Run Number Five
I went for my fifth run on Tuesday. (Well, “run” might be too strong of a word, since I am still doing intervals, but just consider it shorthand for “gradually increasingly running in an attempt to get up to doing full runs.”) There were thunderstorms on and off all day – big ones, where the sky turns black and the rain comes down in buckets. In between the storms the sky would lighten a bit and my heart would lift. Then it would get dark again and my spirits would sink.
Finally I went and talked to Amateur Meteorologist coworker. AM, as we’ll call him, loves to watch the weather. He has all sorts of websites at his fingertips with radar images and whatnot. He also far more accurate at reading them then most of the places where I get my news. The office closes at 6:00, so around 5:00 I walked over to his desk and explained my dilemma. To run or not to run?
He studied some graphes. He looked a couple of maps. He made “Mmmmm” noises, and then asked me, “When are you going?”
“Right after work. At 6:00.”
He scratched his chin. “Too early to tell. Ask me again in an hour. The good news is that I can say there most likely won’t be lightening.”
Around 6:00 he called me back over to his desk. “How long do you run?”
I told him less than an hour.
He nodded, “Okay, you might get a little wet, but you should be fine. In two hours though, we are getting another big storm.”
That was good enough for me! Here’s my transcription of what followed:
Closed up inner office, set alarm, AM wishes me good luck.
Go to ladies restroom, hear AM leave. Take off coat, hang on door.
Remove fancy dress boots.
Think I hear someone enter building. Slightly panic.
Realize that I am being ridiculous.
Dig in running bag for fancy running socks.
Stop to listen if anyone is in vestibule. No noise.
Can’t find socks, pull everything out of running bag. Pile it on purse.
Remove one sock, standing like an awkward flamingo, put running sock on. (ew! ew! Don’t let bare feet hit the floor!)
Repeat with other foot.
Realize that I meant to wear tights for warmth. Dig through pile of clothes for tights.
Remove pants. Fold, and put in now empty running bag.
Remove fancy running sock while keeping foot in air. Still keeping one foot off the floor, pull one leg of tights on. (The floor is hot lava! …hot lava and germs! Hot lava germs!) Repeat.
Feel proud that maneuver did not cause my chin to slam into the sink.
Put fancy running socks on over tights.
Start to remove blouse. Stop, remove glasses. Realize that glasses case is under all running gear piled on top of purse. Set glasses on counter, start “Do not forget your glasses” mantra.
Remove blouse. (Do not forget your glasses….) Fold nicely to minimize wrinkles. Notice small spot on blouse.
Fold so spot is on top for stain treatment later.
Remove tank top and bra, shove in running bag.
Do the crazy, arm flailing, wiggle move required to put on sports bra.
Put on running pants.
Put on first running shirt.
Put on rain gear water resistant pants. Realize that they are huge and fit my size 16 waist, not my size 10 one. Yank on drawstring to secure. Realize this makes them pooch out crazily. Decide not to care.
Put on second running shirt.
(Do not forget your glasses….)
Put on fancy new running belt that holds iPhone. Admire new belt.
Realize that fancy new belt cinching in waist – over second running shirt – over poochy rain pants – makes me look like I am pregnant with a weird lumpy alien baby. Decide not to care.
Put in headphones, adjust iPhone.
Add rain jacket. Zip it up. Notice that it smooths out the alien baby a bit.
Locate baseball hat. Notice that it is kind of gross and really warn. Decide not to care.
Try hood of rain gear jacket over baseball hat. Realize that I look like a mutant penguin.
Decide not to care.
Remember to put glasses in glasses case now that purse is free. Give self a mental high five.
Put on running shoes.
Grab bags and start to head out the door.
Go back, grab coat. Stop, find car keys. Find second set of keys to finish locking up office.
Make sure there is no one in the vestibule.
Lock up office.
Pile bags in car. Try not to notice how dark the sky is.
Turn on headlights. (sigh)
Turn on windshield wipers. (sighhhh)
Drive to park.
Do not let anxious guy in pickup truck that is tailgating cut me off. Find a spot to park.
Smile when I notice I have the park to myself.
Start warm up walk. Try not to notice mallard ducks that are happily swimming in huge puddles in the middle of the park. Add gloves.
Notice raindrops, pull up hood.
Finish first interval. Notice drops have stopped, lower hood.
Do my first three minute interval! (Whoo hooo!!)
Decide I need another hit of the inhaler. On walking portion of interval walk to car, unlock, use inhaler.
Notice cars pulling into parking lot. Lots of cars.
Decide to avoid people from cars, use a cut through.
Realize cut through has a giant puddle in the center.
Notice with chagrin that people from cars are the kind of people that always have a smart aleck comment and will probably say something about running and the weather. (Middle-to-late aged white men wearing windbreakers, with hands in pockets.)
Find a second cut through to avoid them! (Score!)
Do second three minute interval. (YES!)
Notice that due to rain, stream now looks like a giant rushing river of frappachino.
Do two minute intervals. Try not to notice darkening sky. (Look at the muskrat instead!)
Notice more cars pulling into parking lot, see they are having a meeting in the weird clubhouse building. Ignore them. Use cut through.
Do another two minute interval. During walking portion, put Run Keeper on pause, stop on bridge to take photo of frappachino river for blog.
Weigh pros and cons of doing one more lap. Decide the rain is too iffy, call it a day. Head back to car.
Feel proud for getting 32 minutes in.
Drive to boyfriend’s house. Pick up dog.
Go home, walk dog in rain storm.
Get home, towel off dog.
Towel off self.
Get ready for bed.
Repack running bag.
Go to bed.
Dream of running.