Zzzzzzz…

You know, while we were having all that trouble with Berry Baby and his sleeping (for like, the past year) I thought I was feeling pretty good in spite of it all.  Meaning, in spite of the significant lack of sleep, I figured I was still functioning pretty well.

Until I started to sleep.

And now, I realize that while I may have thought I was functioning ok, it was nothing compared to how well I am feeling now.

For example, yesterday afternoon I thought I might try to get in a nap.  Unfortunately, I waited a bit too long and Berry Baby woke up when I had barely crawled into bed.  Now normally, this would send me through the roof with frustration, but this time I just shrugged it off, got him up, and got some stuff done rather.

After a productive afternoon I actually managed to keep my momentum all the way through supper and dishes and bedtimes.  At which point I usually make the mistake of sitting down for a few minutes and end up being toast for the rest of the evening.  Last night though, after the boys were in bed, I still had tons of pep. Enough that I didn’t have to drag myself onto the treadmill for my run – I actually enjoyed getting on there and hammering out my 800m repeats.  So much so that the 3 repeats that I had planned to do morphed into 5.  I felt fabulous.  I still feel fabulous today.

Now, it could have been the Pepsi that I enjoyed with my supper last night combined with the Peanut M&M’s I’d been snacking on (note to self, put away the open bag), but I think it’s been a growing trend in the last week or so.  I’m better at getting stuff done around the house.  I don’t feel wiped out all the time.  I’m actually picking up the random toy that’s laying in the middle of the hallway instead of walking past it fifty bazillion times.  I’m folding the laundry, and getting it into the appropriate rooms before it’s been sitting in the laundry room in a heap for a week.  Or more.

Which is not to say that my house looks fabulous, or that I’m suddenly on top of everything (obviously not, as I almost missed my appointment on Tuesday), but I can definitely feel a difference.

I think it’s sleep.

Seriously, who knew?

I’m starting to drink coffee again because I enjoy it, and not necessarily because it’s the only way that I can possibly function.

I could get used to this.

There must be a drink for that…

Screaming Berry Baby who absolutely must sit on your lap while you try to eat supper?  Check

Wailing Berry Boy who “didn’t get to play long enough” at his friend’s house and subsequently had a meltdown and is therefore grounded from both going to friends and having friends over, which results in yet more meltdown?  Check

Irritated Berry Girl, who woke up crabby and was unsuccessful in being not snarky to her spouse this morning?  Check

10:00am appointment for Berry Girl that she was sure to be ready for until the clinic called her at 9:10am to find out where she was for her 9:00am appointment?  Oh yeah. Check

A filthy floor that just got vacumed and mopped and was immediately spilled on…twice…?  Check.

Gigantic bag of M&Ms?  Check.

Race Report

It started off perfectly.  I left with My Girls (the three lovely and incredible ladies that I go up to Elkridge with every year) and we stopped at the halfway point for supper at our favorite restaurant.  Chris and her “girls” met us there, and all seven of us had the most fabulous meal.  I don’t think pork has ever tasted quite that good – stuffed with apple and asiago cheese, and drizzled with some kind of maple sauce that was to die for.

We parted ways – Chris and her girls went to spend the night with a friend in the city, and I headed up to the Lodge/Resort with My Girls.  We lounged in our room, visited, giggled, silently cursed the obnoxious people who were talking loudly in the hallway (seriously, do people have no sense of common courtesy?) and eventually fell asleep.

In the morning, we mocked the snorers, had coffee and cinnamon buns and cheese, and got ready for the race.  It was smoking hot outside, and the race was PACKED.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen that many people out for this race.  It was amazing.  And congested.  Which was maybe ok because it forced me to start conservatively.  I ran with Jan and Machon, and we wove our way around slower runners until the pack thinned out a bit, and then we settled into our pace.

Still, by the time we had completed the first loop of the 10k race, my legs were feeling heavy.  We took a quick walk break, and then kept on plugging.  5k-7.5k felt not so bad, but then we started hitting the seriously bad hills again, and what I could run through the first time I just couldn’t the second time.  After another walk break I made Jan and Machon carry on without me, but managed to keep them in sight until the very end.

I hit the last set of brutal hills – there are two super steep hills toward the end of the loop – walked both of them, but ran when I’d finished them and managed to pull out a strong-ish finish.  Which just means I managed not to walk at the very end.

Still, I managed to pull out a PR for this course and finished in 1:01:28 – not my best 10k time, but definitely my best on this particular course.  So I am thrilled.

I then had the privilege of watching Chris come across the finish line of her very first 10k.  I’m so proud of her!  And she pulled off an amazing race for a first time!

We finished off the day with a caramel macchiato, an outstanding deli sandwich (at, would you believe, Safeway?), a quick trip through Winners, and then home.

Pretty much the perfect weekend.

In Which We Quickly Learn That Maybe We Are Not A Morning Person/Runner/Anything really.

I already know that I am not a morning person.  It’s well documented by Berry Guy, who *affectionately* refers to me as “the bear”, as in “oh look, The Bear has emerged from her cave” or something along those lines.

But I’d really like to be a morning person.  I really would.  I’d love to be one of those people who kick themselves out of bed at 5:30am so that they can get their run in and be home by 6:30am, and then have their whole day ahead of them to sip coffee and do all their stuff (you know they sip coffee because lord knows they’re going to need it after waking up at 5:30).

Every once in a while, I’ll get the urge to change my pattern (like I did back in June).  I’ll start to think about how great it would be if I got up, had my run, and then was ready for the day.  I’ll get all excited and start planning it.  I’ll think about what time I should get up, how long I will run, and which route (which really just means I decide if I’ll head North or South, there’s not a lot of options out here).  I’ll plan my clothing – should I wear shorts or capris?  One of my sassy running tanks, or a sports bra and shirt?  If it’s cool, I’ll want long sleeves, but I’ll want to take them off half way when I start to heat up, so how should I layer that?  I’ll plan to get up just early enough to get some espresso going and slam back a latte, so I’ll pre-grind my espresso beans that evening so that I don’t wake the kiddos with the grinder at 5:30am.  I’ll get really excited, and in all my planning I’ll be thinking “Sweet! This is going to be SO GREAT!” 

You’ll notice that all this sweet planning takes place in the evening.  When I have loads of energy.  Before I go to bed.  I’m sure you know what’s coming.

Every time, pretty much, my wakeup time rolls around, I glare at my alarm, smack it off, and roll over.  Because it’s 5:30am, for crying out loud.  And then, when I’ve regained consciousness an hour or two later, I am filled with regret and self loathing, because I am not disciplined enough to do it.

So last night, my running friend Machon messaged me and asked me if I would run with her this morning at 8am.  I messaged her back and said “totally! sure!” and got all excited about it.  After all, 8am is not really *early*, since the boys are always up at the crack of 7:00 anyway.

So I got up this morning, brewed some coffee, had a little cereal, and hopped out the door to meet Machon.  The plan was to do 8km – a long run for her but a pretty normal distance for me.  No problem. Plus, we’re really well matched for pace, and I enjoy running with her.

We start off, and I warn her that I’m slower in the mornings, and she is relieved because she is too.  And as the run progresses, I am reminded why I don’t like to get up and run in the mornings.  My legs feel like lead.  My head is foggy.  It’s really cool outside.  And my legs feel like lead. 

We continue running, and I’m fairly certain that we’ve run at least 5km by now.  Which is when Machon calls out “well that’s 3!” as her Nike+ keeps informing her how far we’ve gone.  I suddenly hate Nike+.  We keep running, and my legs and lungs decide to form a union and strike for unfair work conditions.  Machon calls out “4km!” and I want to lay down on the road and stay there for a while.  I’m desperate to beg for mercy and ask for a walk break, but I don’t because I’m way too much of a moron proud and competitive for that, and Machon is not asking for a walk break, so therefore I can’t either.

I struggle through another couple of kms, and then we hit 6km, and I *almost* start to feel ok.  Then Machon calls out “7km” and we have one more to go.  And it is the longest kilometer of my life.  It is like the horrible run that has no end.  When we finally stop, I am so relieved I want to cry.  Well not really, I’m just really really relieved.

And that, my friends, is why I am not a morning runner.  And I’m writing it down so that the next time I get all excited and planny (I know, that’s not a word), then I can look back on this blog entry and remember my own misery.

Although, once we were done, and I’d had some more coffee, and I had the whole day ahead of me with no pressure to try to fit in a run later, I was kind of glad…

“Hair” you are.

So fine, you asked for it.  I was disinclined to acquiesce to your request (name that movie) because I don’t normally like to put pictures of myself on the blog (namely because I don’t generally like pictures of myself), but I like most all of you, so here you are.

This was me (as you may remember) pre-haircut:

There was an in-between haircut that I do not have a photo of, but was supposed to look (and kind of did) like this:

but it was too shaggy on me, and apparently looked like I hadn’t done my hair even when I had.

So I got it cut to this:

and now I’m much happier.

The end.

Things to note

The “boneless chicken wings” at Wendy’s are really just glorified chicken nuggets with gobs of sauce, and they don’t taste nearly as good as they look in the pictures.

After a steady diet of Starbucks, a Tim Hortons Iced Capp doesn’t quite cut it and verges on disappointing.  Yes, I have ruined myself.

I got my hair cut and highlighted, and I can count on 4 fingers the number of people who have noticed.  This means that (a) it is a truly horrible haircut and no one wants to tell me; (b) the change is not obvious enough; or (most likely) (c) it’s really only important to me.

After months and months of not sleeping through the night, Berry Baby finally did sleep through the night, and then didn’t again.  Which only serves to (a) make me realize how wonderful a full night’s sleep is, and (b) make me miss it all the more.  However, it does indicate that we are on the right path, intervention-wise.

I am ever so thankful for my treadmill, without which I would not be able to train for the ever so hilly Elkridge 10k that’s coming up in 2 weeks, because where I live is decidedly un-hilly.  And, would you believe, I finally had a good run…on my treadmill.  Hill repeats have never felt so good – I was motivated, I ran hard, and I felt amazing after.

I think Fall is my favorite season ever.  I love the crispness in the air, and I love watching harvest happen.  All those swathers cutting down the crops, all the nice, symmetrical swaths laying in the fields, watching the combines come along and eat up the fluffy swaths of canola, the pattern that the harrows make after they’ve “combed” the cut fields…and I get to cut back all the perennials in my flower beds and make everything that is now overgrown look neat and tidy again.  It soothes my OCD sense of organization and order.

I read an article about weight and runners, and I apparently need to lose about 12lbs so that I am no longer classified as a “Clydesdale”.  Yes.  Apparently, I’m a horse.  A Clydesdale is defined as a *heavier* runner, and for women that apparently starts at 135lbs.  SERIOUSLY?  I dream of weighing 135lbs – it’s not happening, and I am apparently a *heavier* runner.  I’m appropriately disgusted.

Finally, to the Starbucks barista on 2nd who had the misfortune of serving me my drink no less than three times because he at first made a mocha instead of a macchiato, and then forgot the extra shot of espresso, and then finally got it all right (triple grande, half sweet, extra hot, low fat), I’m so, so sorry, I’m really not that high maintenance…oh wait.  Yes I am.  Never mind.

Mojo is still gojo.

So I have this goal of running 20miles each week, and/or getting in a minimum of 4 runs/week.

Two weeks ago, I ran 3miles.  Once.

Last week, I ran 3 times, with a total of 13miles.

You can see how well this has been going.

 

This week, I have run twice.  For a total of 8miles.  So last night I figured I should get in a hill run, since the 10k is coming up and it’s ridiculously hilly.  10 kilometers of short, steep hills.  At least it’s pretty.

So first I thought it would be more fun to just run with a friend.  But it got late, and the sun set, and it was windy.

So then I thought I would just suck it up and do the hill run on my treadmill.  But I was incredibly tired and had a headache.

So instead I stood at the kitchen counter and ate Saskatoon Berry Cheesecake directly out of the pan.

Yeah.  That’s about the same as running 5miles.

*sigh*

Mojo

First of all, Sleep Training Toddlers sucks.  Really.  A lot.  And if they actually made that IV bag in that picture, you can bet I’d have it hooked up to my left arm yesterday.

Seriously though, I think it’s working – the first night I was up with Berry Baby for two hours, starting at midnight-ish.  So that was bad.  On the second night (last night) he apparently had a tough time going to bed (unusual) but was only up once for about 10min.  Big improvement.  Wondering what tonight will bring.

 

Second of all, I’m a little concerned about my lack of running mojo.  All summer I’ve been running fast (for me) and feeling like a million bucks after.  Since berry season and holidays, I’ve been struggling just to get my shoes on, and when I do the runs are significantly lacking in Superhero-type feelings.

My new shoes, however, are fabulous. Adidas Supernova Glide.  I even love the name.  “Glide”.  Makes me feel like I should be fast. er.  Or at the very least, motivated.

I’m going to assume, for lack of a better reason, that it is the significant sleep deficit that is causing the underwhelming runs.  And that things will improve all around once we get this little stinker to sleep better.

In the midst of all this *bad* running, I did manage to sneak in one really tremendous run.  Chris and I hit the city one evening last week to run at the river.  It was exactly what I had needed after lousy sleep and a crappy day.

We parked by the running path and did a nice, easy paced 4mile loop of the bridges.  It was just around sunset, so by the time we were crossing over the river for the second time to get back to the truck it was already just past dusk and the street lamps were starting to glow.  There’s nothing I like better than a cool evening run in that not-quite-light/not-quite-dark point of the day.  The river was smooth as glass and the air was perfect.  I couldn’t have asked for a better run.

And the sweet potato fries we ate after sure didn’t hurt either.  Although my scale may have something to say about that…