So, Sunday's 45-minute run on the snow-slush-ice covered trail was ... interesting. I am now so over worrying about left-right-center, which way do I go? Went left, past the shops and people's back yards, and the golf course, which was covered with kids sledding. And, people, how come none of you ever told me how much FUN it is to run to music??? What gives??
I was bopping to my music, trying not to slide into the little stream (OK, I know it's just polluted runoff from the street. Still, it gurgles, so I'm calling it a stream) that runs alongside the trail, jumping over the trees that were bowed down with snow, right across the trail. Oh not jumping over them; more like leaping over them. (In my dreams I was leaping.)
Monday I rested. (That means I worked.)
Tuesday I biked 35 minutes per (note new nickname) the little dictator's instructions. (Just kidding, LD!!)
And this morning, I ran 45 minutes on ice-covered asphalt, while listening—on my shuffle!—to the last few chapters of "With No One as Witness," by Elizabeth George. Which was at a sad part, so I started crying. To a book. On the trail. While I was running. On the ice. Nice.
Sidbar: Despite all my bitching and moaning about getting ripped off by audible.com, I am now totally addicted to books on tape. I get two "free" books per month ($22 ain't free; the library is FREE), which I went thru in one week, even though they were both like 10 hours long. So now I have to wait 14 days to get another one? Life is hard, people.
Running by minutes instead of miles rocks. Maybe it will come back to bite me, but I feel like I have broken through yet another barrier. I don't dread running anymore. I don't worry "can I run 4 miles?" I know I can. So the little dictator knows what she is doing.
Although, on the other hand, running is now harder. Harder to get my act together. Now I have to download the right music, plus the right chapters of the right book; make sure I have the watch set correctly; pack all the right things, which means 6 different running outfits because it goes from 40F to 20F in the blink of an eye.
Which meant that Sunday, I arrived at work all revved up and ready to run on the trail, only to discover ... I had packed everything but a top. I had six different kinds of pants: long pants, pants for real cold, for mid-cold, for mild; shorts (in case I stayed inside); 10 different pairs of socks, and yes, running shoes. Heading out with only a running bra on, in the snow ... well, some of you could probably do that, but I have to draw the line somewhere.
Apparently though, I don't draw the line at theft. Because I was determined to run outside. So, I did what any normal person would do: I scoured the locker room until I found a top that fit. And then I wore it. And got it good and sweaty. And then took it to the dinner party in honor of my birthday that night, where I asked my host if I could use his washing machine.
And then I skillfully placed it back where I found it, no doubt leaving its owner wondering: How did this get so clean?
I may be a thief, but I have my standards.