What Ever Happened to the Good Ol’ Foregone Conclusion?

Finally: part of a day I can have to myself. Between the current load at work, the new house and, well, the new bike, I just haven’t found a moment for some important things. Like blogging.

Today I thought I’d take an hour or two after morning yoga to watch Wimbledon and then get things like more work-work and housework done. But here I am, 4-5 hours later, still waiting for Roger and Rafael to work this thing out.

On the plus side of being occupied these past couple weeks, I neared 40 miles last week (I ran 36 miles between Tuesday and Saturday, but then biked nearly 40 miles with JG around Cleveland on Sunday… it rained shortly after we finished riding, so I never made it to those final four) and was scheduled to close out 40 this week with a weekend 20-miler, but, alas, calf soreness and Wimbledon. They get me every time.

This road bike phenomenon is phenomenal. I rode the bike-without-a-name 40 miles last Sunday, and it felt like nothing. In fact, it was almost easier than driving. And when I pedaled to work last week, the only real obstacle was the straight-into-the-sky hill out of Little Italy that posed a challenge (I would surely had to stop and walk on my hybrid), but mostly because the Corbo’s cookies and Presti’s napoleons were at the bottom. Shucks!

What’s more is that the 25 miles I rode that day weren’t enough! I hopped off my bike, already dressed for the road, and added five miles to my week’s low total.

Although last Saturday, before the long ride I ran my first 18-miler around Euclid on what started out as a gloomy morning and blossomed into a sunny day. It took me about three hours to run the miles, not including a bathroom and water pit stop at home at mile 10, and add another set of stripes to my summer runner’s tan.

Following the personal long, I was optimistic about this week’s hope for 40. But alas: six on Tuesday, five on Wednesday and then nine on Saturday… all that Fourth of July food must have tackled me too far down! I was happy on Saturday, though, that suddenly nine miles just isn’t a great distance to me anymore.

Sure, I didn’t hit 40 miles, but I felt a great sense of progress in my running life. Nine miles isn’t my distance day? Awesome. Maybe next week I’ll pull the big 20. But for now I want to go play. Roger has bowed down to Raf, and now I have only a few hours before Dara Torres tears it up (again) in the pool. Perhaps that will be enough to get me into one. Now, where’s my tennis racquet?

Riding on Bikes With Boys

What kid were you when you were growing up? I, believe it or not, was the ultimate tomboy. (I’ll give you a moment to recover from your amazement.)

Seriously: I hopped fences, climbed trees, played with mud, skipped stones, rocked boys league, mastered kickball, played G.I. Joe, loved my Commadore 64 and always, always, always had a ghostman on third with less than two outs. It must have been a disappointment for my mom, who wanted a pretty, dainty little girl to dress up and play nice, but that poor, good woman got… me.

Girls, though, were a disappointment to me for years. Aside from a few good friends, I didn’t hang with the girls much or have anything in common with anyone, really. You’ve heard that song and dance.

Fast forward a few years. All this tri-training has put me in touch with so many cool people, especially strong, cool women who rip it up on the course, in the water, at work, at home. I liked being surprised by the number of awesome women I know and get to call my running buddies and friends. Rock on, chicas!

Amidst all the girl power, I’ve still made time to hang with the boys. In fact, I took out the bike-without-a-name with Neil and my dad the other night for a laid-back tour of Euclid, which ended at Dairy Queen. It was hard riding cool on my new roadie, but Neil and my dad indulged me a few times, racing down streets with me so I could warm up these racing legs.

It was a back-to-back workout too: I met my dad early Wednesday for a morning run. I pedaled to his house and then headed on another (different) trek around Euclid, through parks and along the shore. It was the first time I’d ever run with my dad, so I’m glad I had the opportunity (he just might retire soon and I’m trying hard to convince him to train for the Ironman with me!). My dad and I used to watch the Ironman every year when I was little, so it only seems appropriate that we should race together, right?

Wednesday was made for a tempo run, but I didn’t expect to run a tempo. The weather was prime for a good workout – cool morning with crisp, clean air and light sunshine – and we couldn’t resist. I had intended on 7 miles at 9:00/mile for my tempo, but we ended up running 8.2 miles at 8:38/mile. And it was so easy! We just chatted and chugged along mile after mile.

After I mapped the run and told me dad the distance, he was surprised. “Oh, I’ve never run that far before.” Could have fooled me. I guess we’ll have to take him 10 next time, eh?

My campaign for triathlon recruiting hasn’t stopped with my dad; my friends suffer for it too. And I think I have my next victim.

I met my friend Barney after work today (and a two-mile warm-up) for what he claimed was his first run in quite some time (of course, I didn’t realize he wasn’t running at all and was about to make him do four miles of intervals with me!). He was a really good sport about it, particularly after he saw a sign claiming it was 104 degrees.

While it couldn’t have been THAT hot, it was a little roasty outside, so the intervals turned into a regular pace for a couple miles. We ran mile one in a little under 9:00, recovered a few blocks and took mile two around the same pace.

I think he’s (this) close to thinking about Greater Cleveland Tri this year… now if only I knew how to give good swimming advice. Apparently suggesting Michael Phelps footage isn’t a great idea. Shucks.

Getting into a pool this week, however, will be a great idea. The outdoor pool nearby, I’ve learned, is open at 6 a.m. And I’m pumped. Here’s to early mornings biking to the pool like I’m a kid again, swimming, running, biking, throwing rocks and making mudpies. You’re never too old for mudpies, are you?