I eased back after last week’s high mileage. On Tuesday or Wednesday I started a run, only to have some tendon or another give me shooting pain after about eight blocks. After that, I only got one run in for the week:
Better luck next week.
It took a while, but I finally met my next running goal: clocking more than 26 miles in a week. Here’s the breakdown:
Grand total: 27 miles. Rock. On.
Which brings me to the next goal — running a 13-mile trial run for the half marathon I’m training for. I expect to do that sometime this month.
Again, a light week. I would have added a third run on Saturday, but had to split town to attend a family reunion. Here’s the breakdown:
Total: 13.5 miles. The 9-miler went well. It took just shy of 90 minutes, but I think the ol’ bod’s getting used to the stress of longer runs.
I got cat-called about six miles into a nine-mile run yesterday. A quick whistle, followed by an “Ooh, baby!” slipped out of the window of a passing car as I plodded down Coolidge.
Surely, the outburst must have come from a sarcastic place. When it’s 80 degrees, I run with my shirt off — baring my pale, skinny, sweaty glory to the world. I doubt I’m impressing anyone. But, if it was earnest … um, thanks.
My two readers probably long ago tired of posts about running, but I did a tally last night that blew my mind and I wanted to crow. I’ve tracked my mileage weekly here now for five weeks, and in that time I’ve logged just under 95 miles.
Ninety. Five. Miles.
Whoa! That one deserves an exclamation point. That’s about the distance from my home in Huntington Woods to my hometown of Saginaw.
Again, I had an abbreviated running week. On the bright side, one of the two runs I managed to squeeze in raised my personal best by two miles. The breakdown:
Total: 16 miles.
The 11-miler just kind of happened. I hadn’t planned it; I just started out that morning, and kept feeling more into it the farther I ran. To get to 11, I began with one of my standard laps around the neighborhood (a hair over 2 miles). After that, I cruised east into downtown Royal Oak, headed north on Main to Crooks, turned west on 12 Mile, and then headed south along Coolidge back to my ‘hood (a 6.75-mile course). Once in the ‘hood again, I did a little victory lap (an addition just-over 2 miles). Bingo.
Afterward, my calves burned. I stretched a bit, but the tenderness lasted into Friday. That’s it. Just Friday. I blasted past my previous best of 9 miles, and it didn’t tear me up. I’m so close to that half marathon, I can amost see the finish line.
This one should be titled “Weakly mileage update.” John Lennon sang, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” Life happened this week: Mrs. Blocletters and I are super busy with the house, painting and prepping for an upcoming party. It bit my mileage total, big time.
Total: a mere 13.5 miles. Better luck next week.
This week, I fell short of the nice high-scores I set in recent weeks. I barely eked out 20 miles. The breakdown:
I did sneak in a 6-mile walk early on Thursday with coworkers, so that should count for something, but running-wise, it was just 20.25 miles this week.
I let myself backslide a bit this week. My total for the week was 21 miles — three less than the 24 miles I pushed through last week. The breakdown:
Though a marathon week still eludes me, I did manage to hit a new personal best: nine miles. Eight miles last week taxed me more than Uncle Sam. Nine miles this week was a chore, but my body took it better than that eight-mile run. Afterward, my muscles had a tenderness to them, but I didn’t feel like I’d been clubbed. Go me.
I just finished a week where I ran 24 miles, and I’m still in awe.
As I’ve written before, my strong points don’t include discipline (rugged good looks, wicked high intelligence, a flair for cooking, and modesty … but not discipline). Still, over the last few months I’ve surprised myself and hope to keep it up.
The week’s rundown:
Let me focus on the first one. Eight miles is a new personal best. Eight. Long. Miles. After I finished, I felt like James Caan’s character in “Misery.” “Shh, darling, trust me — it’s for the best,” Kathy Bates’ character said, right before hobbling him with a sledgehammer. It hurts, but it’s for the best. At least that’s what I tell myself as my left knee sings notes I didn’t know it knew.
Running calls for more endurance than anything. I’ve read that a mile, depending on stride length, falls in at about 2,000 steps. That amounts to 16,000 hits to the asphalt in 8 miles. It’s punishing. But, I find that the more I run, the quicker my recovery between runs. I felt Monday’s run but, after a day of rest, I begged for more punishment.
A programming note: I don’t write posts like these to crow, though I do feel like crowing. Making these small successes public, in a way, strengthens my commitment. In writing about them, I make a kind of contract between me and my two readers that I don’t want to default on.