Ok, tired and have sore right calf - need good stretch & massage. Good night.
Daily Archive for December 27th, 2006
So I’m just doing the Hal Higdon Novice marathon training program. I mean, it is my first marathon after all. So I had a nice little 4 miler today. I usually run a 9:00 to 9:30 miles.
Not. Today.
I met up with Sally, Tucker, and Guinness for their last 4 miles. We started around Lake Harriet. Little did I expect to be trying to keep up with the Friggin’ Furry Four-legger Express. I chugged along for the first mile or there abouts. The pain in
my chest growing as visions of EMTs danced above my head. I think someone mentioned the GPS (Garmin Forerunner 301) was clocking us at something like 8:15 miles or something absurd like that. Feh.
I had a go with Tucker pulling me along and Guinness happily following along. Like a little train. Musta been my fastest 4 miler ever.
And all ‘cuz Sally is trying to kill me.
Twice a week I “borrow” a neighbor’s husky to run with Guinness (my own dog) and me. I have figured out his game. Some four legger in my past has taken a hit out on me, and the doggie mafia has decided that Tucker will be the one to do me in. What it comes down to is that Tucker makes me run 7:30-8:30 miles. Normally, I run 8:50-9:30, depending on if I have a tailwind, how hydrated I am, how annoyed or tired I am from work, and many other tiny details that add up to SLOW. When all is right in my little running world I can consistently run 8:45, but that’s pushing it. I’m afraid to stop my twice weekly runs with Tucker. What will happen to me? What repercussions will this cause? I am afraid. I dream of death by skijoring. I envision Tucker actually causing me to trip then gleefully dragging my body across busy roads, singing as only a husky can. Oh, Tucker, I just wanted to run with you. I wanted you to do what you were bred to do. Dog is no longer my co-pilot, dog is now to be the death of me. Literally. It’s a furry, furry world out there and Tucker wants me dead.
P.S. - Thank you, Tucker, for making feel like I can fly!
