Monday morning dawned cool and crisp with a beautiful sunrise...
... I think anyway. I was in the pool so it's hard to know. But it was dark when I got there and lovely and sunny when I left so I'm assuming that the transition was note-worthy.
Since I don't swim on weekends, there aren't many mornings when I have time to spare at the pool. On Easter Monday, the pool was open but I didn't have to work so I could afford to drag things out a bit.
Experiment as it were.
I swam my 80 lengths as usual but, as I neared the end of my workout, I noticed that the pool was pretty empty. Like two lifeguards, one lady five lanes over, and me kinda empty. And my brain decided for me that today's workout was going to end a little differently.
The first thing it wanted me to do was to change my breathing as I swam. Normally, I inhale every third stroke. For the last few lengths, I switched to every fifth. The switch is hard and during the first length, it was all I could do to not panic as I counted five strokes. The second length was a little easier and, by the time I finished, I was easily breathing every fifth stroke - meaning that I was breathing three times per length.
Normally when I finish my lengths, I stop at the end of the pool, remove my goggles, sink underwater for a few seconds to enjoy the feeling of a good workout, lift myself out of the pool and head for the shower.
This time, I kept my goggles on and leaned back against the wall.
I'm going to try it!
I'm going to see if I can swim the length of the pool underwater.
I had seen another swimmer do it and I've wanted to try it for months now. But I'm always in a hurry. The pool is always busy. People might look at me. And I don't want to look ridiculous.
This time, there was no one near me and I wasn't in a hurry.
Now or never.
So I took a few really deep breaths, sank underwater, pushed off the wall as hard as I could and started swimming. Stroke, stroke, stroke...
omigod I'm not going to make it...
...stroke, stroke, stroke...
omigod, I'm not even going to make it halfway...
...and lunge for the surface.
Probably about 12 metres.
That's pathetic.
I swam the rest of the way and hung on to the wall until I caught my breath. I inhaled deeply again several times, popped down, pushed off and swam. This time I decided the hell with the frog kick, I'm going to do the breast stroke arms but just kick my legs - hard.
I popped up again and, perhaps I'm being overly optimistic, but I think maybe I did 12.5m the second time. I paddled back to the side.
This is ridiculous! Now I'm eyeing the other side trying to figure out how to get there in one breath. Maybe if I don't exhale. Maybe if I hold my breath the entire way, I'll have more oxygen in my lungs to keep my body going. That could be sound logic or it could be completely crazy logic but it was worth a try.
Down I went, off the wall I pushed and off I went. I held my breath and got a few more strokes in before I beelined it to the surface. Fifteen metres maybe?
I was now eyeing those flags that hang from the ceiling. You know, the ones that tell the backstroke people when they're getting close to the wall. I wasn't sure how far they were from the end but I guessed 5m.
Let's try one more time.
Inhale, push, swim. Don't exhale, kick hard, pull hard. Must. Breathe.
I didn't get to the flags but I got a little closer. (a quick google search afterwards says that flags should be 5 yards (4.6m) from the edge of the pool). If that's correct, I didn't get to the flags but I got close enough that I"m guessing I swam about 18m underwater.
Funny how something can humble and motivate you at the same time.
I pulled myself out of the pool and headed for the showers, thinking all the while.
What do I need to work on? Is it my technique, my speed, my lung capacity, my body's ability to work in anaerobic mode? Am I working in anaerobic mode if I have a lungful of oxygen? Guess I should look that up. The fact that my legs and arms were tingling just a bit by the time I broke the surface made me think that I definitely need to get more oxygen into my lungs - or get better at using it.
Whatever I need to do - I will swim across that pool underwater dammit!
Update: I did some research after writing this blog and discovered that the trick is to glide underwater rather than kick like a maniac. It's the buildup of CO2 rather than the lack of O2 that's the main challenge so don't use muscles any more than you need to, particularly the legs. The best way (apparently) is to do the breast stroke and then glide, stroke, and then glide. Apparently that will make things easier. Stay tuned!
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Process of Elimination
The other night, my blood sugar was a little high after dinner (12.9)
I had eaten out and had to guess the carbs so it wasn't a huge surprise. I took a correction bolus to bring it back down and carried on.
Two hours later, I checked again before going to bed. I was 12.2.
Very weird. But I figured I had eaten a large meal so it was probably taking longer than usual to digest. I took another correction and went to sleep. It was 11pm.
I woke up at 1am feeling worse than awful. My mouth was so dry I could hardly swallow the water I gulped and my brain was so fuzzy that it took a minute to figure out that I needed to check my sugar. I fumbled for my glucometer, fumbled with the strips and fumbled as I tried to match up the drop of blood on my fingertip with the little spot on the strip that sucks it up. After all that fumbling, the number 15.9 jumped back at me.
What the hell!??!
I took my third correction, chugged two glasses of water and lay back down to wait for things to start to drop. I ran through the options in my head:
I patiently waited an hour. I didn't want to fall asleep so I lay on my back (which is guaranteed to keep me awake) and floated for a bit. An hour later I checked.
I was 17.8.
Frak!
I climbed out of bed and headed to the washroom. I checked the tube for air bubbles but all looked fine. I pushed on my infusion site so see if anything felt weird. How does one know if their cannula is kinked? (and how weird does that sound anyway?)
I drank two more glasses of water and took one more adjustment bolus. I was giving it one more hour and then I would bring out the big guns. If things didn't settle soon I was going to have to change my infusion site (which still had about 5 days left in is so that sucks). I was also going to have to start using my old needle just to make sure that I was getting insulin.
I went back to bed (it was now 2:30am), lay on my back and promptly fell asleep.
I didn't wake up until 7am.
Uh Oh.
I was afraid to check - how awful was it and how many hours had I been hanging out near 20?
I checked and saw a 5.5 on my glucometer.
Seriously?
My pump was obviously working fine and there was no kink in my cannula.
Three boluses did nothing and the fourth brought me down to a perfect number without the horrible lows that typically follow rage boluses.
Through process of elimination I have determined that the ridiculously, stubbornly high blood sugars were compliments of...
I had eaten out and had to guess the carbs so it wasn't a huge surprise. I took a correction bolus to bring it back down and carried on.
Two hours later, I checked again before going to bed. I was 12.2.
Very weird. But I figured I had eaten a large meal so it was probably taking longer than usual to digest. I took another correction and went to sleep. It was 11pm.
I woke up at 1am feeling worse than awful. My mouth was so dry I could hardly swallow the water I gulped and my brain was so fuzzy that it took a minute to figure out that I needed to check my sugar. I fumbled for my glucometer, fumbled with the strips and fumbled as I tried to match up the drop of blood on my fingertip with the little spot on the strip that sucks it up. After all that fumbling, the number 15.9 jumped back at me.
What the hell!??!
I took my third correction, chugged two glasses of water and lay back down to wait for things to start to drop. I ran through the options in my head:
- I'm getting sick
- my period is coming and wreaking havoc
- there was an air bubble in my tube and I didn't get the insulin I thought I was getting
- there is a kink in my cannula (which I've read happens to a lot of people but has never happened to me)
I patiently waited an hour. I didn't want to fall asleep so I lay on my back (which is guaranteed to keep me awake) and floated for a bit. An hour later I checked.
I was 17.8.
Frak!
I climbed out of bed and headed to the washroom. I checked the tube for air bubbles but all looked fine. I pushed on my infusion site so see if anything felt weird. How does one know if their cannula is kinked? (and how weird does that sound anyway?)
I drank two more glasses of water and took one more adjustment bolus. I was giving it one more hour and then I would bring out the big guns. If things didn't settle soon I was going to have to change my infusion site (which still had about 5 days left in is so that sucks). I was also going to have to start using my old needle just to make sure that I was getting insulin.
I went back to bed (it was now 2:30am), lay on my back and promptly fell asleep.
I didn't wake up until 7am.
Uh Oh.
I was afraid to check - how awful was it and how many hours had I been hanging out near 20?
I checked and saw a 5.5 on my glucometer.
Seriously?
My pump was obviously working fine and there was no kink in my cannula.
Three boluses did nothing and the fourth brought me down to a perfect number without the horrible lows that typically follow rage boluses.
Through process of elimination I have determined that the ridiculously, stubbornly high blood sugars were compliments of...
'member him?
Monday, April 9, 2012
Risk Aversive
On Good Friday, we woke up to a bright, crisp, sunshiny day. There was no schedule to keep and the only thing that needed to happen before dinner with my family was that I needed to run for about 40 minutes.
We lounged around, took our time getting up and, by about 9am, I was ready to head out the door.
The run went well. I easily kept my pace a few milliseconds under 6 min/k and trotted happily along - grateful for a Friday off, sunshine and pretty much everything in life.
Most routes, no matter how long, end the same way. The last two kilometres take me down the same road, over the same train tracks to the street that goes by the private school and ends at our house. I like that part of the run - it's familiar and it always takes me home.
Every once in a while, I have to wait at the tracks for a train to go by. I never mind. I can practically see my house at that point and waiting a few minutes never feels like anything other than an unplanned, and often welcome, break.
On Friday morning, as I approached the tracks, I saw the lights flashing.
And I saw the train...
...sitting immobile on the tracks.
Uh oh.
I got to the tracks and looked right - towards the station. I couldn't see the end of the train.
I looked left and, about 500m up, I could see the engine. And a man walking along the tracks wearing a safety vest.
I looked at the train. How easy would it be to hop over the connection between the cars?
The way I saw it, I had four options:
Guess which option I picked?
I set off running down the tracks.
I caught up (and spooked) the maintenance guy. He told me to hurry up because, once he got to the engine, he was going to start the process of pulling the apparently dead train.
"Ok!" I yelled and carried on. I got to the front of the train and the conductor leaned out of the window. Better get off the tracks he said. "I know, I'm just running around your train so I can get home."
I scooted in front of train and headed back down the other side. This time though, there were no tracks to run down - just uneven grass and rocks. I slowed to a walk and hoofed the 500m back to where I started. As I approached the road, the train slowly started to move.
I popped out in front of all the waiting cars, smiled to myself as they probably wondered 'where the hell did she come from?', crossed the street and headed home.
I added one kilometre to my trip and had a wee adventure in the process. I'm sure it would have been easier to bend down and clamber under the railway car but my imagination is a little too active for that. I saw myself getting crushed by the train and I imagined everyone I knew trying to figure out what possessed sensible Céline to crawl under a train?
We lounged around, took our time getting up and, by about 9am, I was ready to head out the door.
The run went well. I easily kept my pace a few milliseconds under 6 min/k and trotted happily along - grateful for a Friday off, sunshine and pretty much everything in life.
Most routes, no matter how long, end the same way. The last two kilometres take me down the same road, over the same train tracks to the street that goes by the private school and ends at our house. I like that part of the run - it's familiar and it always takes me home.
Every once in a while, I have to wait at the tracks for a train to go by. I never mind. I can practically see my house at that point and waiting a few minutes never feels like anything other than an unplanned, and often welcome, break.
On Friday morning, as I approached the tracks, I saw the lights flashing.
And I saw the train...
...sitting immobile on the tracks.
Uh oh.
I got to the tracks and looked right - towards the station. I couldn't see the end of the train.
I looked left and, about 500m up, I could see the engine. And a man walking along the tracks wearing a safety vest.
I looked at the train. How easy would it be to hop over the connection between the cars?
The way I saw it, I had four options:
- wait for the train to move
- run back the way I just came and go home another way
- climb between the train cars or crawl under the one that sat fairly high on its wheels
- run along the tracks to the front of the train and then run back along the other side
Guess which option I picked?
I set off running down the tracks.
I caught up (and spooked) the maintenance guy. He told me to hurry up because, once he got to the engine, he was going to start the process of pulling the apparently dead train.
"Ok!" I yelled and carried on. I got to the front of the train and the conductor leaned out of the window. Better get off the tracks he said. "I know, I'm just running around your train so I can get home."
I scooted in front of train and headed back down the other side. This time though, there were no tracks to run down - just uneven grass and rocks. I slowed to a walk and hoofed the 500m back to where I started. As I approached the road, the train slowly started to move.
I popped out in front of all the waiting cars, smiled to myself as they probably wondered 'where the hell did she come from?', crossed the street and headed home.
I added one kilometre to my trip and had a wee adventure in the process. I'm sure it would have been easier to bend down and clamber under the railway car but my imagination is a little too active for that. I saw myself getting crushed by the train and I imagined everyone I knew trying to figure out what possessed sensible Céline to crawl under a train?
What say you? Would YOU scramble under this unmoving train?
Thursday, April 5, 2012
The Kitchen Diva
A while back, I got an email asking me if I'd like to receive a free copy of a new cookbook.
Sure!
Last week, this arrived in the mail:
Sure!
Last week, this arrived in the mail:
(minus the 'click to look inside' caption of course)
The Kitchen Diva's Diabetic Cookbook by Angela Shelf Medearis
Last night, I sat down to read through it.
I discovered that it's a pretty helpful cookbook for people who are looking for healthy cooking options and for people who want (or need) to know nutritional information.
In fact, that was my favourite part of the entire cookbook - the fact that every recipe listed nutritional information including carbs, fibre, calories and fat. They even included carbohydrate choices and exchanges for people who prefer that route. Extremely important information for all sorts of folks, not just those with faulty pancreases.
Some of the recipes were pretty appealing and the pictures are tempting. (Doug doesn't like cooking without having a photo to refer to so I always pay attention to the photography.) I haven't tried any of the recipes yet but I like the fact that they cover a variety of types of cooking - from Asian to Cajun and back again. And none of them look particularly difficult or time consuming to make.
I also liked the added information that was scattered in between the recipes like 'how to prepare an eggplant' and 'how to hard cook an egg'. Also helpful were the 'quick snack fix' ideas she included with many of her recipes. There would be a recipe for a fruit smoothie that would be followed by a few quick snack fix ideas with frozen fruit that I'm sure a lot of people would find helpful.
The one thing that I didn't like was that all the recipes that called for sugar asked for Splenda or stevia sweetener instead of white or brown sugar. I do understand that the audience for the cookbook is primarily people with type 2 diabetes and I certainly respect the need to reduce sugar in the diet.
I, however, never cook with artificial sweeteners so I would be replacing her suggestion with real sugar - meaning of course that the nutritional information for the recipe would no longer be accurate.
Overall I think it's a good cookbook that people who are looking for healthy, simple meals will find very helpful. It will be a great addition to our cookbook shelf in the kitchen but I think I'll stick to the main course and side dish recipes rather than the dessert ones.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Doing Just Fine
Sometimes the anticipation is totally worth it - anyone else remember being 8 years old and completely unable to sleep as you listened for the sound of Santa on the roof and tried to guess what he was bringing you?
Sometimes the anticipation is almost more fun than the actual event - anyone else count down the months, weeks, and days until a movie comes out only to discover that it really isn't very good?
And sometimes the anticipation (read: worry and planning) seems ridiculous in hindsight because the actual event turns out to be a piece of cake.
Yep, I went to the Diabetes Centre yesterday - food and blood sugar diary in tow - ready to get my blood test results and explain my ups and downs.
My doctor walked it and announced that my A1C was...
wait for it...
6.9!
She announced that my kidneys are fine.
She looked through my meticulous little diary of meals and blood sugar readings (15 a day) and piles of notes trying to explain every up and down - and announced that I obviously know what I'm doing, know how to correct for highs and lows and that nothing jumps out as a problem.
She checked my blood pressure (107/69) and said that she only did it in case it was high so we could actually have something to talk about.
I grinned. She grinned.
It's nice to stump the doctor and make her struggle for something to say.
So I asked my three questions:
Can you prescribe me something to check my ketones? I haven't done that in a few years now and probably should get back in the habit when I'm sick or fighting highs.
So she prescribed test strips for blood ketone testing.
Can you prescribe glucagon? I haven't kept any on hand in years and probably should. It might save my life one day.
So she prescribed glucagon.
Can you tell me if there are any options to save $ on continuous glucose monitoring supplies? I want to use it more but can't afford it at $50 a pop.
"Doesn't your insurance cover it?" she asked.
Ummmm, I haven't actually asked (how sad is that?). I was told that no insurance covers it and it never occurred to me that this might have changed in the last three years.
"Several of them do now - check it out and I'll fill out any paperwork they might need. You're an ideal candidate for it because of all the sports you do."
Wicked!
I didn't ask my fourth question because the person I wanted to talk to wasn't there.
Last year, right around this time, I applied to be a Medtronic Global Hero. I wasn't chosen so I'm trying again this year. I figure if I don't grab their attention with my story, I'll grab it with my perseverance. Anyway, I can ask three people to recommend me and I thought I'd ask one of the nurses at the Diabetes Centre. She and I have a pretty cool relationship because, every time she meets someone with T1 diabetes who is struggling with their diagnosis, who wants to start running or who just wants to talk to someone who gets it - she calls me. And I email them. And another relationship is formed.
So I'm going to call her tomorrow to ask her to submit a recommendation.
I walked out of the appointment, past a waiting room full of people and thought "I'm doing just fine!"
Sometimes the anticipation is almost more fun than the actual event - anyone else count down the months, weeks, and days until a movie comes out only to discover that it really isn't very good?
And sometimes the anticipation (read: worry and planning) seems ridiculous in hindsight because the actual event turns out to be a piece of cake.
Yep, I went to the Diabetes Centre yesterday - food and blood sugar diary in tow - ready to get my blood test results and explain my ups and downs.
My doctor walked it and announced that my A1C was...
wait for it...
6.9!
She announced that my kidneys are fine.
She looked through my meticulous little diary of meals and blood sugar readings (15 a day) and piles of notes trying to explain every up and down - and announced that I obviously know what I'm doing, know how to correct for highs and lows and that nothing jumps out as a problem.
She checked my blood pressure (107/69) and said that she only did it in case it was high so we could actually have something to talk about.
I grinned. She grinned.
It's nice to stump the doctor and make her struggle for something to say.
So I asked my three questions:
Can you prescribe me something to check my ketones? I haven't done that in a few years now and probably should get back in the habit when I'm sick or fighting highs.
So she prescribed test strips for blood ketone testing.
Can you prescribe glucagon? I haven't kept any on hand in years and probably should. It might save my life one day.
So she prescribed glucagon.
Can you tell me if there are any options to save $ on continuous glucose monitoring supplies? I want to use it more but can't afford it at $50 a pop.
"Doesn't your insurance cover it?" she asked.
Ummmm, I haven't actually asked (how sad is that?). I was told that no insurance covers it and it never occurred to me that this might have changed in the last three years.
"Several of them do now - check it out and I'll fill out any paperwork they might need. You're an ideal candidate for it because of all the sports you do."
Wicked!
I didn't ask my fourth question because the person I wanted to talk to wasn't there.
Last year, right around this time, I applied to be a Medtronic Global Hero. I wasn't chosen so I'm trying again this year. I figure if I don't grab their attention with my story, I'll grab it with my perseverance. Anyway, I can ask three people to recommend me and I thought I'd ask one of the nurses at the Diabetes Centre. She and I have a pretty cool relationship because, every time she meets someone with T1 diabetes who is struggling with their diagnosis, who wants to start running or who just wants to talk to someone who gets it - she calls me. And I email them. And another relationship is formed.
So I'm going to call her tomorrow to ask her to submit a recommendation.
I walked out of the appointment, past a waiting room full of people and thought "I'm doing just fine!"
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Easy Like Sunday Morning
On December 12th, 2011 I ran for one minute.
I have been adding time ever since.
Some weeks were repeats of the week before but I never reduced the number of minutes I ran. I just kept going up and up.
It has been motivating and extremely validating to watch the minutes, and the distance I could run, increase day by day.
Now that I'm actually following a (sorta) half marathon training plan, I have to respect the need for easy, or recovery, weeks.
After Saturday's 14k run, I started my easy week. Two forty minute runs and then a 10k run this Saturday.
Forty minutes?!?
That seemed really long two months ago - now it seems really short. Like 'what's the point?' short. 'Why bother creating running clothes laundry?' short.
Thankfully, I've trained for enough races to know what the point is. Keep the body moving but let it recover from the three weeks of increased mileage that it just completed. Not respecting recovery weeks is a surefire way to get injured.
Still though, it's going to be hard to reign it in. Particularly considering that Friday is a holiday so the pool will be closed. Two swims and two short runs are going to make this week feel very lazy.
The fun news is that, on my next easy week, I'll be running a 10k race. My little sis and her colleagues signed up to run the Toronto Yonge Street 10k race. My sis is no longer able to run so I agreed to take her bib and run it for her. Who wouldn't want to join 15,000 runners heading down historic Yonge Street? I've only run two other 10k races in my life, preferring the longer half marathon distance. Both of those 10k races took about 70 minute to complete. But I've had so many great 10k runs lately that I figure it might be fun to go on record with a 59:59 race time. We'll see...
I have been adding time ever since.
Some weeks were repeats of the week before but I never reduced the number of minutes I ran. I just kept going up and up.
It has been motivating and extremely validating to watch the minutes, and the distance I could run, increase day by day.
Now that I'm actually following a (sorta) half marathon training plan, I have to respect the need for easy, or recovery, weeks.
After Saturday's 14k run, I started my easy week. Two forty minute runs and then a 10k run this Saturday.
Forty minutes?!?
That seemed really long two months ago - now it seems really short. Like 'what's the point?' short. 'Why bother creating running clothes laundry?' short.
Thankfully, I've trained for enough races to know what the point is. Keep the body moving but let it recover from the three weeks of increased mileage that it just completed. Not respecting recovery weeks is a surefire way to get injured.
Still though, it's going to be hard to reign it in. Particularly considering that Friday is a holiday so the pool will be closed. Two swims and two short runs are going to make this week feel very lazy.
The fun news is that, on my next easy week, I'll be running a 10k race. My little sis and her colleagues signed up to run the Toronto Yonge Street 10k race. My sis is no longer able to run so I agreed to take her bib and run it for her. Who wouldn't want to join 15,000 runners heading down historic Yonge Street? I've only run two other 10k races in my life, preferring the longer half marathon distance. Both of those 10k races took about 70 minute to complete. But I've had so many great 10k runs lately that I figure it might be fun to go on record with a 59:59 race time. We'll see...
Monday, April 2, 2012
Not Out and Back - Just Out
I ran 14k on Saturday morning.
It was wicked!
My body felt strong. Several times I looked at my watch and was surprised at how far I had already run. My blood sugar behaved thanks to two gels and a handful of raisins (9.6 before starting, 8.0 half way and 8.8 at the end). And I had a negative split (ran faster in the second half) despite turning around and discovering that the 7k home had me heading directly into a very cold headwind.
Every week since I reached 10k I've been adding 2 kilometres to my Saturday runs. If all goes well, I'll keep adding and, after a wee taper once I hit 22k, I'll be ready for the innaugural Niagara Falls Women's Half Marathon in June. Fingers crossed.
What's turning out to be my favourite part of this training (other than the fact that I can actually run without pain) is that I'm slowly, kilometre by kilometre, making my way back to my old stomping grounds....
...er, running grounds, I guess I should say.
Last summer, when I was pulling off 25+ kilometre runs, I discovered that I loved running from my house, down a long stretch of road that eventually lead out into the quiet, beautiful, Niagara countryside. It took me up and down rolling hills, past fields of horses, vineyards and woodlots. I loved it and I loved leaving home in the dark and running while the mist burned off the fields and the sun rose in the sky. The deer and foxes kept me company and herons flew overhead as I watched the world wake up.
The last few weeks, I've been running out and back runs on Saturday mornings that take me down that old familiar road. The first ten kilometre run didn't take me that far from home. Twelve kilometres had me getting one kilometre closer to the part that really starts feeling like countryside. On Saturday, when I added yet one more kilometre out, it took me to the base of the hill that starts it all.
This week is easy week (only have to run 10k) and then...I'll run that next kilometre up the Effingham hill.
The week after that - I'll be in the country!!
I'm not a big fan of out and back runs. I prefer to go on a journey so I typically run circular routes. The problem is that I'm not yet running far enough on Saturdays to start doing circular country side routes. At least not without hopping into my car and I'm just not ambitious enough to drive to run. Plus there's a part of me that like to earn that country run by running to get there.
During my run last Saturday I decided that, one weekend soon, I'm going to hire Doug to be my driver. I'm going to leave the house and just run out, not back. Sixteen or eighteen kilometres in one direction - out past my horses, my foxes, my vineyards and my herons.
We'll prearrange a pick-up time and I can just run and run and run.
That, my friends, will be heavenly.
It was wicked!
My body felt strong. Several times I looked at my watch and was surprised at how far I had already run. My blood sugar behaved thanks to two gels and a handful of raisins (9.6 before starting, 8.0 half way and 8.8 at the end). And I had a negative split (ran faster in the second half) despite turning around and discovering that the 7k home had me heading directly into a very cold headwind.
Every week since I reached 10k I've been adding 2 kilometres to my Saturday runs. If all goes well, I'll keep adding and, after a wee taper once I hit 22k, I'll be ready for the innaugural Niagara Falls Women's Half Marathon in June. Fingers crossed.
What's turning out to be my favourite part of this training (other than the fact that I can actually run without pain) is that I'm slowly, kilometre by kilometre, making my way back to my old stomping grounds....
...er, running grounds, I guess I should say.
Last summer, when I was pulling off 25+ kilometre runs, I discovered that I loved running from my house, down a long stretch of road that eventually lead out into the quiet, beautiful, Niagara countryside. It took me up and down rolling hills, past fields of horses, vineyards and woodlots. I loved it and I loved leaving home in the dark and running while the mist burned off the fields and the sun rose in the sky. The deer and foxes kept me company and herons flew overhead as I watched the world wake up.
The last few weeks, I've been running out and back runs on Saturday mornings that take me down that old familiar road. The first ten kilometre run didn't take me that far from home. Twelve kilometres had me getting one kilometre closer to the part that really starts feeling like countryside. On Saturday, when I added yet one more kilometre out, it took me to the base of the hill that starts it all.
This week is easy week (only have to run 10k) and then...I'll run that next kilometre up the Effingham hill.
The week after that - I'll be in the country!!
I'm not a big fan of out and back runs. I prefer to go on a journey so I typically run circular routes. The problem is that I'm not yet running far enough on Saturdays to start doing circular country side routes. At least not without hopping into my car and I'm just not ambitious enough to drive to run. Plus there's a part of me that like to earn that country run by running to get there.
During my run last Saturday I decided that, one weekend soon, I'm going to hire Doug to be my driver. I'm going to leave the house and just run out, not back. Sixteen or eighteen kilometres in one direction - out past my horses, my foxes, my vineyards and my herons.
We'll prearrange a pick-up time and I can just run and run and run.
That, my friends, will be heavenly.
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