I'm glad I somewhat prepared for today last night because I didn't have time to spare. I got up, made snack for myself and my daughter for preschool, got her up, dressed, and packed, and then went to school where I was parent helper today.
One of the moms at the school, who has been following me on this blog recently, brought me a packet of rehydration salts, after reading about my technicolor displays. I've been lucky that those have come to a screeching halt since I stopped taking the Tramadol, but I took them anyway because they're worth a try for my next bout of anti-moderation.
After school, which we had to leave late since we have to 1) finish our chores and 2) wait for all the other kids to leave, we raced home, where I finished making some bows to sell. Then I packed the almost-finished bows, the supplies, a new display, my daughter's princess castle (and princesses), her bag (with leotard and a change of clothes), my bag (swim stuff, and a change of clothes for after my workout), loose shorts for my Dr. Amy visit, and more snacks to eat for later in the car.
Visited Dr. Amy. Picked up donation for the preschool auction. Went to 24-Hour Fitness and dropped off daughter at the gym daycare.
Got on the treadmill and decided I was going to try for a 2-mile run at a 15-minute mile pace. As I was plodding along, I began thinking about how a century ago, all of this elaborate electrical exercise equipment probably would have been viewed as bizarre. All these people crammed into one space, few if any of them socializing. Our own form of hamster wheels created because our society has evolved in a way that "work" doesn't necessarily mean "labor" any more and so we need other avenues to exercise.
I walked for about two minutes before starting my jog, and at about 20 minutes in (or about 1.2 miles of jogging), I was starting to not want to be doing it any more. However, I was determined to hit 2 miles, so even though I'd forgotten (with all the things I had to pack) my iPod, I looked up to the television to distract myself. I would tell myself to make it to the end of the commercial break. Then to the next commercial break. That became too much and wasn't working, so I started counting. I could only look at the time on the machine every time I hit 100.
I got up to 30 minutes (only 2 minutes remaining!) and then . . . the treadmill slowed down.
Way. Down.
It still said it was keeping a 4mph rate, but I was walking pretty slow. I started madly poking at buttons and got it to speed up again. Then it slowed down again. It did this 3 times until I got it to go again, and I finished my 2 miles (possibly more), but was really annoyed that I ended up getting unintentional "breaks" because the treadmill broke.
There is the possibility that I don't know how to program it properly and it shuts down automatically at 30 minutes, but considering it's the same type that I've used before for as much as 60 (slow walking) minutes at a time, I think it broke. I was mad that here I was, determined to push myself, and the stupid machine wouldn't let me.
Anyway, it was farther than I've run in I don't know how long. Even in junior high and high school when I had to run distances for PE or track, I'm not sure what the longest distance was that I had to run. Since I usually did sprint events (which I was horrible at) or throwing, I rarely trained distance.
Tangent: my two most memorable track and field moments. I'll start with the one from when I was 11. I entered the mile race at an all-city track meet. The only other competitor in the event was a boy my age. I knew, at the starting line, we would both get a blue ribbon because they always gave out placement ribbons, and they always did boys and girls separately. I decided, however, that I was going to actually win the race. I managed to get a good start and stay in front of the guy, although he wasn't far behind me. As we rounded the last corner, I didn't hear him coming up behind me, but I DID hear the announcer say something along the lines of, "He's making a push for the finish!" THEN I heard his footsteps, right behind me.
I took off as fast as I could go, which wasn't very, because I was fairly pooped. My mother later told me that the woman sitting next to her in the stands leaned over and said, "I hope that girl wins!" My mother proudly told the woman that I was her daughter. I heard the cheering (and his footsteps) and I think at one point he even stepped sideways to pass me and somehow I found enough energy for even more of a push--which was when he pooped out, and I crossed the finish line first.
So, a good memory. And a blue ribbon that was real.
My other track and field memory. I was a junior in college and had been coerced into throwing discus and shotput for my small university, despite absolutely no experience. I had pretty decent strength and zero technical capability. Since I'd never done it before, this put me at a disadvantage with other college throwers, who were there primarily because of their technique--and the strength they'd built up over the years didn't hurt. We went to an away meet since our school didn't even have a proper practice area (we went to the local high school for practice).
This happened to be the university of a boyfriend I'd had in high school, who for some reason I still felt the need to impress. Guess what? He threw discus too. But a WHOLE lot better than me (and nearly everyone else, too). I did leave an impression, although certainly not what I'd intended. I got up for my first throw. For anyone who is unfamiliar with discus technique, basically, you have approximately a 6-foot ring that you start at the back of and while traveling forward, spin 1.5 times, plant your feet, then accelerate a twist, finishing with a release of the discus. If you fall out of the ring, you're disqualified. You get three attempts.
I fell not once, not twice, but all three times, with the third spin going so wildly out of control that I somehow ended up going backwards PAST the starting point, tripping, sliding through mud behind the ring to fall on my butt and then slide hiney-first into the protective chain link fence.
Yes. Completely disqualified. Face to match my red jersey. Instead of a blue ribbon, I got a garbage bag to sit on in the car on the way home.
That was the end of track and field for me.
So as for the farthest distance I've ever run, my dad might know because for a short time I ran with him on his "track" in the pasture (basically a giant mowed circle that when we ran, we had to watch out for mole hills and sheep marbles). That was short lived too though as again, I've never much cared for running. The sheep marbles didn't help.
My point? There is a slight possibility this is the farthest I've ever run. I'm not certain, but if I get up to a 5K, then I know that would be the farthest I've ever run.
After my run, I decided to go for a swim. Since I've been edging my time down in decent chunks, I was hoping to make another dent in my 500 time--or, considering how far I ran, at least hit what I did on Saturday (11:28). I got in the pool and since I'm still not over this cold, was having such a hard time with breathing out through my nose, I just gave up.
I went and stretched in the hot tub instead.
Picked up my daughter from the daycare and then took her to gymnastics. I sold 7 bows before I could even get them on the display, changed out some of the others, and am hoping for at least a little income by the end of the month from them.
Then we came home and despite downing water, I had a migraine starting, so I went to bed.
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