Jamaica run

Winter running does not thrill me, but I was so glad Kim & I found a time to run together last week.  Mid-20s is a record low for me to run outside, but the Gateway is still clear of snow and we waited late enough into the morning that the sun had come up a bit.

It really didn't help much.

Neither of us have done the best job of keeping up our mileage since the onset of colder temps, promotions (she), nightmare research papers (me), or lacking another race to train for.  We were freezing, slow-to-go, and hurting, but it was fabulous.

How do you make stiff, heavy muscles, tingling hands and burning lungs into something fabulous, you ask?

You start talking out loud to your running partner about the Jamaican beach you're running along.  Barefoot.  In the warm, soft sand.  Listening to the waves.  Enjoying the tropical breeze.  You're in the best shape of your life; the movement is effortless.

You imagine that Matt Damon & Paul Walker are waiting with mai tais back at the beach house.  The beach house that is owned free and clear.  Your other debts - cars, mortgages, student loans - those are paid off too.  She and I are retired at 29 and 33, respectively. 

Five miles fly by!

You shiver in the car on the way home, and then you warm up for real with homemade granola, coffee, and a hot bath.

The scale the previous week had shown that I've managed to put back 9# since my early October race, which was enough motivation to get myself on the treadmill again a few days later.  It was shorts and a sleeveless tank this time as I ran in the 67 degree fitness room and gazed out at the twinkle-lighted, snow-frosted gazebo, kids playing on the frozen pond.  Talk about disconnect.  Nicer to be warm, but in a way much less enjoyable to not have to push so hard and to not have the scenery change.  Our imagined Jamaica was so much better.

And then, Christmas day.  A balmy 38 degrees back in Pine City.  One-point-one miles north to the highway, half a mile past grassy fields (It IS December, right?) to the dirt loop around the lake, another half mile around that, and then home - to my dog, who chastised me for leaving her behind.  (No worries - I ran her around the block and she forgave me.)  Sunshine, soft and snow-packed dirt roads, Christmas music, no traffic lights and lots of familiar houses.  Nearly every car that passed waved at me.  What a fantastic hour.

That makes for a 14.2 mile week, my longest since the race.  And this is good, SO good, because I have the Minneapolis Marathon relay to keep up my fitness for.  8.5 miles on June 3rd, my portion of 26.2 miles shared with Kelly, Corryn, and Meredith. 

And then, unless I find another to inspire me beforehand, my first half marathon on August 18th.  The Mora half will be 13.1 miles on the 13th anniversary of the accident.  Not only does it cost a mere $30, my dad and my brother have both run it, and my dad can park close enough to attend.  Meant to be.

Maybe the City of Lakes 25K in September. (That's 15.5 miles, for those who wonder about such things.)

And then a marathon in 2013. Not without a good measure of heartbreak and conflict, the goals and visions for my life are changing.  It will be my first and perhaps my only marathon, but thirty-five seems a good age for it.

This week, I'm back down 2.8# and looking forward to at least a 6-miler tomorrow.  At 43 degrees, it will be like spring has already returned!

A lifelong lover of paths that lead to unknown places, I love this photo.  Thank you Kim!