1-3 Something in Chicago
4 Checking out Duluth. 20K, some in Chester Park. Good stuff.
5: Two runs, maybe 8K total around Duluth
7: 6K with Andreas on bike trails
9: 1.5 hours in Hixon and HPT. Yes!
12: 2 hours on HPT. Yes!
13-17: Can't remember.
18: Two Suså loops. Felt tired.
20: Quick break from watching kids. 10 x pinetum in 20:40. Not bad at all, actually. I think 12 seconds off PR
22: 45 minutes with the boys and then 3x perimeter loop. Thanks, Natti!
23 Lots of running with the turds in the jogger. Maybe total 16K
25: 3 x perimeter loop fast.
Don't remember the rest
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
How do single parents do it?
I'm coming up on two weeks of being alone with the kids. Natali is 12 and is a great help, so she doesn't really count as a kid, but the boys are 1 and 5, so they almost count for three kids.
Oh. My. God. What gets me the most is that I am "on call" 24-7. When El Guapo wakes up and wanders around the apartment in the middle of the night; when he poops in the tub; when Christian pours a cup of sand onto the floor from his shoes; when they are thirsty, hungry, sad, tired. When they miss their mom.
My mom has come by a few times to help, and Natali is a great support. With them, it's a very unenviable life, and without them, barely feasible. I have worked with colleagues, doctors and otherwise, who are single parents, and they tend to have lots and lots of sick days. I fully understand why. There is just no respite from single parenthood.
At night, when it's all over and the kids are sleeping like little angels, I stand there for a while and congratulate myself on making it through another day. Then I cross off an imaginary day on the countown-to-the-Girl calendar. And then I sneak off to pick up the apartment, fill the dishwasher, fold laundry, write a few emails. When I get back to bed, the little slugs have rotated 1200 degrees around the bed. Picking them up is like lifting anti-matter. If I am able to push them apart, they slither back toward the center of the bed like heat-seeking missiles. I end up squeezing myself in between the two pink, mouth-breathing eels.
But it's not all bad. Christian has, surprisingly, stepped up to the situation. He gets up first thing in the morning; not after encouragement followed by orders, followed by screaming, followed by poking, followed by carrying a newly caught Alaskan salmon out of the bed. No, he gets up and walks into the bathroom to have his teeth brushed. It's like he knows I'm stressed out and that messing with me is not a good idea.
Then, he carries the two Nutella rolls down to the bike trailer and feeds one to Mattias. He even makes sure Mattias doesn't drop the roll. At night, he behaves really well and had helped me scold Mattias a few times. I am very impressed.
Meanwhile, Natali is going through emotional hell. It's her last week in school, so she is saying goodbye to her friends of four years. She is most likely never coming back here, and up until lately, she pretended to be fine with that. Then a few nights ago, she said that coming back here for 7th grade wouldn't be too bad. Of course she is nervous; she is starting middle school in La Crosse in two months, poor thing. She is saying goodbye to her entire life here. Her cavelike room, with her guitar, drawings and Beatles posters, is forever to be abandoned.
I struggle with this. Being around Natti every day speaks to me on such a deep primate level. Seeing the world through her eyes is such a privilege; I am 100% in denial of the fact that it's coming to an end.
Moving to Duluth is exciting, of course. Make no mistake. I found a good job there. Nay, a great job, that I can't wait to start. I have always loved Duluth and the thought of starting a life from scratch there is tantalizing.
Two more months and it's for real. For good and for bad.
Oh. My. God. What gets me the most is that I am "on call" 24-7. When El Guapo wakes up and wanders around the apartment in the middle of the night; when he poops in the tub; when Christian pours a cup of sand onto the floor from his shoes; when they are thirsty, hungry, sad, tired. When they miss their mom.
My mom has come by a few times to help, and Natali is a great support. With them, it's a very unenviable life, and without them, barely feasible. I have worked with colleagues, doctors and otherwise, who are single parents, and they tend to have lots and lots of sick days. I fully understand why. There is just no respite from single parenthood.
At night, when it's all over and the kids are sleeping like little angels, I stand there for a while and congratulate myself on making it through another day. Then I cross off an imaginary day on the countown-to-the-Girl calendar. And then I sneak off to pick up the apartment, fill the dishwasher, fold laundry, write a few emails. When I get back to bed, the little slugs have rotated 1200 degrees around the bed. Picking them up is like lifting anti-matter. If I am able to push them apart, they slither back toward the center of the bed like heat-seeking missiles. I end up squeezing myself in between the two pink, mouth-breathing eels.
But it's not all bad. Christian has, surprisingly, stepped up to the situation. He gets up first thing in the morning; not after encouragement followed by orders, followed by screaming, followed by poking, followed by carrying a newly caught Alaskan salmon out of the bed. No, he gets up and walks into the bathroom to have his teeth brushed. It's like he knows I'm stressed out and that messing with me is not a good idea.
Then, he carries the two Nutella rolls down to the bike trailer and feeds one to Mattias. He even makes sure Mattias doesn't drop the roll. At night, he behaves really well and had helped me scold Mattias a few times. I am very impressed.
Meanwhile, Natali is going through emotional hell. It's her last week in school, so she is saying goodbye to her friends of four years. She is most likely never coming back here, and up until lately, she pretended to be fine with that. Then a few nights ago, she said that coming back here for 7th grade wouldn't be too bad. Of course she is nervous; she is starting middle school in La Crosse in two months, poor thing. She is saying goodbye to her entire life here. Her cavelike room, with her guitar, drawings and Beatles posters, is forever to be abandoned.
I struggle with this. Being around Natti every day speaks to me on such a deep primate level. Seeing the world through her eyes is such a privilege; I am 100% in denial of the fact that it's coming to an end.
Moving to Duluth is exciting, of course. Make no mistake. I found a good job there. Nay, a great job, that I can't wait to start. I have always loved Duluth and the thought of starting a life from scratch there is tantalizing.
Two more months and it's for real. For good and for bad.
May 2013 Running Log
1: Not sure
3: Not sure
5: Faxeløbet, 8.4K. First place.
7: Perimeter trail
8: Slow spin
9: 100K bike ride.
10: 10K running back and forth. 4 of those with Natti.
11: Half Ironman Mallorca. Another 8K jog, half with Natti.
12: Slow spin with the Girl. Water park fun.
13: 150K mountain ride. 4K with Natti.
14: 80K mountain ride. 4K with Natti.
16: 12K in woods. Heavy, weird feeling legs.
18: Long run in woods. Felt good.
19: 3K with Natti, Chooey and my dad.
20: 25K: 10K with the boys in the jogger. Then 2 perimeter loops and 5 hill loops. Great legs.
22: Horrible rain. 3 miles on the treadmill fast. Then 8K in the woods, moderate pace. Felt a little worn.
23: 5K with the boys in the jogger
24: 5K with the boys in the jogger
26: Intervals pacing the Girl through 5 x 1000m
27: 7K around North Lake
28: 12K slow Chicago Lakefront
30: 16K Chicago Lakefront
3: Not sure
5: Faxeløbet, 8.4K. First place.
7: Perimeter trail
8: Slow spin
9: 100K bike ride.
10: 10K running back and forth. 4 of those with Natti.
11: Half Ironman Mallorca. Another 8K jog, half with Natti.
12: Slow spin with the Girl. Water park fun.
13: 150K mountain ride. 4K with Natti.
14: 80K mountain ride. 4K with Natti.
16: 12K in woods. Heavy, weird feeling legs.
18: Long run in woods. Felt good.
19: 3K with Natti, Chooey and my dad.
20: 25K: 10K with the boys in the jogger. Then 2 perimeter loops and 5 hill loops. Great legs.
22: Horrible rain. 3 miles on the treadmill fast. Then 8K in the woods, moderate pace. Felt a little worn.
23: 5K with the boys in the jogger
24: 5K with the boys in the jogger
26: Intervals pacing the Girl through 5 x 1000m
27: 7K around North Lake
28: 12K slow Chicago Lakefront
30: 16K Chicago Lakefront
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
The Runner's Survival Guide to the Half Ironman (do as I say, not as I do)
This race report is very after-the-fact. But will I care when I look back at this in 5 years, will I care? No.
We raced the Thomas Cook Ironman 70.3 last weekend on Mallorca. I have done maybe 10 smaller triathlons and I felt they required annoyingly complicated check-in procedures: bike checks, helmet checks, setting up your transition area hours before race start, and then waiting forever in your wetsuit. This race had 3500 participants and we must have spent a total of 5 hours waiting in lines, listening to briefings, getting our chips, checking in bikes etc. I will admit that everything was very smooth once the race got going, but I don't think I will do a triathlon that big anytime soon.
The Swim
The dreaded swim... Everyone on our team knew how worried I was about the swim. They all swam in the ocean in the mornings and would come back with stories about the enormous size of the waves and Portuguese man-o-wars. My wetsuit is in the US, but luckily I was able to borrow a suit from our club chairwoman. She is a little shorter than me and, of course, more female than me. However, the wetsuit fit really well. Actually, it fit better than my own overpriced Orca wetsuit.
I would advise runners like myself to warm up. I have done this a few times in triathlons and it really helps avoid that feeling of panic. Well, I warmed up, waited for a half hour in a corral and the start went. I kept thinking, "don't panic, don't panic". I walked in slowly, hyperventilated a little and prepared for oceanic tranquility. 10 seconds later it felt like being inside a school of eels, all nibbling at my heels and stroking my back and hair. And I panicked. I sat up, treading water, waiting for almost everyone to swim past.
In the end, it wasn't so bad. I was able to crawl the majority of it. There were a few swimmers like myself, way off the back, some breaststroking it all the way, almost as fast as I could crawl. My time was 44 minutes; I was worried about making it under the cutoff of 70 minutes. So relax, runners. There is plenty of time to get the swim done.
Coming out of the water felt very, very good. At least I had made it that far. Several clubmates were cheering me along. On the way up to the bikes, I saw someone had dropped their swim cap. They are pretty cool-looking cap with Ironman logos etc. So I grabbed it, which many spectators found very amusing.
The Bike
This is how one should dress: Baggy running shorts and a SpongeBob cycling jersey. I had nothing else along, so that's what I wore. It was a very, very wise choice. Leaving the transition zone, the stern-looking guy, who makes sure you don't clip in until after the red line, pointed at me and screamed "Bob Esponza! Bob Esponza!" I must have gotted cheers from over 200 volunteers, racers, spectators and kids otherwise bored with watching people zip by on their $10,000 tri bikes.
I suddenly fancied myself very cool. Like I was doing a half Ironman but not really caring too much about it.
I am not a particularly strong biker on the flats and I was on a rented road bike without an aero bar. So I was slow. I got passed by tons of people from later start waves. Everyone wore their numbers on the backs, so I could see the name, country and age group of everyone who passed me.
I took it easy and waited for the big climb. Ah, how I love to climb on a bike! Runners, if you are new to triathlons, you will most likely feel slow on the flats but surprisingly fast on the climbs. Being lighter than your typical triathlete is part of it, but even the weight can't explain the phenomenon. There are people from my club who are such strong bikers that I can't even hold their wheels in a pace group. Yet I am able to drop them on the climbs. Ok, so I have done countless hill repeats up Granddad bluff in La Crosse, so climbing is something I have trained, as opposed to tempoing on the flats. Anyway, after feeling like Superman up the hill, I resumed feeling like Bob Esponza for the flat second part of the route.
Runners, please realize that no-draft triathlons are all about cheating! People draft, and no one cares. One French gentleman in his 50's named Yves had absolutely no body hair, or regard for the rules. He rode the entire way less than a foot away from the next rider. Except of course when he heard a motorcycle coming up, in which case he sat up and drank a bottle, making it appear that he had just been passed. Most other people drafted a little here and there. But think about it: If 3500 people are supposed to ride 10 meters away from the next rider, that's a 35K peloton. So that's not realistic. Trains of elites on expensive aero bikes blew by, obvisously having formed little pace groups.
Interestingly, it seemed like the Challenge people during Challenge Copenhagen that the Girl did were way more strict. There, one guy got thrown out of the race for public urination - 2K before the finish of an ironman!
Anyway, runners, please know that a little cheating is expected.
The Run.
Runners, even if you didn't draft, running with triathletes will feel like you're cheating. After feeling like a novice for hours, now it's your time to shine. I was lucky to have really good legs. Sometimes, it takes a few K to warm up, but I felt like I jumped straight into a good pace. The transition zone was half a mile long, though, so walking my bike for minutes may have warmed up my running legs a little; who knows? Oh my gawd, running was fun. I ran the half marathon in 1:22, feeling super smooth the whole way. I stopped to fuel often, as I worried about bonking, but the whole race felt almost easier than a normal half marathon.
Of course, all the faster triathletes were all off the course by the time I started running. But still. Most triathletes are very tired when they get to the run. I passed people continuously, the entire time. Not a single person passed me and only one single person tried to hold on for maybe 10 seconds. So, runner, you will feel superhuman during the run, and it makes the indignity of swimming and biking well worth it.
The Girl had an awesome race, especially considering her 100 miler the week before. My time was 5:33 and hers was 5:53. That amounts to "relative chicking" or "relative wifing" in our lingo. Usually, relative chicking happens when I am less than one minute per mile faster than her, but it doesn't translate well to triathlons. Anyway, I was relatively chicked (and simply chicked, actually, by many, many women). I was even chicked on the run, as one woman ran it in 1:18. Whatever. Like Bob Esponza even cares.
We raced the Thomas Cook Ironman 70.3 last weekend on Mallorca. I have done maybe 10 smaller triathlons and I felt they required annoyingly complicated check-in procedures: bike checks, helmet checks, setting up your transition area hours before race start, and then waiting forever in your wetsuit. This race had 3500 participants and we must have spent a total of 5 hours waiting in lines, listening to briefings, getting our chips, checking in bikes etc. I will admit that everything was very smooth once the race got going, but I don't think I will do a triathlon that big anytime soon.
The Swim
The dreaded swim... Everyone on our team knew how worried I was about the swim. They all swam in the ocean in the mornings and would come back with stories about the enormous size of the waves and Portuguese man-o-wars. My wetsuit is in the US, but luckily I was able to borrow a suit from our club chairwoman. She is a little shorter than me and, of course, more female than me. However, the wetsuit fit really well. Actually, it fit better than my own overpriced Orca wetsuit.
I would advise runners like myself to warm up. I have done this a few times in triathlons and it really helps avoid that feeling of panic. Well, I warmed up, waited for a half hour in a corral and the start went. I kept thinking, "don't panic, don't panic". I walked in slowly, hyperventilated a little and prepared for oceanic tranquility. 10 seconds later it felt like being inside a school of eels, all nibbling at my heels and stroking my back and hair. And I panicked. I sat up, treading water, waiting for almost everyone to swim past.
In the end, it wasn't so bad. I was able to crawl the majority of it. There were a few swimmers like myself, way off the back, some breaststroking it all the way, almost as fast as I could crawl. My time was 44 minutes; I was worried about making it under the cutoff of 70 minutes. So relax, runners. There is plenty of time to get the swim done.
Coming out of the water felt very, very good. At least I had made it that far. Several clubmates were cheering me along. On the way up to the bikes, I saw someone had dropped their swim cap. They are pretty cool-looking cap with Ironman logos etc. So I grabbed it, which many spectators found very amusing.
The Bike
This is how one should dress: Baggy running shorts and a SpongeBob cycling jersey. I had nothing else along, so that's what I wore. It was a very, very wise choice. Leaving the transition zone, the stern-looking guy, who makes sure you don't clip in until after the red line, pointed at me and screamed "Bob Esponza! Bob Esponza!" I must have gotted cheers from over 200 volunteers, racers, spectators and kids otherwise bored with watching people zip by on their $10,000 tri bikes.
I suddenly fancied myself very cool. Like I was doing a half Ironman but not really caring too much about it.
I am not a particularly strong biker on the flats and I was on a rented road bike without an aero bar. So I was slow. I got passed by tons of people from later start waves. Everyone wore their numbers on the backs, so I could see the name, country and age group of everyone who passed me.
I took it easy and waited for the big climb. Ah, how I love to climb on a bike! Runners, if you are new to triathlons, you will most likely feel slow on the flats but surprisingly fast on the climbs. Being lighter than your typical triathlete is part of it, but even the weight can't explain the phenomenon. There are people from my club who are such strong bikers that I can't even hold their wheels in a pace group. Yet I am able to drop them on the climbs. Ok, so I have done countless hill repeats up Granddad bluff in La Crosse, so climbing is something I have trained, as opposed to tempoing on the flats. Anyway, after feeling like Superman up the hill, I resumed feeling like Bob Esponza for the flat second part of the route.
Runners, please realize that no-draft triathlons are all about cheating! People draft, and no one cares. One French gentleman in his 50's named Yves had absolutely no body hair, or regard for the rules. He rode the entire way less than a foot away from the next rider. Except of course when he heard a motorcycle coming up, in which case he sat up and drank a bottle, making it appear that he had just been passed. Most other people drafted a little here and there. But think about it: If 3500 people are supposed to ride 10 meters away from the next rider, that's a 35K peloton. So that's not realistic. Trains of elites on expensive aero bikes blew by, obvisously having formed little pace groups.
Interestingly, it seemed like the Challenge people during Challenge Copenhagen that the Girl did were way more strict. There, one guy got thrown out of the race for public urination - 2K before the finish of an ironman!
Anyway, runners, please know that a little cheating is expected.
The Run.
Runners, even if you didn't draft, running with triathletes will feel like you're cheating. After feeling like a novice for hours, now it's your time to shine. I was lucky to have really good legs. Sometimes, it takes a few K to warm up, but I felt like I jumped straight into a good pace. The transition zone was half a mile long, though, so walking my bike for minutes may have warmed up my running legs a little; who knows? Oh my gawd, running was fun. I ran the half marathon in 1:22, feeling super smooth the whole way. I stopped to fuel often, as I worried about bonking, but the whole race felt almost easier than a normal half marathon.
Of course, all the faster triathletes were all off the course by the time I started running. But still. Most triathletes are very tired when they get to the run. I passed people continuously, the entire time. Not a single person passed me and only one single person tried to hold on for maybe 10 seconds. So, runner, you will feel superhuman during the run, and it makes the indignity of swimming and biking well worth it.
The Girl had an awesome race, especially considering her 100 miler the week before. My time was 5:33 and hers was 5:53. That amounts to "relative chicking" or "relative wifing" in our lingo. Usually, relative chicking happens when I am less than one minute per mile faster than her, but it doesn't translate well to triathlons. Anyway, I was relatively chicked (and simply chicked, actually, by many, many women). I was even chicked on the run, as one woman ran it in 1:18. Whatever. Like Bob Esponza even cares.
Saturday, May 4, 2013
Going Nuts "Watching" the Girl's 100 Mile Race
She should be done within an hour. I'm not saying that running would have been easier, but "watching" all the updates for over 24 hours has been crazy. I couldn't sleep last night, imagining all kinds of misfortune on the very technical trails around "the Hammer".
Scratch that. She is in:
She looks as good as after 20 hours.
I didn't think it was possible to just jump into a 100 miler and finish, so I am more than impressed. First and only woman. Only second woman to ever finish this notoriously difficult race. I am so proud!
I ran my own race today. In beautiful weather, the Firkløvermarathon was run here in Næstved, on our local trails. I was actually hoping for a fast time, loosely aiming for 1:16 to 1:18. The legs felt ok, but the time was 1:22. The course is known to be long, but it still doesn't translate to less than a 1:20. The second-place guy ran a 1:29 and was hoping for a 1:20, so maybe the course was tougher than we thought. There were constant turns and little, so one had to accelerate back up to speed very frequently.
A win is a win, and there were many friends there running and wathcing. Still, the time is disappointing.
Scratch that. She is in:
She looks as good as after 20 hours.
I didn't think it was possible to just jump into a 100 miler and finish, so I am more than impressed. First and only woman. Only second woman to ever finish this notoriously difficult race. I am so proud!
I ran my own race today. In beautiful weather, the Firkløvermarathon was run here in Næstved, on our local trails. I was actually hoping for a fast time, loosely aiming for 1:16 to 1:18. The legs felt ok, but the time was 1:22. The course is known to be long, but it still doesn't translate to less than a 1:20. The second-place guy ran a 1:29 and was hoping for a 1:20, so maybe the course was tougher than we thought. There were constant turns and little, so one had to accelerate back up to speed very frequently.
A win is a win, and there were many friends there running and wathcing. Still, the time is disappointing.
Monday, April 29, 2013
Spring Peak or The Age of Homer Simpson
I always seem to get a little spring peak. Despite my hamstring tear this winter, I seem to have preserved enough base. Bring out the good weather, and suddenly I am feeling fast. Last week, I had one of those effortless runs, where everything clicks, and I know I am about as fast as I have ever been.
This Saturday, I ran Faxeløbet, barely beating Kenneth Kirkeby in a sprint finish up a steep hill. Kenneth is a little faster than me and would certainly beat me 9 out of 10 times in a time trial, but for some reason I have managed to end up slightly ahead of him a few times these last few years. Saturday, he felt faster on the flats, whereas I felt faster on the technical sections and up the last, steep hill.
The Girl is unsure of what she wants to do with her season. She went into the season thinking it would be all about speedwork, working toward a marathon PR. But she seems to excacerbate her mysterious injuries every time she runs long than a 10K on the roads. She did really well at Fyr to Fyr 60K. She was only 6 minutes behind Pia Joan Sørensen, who ran a 100K in 8:36. So she is in good shape, but without a focus.
In two weeks, we are both doing the Mallorca half Ironman. And by doing, I mean "hoping to survive". I don't have my usual wetsuit, so I am borrowing a female suit that's too small for me. The swim is half a mile into the deep, black, windy, shark-infested Mediterranean. Serisouly, I don't know if I can compose myself through something like that.
---------------
So. Do you know how old Homer Simpson is? I didn't until a few months ago, but I assumed he was older than me. He seems to have worked the same dead-end job for years. He is balding and overweight and his best days seem to be behind him. He just seems old, right?
Well, he is 38. When I turned 38 a few months ago, Natti was quick to point out that I was now as old as Homer Simpson. And why wouldn't I be as old as him? My kids are older than the Simpson kids. Moving between continents frantically doesn't stop the clock, apparently. I am sure Homer has more money saved up for retirement. His house is probably worth more than our entire savings, retirement and otherwise.
Sometimes, my gloominess can depress even myself. Like Natti once said, "yeah, dad, but it doesn't mean it was a good movie, because you cry at the end of every movie!". Natti is quietly watching our moving plans for this fall unfold. She is way too cool to come out and say that she wants us nearby, but I could tell that she didn't like it when we were talking about moving to Colorado. She is in such a self-conscious, insecure phase now. Her problems are mostly imaginary, but even the imaginary ones are beyond my control. I try to listen to her and offer my advice, which always go along the lines of either "everyone is insecure, especially pre-teens" or "relax and enjoy the ride. You'll be gone before you know it".
This Saturday, I ran Faxeløbet, barely beating Kenneth Kirkeby in a sprint finish up a steep hill. Kenneth is a little faster than me and would certainly beat me 9 out of 10 times in a time trial, but for some reason I have managed to end up slightly ahead of him a few times these last few years. Saturday, he felt faster on the flats, whereas I felt faster on the technical sections and up the last, steep hill.
The Girl is unsure of what she wants to do with her season. She went into the season thinking it would be all about speedwork, working toward a marathon PR. But she seems to excacerbate her mysterious injuries every time she runs long than a 10K on the roads. She did really well at Fyr to Fyr 60K. She was only 6 minutes behind Pia Joan Sørensen, who ran a 100K in 8:36. So she is in good shape, but without a focus.
In two weeks, we are both doing the Mallorca half Ironman. And by doing, I mean "hoping to survive". I don't have my usual wetsuit, so I am borrowing a female suit that's too small for me. The swim is half a mile into the deep, black, windy, shark-infested Mediterranean. Serisouly, I don't know if I can compose myself through something like that.
---------------
So. Do you know how old Homer Simpson is? I didn't until a few months ago, but I assumed he was older than me. He seems to have worked the same dead-end job for years. He is balding and overweight and his best days seem to be behind him. He just seems old, right?
Well, he is 38. When I turned 38 a few months ago, Natti was quick to point out that I was now as old as Homer Simpson. And why wouldn't I be as old as him? My kids are older than the Simpson kids. Moving between continents frantically doesn't stop the clock, apparently. I am sure Homer has more money saved up for retirement. His house is probably worth more than our entire savings, retirement and otherwise.
Sometimes, my gloominess can depress even myself. Like Natti once said, "yeah, dad, but it doesn't mean it was a good movie, because you cry at the end of every movie!". Natti is quietly watching our moving plans for this fall unfold. She is way too cool to come out and say that she wants us nearby, but I could tell that she didn't like it when we were talking about moving to Colorado. She is in such a self-conscious, insecure phase now. Her problems are mostly imaginary, but even the imaginary ones are beyond my control. I try to listen to her and offer my advice, which always go along the lines of either "everyone is insecure, especially pre-teens" or "relax and enjoy the ride. You'll be gone before you know it".
April 2013 Running Log
1: 14K in woods
3: Great workout on the treadmill. Ran 14 x 1K at pace escalating from 3:50 to 3:15
6: 60K Fyr til Fyr. 5:25. Felt ok, but cramped up at 55K.
7: 3K jog with the Girl. Actually felt quite good.
8: 3K with Natti
11: 14K in woods
13: Two perimeter loops. 3K with Natti.
14: Two perimeter loops. Left achilles hurt.
20: I'm back, baby! Speedy perimeter loops. Felt great.
21: Longish run.
23: Fartleks in the woods.
25: Long "picnic" run with the boys in the jogger. Probably 18K or so.
27: Faxeløbet. 8.2K, one big hill, 30:45. Won.
28: 7K with the boys in the jogger.
30: Long run with the boys, running Christian to soccer.
3: Great workout on the treadmill. Ran 14 x 1K at pace escalating from 3:50 to 3:15
6: 60K Fyr til Fyr. 5:25. Felt ok, but cramped up at 55K.
7: 3K jog with the Girl. Actually felt quite good.
8: 3K with Natti
11: 14K in woods
13: Two perimeter loops. 3K with Natti.
14: Two perimeter loops. Left achilles hurt.
20: I'm back, baby! Speedy perimeter loops. Felt great.
21: Longish run.
23: Fartleks in the woods.
25: Long "picnic" run with the boys in the jogger. Probably 18K or so.
27: Faxeløbet. 8.2K, one big hill, 30:45. Won.
28: 7K with the boys in the jogger.
30: Long run with the boys, running Christian to soccer.
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