Full disclosure: I know there are bloggers out there who are training for marathons, ultras, Ironmans and other endurance events and they might on the surface seem a lot more interesting and impressive, but I’m hoping you’ll stick around as I piddle about doing single-digit runs on the treadmill and stroller workout classes because you are in love with my winning personality.
So this week’s post has been festering in my drafts for
three four days now because I couldn’t come up with a way to make what I did seem blogworthy, but then I read a post by my friend Milfy and I remembered it doesn’t have to be interesting as long as you include a gratuitous shot of your butt.
I had another kinda bunk running week. My knees started to feel wonky, so instead of trying to push it with a long run, I did a shorter hill workout on the treadmill Saturday and took Sunday off altogether.
I’m also getting over a cold that the baby was gracious enough to bring home and share with the whole family. OH, SHE’S FINE. How she gets a sniffle and I get the Bubonic plague, I’ll never understand.
Luckily my husband’s work stocks a first-aid chest with some kind of trucker meth cold medicine and it beat the cold right out of me. And since I’m in training for nothing, my mileage from week to week really doesn’t matter except that I fell drastically short of that arbitrary number I like to see in my training log.
|Monday||6/10/2013||AM strollerfit (1) + PM 4 treadmill||5|
|Tuesday||6/11/2013||750 yard swim||0|
|Wednesday||6/12/2013||treadmill + stroller||3.5|
|Thursday||6/13/2013||AM strollerfit + PM 6 (1stroller/5solo)||6|
|Friday||6/14/2013||AM 8 outside @ 9:12 avg||8|
|Saturday||6/15/2013||AM 3.3 treadmill hills @ 9:05 avg||3.3|
Anyway, as I sit drinking this Triton Rail Splitter IPA (A+!) and watching the Cubs hand another one over to St. Louis (F-), I’m planning an early long run tomorrow, one that will probably consist of me running with Kenzie in the stroller for as long as she’ll tolerate (meaning, until the Cheerios run out) and then as many more solo miles as I can tolerate, which I’m hoping will be in the double digits.
With trucker meth cold medicine, anything is possible.