Serenity NOW!

Last week I had some bad runs. Almost qualified as the worst runs ever, but those hold a special place in my heart. Specifically the one after I ate two tons of tater tots the night before. Mentioning the tater tot debaucle never gets old here at the Run Report.

Last Week
Anyhoo, during one of the horrible runs last week, I gave myself a little pep talk. Self, I said, these are the runs that matter. These are the runs that you'll remember when you're running the marathon. Because if you can suffer through these crappy four miles and not give up after a half a mile, that will help you during any race. My spirit lifted, my pace increased and a freaking geezer roared down the street in her Mercedes and almost killed me. Thus signaling the end of Good Times (TM).

So, last Saturday, after two bad runs, I told myself that I was going to run eight miles if it killed me, and I was going to run as slow as I wanted to. I psyched myself up for it, and lo and behold. Great run. Even averaged 10 minute miles. (tangent: I've busted out the four year old Garmin 201, a.k.a The Brick)

This Week
I took an extra day off (Monday) which brought on some major Catholic guilt. I am really am nervous about the marathon. Every run I take, I ask myself: "Can you do that entire route three more times? Eight more times? Five more times?"

My answer every time: "Fuck no."

Anyhoo, ran on Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. Saturday was the long run. I did eight again, although I wanted to bump up to 10. I took some advise from another runner and repeated the eight.

I had a pretty strong run. I was feeling like a million bucks when I rounded the corner to my street. First, the neighbor-who-wants-nothing-to-do-with-me-although-she's-my-age-and-has-a-son-who's-right-between-Owen-and-Oliver-in-age, the very same neighbor-whose-dog-we-saved-when-it-ran-away, blows by me in her Land Rover. After getting pissed all over again about that situation, I kept running.

I passed a woman getting groceries out of her car. Her front door was open. The most ferocious shitzu from hell came screaming out of the house, teeth bared, ready to attach itself to my legs. After cowering in fear, I remembered my inner dog whisperer and told the dog NO! It went back inside.

Now, this is the second time this fucking dog has ambushed me. The lady, obviously a responsible dog owner, said "Bad timing!!" and laughed. Oh my fucking god. Seriously? Won't be so funny when I spray that stupid thing with MACE! Right in its FACE! And be totally FINE with it.

When I got home, Michael came out, saw my face and said, "Geez, I was expecting a smile after that run." I explained and he asked me the size of the dog. Oh, yes. He did.

I just bought What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami and I'm one page into the prologue. I love it. I'll post my favorite tidbits for you.

Tomorrow is speed workout day. At 845am. Time to NUT UP!