Well, I tried my best to not eat way to much at this years Thanksgiving meal. I did better than I thought I would, however I must say the deserts (several) were great! But that wasn't the problem. It occurred today. I worked most of the day, but then decided to run after work before I ate. I put in a little over 6 miles in. The temp. was about 35 degrees and clear. Jumped in the shower when I got back and then off to eat pizza. 9PM....LOL......dang I ate about 3/4 of a 18 inch barbecue & chicken....Now going to bed...can't be good for me. I think running before a late meal is sort of like grocery shopping on a empty stomach. LOL
Oh well it was sure good.
RT
Friday, November 28, 2008
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Thanksgiving Day
Really couldn't find a Turkey run here locally. The weather was nice & sunny, about 31 degrees. Put on my running winter wear and did a nice little 5k run. My time was just a hair over 25 minutes. Not the fastest, but felt better to do it. I love this holiday, cutting up the bird & such. I figure burning off about 450 calories before the meal has to be a good thing! LOL
RT
RT
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Snow on its way
Ran another 6+ miles today. I'm taking off tomorrow to give the muscles/bones for rest for a while. I've already ran 104.8 miles so far this month with a week to go. I'm trying my best to hit a goal of 1000 miles in a year. I knew it was going to be hard. But that's what goals are all about. I'm at 821.3 right now. I think it would have been easier if I wouldn't have missed a month with an ankle injury. Oh well. I'm can only do my best. I was told that the rain and snow are coming soon. That will also affect my miles I'm sure.
Wish me luck
RT
Wish me luck
RT
thelearnedfoot
I just wanted to post this on my blog, mainly for me to use as reference when I'm having a bad day, but you may enjoy it also. It was written from a truly amazing person by the name of Jenny who lives up by the lake near Cleveland, Ohio. She post on runner's world in the beginners forum. She has a true love for history and the American Civil War "as I do" and she is also a dedicated runner and photographer. She even managed to run 216 miles in one week after her cancer went into submission. Wow. I think you will really enjoy her story.
RT
I like to write ... although I don't do it well enough to ever hope to get published ... so rather than submitting this somewhere and getting rejected, I figured I'd share it here with my running family instead.
I was running on my favorite trail yesterday, and I spent some time reflecting on what running really means to me. Since it is so long, the Cliff note version is simply:
Jenny loves to run. Cancer made Jenny love to run even more, if that is possible. For the bored, here's the long version.
Why Running is Important to Me.
An essay about running written by a cancer survivor.
I have run this trail so many times that I know every nuance. The trail is actually meant for horses, but the running community seems to utilize it more than equestrians. It is packed dirt, the perfect running surface, the perfect length, three miles out, three miles back. I know this trail as well as I know the map of veins on the back of my hands. It is mainly a flat and featureless trail, but I know where each of the subtle dips and rises are located. I know where the best views of the Rocky River are; where you are most likely to spot a stately heron stalking for fish or a bright snowy white egret with a bright yellow beak. I also know where the rocks underfoot are and where it is likely to be soft and muddy.I love the trail; I love the soft surface, the smell of the shale, the high ancient cliffs that rise above it. I love how the river changes, sometimes subtly, sometimes severely, as though it were a living thing. I find a certain thrill when I run next to the river when it is high and rushing like a torrent, but I also enjoy it when the water level is low and the river moves sluggishly too. I even enjoy running under the two bridges that span it. One bridge is old, white, stately. The other is a highway bridge, a pale blue-green, functional but not beautiful. I always sprint under the bridges, the sound of traffic far overhead urging me not to dally.
I've had good, glorious days on this trail. I've also had terrible days that I would as soon forget. You see, this is where I not only run, this is where I find solace, where I go when I need to escape.One of the very worst days: the day I was diagnosed with cancer.
It was Valentine's Day and Cleveland was buried in a snow so significant that even the courts were closed. I don't remember much about that day, that day everything changed, what and how I exactly felt, but I do remember going out running, out on my trail that was covered with a thick and heavy white blanket of two feet of snow. I did not get very far (snow is very difficult to run through), but I can remember standing about a mile out, my breath appearing as thick clouds of white steam in the bitter air, and saying out loud, Why me?!? When it snows, the world becomes very silent and still. And so I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when there was no answer.
The next week was a whirlwind of tests. PET scan, MUGA scan, pulmonary function test. There was simply no time to run on my trail. Every day for a week there was a test, and it all sort of blurred together. The entire diagnosis and chemo process even now is sort of fragmentary; I remember images and scenes, but most of it is just a hazy memory, sort of like a bad dream that you can kind of remember only terrifying bits and pieces of when you wake up. It is almost as though I did not actually go through it. It was almost as if I watched it from afar.I didn't know if I was going to be able to run while doing chemo. I had asked my doctor at the initial visit ,the same visit where he pulled out a tape measure to figure out just how large my abdominal mass was (I was not offended, actually thought it almost absurd) if I could keep running and he said, sure if I felt like it. I could tell he didn't think I'd feel like it.I knew, though, if I was going to survive, I'd have to keep running. I knew it instinctively. It was as though running was as essential as breathing. Life is nothing without passion; I have two real, true passions, Civil War history and running. Those two things make life worth living. And so I decided no matter what I was going to try and run even through chemo.
The day before my first chemo, a surgeon was placing a port, a central line device used to spare your veins from being burned by the noxious chemicals and poisons "in my chest. My chest masses were so immense that the surgeon didn't think he could manage to squeeze the port in amongst the enlarged lymph nodes. We should put it in your leg, he said. This would mean no running for the duration. I was staring at the daunting prospect of eight months of chemo. Eight months with no running? I said no way. I'd rather be burned inside out than not be able to run.
The surgeon, a triathlete himself who I think understood why I needed to at least maintain the illusion that I was going to run my way through this mess, found a way to fit the little metal disk into my chest.Chemo further depleted my blood of hemoglobin "that little iron-based protein that carries oxygen around your body. My counts had already been ravaged by cancer. The first week after chemo, I was dizzy and my heart raced. I could hear it when I tried to sleep at night, thudding in my ears. Still, I would go out and jog around the block a few times. Going out after chemo to run was very hard, particularly because it was very cold and the streets were covered in snow and ice. I stuck to my neighborhood. I was too dizzy to drive to my trail and far too weak to even think of attempting the large hills I'd have to run up and down to get there from my house. But eventually the snow melted. And so, amazingly, did my masses. My blood counts actually started to improve as the disease was knocked into submission.
I went back to the trail. I watched it slowly come alive and turn green. I marveled at the little, delicate flowers that peppered the ground with white, pink, purple. I was blessed a few times to see a doe with a brand new, spindly legged fawn, still covered in spots. The birds returned.Spring eventually softened into summer. The air became warmer and thicker, the days much longer. And my trail became something like a tunnel cut through a jungle canopy, a ribbon of dirt through a mass of thick, bright greens.
Summer was rough. The thing about chemo is the drugs don't just target the bad cells. No. Unfortunately, chemo is not a smart weapon, it does not know enough to make just a targeted attack on the bad cells that are dividing out of control. Chemo is a poison and it kills indiscriminately, targeting good cells and bad ones alike. Chemo therefore causes lots of collateral damage: to your hair, to the lining of your stomach, to your skin. It can cause so much other damage "even occasionally other cancers, a future leukemia is a possibility for Hodgkin's survivors, for example "that you end up with the equivalent of a Pyrrhic victory. Although I was lucky to keep most of my hair (which I feared was likely as doomed as Custer's men at the Little Big Horn), my lungs took a real beating from the drug Bleomycin. Bleomycin is the least effective of the four drugs used to treat Hodgkin's Disease. Ironically, it also causes the most problems.
My right lung filled up with blood and pus from Bleo damage, and even after discontinuing the drug (which is very commonly done), I struggled for a long time to even walk up the steep stairs in my house without gasping for breath. I'm not sure why I kept running. Or rather I should say kept trying to run because by this point I was no longer really running. I suppose I desperately wanted to cling to an essential piece of my identity. Chemo tends to rip away your identity and leave you in tatters and pieces "I had reached the point where I knew I could not practice law for much longer. My hair was thinning. I was losing weight. I had a tan from being outside so much, but my face was as white as a sheet. And swollen. My face was constantly puffy, as though I had just gone a few rounds in a fight. Psychologically, I was a mess "I was by turns depressed and then very angry. I had no business running, but I just couldn't let go of it. It was the one activity I had that made me feel normal and alive and like I was still a part of the world.(When you have cancer, you see, it seems like the entire world seems to keep going at it's normal pace, while you are left behind. You cannot really live while undergoing chemo, you just try and exist. You try to make it from treatment to treatment. You try not to think too far ahead.)Running requires a lot of breathing, of course, and since I couldn't do that essential activity very well, it became a massive struggle.
I spent a lot of time stopped on the side of the road or on the trail, bent over, grabbing my knees, wondering if my heart was going to leap out of my throat onto the ground in front of me. I looked "and felt "like a poser. I was just pretending to be a runner. I was once a runner. I wasn't one now. I seriously wondered if I would ever be able to run again. All I could do now was jog at a ridiculously slow pace for a few minutes, then gasp for breath on the side of the trail.
For whatever reason, one morning during this dark phase. I decided I'd run for forty minutes "an easy amount for me. Twenty minutes out, twenty minutes back. Four miles or so. Give or take. Easy. No pressure. Id done it a million times. Two minutes into the run, I was in trouble. My chest hurt, I was breathing heavily. So I slowed down. It felt like someone had put a very large stone on my chest. I slowed down some more. The entire right side of my chest burned every time I inhaled. It felt like I was sucking in volcanic air. I stumbled to a stop. It felt as though I had a spear stuck in the right side of my chest. I knelt on one knee, the other firmly planted on the dirt. I coughed and drops of crimson congealed into a black puddle in the dirt of my trail next to my left knee. The coughing released the pressure in my chest; I felt better.
Cancer had brought me literally to my knees. Every time I pass that spot on the trail, my stomach tightens a little. It is a constant reminder of how bad things were. But it is also a reminder of how far I have come. I refused to give up. The next day, stubborn as always, I was back out again on my trail, jogging a few yards, walking a few, jogging, walking, jogging. Although I had some pretty poor runs after that, I never coughed up blood again. Soon after that incident, my lungs started to heal from the Bleo assault, and I was able to start really running again. My pace gradually improved. The number of chemo treatments dwindled into the single digits. Then I could count them on one hand.I finished chemo in September. Within a few weeks of chemo ending, I noticed that I was running fast and it felt easy. I also noticed that my trail started to change again. Now the days were getting noticeably shorter, the angle of the sun was changing, becoming lower in the sky. And soon my trail blossomed into a sea of bright golds and fiery crimsons. It was so beautiful, that it would take your breath away to see it. No picture, no poet could do it proper justice.The trees gallantly held onto their brilliant leaves for a long time, but not long ago the wind knocked most of them down. Now the trail is dull, brown and gray. It gets dark very early. Daylight is at a premium. But although it may not be as beautiful as it is in other seasons, I still love it.
I'm back running the volume I was running when I was diagnosed. I feel strong as I fly down my favorite trail. I no longer struggle to shuffle down the path, I no longer have to stop every few yards to gasp. I run with my head up, confident.I say I love to run ,and I do. I guess it is funny to say you love to run. Enjoying this sport, running. Non-runners think runners are crazy. Insane. Those who don't run, do not understand. They view running as punishment. Runners know this. We take a sort of twisted pride in the joke that our sport is every other sports punishment.And at times, I admit, running seems like punishment. Some days, even the most dedicated among our tribe do not want to run. We usually do so anyway. Runners tend to be committed. To running, if nothing else. We will run laps around a parking lot if we have no other option. Or in place on a treadmill. In the driving rain. In the ice and snow.
I'll admit that there is a physically painful aspect to this sport: that hot, burning sensation in your lungs as you finish a hard 5K or stagger to the crest of a big hill, that overwhelming heaviness in your legs as the lactic acid builds up at the end of a hard track workout.This is what non-runners think of running as. We know better. Oh sure. We know it is sometimes painful, that there are bad days. But then there are those glorious days, when you feel like you could run forever ,Oh, how I do love running. I love the feel of the wind in my hair, the steadiness of my breathing. The dull thud of running shoes against the packed dirt, the crunch of gravel. The occasional wildlife sightings, the ability to withdraw into one's self. I love how the running endorphins enhance my senses and how I feel so alive at the end of a run. Running is freedom.And yet I know this could all change; the cancer could come back.
Every cancer survivor lives with this fear in the back of their mind. Relapse dangles over our heads like the Sword of Damocles. You try to drown it out with other activities and thoughts, but it is always there. But while that incessant whisper is part curse, it is also part blessing. I once took running for granted as something that would always be there. Now I know it can't be taken for granted.To me, I think the worst possible fate would be to arrive at the end of your life and to realize you have not lived. And that is why I love running: nothing makes me feel more alive. I hope I can run forever.Every run is a gift. Run long, run strong.---
Thank you for reading.
RT
I like to write ... although I don't do it well enough to ever hope to get published ... so rather than submitting this somewhere and getting rejected, I figured I'd share it here with my running family instead.
I was running on my favorite trail yesterday, and I spent some time reflecting on what running really means to me. Since it is so long, the Cliff note version is simply:
Jenny loves to run. Cancer made Jenny love to run even more, if that is possible. For the bored, here's the long version.
Why Running is Important to Me.
An essay about running written by a cancer survivor.
I have run this trail so many times that I know every nuance. The trail is actually meant for horses, but the running community seems to utilize it more than equestrians. It is packed dirt, the perfect running surface, the perfect length, three miles out, three miles back. I know this trail as well as I know the map of veins on the back of my hands. It is mainly a flat and featureless trail, but I know where each of the subtle dips and rises are located. I know where the best views of the Rocky River are; where you are most likely to spot a stately heron stalking for fish or a bright snowy white egret with a bright yellow beak. I also know where the rocks underfoot are and where it is likely to be soft and muddy.I love the trail; I love the soft surface, the smell of the shale, the high ancient cliffs that rise above it. I love how the river changes, sometimes subtly, sometimes severely, as though it were a living thing. I find a certain thrill when I run next to the river when it is high and rushing like a torrent, but I also enjoy it when the water level is low and the river moves sluggishly too. I even enjoy running under the two bridges that span it. One bridge is old, white, stately. The other is a highway bridge, a pale blue-green, functional but not beautiful. I always sprint under the bridges, the sound of traffic far overhead urging me not to dally.
I've had good, glorious days on this trail. I've also had terrible days that I would as soon forget. You see, this is where I not only run, this is where I find solace, where I go when I need to escape.One of the very worst days: the day I was diagnosed with cancer.
It was Valentine's Day and Cleveland was buried in a snow so significant that even the courts were closed. I don't remember much about that day, that day everything changed, what and how I exactly felt, but I do remember going out running, out on my trail that was covered with a thick and heavy white blanket of two feet of snow. I did not get very far (snow is very difficult to run through), but I can remember standing about a mile out, my breath appearing as thick clouds of white steam in the bitter air, and saying out loud, Why me?!? When it snows, the world becomes very silent and still. And so I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when there was no answer.
The next week was a whirlwind of tests. PET scan, MUGA scan, pulmonary function test. There was simply no time to run on my trail. Every day for a week there was a test, and it all sort of blurred together. The entire diagnosis and chemo process even now is sort of fragmentary; I remember images and scenes, but most of it is just a hazy memory, sort of like a bad dream that you can kind of remember only terrifying bits and pieces of when you wake up. It is almost as though I did not actually go through it. It was almost as if I watched it from afar.I didn't know if I was going to be able to run while doing chemo. I had asked my doctor at the initial visit ,the same visit where he pulled out a tape measure to figure out just how large my abdominal mass was (I was not offended, actually thought it almost absurd) if I could keep running and he said, sure if I felt like it. I could tell he didn't think I'd feel like it.I knew, though, if I was going to survive, I'd have to keep running. I knew it instinctively. It was as though running was as essential as breathing. Life is nothing without passion; I have two real, true passions, Civil War history and running. Those two things make life worth living. And so I decided no matter what I was going to try and run even through chemo.
The day before my first chemo, a surgeon was placing a port, a central line device used to spare your veins from being burned by the noxious chemicals and poisons "in my chest. My chest masses were so immense that the surgeon didn't think he could manage to squeeze the port in amongst the enlarged lymph nodes. We should put it in your leg, he said. This would mean no running for the duration. I was staring at the daunting prospect of eight months of chemo. Eight months with no running? I said no way. I'd rather be burned inside out than not be able to run.
The surgeon, a triathlete himself who I think understood why I needed to at least maintain the illusion that I was going to run my way through this mess, found a way to fit the little metal disk into my chest.Chemo further depleted my blood of hemoglobin "that little iron-based protein that carries oxygen around your body. My counts had already been ravaged by cancer. The first week after chemo, I was dizzy and my heart raced. I could hear it when I tried to sleep at night, thudding in my ears. Still, I would go out and jog around the block a few times. Going out after chemo to run was very hard, particularly because it was very cold and the streets were covered in snow and ice. I stuck to my neighborhood. I was too dizzy to drive to my trail and far too weak to even think of attempting the large hills I'd have to run up and down to get there from my house. But eventually the snow melted. And so, amazingly, did my masses. My blood counts actually started to improve as the disease was knocked into submission.
I went back to the trail. I watched it slowly come alive and turn green. I marveled at the little, delicate flowers that peppered the ground with white, pink, purple. I was blessed a few times to see a doe with a brand new, spindly legged fawn, still covered in spots. The birds returned.Spring eventually softened into summer. The air became warmer and thicker, the days much longer. And my trail became something like a tunnel cut through a jungle canopy, a ribbon of dirt through a mass of thick, bright greens.
Summer was rough. The thing about chemo is the drugs don't just target the bad cells. No. Unfortunately, chemo is not a smart weapon, it does not know enough to make just a targeted attack on the bad cells that are dividing out of control. Chemo is a poison and it kills indiscriminately, targeting good cells and bad ones alike. Chemo therefore causes lots of collateral damage: to your hair, to the lining of your stomach, to your skin. It can cause so much other damage "even occasionally other cancers, a future leukemia is a possibility for Hodgkin's survivors, for example "that you end up with the equivalent of a Pyrrhic victory. Although I was lucky to keep most of my hair (which I feared was likely as doomed as Custer's men at the Little Big Horn), my lungs took a real beating from the drug Bleomycin. Bleomycin is the least effective of the four drugs used to treat Hodgkin's Disease. Ironically, it also causes the most problems.
My right lung filled up with blood and pus from Bleo damage, and even after discontinuing the drug (which is very commonly done), I struggled for a long time to even walk up the steep stairs in my house without gasping for breath. I'm not sure why I kept running. Or rather I should say kept trying to run because by this point I was no longer really running. I suppose I desperately wanted to cling to an essential piece of my identity. Chemo tends to rip away your identity and leave you in tatters and pieces "I had reached the point where I knew I could not practice law for much longer. My hair was thinning. I was losing weight. I had a tan from being outside so much, but my face was as white as a sheet. And swollen. My face was constantly puffy, as though I had just gone a few rounds in a fight. Psychologically, I was a mess "I was by turns depressed and then very angry. I had no business running, but I just couldn't let go of it. It was the one activity I had that made me feel normal and alive and like I was still a part of the world.(When you have cancer, you see, it seems like the entire world seems to keep going at it's normal pace, while you are left behind. You cannot really live while undergoing chemo, you just try and exist. You try to make it from treatment to treatment. You try not to think too far ahead.)Running requires a lot of breathing, of course, and since I couldn't do that essential activity very well, it became a massive struggle.
I spent a lot of time stopped on the side of the road or on the trail, bent over, grabbing my knees, wondering if my heart was going to leap out of my throat onto the ground in front of me. I looked "and felt "like a poser. I was just pretending to be a runner. I was once a runner. I wasn't one now. I seriously wondered if I would ever be able to run again. All I could do now was jog at a ridiculously slow pace for a few minutes, then gasp for breath on the side of the trail.
For whatever reason, one morning during this dark phase. I decided I'd run for forty minutes "an easy amount for me. Twenty minutes out, twenty minutes back. Four miles or so. Give or take. Easy. No pressure. Id done it a million times. Two minutes into the run, I was in trouble. My chest hurt, I was breathing heavily. So I slowed down. It felt like someone had put a very large stone on my chest. I slowed down some more. The entire right side of my chest burned every time I inhaled. It felt like I was sucking in volcanic air. I stumbled to a stop. It felt as though I had a spear stuck in the right side of my chest. I knelt on one knee, the other firmly planted on the dirt. I coughed and drops of crimson congealed into a black puddle in the dirt of my trail next to my left knee. The coughing released the pressure in my chest; I felt better.
Cancer had brought me literally to my knees. Every time I pass that spot on the trail, my stomach tightens a little. It is a constant reminder of how bad things were. But it is also a reminder of how far I have come. I refused to give up. The next day, stubborn as always, I was back out again on my trail, jogging a few yards, walking a few, jogging, walking, jogging. Although I had some pretty poor runs after that, I never coughed up blood again. Soon after that incident, my lungs started to heal from the Bleo assault, and I was able to start really running again. My pace gradually improved. The number of chemo treatments dwindled into the single digits. Then I could count them on one hand.I finished chemo in September. Within a few weeks of chemo ending, I noticed that I was running fast and it felt easy. I also noticed that my trail started to change again. Now the days were getting noticeably shorter, the angle of the sun was changing, becoming lower in the sky. And soon my trail blossomed into a sea of bright golds and fiery crimsons. It was so beautiful, that it would take your breath away to see it. No picture, no poet could do it proper justice.The trees gallantly held onto their brilliant leaves for a long time, but not long ago the wind knocked most of them down. Now the trail is dull, brown and gray. It gets dark very early. Daylight is at a premium. But although it may not be as beautiful as it is in other seasons, I still love it.
I'm back running the volume I was running when I was diagnosed. I feel strong as I fly down my favorite trail. I no longer struggle to shuffle down the path, I no longer have to stop every few yards to gasp. I run with my head up, confident.I say I love to run ,and I do. I guess it is funny to say you love to run. Enjoying this sport, running. Non-runners think runners are crazy. Insane. Those who don't run, do not understand. They view running as punishment. Runners know this. We take a sort of twisted pride in the joke that our sport is every other sports punishment.And at times, I admit, running seems like punishment. Some days, even the most dedicated among our tribe do not want to run. We usually do so anyway. Runners tend to be committed. To running, if nothing else. We will run laps around a parking lot if we have no other option. Or in place on a treadmill. In the driving rain. In the ice and snow.
I'll admit that there is a physically painful aspect to this sport: that hot, burning sensation in your lungs as you finish a hard 5K or stagger to the crest of a big hill, that overwhelming heaviness in your legs as the lactic acid builds up at the end of a hard track workout.This is what non-runners think of running as. We know better. Oh sure. We know it is sometimes painful, that there are bad days. But then there are those glorious days, when you feel like you could run forever ,Oh, how I do love running. I love the feel of the wind in my hair, the steadiness of my breathing. The dull thud of running shoes against the packed dirt, the crunch of gravel. The occasional wildlife sightings, the ability to withdraw into one's self. I love how the running endorphins enhance my senses and how I feel so alive at the end of a run. Running is freedom.And yet I know this could all change; the cancer could come back.
Every cancer survivor lives with this fear in the back of their mind. Relapse dangles over our heads like the Sword of Damocles. You try to drown it out with other activities and thoughts, but it is always there. But while that incessant whisper is part curse, it is also part blessing. I once took running for granted as something that would always be there. Now I know it can't be taken for granted.To me, I think the worst possible fate would be to arrive at the end of your life and to realize you have not lived. And that is why I love running: nothing makes me feel more alive. I hope I can run forever.Every run is a gift. Run long, run strong.---
Thank you for reading.
Liberty Benton wins again
L-B whips Marion Local, advances to state championship game. Well my old high school is on the way to the State Champion game. I am so happy for these kids. They are doing great. I always loved playing ball for LB back in my day. Some of my best memories come from that school in the early 80's. I was selected most valuable player by the team & also had all-state rankings a few times. I loved football!
I knew LB was playing about a block from my house at the Donnell stadium. So I planed my run around that route today. I ended up doing almost 12 miles last night in the 29 degree weather. I think a lot of the spectators were surprised that as I ran by several times that my sweatshirt was soaked with sweat. The LB school buses were dropping the kids off & I wished a few guys good luck as I keep going. One guy asked me how far I was running. I told him I was at 9 miles & had a few to go. He told me they make cars for that stuff. I just laughed....Told him "No Pain No Gain" said I was an LB Graduate and he gave me a thumbs up & smiled.
Final score
Liberty Benton - 35
Marion Local - 0
P.S. another great game yesterday, Ohio State beats Michigan. Gotta love that!
I knew LB was playing about a block from my house at the Donnell stadium. So I planed my run around that route today. I ended up doing almost 12 miles last night in the 29 degree weather. I think a lot of the spectators were surprised that as I ran by several times that my sweatshirt was soaked with sweat. The LB school buses were dropping the kids off & I wished a few guys good luck as I keep going. One guy asked me how far I was running. I told him I was at 9 miles & had a few to go. He told me they make cars for that stuff. I just laughed....Told him "No Pain No Gain" said I was an LB Graduate and he gave me a thumbs up & smiled.
Final score
Liberty Benton - 35
Marion Local - 0
P.S. another great game yesterday, Ohio State beats Michigan. Gotta love that!
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Coldest day so far
Tues. my day off, well may work alittle while. Decided to go to the YMCA. 22 degrees and very icy. I have the membership, wht not use it! I told myself I will attempt to make Tuesdays my weight training day. 7:45 AM, I started off on the treadmill running for 1/2 hr. giving me a nice 3.15 miles. Then I jumped on all the weight machines....I'm trying to do 3 sets of 12. Some have been better than others, but it's been yrs. since I've done this. I'm not trying to build bulk. I just want to toan up. Then I jumped back on the treadmill and ran another 3 .45 miles. Not to bad. I can tell it's going to take a while. But I'm sure it will be worth it come spring time.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Sunday Morning 1/2
I got up and did another 1/2 marathon training run. 1:56:10 was my time. The wind was still blowing and about 32 degrees out. I really felt pretty good. I didn't want to push myself, just a nice run. I went back in my logs an found that this week I ran more miles than any other week since the Xenia Marathon months ago. I'm glad to start building up my miles again. I really want to do another marathon fairly soon.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
A great picture
This sort of reminds me of running. Even if you feel like a goal could never be reached, always keep your eye on it. Remember, all goals don't happen immediately, but if you think positive. Anything is can happen!
Running in the rain
Saturday Nov. 15th........today is my 44th birthday. I got out of bed early with the plans of running at the YMCA first thing this morning before work. As aways the dog, cat & rabbits needed taken care of first. If not the dog freeks out & wakes up the whole house. The rain was coming down at a good pace so I jumped in my vehicle and drove to the Y. (1 mile away ) No body was there, humm.....whats the deal? It 7:30 and its dead. I looked at the door, go figure. They don't open till 8:00 AM......Dang, no way to work out & still get showered and to work by 9:00 AM, so drove back home & got the rain jacket on & off I went. I haven't ran in the rain for a while. Let alone when its about 42 degrees and windy. LOL....Oh well it had to be done! I got in 3.2 miles. Not to bad. I have a pair of newer Nike running shoes, but I really hate them, for some reason, they make the top of my feet hurt where I lace them up? I've even tried tieing them differently to try and correct things. No luck. I'd never be able to run any great distance with them. So I just use them for short jogs. Plus if I'm going to get them dirty and wet. Lets trash the ones I hate, it's not worth getting my ASICS all wet, With out a dough, I like the ASICS better than any shoe I've had so far.
I got cleaned up & made it to work 5 minutes early. The rain kept up all day and later turned into our 1st real "Big Flake" snow fall all year. Sold one car. Over all a pretty good day.
RT
I got cleaned up & made it to work 5 minutes early. The rain kept up all day and later turned into our 1st real "Big Flake" snow fall all year. Sold one car. Over all a pretty good day.
RT
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Ready for Friday
Well, It's been a rough week to be in the automotive industry. I'm going to run & swim tomorrow. Have to be positive! Not going to say anymore. Have a great day.
RT
Song of the day.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P_NpxTWbovE
RT
Song of the day.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P_NpxTWbovE
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Joined the YMCA
Well things are changing. I joined the YMCA. Told myself if I have a prayer on doing a Triathlon next year I have to get in the water. Wow, I s_ck! LOL, I'd rather ran 10 miles than swim to laps. I don't know whats wrong. I don't seem to get enough Oxygen. Well one thing is for sure. I can only get better. I've been trying to swim every Friday at noon. Seems to be slower around that time. I gone 2 or 3 times. Getting better. I tried the weights & the treadmill deal today as well. I ran about 3 1/2 miles at a no#9 setting. Didn't know if I liked it or not, so I came home and ran an extra 4 1/2 miles on the road. Just because it had to be done. I'm sure everything has to be helping. I will just take time.
Tonight I took part in Findlay's Veterans Day parade. Our reenactment group 21st Ohio marched & took part in the programs. They asked me to give a speech about a Civil War Cannon that was dedicated to the 21st OVI in 1915. I love history, I hope the public learned about this special regiment.
P.S. also got a new pair of running shoes. all 3 of my other pairs have 300 miles on them. I got a new pair of ASIC's Nimbus 10's. They feel great so far.
Tonight I took part in Findlay's Veterans Day parade. Our reenactment group 21st Ohio marched & took part in the programs. They asked me to give a speech about a Civil War Cannon that was dedicated to the 21st OVI in 1915. I love history, I hope the public learned about this special regiment.
P.S. also got a new pair of running shoes. all 3 of my other pairs have 300 miles on them. I got a new pair of ASIC's Nimbus 10's. They feel great so far.
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