WWSD?

I joined a book club since moving (on up) to the West Side. I'm not sure why, because I would rather watch TV until my face fell off, but a little adult time with some nice women seemed like a good idea. The books so far have been OK, but it's the book we didn't read that has been the Best Book Ever(TM).

Endurance: Shackleton's Incredible Voyage can be described thusly: "Shackleton's third attempt (at reaching the South Pole) involved sailing the Endurance as far into Antarctica as possible, then finishing the expedition on foot. But almost from the beginning the expedition was beset by difficulties." And that's like saying that I dislike the Cowboys a little bit.

(Endurance beset in the Ice)

Don't want to give anything away because you MUST read it, but needless to say they lose the ship, have to camp on an ice floe for months (during winter), are cold and wet and hungry all the time and then finally six of them have to set sail for rescue on a tiny boat in the most turbulent water on the planet. Oh yeah, and then hike across an island that's basically a mountain range. They were gone for over two years.

So, of course, after I read the book (and cried like a baby), I rented the A&E movie and Michael and I watched it this week. Michael and I both decided that there was absolutely no way I couldn't finish the marathon after seeing what Shackleton and the crew went through. I think Michael said something like: "They had frostbite, had abscesses on their asses and sailed 800 miles. You're going to be running through Eugene Oregon in May."

And there you have it. While I'm running and contemplating quitting because that's what I do, I'll look down at my arm, on which I will have written "WWSD?"

What would Shackleton do?

Oh yeah, had a crappy week of running due to illness, but pounded out 12.25 with an average of 9:47 per mile. Sweet.

8.36 and 12 = Pain

Just because I don't post doesn't mean I don't run. Actually, it's kind of more like the opposite. The running is definitely increasing, because (drumroll) I actually paid money for the marathon and booked a motel room.

Try backing out of that. This is something I must do for my life to be complete. I'm not sure why. No, I am sure why. I hate it when someone asks me if I've ever run a marathon. Usually what I say is "I trained for a marathon, but I didn't finish." Anyone who's run any distance will understand the amount of miles that go into marathon training, but they still will only hear the hated, big three letters: DNF.

It's not like I can say:
"I spent months and months training for the marathon running every fucking Sunday morning up at Germantown road mostly by myself and then one day on an average training run with my work peeps I was running down a hill to finish the run and turned my ankle really bad and it hurt and I got up and kept running but my ankle swelled to the size of a grapefruit and I've never had a sprained ankle and had to stop running for at least four if not six weeks and then when I came back I must have been compensating for it because I developed this awful IT band injury about a month or so before the marathon and I researched it and stretched it and even took Vioxx which is now banned which explains a lot doesn't it but I had already paid for the marathon so I had to run it and at four miles in the IT band started hurting but I kept going but about mile nine I could barely bend my leg and I was having trouble stepping over railroad tracks on the course and I hated having to walk and it killed so bad so I stopped at 13 miles came home ate three doughnuts and watched the Eagles and had a pity party and felt like a big fat loser ever since."

It would just take up so much time, right? So anyway, I had small victories this week and last. Last week I did all the running and logged +31 miles. I also ran 10 miles on the Springwater trail with a person I didn't know who I just "bumped" into on the trail. It's one of the nicest things about running--the community. She was also a mom of two small kids, a Weight Watchers lifetimer (oh yes, I am!) and nice enough to engage me in conversation as I tried passing her at the slowest possible pace.

This Friday I had my speed workout. I did mile repeats (just two, don't get excited, Elf) and I am happy to report that although my goal was to average 9:20, I did 8:36 and didn't die. Very happy about that. The next day (yesterday) I ran 12 miles and almost died. Even though I wanted to call it a day at 10, I toughed it out.

Now, if I could please see some weight loss on the scale? What does a person have to do for chrissakes?

Doryman's Dark

Last Friday on my five-miler, I came across a big fat yellow lab parked in the middle of the road. An older couple in a bright canary yellow mini Cooper also saw the roadblock and circled around to ask me if it was my dog. Ah, no.

But due to its weight, yellow labness, and my expert Dog Whispering techniques, I stopped to help the dog. (This may surprise you, but I also typically hate other people's dogs.) After a couple minutes of ringing bells, we found a nice geezer lady who knew where the dog lived--supposedly. Of course, Dory (the dog) loved this woman because she put dog treats on her curb! Portland kills me sometimes. Also, geezer ladies know everything about everything in their neighborhoods.

By this time another runner and her dog had joined the fray, so me, old lady from the mini cooper, new runner girl (with a Texans hat on! Are you kidding me? A Texans hat? What the F??!!), runner-girl dog and fat ass Dory did a nice slow jog up a couple streets.

As the old lady starts jogging in her obviously non-running shoes, I tell her "You don't have to run! We'll wait for you at the top of the hill."

She says, "I used to be a runner. But now I have a bad knee. Got it from running too much when I was your age."

I tried to downplay my running and not make her long for marathon training and said, "Oh, I just run to keep in shape because I've had two babies."

And she said, "Oh, I can tell you're a good runner. You have a great gait."

And then, just like George Constanza after telling a good joke, I wanted to leave the scene immediately so nothing could ruin that nice moment of an old runner complimenting my gait.

Long story short, another geezer lady told us where Dory lived and we got her home safe and sound. To the son of her deceased owner, who has to put her up for adoption because he's a single guy and works all the time. Totally depressing.

Last note: I did ten miles on Saturday. I did not fuel properly the night before (Did you know pizza and cheesy bread is not a good choice? Me neither!) and did have a hard time finishing it up. I felt like I was hallucinating. I came inside, asked Michael for a Gatorade and he totally made fun of me for sounding pathetic. If I had had any strength I would have kicked his ass off the deck. Instead I sat on the stairs and cried. It was tough, but it's in the books.

Total mileage last week:
Monday: 4.5
Tuesday: 6.5
Wednesday: off
Thursday: off (bad Sarah! Went to the zoo instead)
Friday: 5.0
Saturday: 10

Total mileage this week is looking to be around 33. God help me.