05.10.09 w8 d1
The beginning of week 8. I find it hard to fathom 7 weeks under my belt and two left to the finish. It is Rest Day.
I take myself off to a physiotherapy appointment today for my left tibialis anterior. Terri does the assessment and, yup, its tib. ant. She applies ultrasound to the belly of the muscle, followed by acupuncture close to origin and insertion.
I forgot to post that I finally got around to registering for the event. If you scroll down to the Confederation Bridge 10k you’ll find me — I am one of the not a runners in amongst a bunch of definite runners. This will be the second chip event in which I have ever participated.
06.10.09 w8 d2
Interval Workout. This is my last sprint day. 6 x 400m. It is just on the cool side and the full moon is hidden by fast moving rain clouds being scraped across the sky. I pull on a second shirt and a cap but leave the gloves at home, and that is a good decision.
Sighclops is with me as we trot down the driveway and there is a spectator skunk in the ditch. It is windy, a westerly blowing at 30 kph, gusting to 50 kph. My first sprint is 200m into the wind with a 200m return. It is tough going. I shift the rest of my sprints to have the wind at my back and even walking the 400m recovery into the wind is work. It is a bit of a wild morning. Wild is good. Be ye wilde.
Again I finish the sprints feeling strong. The recoveries always leave me ready for the next sprint and this is comforting and encouraging. Satisfaction carries me to the back door.
07.10.09 w8 d3
A 6.4k run today. Another lovely mild-ish morning with cloud cover hazing a harvest moon.
I am sore this morning. Really sore. Hamstrings, glutes and adductors are all awake and acutely aware of the demands being placed on them as a result of last night’s workout. They are tight and make audible whining noises; a chorus of complaints. My legs are heavy and unresponsive. My backside could well be roadkill attached with stout rope.
Each. And. Every. Single. Step. Is. Effort.
On the return Effort, the clouds have scampered off. The moon and stars are beautiful, hanging effortlessly, almost mocking of my frailties and I have a great laugh at my sorry self. I turn sighclops off and run through the moonlight. Beams dance off the tin roof of a barn. My moonshadow stays ahead, surely she is not feeling what I am feeling. She even appears spritely and I follow on her heels.
Lunarunning. I take my lunatic self slowly up a too long flight of stairs for a long, wastefully scalding shower.
08.10.09 w8 d4
40 minute tempo run.
Our rainfall in the past 18 hours or so has been somewhere around 40mm. As I went to bed last night, the forecast was for a continued heavy rainfall warning and as I step into the nasty winds and rain at 5:20am I am happy to dash to the garage, jump in the car and head to a boring treadmill at the gym. In all honesty, there is not enough dedication in my body to run in weather like this.
This morning ends up being another really off day for me. I expected to still be hosting my DOMS, and I am. The glued on parts of my body are uncomfortably taut and tender. My tibialis anterior, however, is truly riled. Ornery and unwilling to do her part — characteristics I generally appreciate, but not when they are resident in my nether limbs.
I run for about 30 minutes. Then I capitulate, crying uncle to my discomforts. I walk the remaining 10 minutes, on an incline, and make friends with these muscles-as-gurus.
09.10.09 w8 d5
Rest Day. It is a busy day, passing quickly into night with preparations for a weekend trip only half complete at bedtime.
10.10.09 w8 d6
Again this week I flip my long run day with my EZ run day to better suit the circumstances of life. I am catching an 8:30am ferry this morning and so have time for a 45 minute EZ run.
I step out of the back porch, sighclops shiny and eager, into a fine rain. As I pick my way down the driveway I notice how quiet the world is. The rain is light enough as to be soundless and the sky is lined with thick cotton wool, protecting me from the sound that can kill someone from a distance. At first the silence is so complete I imagine it is my ears which are stuffed full with fluffy wads of cotton batting.
I set out, stepping forever into the small arc of light provided by sighclops. It is another morning of moderate temperatures. As I run, the rain becomes heavier, I hear it dripping from trees and splashing underfoot. In the foot or so in front of my eyes, sighclops reflects and refracts through the rain drops. The effect makes me think of the cheap and gawdy tinsel ‘icicles’ which hung on the christmas tree during my childhood years.
I don’t mind the rain this morning. It is calming, soaking me through, staying with me until I arrive home.
11.10.09 w8 d7
This morning’s long run, which is suppose to be 12.8k, is run in another province. I am in Cape Breton (Nova Scotia), running in places where I played as a child. Places I have not stood, in some cases, in more than 40 years. It is thanksgiving weekend and I am visiting my mother who still lives in the home in which I did most of my growing up. The house and yard has changed a lot over the years and there is a ‘for sale’ sign hanging now in the front.
I have not pre-measured this morning’s run and just go until I feel like turning around. After the fact I measure it and find I completed an 11k long run. When I leave the house there is a strong wind and it is cold. I have forgotten to pack my gloves and hat, so I go without. My hands quickly become painful and the coldness seeps into them and takes over. Nonetheless, the morning air feels good.
The route is rich with memories, running past homes where childhood friends used to live, past the building which was once the school I attended, past the site of the local corner store. There were once swamps along the roadside where I tarried long enough picking wild violets as to be late for school regularly. Roadways lead into subdivisions which now sprawl over the places I picked blueberries and imagined myself in the wilderness, creating stories around long abandoned and fully crumbling stone foundations. These were the same places which, in winter, provided many small ponds on which to skate and hills for coasting.
The journey I take today is much farther than the physical 11k I cover. It is a truly fine run. The sun becomes warmer and my hands thaw. The autumn colours are spectacular. Crows perch on power lines, announcing my passing or perhaps my return.