Off the Wagon

So it seems I've fallen off the wagon a bit. With running, and with blogging.

June was an off-and-on month. Some weeks I was good, walking or running 4 or 5 days. It almost started to feel like a habit. Others, I was not so good, only getting out on the trail once or twice. Those times, it felt more like a chore.

July is a wasteland. I don't think I've been out running even once, and the month is more than half over. I have a million excuses - kids to get to activities, ridiculous amounts of stress at home, this absurd heat wave that has me wishing I could jet off to Florida to cool off. But none of them are good excuses, and the fact remains that I have to lace up my shoes and get back on the trail. Now. Like yesterday.

Our next event is a hometown 5K on August 3, and this one more than any other is a mental challenge for me. Not because it has a swift pace requirement or will be especially competitive, but because this is the only race on my calendar where I'll actually know some of the other runners. For me, that's harder to face than any pace requirement or threat of being swept.

Irrational? Sure. But there it is.

I'm much more comfortable being not-a-runner, fat and happy, than putting myself out there and publicly doing something that is so far from my strengths and skills.

Giving into the urge to skip this one isn't an option. My daughter would never allow it. She's very excited about this race more than any other, in that pre-teen, showing-off sort of way. She's the only one of her friends who runs any distance, the only one who volunteers for the mile on her track team, and she's hoping to win this one.

So it is time to dig my running shoes out from under the mound of flip-flops and get myself going.

Tomorrow. As soon as this blasted "heat advisory" weather moves on.

The Most Embarrassing Injury

I went into the holiday weekend with the best of intentions. Yes, we would be busy visiting family on both Saturday and Sunday, but I was still going to fit in at least a short run.

Then I broke our stairs.

Okay, it wasn't entirely me. They weren't properly built nor installed, and we didn't realize the extent of the jerry-rigging until they crumbled. Think six foot wide, four foot high cast concrete steps... with no support other than the side walls, no back-fill when they were installed, and no reinforcing wire or rebar in the construction at all. It is amazing they lasted as long as they did... According to neighbors, the previous owners put them in a few years before they moved so they were probably close to 10 years old. And we have some very heavy construction going on in our neighborhood that is revealing all sorts of hidden weaknesses; our neighbor had two 100+ year old original basement windows shatter because of the vibration.

Really it was a blessing that I was the one to "discover" the weakness. My husband works in construction and battles a recurring ankle issue so this could have sidelined him just as we're going into his busy season.  I'd hate to see any of my very active kids get hurt, particularly with two of them starting track practice next week. And if it had happened a day later it could have been my 65 year old mom going up and down them when she came over for Easter dinner.

Still, it is pretty embarrassing for me to admit that I didn't run this weekend because I am too sore from falling through our front steps!

Thankfully, nothing is broken. My shins are bruised and a little scraped up, the heel of my right hand took a beating because I caught myself before falling completely, and my right foot and ankle are very tender and a little swollen from being trapped under a piece of concrete. But a long hot bath and an ibuprofen got me through Easter Sunday, including cooking dinner and the whole nine yards, and today brought some improvement.

If it hadn't been 40° and windy I might have braved a walk to test things out but between the general soreness, post-holiday exhaustion, and the foul weather I let the excuses win.

They won't win tomorrow.