I should be dead.

I aged up last Saturday. That's not why I should be dead though. The reason I mention the aging up is that the birthday brought with it a brand-spanking-new Garmin 405 with heart rate monitor. I've only recently become interested in the whole heart rate thing. In fact, until last Saturday I didn't know didley squat about it. Since then I've found out about the "220 minus your age" equation and target heart rate zones and aerobic vs. anaerobic exercise and resting heart rate and yadda yadda yadda enough to bore most people to tears.

Here's why I should be dead: I went for a run yesterday with my trusty new heart rate monitor. The run was hot, humid, and hilly. My pace was slow, as it has been for months now (don't even get me started on that rant). When I came home and uploaded the data from my watch to the GarminConnect website, it showed my maximum heart rate was higher than the actual maximum heart rate calculated by that 220 bit mentioned above. Did you get that? My heart rate while running reached a value HIGHER than my maximum heart rate! Uh, is it me, or is that totally whack?!?

Apparently I'm now either a zombie or a pathetically out of shape blob who has no business doing cardio and should take up a daytime television/tub of ice cream addiction because each run holds the potential for a massive coronary.

Great.

Swoosh!

I love Nike. I mean, I reallllly love Nike. In fact, I just might be a Nike whore. Few things get me as jazzed as finding new Nike running gear. There's just something about the fit, the fabric, the style...I really love Nike. I recently got these and they promptly moved to the top of my list of favorite running gear. This is more momentous than you realize because, see, I've eschewed running shorts in favor of running skirts for a good two years now. I guess I thought I was hiding extra jiggle with the skirt. Or that I could pretend I just happened to go for a run when I was coincidently dressed cute. Or maybe I was overcompensating with femininity after marathon training stole my boobs. Whatever. Anyway, when this crazy, insane heat wave came, it made me want to wear as little as possible while out there trailing through the asphalt jungle. Skirts have an extra layer that I just don't need when we're looking at code red temps for the fourth consecutive day. So I got some shorts. Know what? The shorts are definitely cooler--in more ways than one, if you ask me. Hmmm, I guess I'm a convert.

Hope everyone is staying cool!

Stella in her doggie dreams.

A Running Resentment

This is Stella. Yup, she's cute, playful, precious, snuggly, and full of puppy goodness. She also wakes up before 6 a.m. every day. A few weeks ago, when I was relishing the summer opportunity to sleep in as only a teacher can, that early wake up would have bothered me. Since then, however, I've made a renewed commitment to log my runs in the early a.m. and Stella now serves as the world's cutest alarm clock to make sure I get out the door at a decent time.

Except on the days that it's my husband's turn to run.

See, we've made a new agreement. He runs Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings, and I run Tuesday and Thursday. (We flip-flop from week to week so it's fair.) Yesterday was the first day in way too long that the temperature was in the 60's at 6 a.m. Not to mention there was no humidity. I woke up, with windows wide open, breathed in the cool autumn-like breeze and felt a surge of excitement to don my running shoes. Then I remembered it wasn't "my day" to run. Grrrrrr. I probably could have handled it better if my husband was really into running and had logged as many miles as I have in the soul-sapping heat. But he hasn't. In fact, he was supposed to run that 10-mile race with me two weeks ago and bailed at the last minute because he never actually trained for it. Yet there he was, running the open road, in the best running weather we've had in months. I was pissed!

When he got back, I expressed my resentment by banging cabinet doors, huffing in response to his conversational attempts, and rolling my eyes as much as possible. When he asked what was wrong, I replied "Nothing!" I was staring at the gaping abyss of a ruined day when it dawned on me that his car was still in the shop, forcing him to leave later for work that day. I asked if he'd be around for another hour or so. The affirmative response was barely out of his mouth before I had my running clothes on and was out the door.

I felt the tension start to fade immediately. I was smiling by the first quarter mile and on cloud nine by the time I came home.

Ruined day? Saved. Marriage? Still good.