10-miler Me

So this morning, I tackled my last long run before my next race. I parked on "my" side of the Kemah Bridge, ran over the bridge, ran another 8 miles, and ran over the bridge again. See said bridge.

The plan was to meet up with my buddy Heather at around mile 3, run 6 with her, and tackle my bridge again. Sadly, Heather snoozed her alarm (thanks, buddy...) and I drudged through all 10 miles alone. It was foggy, oppressively damp, and just plain barf outside (yes, barf is now an adjective). This was a real head game for me, knowing that once I ran 9 miles I had to visit my friend the bridge again. When I never bumped into Heather, my mind wandered significantly. I generally don't run with music (anymore), but MAN. I wished I had some music today! I was counting rabbits and praying for friends and family and counting steps and playing all kinds of head games. It. Didn't. Work.

After what seemed like a lifetime, I finally hit mile 9. I took a quick walk break to gather my strength to climb and BOOM. Here came the rain. So much for my walk break... I rolled my eyes, figuratively stuck my tongue out at God, and bucked up. Once I start up a hill or a bridge, I make it a policy to NEVER stop. I refuse to "waste" a walk on a climb, because you don't truly get to rest and I refuse to walk on the way down because gravity.

Anyway, I finally made it back to the car, exactly 2 hours later. I'm pretty annoyed with myself over this pace, but hey. No friends, no music, no pretty day - it's a wonder I made it through at all. I'll taper off over the next couple of weeks and get ready to run my next 13.1 on February 15. That's one more 10-miler in the books and another bazillion steps toward my goal!

WABAC Wednesday

After a visit to the chiropractor and some trigger point therapy, I'm on the mend. I won't be racing my kids home from the park anymore! Lesson learned.

A friend invited us to ride mountain bikes today. Although we missed our date, I drug out the trailer, aired up a bunch of tires, and took my baby to the park. Meet Sally.

I got Sally on craigslist for $40 when I was teaching Daniel to ride his bike. I somehow thought it would be easier to let him tag along behind me than it would be to chase him on foot. We made it exactly 6 houses before I decided that was the worst idea ever.

When I signed up for my first tri, Sally was in the garage, ready and waiting. No. I'm not kidding. Sally and I suffered through 8 looooong miles together at the TriGirl Mother's Day super sprint last year. I heard "on your left!" sixteen bajillion times (it's a number; trust me). I even heard a dozen elementary school girls chime in with an "on your left!" Sally and I were SO slow that my dad went to check with course officials to make sure there was no way I could've been injured or gotten lost without someone noticing. Nope. She's just THAT slow. Come to think of it, taking Sally to a tri may have been the worst idea ever. . .

When I was approaching the dismount line, I did a perfect flying dismount, threw Sally back up into transition, and ran away as quickly as I could. We haven't spoken since. Well, until today. Although Lia had the time of her life ("weeeeeee!" "Faster, mommy!" "Best! DAY! EVAH!!!" "We're going SO FAST!!!"), I remembered why I walked away from Sally all those months ago. She's probably suited to a teenager at best; a 5th grader at worst. My knees were in my chin and my back was hunched worse than Quasimodo.

Now that I have a tri season under my belt, it occurred to me just how ridiculous I must have looked at my first race. For anyone who was at the TriGirl race - THANK YOU for not laughing at me. Or if you did laugh, THANK YOU for doing so discreetly. I'll be there this year with #BrucetheBike and I may even get to say "on your left!" a time or two.

And to my dear, sweet Sally (riiiiiide, Sally, ride!): Thank you for carrying me through those 8 miles. Without you, I may have never been bitten by this beastly bug.

Dumb, dumb, dumb

This weekend, I knocked out a cool 8 miles for myself and for #megsmiles. It was a great morning for a long run and I enjoyed every step. I killed a HUGE Back Bay Waffle at the Seabrook Waffle Company. A delicious, yummy pile of waffle, warm apple butter, and crumbled bacon. NOMS. I felt amazing, even having thrown in a pass over my friend, the Kemah Bridge. 

Sunday was technically rest day, but Daniel asked if we could jog to the park. What mom in her right mind turns that down?

We jogged to the park, played a while, and then headed home. On the way home, Daniel challenged me to a race. I reclaimed the leash, handed Lia off to daddy, and away we went. Dumb, dumb, dumb. I hadn't stretched. I hadn't warmed up. I hadn't thought two seconds about what I was doing. I gave him a head start, started legging it out, and caught up just before we hit the house. Daniel got really upset when I made my move to pass him, so I backed off and let him pull ahead at the very end (softy, I know). I didn't think anything of it, but as the day wore on, my QLs got tighter and tighter and tighter. Dumb, dumb, dumb. I guess I'm not as young as I once was.

I paid a visit to Dr. Ray at Redding Chiropractic this morning. He worked me out, but how ridiculous did I feel having to explain that it wasn't the 8 miles, my friend the Bridge, or any other triathlon-related thing I did to land me in this state? Nah. I was racing my 6-year-old. Lame. And I didn't even win.

With a few stretching sessions, a quick adjustment, some ART, and a day off, I think I'm going to stay on track with my training. But still. Dumb, dumb, dumb. . .

Movin' on up

I've committed to run the Rhythm and Blues Half Marathon on February 15. My training buddy and some of her Ironman pals are running as well and I thought I'd join in on the fun. Doug agreed to run the quarter with me, so $200 later, we're all set.

Last week, I ran my first 6-miler since October (when I ran two 10ks, a 10-miler, and my birthday oly). I usually get in three 5-milers each week, so 6 is not a stretch. This weekend, I'm looking for 8 at the Kemah Bridge. Somebody pray for me (and my sanity!). She's a beast, that bridge. Living on the Texas gulf coast, this IS our hill. We get one, and we had to make it.

This is the before and after of the day I lost my

ever-loving mind and ran this dude for the first time.

Look for many mileage updates over the next several weeks as I'll be upping my distance rapidly to prepare for the race. My training plan calls for 8 or more miles 9 of the next 12 weeks, so watch out. Mileage is coming!

New Year New Who?

When I make a New Year's resolution, I'm serious. I gave up sodas when I was 17. I have not had a soda since (with a very, very rare Sprite for a stomach ache. . . and, ahem, a very, very, very rare Southern Comfort and Coke - don't judge). I don't always make a resolution, but when I do, I stick to it like glue. The last few years, I've replaced the resolution with tangible goals. In 2013, my goal was to learn something new. I learned how to sew and how to make cake balls. Boom. Last year, my goals were to run the Galveston bridge and complete 2 more half marathons, which I checked off by April. With eight months remaining in the year, I had to set more goals or risk going insane. I chose triathlon (or rather, it chose me).

2015 is the year of the half iron. I also aim to live more intentionally (that's a post for another day) and to nurture my family's faith through more church involvement (again, a post for another day). With my goals set, my giant calendar plastered on the bathroom door, and the training plan downloaded from triradar.com, the only thing that can stop me is myself.

There. I said it out loud. Time to make hay.