1.  I've been back for well over an hour but have been eating Haagen-Dazs Mango Sorbet in the hopes that concentrated, flavored, frozen sugar water would cheer me up from a dismal run. But it sounds more hardcore if I insinuate I came in dripping from a run and sat straight down at the computer to write about it.
2. I cheated and only did four miles of the 5 mile run.

I've been wondering--between gulps of sorbet--why I cheated. I've decided it's because I'm bad at math.

It sounds like a lovely idea, romantic in its pioneer "can-do" attitude, until you really delve into what's involved.

I don't mind. It's the kind of ache that comes from using them.

I had some long, fast runs this week. On Thursday, Barefoot Josh was kind enough to agree to drive to Greensboro with me for a 10-mile tempo. (Side note: What kind of training plan takes you from a 4-mile tempo run one week to a 10-mile tempo the next? Those Furman people are sadists.) Our run turned out a little different than planned when, less than one mile in, I realized I'd locked my keys in my car. Luckily, Josh had his cell phone. Josh called his wife, who looked up the # for AAA, relayed the number to us, and we got a rep on the phone.

"I'll send someone out right away," said the rep.

Before the last yard sale, she asked her husband about the 5-gallon bucket of golf balls he was hoarding in the garage. 

"Can I sell those?" she asked. 

"I guess," he replied.

"How much should I charge?"

"Fifty cents."

When the man returned home that evening, he saw every last golf ball had been sold. Expecting a nice chunk of change, he asked his wife what the final total for the golf balls were.

"Fifty cents," she said, looking surprised.

That's right. She sold the entire bucket for fifty cents. 

I love coffeehouse conversations.

"Oh my gosh, you know this song?" asked blow-dry girl. 

"I love this song," I said.

"Oh my gosh! I like never would have guessed that." 

What's up with that? Do I have "Kenny G" stamped on my forehead or something? And this after I took the plunge with some serious rocker chick hair. My former blonde highlights on brown hair have been replaced with almost but not quite black hair and red copper highlights. I turn 40 in a few months so maybe it's an early mid-life crisis, but I think it's more I was just bored. I like the new look. It's not something I'd want to keep for life but for a few months until summer gets here, why not? Life is short. 

And I'm not going to spend it listening to Kenny G. =)

Olivia rejects the new 'do.

Driving home, Blair asked why I hadn't written anything for publication on my running. "You went from being a non-runner to qualifying for Boston in three and a half years," he said. "That would be inspirational to someone."

"Oh, sweetie," I said, love pouring out from my heart.

"Plus, it seems like you should be able to make some money on that," he finished.

Aaaaaand, the moment is over. 

Anyway, we came up with a few potential book titles for my as yet unwritten memoir on running: 

• Obsessed (This was Blair's contribution)
• I Lapped His Ass (my contribution)
• How Running (Nearly) Destroyed My Marriage
• Finding God at Mile 19
• I'm Too Old For This Sh**
• Greetings From Planet Badass (or is that "Dumbass?)
• Head Up, Breath, Baby Steps: How Running Imitates Life

 Blair also suggested something like, "A Woman's Journey" which I vetoed for sounding too much like a tampon commercial. 

I'm now on the couch, feet up, and slightly bummed because all the books I'm reading right now are non-fiction and I'm really in the mood to curl up with a good story. I'll search the house but I'm pretty sure I've read everything here with the exception of some Agatha Christie novels and I'm just not that desperate. 

Let me know which title you think I should go with, or feel free to suggest one of your own. If I select your title, I'll mention you in my interviews on Oprah and The Today Show, if there's time before the commercial break. 

Citrus Collards With Raisins

After years of retching and gagging at the mere mention of things like "collards" and "chard," I actually tried some. Guess what? Delish! That is, if you bypass the good ol' southern method of boiling the hell out of them. (I'll never forget the first time I ate gray-green mush at my mother-in-law's home. Blair had to explain to me that the food was--in a previous life--broccoli.) I wish someone had told her a quick 3-5 minute simmer and wilt does the trick. 

ASICS 2009 poster - Click to order

You'd never know it.  I got on the treadmill today and slammed out some speed work like it was going out of style. Not a bit of pain from the knee. Not even a twinge. 

So what happened? Here's my best guess: I psyched myself out. 

Early in Saturday's run, maybe around mile 7 or 8, my thoughts turned toward Boston. They weren't happy thoughts. I questioned whether I really wanted to run it. 26.2 miles is one thing when you're excited to make it happen. It's something else when you're dragging your butt to the start line. I looked at everyone around me and wished that I was almost done with my run, like they were. That I could join them for bagels and coffee instead of trudging through another 10 miles in the cold, alone. My legs were sore and I was tired. Boston did not sound fun. It sounded like something I wished I'd never signed up for. Stupid race.

Then mile 12 - knee blow out.

Well guess what? Guess who figured out that she really does want to run Boston? Guess who is ALL ABOUT kicking some Boston ass? Guess who has done a 180 degree mental flip and is ready to bring it? 

That's right, me, whiny knee girl. When it was actually put before me that gee, I might be injured and not be able to run, I freaked. I would be incredibly disappointed not to run Boston at this point. I've trained, I've made friends, and I only have 8 weeks left to go. All of a sudden I am ALL ABOUT BOSTON. Which is right where I need to be.

So maybe my knee pain, while quite real, was my body's way of telling my mind to put up or shut up. Message received. 

Let's hope that's all it was. Otherwise all you readers can look forward to months of moody posts about how I was soooooooo ready to nail Boston if only I hadn't been hurt. ;)

Um... yeah. I've got a LOT of work to do. Most of it due in about 10 minutes. 

I long for summer and sunny days. My brain shuts off when the sun goes down, making the winter months a challenge for me. I'm ready for long summer days, early morning light, and evenings that linger in twilight for hours. 

Maybe then I can actually cross a completed project off my list. 

Cheers,

Dena

Chatting with friends, I mentally make note of a light twinge behind my right kneecap. It's not pain. More like a warning that there could be pain. Big deal. It's not a run unless something hurts. 

Since most people I run with aren't training for a marathon (or they are but are considerably faster than  me), they drift off after mile 10. I keep running. At mile 12, I stop for a water break. Throwing down the water bottle, I stand back up, hit the "Start" button on my watch... and almost hit the ground as my right knee buckles beneath me.