I've been quietly climbing back on the training wagon. I didn't want to say anything for several reasons, not the least of which is that it's so hard. So hard. My running base has officially been knocked back to zero, the muscle mass has atrophied and my all-important will power has taken a lengthy vacation.
It might be too soon to say it's back, but after one week of a plan and - get this - going above and beyond the minimum, I'm beginning to think I should make my plans public.
It's no secret I plan to do the half in September. I think I've thrown out any time goal and I just want to bloody well finish the thing. Because this time, it's not about proving to myself that I could train and be a new mum, it's about just getting up and moving. This, this has been my struggle for the past three months. Well, that and treating every dinner like an all you can eat buffet.
We've finally (mostly) unpacked. I found Jillian's Shred DVD. It's designed to be a 30 day kick start to fitness, nothing more, but I decided last week, that's what I need. I'm not above a 25 minute quickie workout (a statement I really did have to commit to). But you know and I know 25 minutes a day is not going to get me through 13.1 miles. I said it was a start, OK?
The other half of the start is, sigh, yes, running. If I want to run 13.1 miles and not collapse at mile 12 I have to run several times more than that for several weeks. Running, for at least a while there, lost its sheen. I wasn't enjoying myself. A) I was hurting B) Then I was moving, and C) I got to a strange city with no one to kick my ass and run with me.
This morning, day seven of my 30 day kick start, I was sore and tired, but the weather was fine, the sun was shining and I was one three -point-two-mile run away from actually being able to check mark every single one of my planned workouts this week (plus three extra long evening walks!).
I laced up my runners feeling good but lonely. I miss my running buddies. I miss my buddies. I miss my family. But as I hit play on the iPod, a big smile crept across my face. See, I have a ridiculous mix on my iPod. Mr. Wumpus thinks it's the crappiest mix out there - I've got everything from explicit-laden hip hop, to country, to gypsy music, to wallow-in-self-pity slow stuff. And yet it all gets me moving in some way; maybe faster, maybe slower, maybe with a better cadence. What the husband doesn't get is that every song carries with it a reminder. A reminder of a time, a place, a person.
The Odds clicked on (yes, I even have their version of We Three Kings on year-round, it's lovely), and I thought of Amy, whom I haven't spoken with in a long time and I wonder why this move to Saskatchewan has made keeping in touch with her more challenging. Manu Chao came on and I laughed out loud to think of my Manatee Momma in l'Otterwah and how I miss her. Some gypsy brass, and I think of Jen P. Ditto for 50 Cent. Anything with a good harmony, I sing, and think of mum and my sister. The silence in between songs that kills me as I climb the gigantic hill? The midwife (hills will always make me think of her, I'm sure).
Coasting home off that gigantic hill, I promised myself two things: that week two of this four week kick start was going to be bigger and better than week one, and that I would get to all those phone calls I hadn't had time to make.
My very own mum would have turned 58 today. Hard to think she's been gone so very long and still would not even be 60 yet. Time can be such a complete and total mind-f**k (I couldn't think of a more apt term. Sue me. Le mot juste, is just that - the right word)