In journalism, it’s called burying the lede

Look. Here’s the thing: This snowy/icy/slushy stuff has got to go away. Soon.

Today, I struggled to find an outdoor path clear enough to complete a 9-mile run. How ironic that the one time in my life I need to locate 9 continuous miles of ice-free pavement in this city … I am unable to.

Nearly fell three times at Country Park, which was barely passable in some spots. Guilford Courthouse National Military Park was clear, so I spent considerable time chugging up those unforgiving hills.

More bad weather predicted for this weekend, and also next week. Riddle me this: How am I supposed to prepare my body to endure a half-marathon under these conditions?

(Notice how I nonchalantly throw out the fact that I ran 9 miles today?)

(Actually, it was 9.61 miles.)

(Not that it matters or anything.)

(Just saying.)

I will chose a path that’s clear

Of this I am certain: If you listen hard enough, the universe will tell you everything you need to know.

I don’t mean to get too new age-y with the word “universe.” I just mean that the people and things around you send signals about  your place in the world. An example: One week, three friends you haven’t heard from in a while call or email. That’s the universe’s way of telling you to slow down and reconnect with special friends. Or you go to a restaurant and order the chocolate cake … only to learn they are out of the chocolate cake. That’s the universe telling you to take five with desserts.

This week, the universe said some things to me about running. I was finally ready to get back in the flow of the training plan after the walking pneumonia symptoms had subsided. I ran a 3-miler, then squeezed in an 8-miler hours before the snow started. But the snow started, filling all the streets and sidewalks with an icy glaze, and closing the YMCA for two straight days. I missed two runs. With 49 days ’til the race – and an entire week without running because of my illness – those missed runs matter greatly.

May I surmise that the universe is adverse to me running this half-marathon? That The Mystical Force That Guides Us somehow is trying to (ever so gently) steer me away from the training it knows is too hard for me?

No, silly. The universe is telling me to buy a treadmill. Duh.

Friends make things better

So I’m trying to plan a long run (8 miles) ahead of a snow storm scheduled for tomorrow, the remains of which promise to linger for quite a while due to cold weather. In order to accomplish this, and still remain employed, I’ll have to start my run tomorrow at 6:30. In the a.m.

I’ve been dreading tomorrow’s early run all day. It combines the three things I hate most in the world: getting up early, being out in the cold … and, of course, exercise.

Then I got an e-mail this afternoon from a friend who lives in D.C. She told me today that might come for a visit the weekend of the race because – and I quote – “I would totally love to see your sorry ass cross the finish line.”

I’m not much of a crier (not for a girl, at least). But this made me tear up. My friends get how important this is to me. Two wonderful buddies, husband and wife, are running with me – although they will have finished, taken showers, eaten breakfast and solved the energy crisis before I’m half-way done. Another friend, someone who just ran his first half-marathon, has decided to give this race a whirl, too. Others have shown support in equally important ways: They ask how my runs are going. They read and comment on this blog. They make special desserts with whole-wheat flour so I can eat them. It’s just been great – the most support I’ve ever felt in my life.

When the clock goes off at 6 a.m. tomorrow, I’m going to think of my friend from D.C. I’m going to think about her coming hundreds of miles for this race, and what that says about her faith in me. Something tells me I’m going to bound out of bed.

V for Victory (and Vicks VapoRub)

I ran today. Three miles. It was time.

All that agonizing over when to start back and how far to go, all that self-examination about whether I have the emotional fortitude to continue with my training. Turns out all I needed to do was lace up my Asics and put one foot in front of the other.

It felt good. I think I’ll do it again tomorrow.

A sane person would not feel this much angst

Woke up this morning with more tightness and increased congestion in my chest.

This is a running blog, not a Margaret Is Sick blog. So about that running I was going to do today: Not. Gonna. Happen. This has caused no small degree of angst. I feel like a cheater and a quitter. You might say I’m being much too hard on my self. To that I say:  Hey, look at that shiny object over there.

Anyway, reading this helped. The Runner’s World article gives some handy advice on when to lay off the hard exercise: “David Nieman, Ph.D., who heads the Human Performance Laboratory at Appalachian State University, and has run 58 marathons and ultras, uses the ‘neck rule.’ Symptoms below the neck (chest cold, bronchial infection, body ache) require time off, while symptoms above the neck (runny nose, stuffiness, sneezing) don’t pose a risk to runners continuing workouts.”

It’s the most concrete answer anyone has given me about how to cope with this (emotionally, I mean). One more day of rest, and I’ll reevaluate tomorrow. Tomorrow. My body should have reverted back into a tub of goo by then.

Less worry, more scurry. And enough with the nagging, already

This is my 7th straight day without running.

Crap.

I seem to be recovering – albeit slowly – from the case of walking pneumonia I was diagnosed with last Monday. I’m not coughing as much, but I’m still pretty tired most of the time.

This is experience is causing the typical runner’s anguish: I’m worried about missing a week of training. I’m worried I won’t be ready for 13.1 miles on March 20 because of it. I’m worried about figuring out when it’s “safe” to run again.

That last part is really getting to me. Friends are scaring the snot out of me (unfortunately not literally) with dire warnings about DOING TOO MUCH when you have walking pneumonia – which, based on their furrowed brows and serious tones, will somehow trigger the apocalypse.

My plan is to pick up tomorrow (Monday) with a nice, slow 3-miler inside the nice, warm YMCA. If I’m tired, I’ll stop. If I make it, I’ll run again Tuesday. If I get worse, I’ll return to the doctor. That sounds like a thoughtful and well-reasoned plan, thank you very much.

For crying out loud, people, enough with the nagging. Come on. An iron lung? Do they even make those any more?

Pno! It’s pnot fair!

Saw the doc today about my general malaise. Diagnosis: walking pneumonia.

Bad news: Even a touch of pneumonia leaves a person run-down.

Good news: My running need not suffer. Should be able to pick back up in a few days, once my energy level returns to normal. Was prescribed an inhaler to cut down on the wheezing – and, of course, a powerful antibiotic that is sure to make me least popular person in my exercise class (if you know what I mean. And I think you do).

Best news: I ran 21 miles last week … with the walking pneumonia. Can anything, short of kryptonite, keep me from finishing the half-marathon?

I’m wheezy like Sunday morning

RUNNING REPORT

Number of runs this week: 4.5 (I’ll explain later)

Total miles: 21 miles

Longest run: 8 miles

Aches and pains: Something worse than a cold but not as bad as the flu. Whatever it is, it’s in my chest and has zapped all my energy. My lungs – my body’s Achilles’ heel – have been even weaker than normal and I’ve felt a bit shaky during my runs. My joints, muscles and tendon-y things all are holding up well, though, a testimony to the strength training I do.

Highlight of the week: Knowing I ran 21 miles even though I didn’t feel well.

Lowlight of the week: Cutting short today’s 4-miler to 2. I just didn’t have the juice. It was the first time in my training I’ve run less than I’m supposed to. Kind of a downer, but it’s up to me not to make it a trend.

Most coveted running gadget: One of those things that ties to your waist that holds a water bottle.

Days until half-marathon: 62

Half-marathon outlook: Eh, not the best week to ask. The 8-miler just about took me down earlier this week. I was wiped out the rest of the day, something that’s hopefully due to this respiratory bug. And if I’ve reached my peak physically and can run no more? Boy, that race is going to be a bitch.

Dearest diary …

This shall not be a long entry, for my lungs are so thick with consumption that I fear I shall not have the strength to continue to see by the light of the candle. I shant sleep tonight, however, unless I unburden myself of this most unfortunate set of circumstances.

Yesterday, I dutifully fulfilled my daily constitutional –  64 furlongs, as was directed by beloved teacher Elizabeth, whose beauty is surpassed only by her wisdom and strength. As is Elizabeth’s prescription, I am to increase these constitutionals by eight furlongs each week until I reach the distance of 104 furlongs. To this, my one true friend, I must confess this darkness in my soul: As I completed the 64 furlongs, I found myself was overwhelmed with the fear that I shall not be able to fulfill Elizabeth’s request for longer constitutionals.

Perhaps it is the consumption that has disquieted my spirit. My lungs crackle like the fire at Mr. Hirum’s store, and my nose runs like Reddies Creek after a strong spring storm. It has left me quite without strength, dearest diary, notwithstanding the large amounts of morsels I have consumed, particularly of the frozen, sweetened cream extracted from a cow.

Oh how my heart grieves. This last constitutional rendered me helpless. Can it be that 64 furlongs is too great a distance for a girl of my age? Or is it this grievous illness that has robbed me of my will to continue?

I shant dwell on it now, my steady companion, for the Nyquil I have taken has begun to take hold, and I am drifting off into the Loving Arms of Morpheus.

Welcome back, shame! I’d almost forgotten you

My friend Eric is in law school, with one semester under his belt. Last night, he described grueling 16-hour days spent reading, making outlines and thumbing through the Constitution.

Imagine my horror when Eric said he is going to complete his second semester while simultaneously training for a marathon. I say “horror” and not “shock” because this is no surprise. Eric is about as dedicated to running as a person can be without being a professional runner. His time in a recent half-marathon in his home of Portland, Ore. – the center of the running universe – was faster than my last 7-miler.

Eric is from Out West, so everything he says is delivered in a tone that conveys subdued enthusiasm. He spoke of the law school-marathon training combo as though it was no big deal. Getting up at 5 am. to run. Heading to bed at midnight. Forgetting to eat in between. In fact, he said, his fiancee Laura ran a marathon every year she was in law school – and also qualified for Boston.

What kind of organizational and time management skills does THAT require? Certainly not the kind I possess. For starters, I’ve lost the warm running gloves I bought … seven days ago. The clean sock drawer is empty, as is the long-sleeve T-shirt drawer. I need new running shoes. And once again, I’m faced with slipping away from work tonight for an hour-plus to get in a run, leaving my coworkers in a lurch while I satisfy my own selfish desires.

Meanwhile, Eric is sitting on the U.S. Supreme Court and scaling Mt. Hood in his Nikes. That sounds about right.