My legs hurt. My thighs burn and my calves are aching. My lower abdomen is crying out for mercy, probably because there aren't any muscles left to support that area. And I am wondering why I let my husband talk me into this in the first place? Was it a moment of pure insanity? Did he look particularly handsome on that day and I thought "Aw, you're cute...sure I can run 13 miles with you." I am not sure. There are many decisions I have made over the past 40 years that seemed like a good idea at the time. Blunt cut bob, four layers of shirts, Jordache jeans and that guy in South Carolina. This decision, however could prove to be a physical detriment. Hopefully not but don't think I won't be calling on my physical therapist friend for advice and my girlfriends for sympathy at some point.
I'm going to go back and explain again about the hills that surround my life. As I increase my mileage I also have to add more hills to go up. And it is truly amazing that I have more hills to run up but I never seem to be running downhill anywhere. I am considering petitioning to have the town name officially changed to "Hillsville" or "Up,up and away". I am not sure how this will go over with the locals. I am guessing not well. Sympathy surely won't be with a mother of three who only moved into town five years ago. You have to have been born here to attempt any change and then of course if you were born here you don't want anything to change anyway. So I am stuck with the name and stuck with the hills. One of my friends from my previous urban life commented on her first trip to my house, "I was beginning to feel like I was in the "Sound of Music"." And she broke into the song "The Hills are Alive..." At the time I laughed. Last week I informed her she isn't so funny any more. My husband who normally runs at the gym in a controlled climate on one of those gerbil cage treadmills ran a seven mile loop around the neighborhood the other night and all he could spit out when he got back was "Damn hills".
Training would go so much better, I am convinced if I could run on a flat surface. If I wasn't constantly pumping my arms and pushing my leg muscles to carry me just a little bit higher. But there is no getting around it. Believe me I have tried. The closest I can get is to drive myself somewhere and then run which seems to completely defeat the purpose. I cannot run on a treadmill, it gives me motion sickness. I cannot run on a track because I lose count of how many times I have run around and seven plus miles on a track might just make me dizzy. At this point I have to concentrate on the music playing in my ears and use Jedi mind tricks to convince myself that the landscape is just tilting and that I am staying straight on course and the horizon is not over the hill but staring me right in the eyes. Now if I could only use that same trick to convince my lower abdomen that have enough muscle to hold everything in place this race should be a piece of cake.
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