Right On Schedule

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What's right on schedule? Why, my annual fall resolution to focus on book writing to the exclusion of all else.

If you're a client of mine reading this, not to worry. It's a phase. It will pass. It's just that every November, like clockwork, I decide that client work is a distraction from what I really want to be doing and I can't possibly be expected to work and write a novel. (And train for marathons, and have coffee with friends, and pet the cats, and cook whole, natural foods, and become a P90-X badass, and everything else I make time for in life. Of all those, the only thing that makes sense to dump is anything income-producing.)

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Shoo Fly, Don't Bother... The Dog?

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This entry is almost too sad and pathetic to post but here goes anyway.

Mom's furniture finally (!!) arrived from Pods (who I do NOT recommend you use -- EVER) and we've spent the last couple of days hauling in boxes and unpacking. At one point I was in the kitchen unwrapping glasses while Bailey, Mom's fat Maltese, sat at my feet. He gave a whimper and I leaned over to pet him. A few minutes later, another whimper. Then a third, even louder.

"Mom--something's wrong with Bailey," I called.

She came in and looked around. "Oh, there's a fly," she said. "He's scared of flies." 

Seriously, folks? Scared of flies?

Sure enough, the next time the fly buzzed overhead Bailey ducked down as if avoiding the grasp of a circling pterodactyl. 

"You are an embarrassment to dogs everywhere," I informed him. His only reply was a whimper as the fly buzzed overhead again. 

"It's okay, Bailey," said Mom, appearing with a fly swatter. "Mommy will kill the fly."

"Okay, this just keeps getting weirder," I said. 

Just so you can all move on with your day, I'm happy to report that we succeeded in shooing the fly outside and Bailey the mighty Maltese is once again the ruler of the house. 

At least until a dust bunny shows up.

Cheers,

Dena

Running With No Watch = A Win

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Last week I blogged about my plan to run Cannonball's half-marathon sans watch. I ran the race this morning and am happy to report the experiment was a success. I logged a PR of 1:46:47 and felt great the entire most of the way. 

I didn't really have a plan. I maybe went out a little faster than I needed to but when I caught myself doing some speed work around mile 3, I reeled it in. (Mental lecture: "I'm glad you feel invincible but it's only mile three, lame brain. Conserve.") After that, when I felt good, I ran fast. When I was tired, I slowed down. I even walked once or twice. And contrary to the mental freak-out I thought might occur, I luh-uh--uved not knowing my pace. Since I didn't know, it didn't matter. Fast, slow... whatever. I was just out there running.

Now, in all fairness, the course is an out and back which means you get to see where people are on the field. I knew I was behind the people I was supposed to be behind and ahead of the people I expected to be ahead of, so I did have some idea that I was on target. I also felt like I was running a decent pace, but I knew I wasn't killing myself. I was thrilled when I came up the final hill (curses on Scott Bassett, race director, and his uphill finishes) and saw the clock read 1:47:something. I had my girls there, cheering me on... it was a great finish! 

Will I run without a watch from now on? Not always, but more often, yes. Once marathon training begins, it's important to run on pace for tempo and long runs. But until then, I may show up for some long runs with a naked wrist. 

Cheers,

Dena

p.s. Many thanks to fellow Blueliner Stan who did NOT follow through on his threat to run behind me the entire race and shout out split times.