Running Buddy

Cabbage refers to his best friends as his running buddies, meaning the people who will always jump in the truck with you, the ones by your side no matter what, the guys who are guaranteed to be ready for the next adventure.

I choose to take the term more literally, because that’s just how I am.  Also, because it suits my purposes.   This is my running buddy.

We go [wait for it]  running together.

This has been made possible by that most useful of inventions, the jogging stroller.  We found ours at a consignment store recently, and it’s been getting a lot of use.

Up and down the hills near Cabbage Ranch, I push the Beep in her nifty new stroller.  She’s a good passenger and is always excited to see me pull out her ride. 

I love taking her with me.  But… make no mistake about it: just because I’m running my ass off doesn’t mean I get to stop parenting.

Wheezing up a hill isn’t enough.  Now let’s add pushing a stroller containing a toddler.  AND just when I think I might make it up the Mount Everest of the hill country and enjoy a satisfying triumph, the toddler decides it’s time to ask for “Dooce.”  (for the eighth time and in a tone that implies a tantrum if she has to ask again)  Adios, personal best.  I stop and hand her the juice box.

Or, just for kicks, she’ll wait until we’re halfway through the run- which would mean we’re the furthest possible distance from the ranch- and say “Out?” 

“No, Baby.  You need to stay in the stroller. “

[cue whining]

On the plus side, I get to introduce her to different sights than we normally see on Cabbage Ranch.

She’s learning to multitask by feeding her baby while we go.

She also doesn’t seem to mind getting rained on. 

And she loves waving to cars and yelling “Bah-bye” after they’re long gone.  The timing isn’t there, but the sentiment is.  She’s trying to be part of society.

I really like thinking I’m helping her learn healthy habits by setting a good example.  Naturally, this makes me feel superior.

Also on the plus side, when I’m worn out, have officially hit my limit and I can’t take another step... I  slow to a walk until I regain my breath.  I unapologetically wave to bicyclists whizzing past (they’re not only alone, but have a machine helping them).  I say hello to other joggers (who do not have strollers) and I’m not embarrassed.  I take a couple of minutes to crest a hill or catch my breath before striking back out at the jog.  And I don’t. Feel. Bad. About. It.  If I’m huffing and puffing and in need of a break, it’s because I’m actually running for two. 

Do you exercise with your kids, spouse, or a friend?  What are your favorite (and not-so-favorite) parts of having a partner?

White Noise, In Absentia

I've been riding long enough that it doesn't take much to put me in The Zone: that blessed, peaceful place where thoughts and stressors fade, my inner monologue ceases to exist, and there is little left of me.  Instead, there is only a rider, reacting to and shaping the movements of a horse.   

It's wonderful.  And when I swing my right leg over, jump down, and my boots connect with dirt once again, I am a better person.

Running is a different story.  I am by no means an experienced runner, and The Zone is not only not achievable for me most days, I'm not even in the same zip code.  I run because it's good for my body, not my mind.

During my runs, my head sometimes feels sometimes scattered.  Like this one.

I'd like to just head out the door, and leave in peace and quiet, but first there is a confederacy of dunces in my way.

I shouldn't include Georgie in that description.  But these two?  They are the original confederacy. 

So no zone yet.  And the deer are starting to stare...  I don't know if you can see them here, but I can.  I can feel them looking at me.  They actually live in The Zone, and they're laughing at me.

And now I'm thinking about Junior.  These skid marks scarring our driveway are remnants of his maniacal, unescorted and unwise field trip around Cabbage Ranch.

Confederacy.

See why I can't find The Zone?  I'm hemmed in by this crazy cast of animal characters, which lead me to the thoughts whirring through my head. 

I blame the dunces. 

It's their fault I can't stop thinking about their stories, and The Zone slips further away, pushed back by the tide within my head.

I have to take the lead dunce-ette with me on my run.  She's learning to be a pretty good running partner, and even better I'm pretty sure she'd- as Cabbage would say- light up anyone who got too close. Translation: Bite 'em.  Chew them up.

Hard to imagine, I know.

But I'm increasingly sure about that.  So as I ponder that, Annie and I get on our way, and hit our stride on a little two-mile run, I am waiting for the inner monologue to quiet.

But it's not to be.

Especially when I see these sprinklers going.  We're in the middle of an extreme drought, and this green grass serves no purpose except to landscape a far-off part of an entry into a subdivision.  Nobody lives near it, it's not even close to the entry sign. 

Really, people?  I hope it's at least giving some last resort nutrition to deer. 

The next few minutes have me still shaking my head over the wasteful sprinklers, until I pass these remnants.  It was, once upon a time, an armadillo.

To be more exact, it was a dead and very stinky armadillo.  I ran past it a few weeks ago and the stench almost made me gag.

So there was that.

Strangely enough, the stinky armadillo gives me enough mental fodder for another half mile. 

This sign?  I'm glad it's up.  But who doesn't know there's a county burn ban?  Probably the same guy who'd throw a cigarette butt out the window.   

Since the guy who would throw his cigarette butt out the window [at any time but especially] this summer probably lives in deep in them thar hills and wears a mullet and only brushes his (three) teeth during the full moon on even years is illiterate, I don't know how much impact this sign is actually capable of having. 
Hmph. 

Getting near the end of my run.  Off in the distance lurks The Hill.

Not today, Hill.  But someday soon.  *shakes fist at sky*  Someday soon!

I'm wrapping up my short route, and I finish fine but with my head still going 100 miles per minute.

Walking back down our drive, I notice this tree.  It's so drought-stressed, I don't know how I missed that  before. 

H2O.  STAT. (note to self: ask Cabbage to use his mangled bird claw to help me water this tree)

Hi Georgie.  I'm not relaxed, but I really do feel better for having gone on my run.  I sure am glad to see you again.  And I'm sorry I lumped you in with the dunces.   

Hopefully she'll forgive me.  Even better, hopefully next time I'll get a little closer to The Zone.  If not, there's always a trip to the barn later.  I know The Zone waits for me there, about 7 feet off the ground, right in the middle of my saddle.

The Hill

Join me on another run.  Let's go a different way.

There's a ravine on a road near Cabbage Ranch.  At least, that's what we'd call it where I'm from...  Here, it might be a gulley.  Or a crick bottom.  Yes, I live that far south.

Since I'm not redneck, I like the word ravine.

But when I'm running, it's the rise that matters.  So I call it The Hill.

Hello, Hill.  So we meet again.

The Hill looks innocent, but do not be lulled into a false sense of security.  That's just what The Hill wants. 

From this angle, the far side doesn't look too bad.  And I'm holding up.  I got this.

I had a moment at the bottom of The Hill (before THE SUFFERING) to reminisce about the distant past, when we used to get rain in this moisture-forsaken state.  Cabbage and I have seen the water reach the edges of this road, whirlpools on both sides swirling with evil promise.  It gave me shivers to look at it then.

No shivers today as I climbed.  Just sweat, and a growing fire in my legs and lungs, and a desperate, grasping hope that Cabbage would receive my telepathic message to come save me from myself and The Evil Hill.

No such luck, but I did (at the top of The Bastard Hill) have a moment (while I walked and the horizon stopped spinning) to look at these goats.  Super cute little babies!

I bet they never run The Hill.

I started to feel better, and was running easily again.  Alas, this is no fairy tale, and there was no Happily Ever After.  No.  In this story, The Hill awaits in its dank lair.  And the lass?  Well, her respite was short lived...

On the way back, guess what awaited me? 

Fortheloveofallthatisgoodandholy, I just want to live somewhere flat. 

These hills are about to get rated on the MNS.

Sunday Runday

I have started running again.  I am out of shape.  It sucks.  The End.

I'm a great storyteller, n'est-ce pas?  (And-even better- I remember high school French!)

I gained about a million pounds while pregnant, and despite my best attempts to put off the inevitable, it appears the only way to lose them is through consistent exercise.  I surrender.  Here's the thing, though: I no longer enjoy going to the gym.  It's too much time away from my baby, and I get precious little of that during the week.  So instead, I canceled the gym membership (in my fat postnatal hour of need, sweetbabyjesus!) and run on the roads near our house.

So, during the week I drag myself outta bed and tie on my running shoes.  Off I go into the early morning darkness before the sun wakes up, at which point that merciless heavenly orb will take full advantage of another opportunity to fry us all to a seared crisp. 

Yesterday I waited till just after daylight, because it was Sunday and I wanted to sleep past 5:30am.  It was a sunny, humid 80 degrees when I left the house.  For reasons not entirely clear to myself, I decided to double my normal run with a different route.

I have mentioned that I live in the hill country, a fact that was never plainer to me than when my feet had to not just hover over an accelerator, but actually carry me up and over... one painful, wheezing step at a time.

My internal running monologue went like this.

It's hot.  Maybe it's too hot.  I might heatstroke.  I'm thirsty.  I should've brought a water bottle. 

My knees hurt.  What if I'm getting tendonitis?  Maybe I should walk further.

What am I thinking, running twice my normal distance?  Why didn't I ride Sam instead?  I hate running.

Soooo humid.

I can't do this. 

Watch for snakes.  I can't believe I have to watch for snakes.

My knees still hurt.  Maybe I won't be able to run very far, and I'll have to walk.  I hate walking even more.

I can't do this.

I hate running.

Shut up, Katie.

Hate.

Running.

Eventually, the little Evil Katie Voice faded.  She was probably out of breath, gasping for air and sucking wind. 

On my way back, I tuned in just enough to realize just how much upward rise there is in this particular hill.  Oh, crap.

Suicide.  Maybe I should just stay here with my new friend.

But he wandered back into the trees and I was left alone.  I didn't like him anyway.  I kept running.

And then I saw a speck.

Little by little, the speck came closer and got bigger.  I smiled, and crossed the road to meet the speck.



Thank you for coming to rescue Mama.  I love you both forever,  But no thank you.  I'm almost there, and I'd better finish on my own.

Beep then made the *cuckoo* sign.

 
And off they went, back toward home.  I'm pretty sure I heard them cackling at my foolishness. 

(Not really.)

So it happened that I finished my run, newly galvanized by the memory of the redneck cavalry coming to my rescue.

Happy Monday, everyone!