Skip to main content

The need for speed: I'm not going to get shut out of this half marathon like last time


Just this week, Julie Creffield of Too Fat To Run gently ranted against our constant need to point out how slow we are.

On this, my first day of half marathon training, I ran/walked a 22-minute pace. Non-runners, that means it took me 22 minutes to go each mile, on average.

Let me just bore you with some math.  A 20-minute pace is 3 mph; a 15-minute pace is 4 mph.  I can run at 4.5 mph for a few minutes on a treadmill, no incline and while not pushing a toddler in a stroller. So that represents my max speed under ideal conditions right now.

The pace I ran today in my hilly neighborhood, pushing a stroller with under inflated tires over bumpy sidewalks and constantly checking my phone for the time? I could do that every day for the rest of the year and not feel bad about myself. No joke, I'm not racing anyone, I just can't let Mamie get away from me and roll down a hill!

But there is one reason speed matters to me. The Rock 'N' Roll Half Marathon has a 4-hour cut off. That translates roughly to 3.3 mph. Today I ran/walked 2.7 mph. Doesn't look like a drastic change to accomplish over 5 months, does it?  Except that I won't be satisfied with 3.3 -- I want to be closer to 4.  I want a nice cushion between my ass and the police car that will shut down the race and sweep up those too slow to finish in 4 hours.

It was humiliating and devastating when that happened to me the last time I attempted this race. Of course, that time I hadn't trained and didn't even know I had to be a certain speed.  I have every chance to make it this time.

Comments

  1. I know you are going meet your goal, and most likely exceed it. You have the drive and determination to make this happen. Sending you loads and loads of support and a big hug... RUN GIRL RUN!!!
    -Nissa

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

On the topic of stuff I don't want to do: Cook dinner

Saturday night I tried really hard to get out of cooking dinner. No, I'm not perpetually steam-drenched, hunched over the stove every night, just looking for one night off. I have just about every night off because Nick cooks most of the time, and when it's my turn, I tap into my arsenal of delivery services.

This is not how my mama raised me.

Saturday night, I did, very begrudgingly, grate carrots and sauté bokchoy and glaze chicken. Nick said, "You don't seem to like cooking." But... but... but, I wanted to defend myself, I know how to cook; I used to cook; I used to like cooking.

Things change.

For example, kids. Feeding kids for the last 4.5 years has consumed me, no apology for the pun. My obsession with managing their growth and nutrition is totally separate from cooking. It's a mental tally of macronutrients and micronutrients; it's creating the perfect veggie snack plate with every cucumber slice salted; it's composing and blending superfood sm…

Summer smells like pool water

Early 1980s, summer smells like pool water and cheese crackers from the vending machine at the city pool. And 7-Up in a can because at least one summer, it seemed like we had endless cases of 7-Up in the porch fridge. (I assume you are familiar with the porch fridge.)

I don't know who took me to the pool (Mom? Grammaw?); I don't know if I wore a seatbelt in the backseat; I don't know if anyone ever put sunscreen on me.

But I know what the combination of pool water, cheese crackers, and 7-Up smells like -- a sense memory 35 years old.



Early 1990s, summer smells like pool water, cigarette smoke, and NO-AD tanning lotion in Stacey's backyard. After the sun set, it smelled like plumeria lotion on hot tanned skin and B.C. Moore's parking lot. I never got close enough to a boy to smell Drakkar Noir.

Stacey's mom is gone since last year, and no one smokes cigarettes anymore. I feel so deeply hurt for my oldest friend to have lost her mother and so disoriented to be in…

Milestones, I curse you with the foulest language!

I just created a document to list the words I've heard Lizzie say. I count 14, but I haven't consulted with Nick or her grandparents to see if I've missed any. I'm doing this homework so when people question me about her development, I can say assuredly whether or not she is meeting her milestones. This week I was ashamed to not know whether she typically leads with her right or left foot, or if she often kneels while playing, and if so, are her hips bent or straight? What direction does the third finger on her left hand point while she lays in bed on the night of a full moon? There are so many things I didn't realize I should be noticing.

I hate all those stupid f**king lists of milestones. I can't articulate it any better than that.

So many nagging lists of things a child "should" be doing. I think "should" implies some moral imperative or an obligation to meet external expectations, and I swear the word doesn't apply to a baby.

That s…