Just the Stats

As stated many times before, I am not a numbers person. I don't like them at all.

That would be one of a million reasons why I married my husband (B.S., Mathematics; B.S., Chemical Engineering). That would be why I majored in English. I was fairly shocked when I started in the newspaper business and had to do math (basic addition and subtraction/finding percentages, but math nevertheless).

Numbers: Yuck.

Unless they have to do with my running, and then I am OBSESSED.

I have a Garmin Forerunner 405 that I got for my wedding anniversary last year. I love it because it takes the numbers and makes them make sense. I run with my watch, then I upload the stats to my computer, and from there, it makes all sorts of graphs and charts and stuff.

This morning, I upped my capability for stats with a heart rate monitor.

I was a little wary of it at first. You have to wet the electrodes. You wear it around the bottom of your breastbone.

If I could, I would run completely naked (I won't, though! I promise!). I am easily distracted and bothered by wires, waistbands, buckles, ties, drawstrings, etc. I can't even wear those upper armband things for my iPod; I have to have a thing that clips on my waistband. My running gear has been bought specifically because it mimics not wearing clothing at all. So the idea of wearing this plastic thing around the bottom of my breastbone did not sound promising at all.

But you know what? It wasn't a big deal, really. My sports bra fit right over it, so after a mile or so I didn't really notice it was there. It didn't slip, slide or chafe. I was able to breathe without feeling like I was in a straitjacket.

But the magic really happened after I was done, after I had showered and was sitting down for breakfast. I transmitted the data to my computer and there it was: my heartrate!

I know what my high heart rate was (167). I know what my average heart rate was (147). I know when I hit my peak (2.21 miles in). I have more faith in the number of calories burned. I know that I was consistently in the 80-90% range of my max heart rate.

How did I manage without this wonderful tool??

Good morning, sunshine!

Last summer, after we returned from our amazing vacation to The Bahamas, it was so damned hot here that I started getting up early to run.

I usually got up at 4 a.m. during the week to run, and around 5:30-ish on Saturdays. I did that from June 2011 through March 2012.

And then, I don't know what happened. Even though I was still going to bed at my usual 8:30-9 p.m., when 4 a.m. rolled around, I just couldn't get up. I couldn't.

I turned 40 that month. Maybe that was it. My husband was starting to work crazy hours, and it was me, all me, at home with the kids, so maybe that was it.

Whatever it was, I still needed to run. So I adjusted. I ran when I felt like it. Weekdays, I ran after I got home from work. Weekends, I ran whenever I had a chance.

And that worked until recently. It's hell hot here again, and even though I was running consistently, my times/calories burned were suffering mightily. I went from running a half-marathon in less than two hours in early March, to taking an hour and a half to run 8 miles.

That was unacceptable.

I got up at 5 this morning and ran. Just six miles, but at a pace of a little over 9 minutes per mile (which is much, much, much better than what I had been managing, trust me).

I felt amazing afterward. Still do, almost five hours later.

So for now, it's back to cooler temps, chirping birds and sunrises.

Oh...hi there.

My children haven't killed me yet.

Unless you count trying to run me literally into the ground with activities and questions and arguments.

But there is a light at the end of the tunnel: My husband says that this long turnaround nightmare should be over tomorrow night. I mean, it's not really over, but the working 50,000 days/nights in a row without a break will be over. He will return to his usual day shift and will have two days off a week!

That's what he's telling me, anyway. I will believe it when I see it, y'all.

In between the drop-offs/pick-ups at summer Tech Apps, the never-ending recital rehearsals, the camp drop-offs/pick-ups, the "Mom-can-x, y, and z-spend the night" questions, the house cleaning, the laundry (OMG, it seems like it has doubled in size and intensity -- summer sweat + two pubescent children = Me. Dead.), the cooking meals, and the $1,000 repair on the car a/c, I have still been running.

Oh yes, I have.

How do you think I've lasted this long without running away/drinking heavily/ending up in the loony bin?

I'm running 8 miles a day, five days a week, and then a long run of 10-12 miles on Saturday (that will be bumped up to 15-20 soon with a marathon looming in November). With Russ working so much, that 90 minutes is pretty much the only alone time I have (I can't even escape questions/arguments when I go to the bathroom; someone inevitably needs me right that second and knocks on the door) and I treasure it.

I need it.

I love the ache in my calves. I love the sweat that gathers between my collarbones. I take pride in the very definite tan line where my ankles meet my socks.

It's easy to run when our routine is rocking along, when there's not a lot going on. I enjoy those runs.

But the runs I have to plan? The runs that I have to grab when I can? The runs I knock out in between a drop-off and a pick-up?

Priceless and worth every ounce of planning to get there.