Baby Steps.

For some reason, I remember very clearly the day that I was first able to run a 5K straight through.  I had to check the date -- Tuesday, March 5, 2013 -- but I remember the day.  It was a gray, snowy, morning as I stared at that damn treadmill, willing it to reach 3.1 miles before I quit.  

Given how poor my memory is, the fact that I remember it shows that it must have been a significant accomplishment to me.  Which I find interesting now, as somehow, running a 5K has become relatively easy.  Once I get past that first three-quarters of a mile, of course.  That bit is always hard.  In fact, yesterday, in honor of my hometown's annual 10K race, the Bolder Boulder, I ran a 10K (6.2 miles).  By far, that is the farthest I've ever run in one stretch.  And, while I was ready to stop, I didn't NEED to, I was just bored and my calves were starting to hurt.  It was also the fastest I've ever run consistently.  I am still slow and probably always will be as my knees start to protest the pounding when things drop into the 8:00 or less per mile zone (I will do short intervals at higher speeds which is how I know this but never any real distance) but the 10K averaged probably 9:30 or so a mile.  I know when I started running this winter, it was closer to 11:00/mile. 

Progress.  Or, more appropriately, baby steps.

The Dreadmill.

I have been trying to run lately.  It is not my forte.  I have heard people talk about the runner's high.  I think that it totally fictitious.  For at least the first half mile, I active hate every single step.  After that, it settles into a more passive dislike.  People tell me that they just zone out and run.  I can do that swimming.  I easily zone out, get my Dory-on ("just keep swimming"), and quickly lose track of how many laps I've done.  But absolutely not with running. I stare at the time or the distance, just to see if it is time to quit yet.  I run because I feel like I should.  And, I have improved, longer distances and slightly faster (although no one would call me anything but slow). Yet, I do not like it.  And, I've been known to almost trip myself, with bruises to show for it.

I wish I was like this guy:

That is absolutely a broken ankle for a clumsy person like me but doesn't he look like he loves the treadmill?

Pool.

Hidden away in my neighborhood, about four blocks from my place, are two outdoor pools.  They technically belong to an odd little neighborhood-within-the-neighborhood called Sandburg Terrace.  But, they are run by one of the gym chains so are open to membership from the public (at a higher cost than the residents of Sandburg, of course).  Not quite the public pools from my suburban youth but close.  M joined last summer when she was a member of the gym that runs the pool and took me as a guest a couple times.  It really reminded me of the many, many summer afternoons I spent, including the lifeguard's whistle for adult swim.  Except this time, that meant it was time for me to get in the water, not out.

This summer, I decided to join the pool too.  It is on the not-cheap side but I really like swimming outside.  And, while I like the occasional lake swim, and get in there at least a few times every summer for a couple long swims, I have never gotten over the feeling that I should be taking a preventative course of antibiotics every time.  This way, I can swim outside without having to battle the waves, seaweed and cold of the lake.  And, of course, nothing like getting some time by the pool, laying in the sun (slathered in sunblock, of course), reading and taking a refreshing dip.

The pool opens in 25 days.  Now, I just hope it is solidly summer by then.  We hit 80 yesterday.  Unfortunately, tomorrow's high is 55.  At least we aren't Colorado, who got a mayday May Day snow storm leaving 6 inches of fresh snow.