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I have been hammering the roads for over two years now.  Oh sure, I’ve had “time outs.”  During these unwanted breaks in training, I have hammered ellipticals, spin bikes, and thrashed in the pool like Poseidon’s little sister.  Every time I have come back from injury, I have come back harder, stronger, and better prepared to get another injury just when the going gets good.  The ingredients are pretty good, but the recipe doesn’t work.  My sweet cakes always break.

Let’s…..let’s…..let’s…..try something new!  I am still dealing with the fibula pain and my hips are running more smooth, but I’d say Poseidon is still threatening to pull the pool belt.  Zues and Halo both know my toes won’t go near an elliptical.  I have post traumatic stress disorder over that bitch called Ellie.  I can’t even look in her general direction.  I feel sick even mentioning her name….so let’s not.

I run because I love running.  I do not love cross training like a Pheen (urban dictionary says, “One bad mother fucker.”)  Hmmmm, well, make me a Pheenbie (“One bad mother runner!”)  My drive  is no less, but my self destructive edge has been buffed and trained to “Sit.  Now Stay.”  It is not run faster at any cost.  I am sick of paying the plugged in pipers.  I want open trail and road.  I want starting lines and finish lines.  I want the adventure and joy of participation…..and I want to kick it.

How to have it all?  Maybe I can’t.  However, I am not yet convinced of that.  I just need to make some changes to let my body heal.  For the next bit, I am pulling most of my workouts off the road- the hard and punishing road- and putting them on the grass.  The grass is in fact greener in the grass than on the asphalt.  Joints and bones thank me while stabilizing muscles and my aerobic engine will build strength and endurance back.

Tuesday I took my workout to the greens and par for the course, it went well.  Last summer when I returned from my knee trip trauma, I found my fitness at an all time low.  I ran grass hill repeats struggling to pull up in 57 seconds.  A month later with consistent work, I was running some of the toughest workouts of my life in Mammoth.  I know how fast one can build back; therefore, I do not fear the deconditioning that my body has gone through since Houston.  It is OK.  In fact, I think it of great benefit.

I have been feeling very out of shape, but not frustrated about it.  My mind has had time to bring the intensity and edge down just enough to want it again.  Tuesday I found myself pushing up the same grass hill repeats 8 x at 54 seconds each.  I separated the repeats with four miles of easy grass jogging.  I began to feel tired and in denial that I would once more push up the hill 8 times.  When repeat time approached, I fired into the first repeat to pout over 57 seconds.  Hmmmmm.  I jogged down and reset my mind.  Next 55.  I relaxed my shoulders and reset again.  Next 53.  Next 51.  Next 50.  Next 49.  Next 48.  On the last one, I pushed up on my toes and shortened my stride working and relaxing into the hill all at the same time: 45 seconds.

Whoop.

Small green victories.  I never thought I’d go Green.  Halo?  Green the new pink?

“I thought Black was the new Pink?”

Oh yeah.  Green, the new asphalt- let the healing begin.

While counting down from ten this morning in my strength class, I began to smell the intense aroma of coffee.  ”Mmmmm, that smells good.  Do you all smell coffee?”

“Maybe someone farted,” she says.  I think about this.

“Well,” I sigh, “If your farts smell like coffee, than I’d like to marry you.  Now that I could live with.”

Let’s butt face it, farts happen…..and they happen a lot in Pilates.  All the tensing and tightening and compressing and flexing- fluffs sneak out usually with a good squeak.  It’s common place, but nobody likes it when their tush does the push.  So like mature adults we inhale and exhale the other way and pretend that our ears did not hear the eulogy of RIP.  I mean we are runners for goodness sake!  Who has not farted in a run?  Who has not jet powered down a finishing stretch pop-popping with every foot flop?  Who has not stood there in the open air dripping in sweat congratulating other runners while completely letting hopefully silent power packs slide?  And if…if…Halo forbid one should be audible, we flick our eyes away and we all pretend….we all pretend that NO- NOT I, No, No, I did not fart.

My children are young.  I can still walk around half dressed and pick underwear out of my butt and pee with the bathroom door open.   Innocence fears no trauma here as privacy is for shame.  We got no shame.  God bless innocence.  It won’t last much longer.  So innocent they are that I can rip a fart while brushing their teeth and they don’t even flinch.  Like it never happened.  Oh- OK- every once in a while sweet baby girl will smirk at me and notify my head that my rump just fluffed, but usually we just keep attacking those sugar bugs.

Even when they are at my mercy trapped in the mini van- OR vice versa!- no one figures it out.  ”OH man!” my son will tout, “Did someone fart?”

“Not me,” I snicker and push the window buttons to ease the pain.

Later the smell magically reoccurs in the house.

“OH man,” my son’s confusion grows, “I smell that again?  Isla did you fart?”

“Not me,” she says and bounces around on one foot, “Not me.”

No body asks me so I just keep folding up laundry.  ”Time for shower kids.”

Well, wonders never cease….in the mist of the mint and tea tree bubbles….the smell creeps into the shower!  OF ALL PLACES!!!!

“OH man!” my son is dumb founded, “WHY IS THAT SMELL GOING EVERYWHERE WE GO!!!”

Tears!  Tears of laughter!  I cry as I type this now…and….fart…it is so funny!  God bless the innocent.  One day….one day….they won’t forgive me.

Unfortunately, no, it was not I that dropped a coffee fart in class this morning.  If that’s your brand, then you are also blessed.  God bless those that coffee fluff.  Can anyone drop Krispy Kreme bombs?  I’d bounce on your tummy in anticipation.

Good Stuff.

Well, I planned to sneak off to National XC Championships again this year sans training.  I was going to say “Nada” until after Molly Huddle ran me over with her spikes over the frozen ground of St. Louis….but, when I got to practice this morning more than six people wished me good luck in next weekend’s endeavors.

Alright then, I guess I can talk about grass.  It’s green.  It’s spongy.  I absolutely love running on….right up until the point where….I don’t.  At that point, I want to lay down and roll in it.  At least if your legs buckle on grass, your fall is cushioned.

Let’s see, what training have I done to justify lining up behind Sara Hall, Molly Huddle and Renee Metivier Baillie?  Well there were the slow runs with quads of fire.  Good.  And there were a couple of short grass workouts.  Excellent.  I am sure one only needs one or two sessions.  If I get lapped during the final 2K loop, I am hoping a photographer will snap a picture of me running right behind Molly.  Yep, just Molly and me smoking grass in St. Louis- “Cheese!”

Saturday- “You got a lot of guts lining up Drea,” Rusty says.

Wednesday- “Yeah, you got a lot of guts lining up,” Rusty says.

Thursday- “Ya got some guts lining up,” Rusty says.

Saturday- “Yeah, you got guts lining up,” Rusty says.

What are you trying to say Rusty?  Your message is cryptic and vague.

“Well,” I ask hopefully, “There will be some other girls like me right?”  I skim the list of all the girls dreaming that the word unattached means Very Close to Drea Speed.

Tuesday was my first attempt at opening up my stride since Houston three weeks ago.  I ran easy and then spun out a 6 minute mile.  My lungs said, “What in the Hell do you think you are doing?”  I figured they were going to say that backed by motivational speaking from each individual alveoli.  Wednesday I took my legs over the golf course and repeated 800 meters on grass.  Each repeat fell between 2:49-2:55, but by the sixth one, my times and legs were slipping.  Six seemed like a perfect stopping point.

I love running this grass loop in the early morning.  My foot strike feels gentle, but my aerobic engine screams.  The air is fresh coming off the lake and birds and ducks swarm around the waters edge.  Running solo, I was lucky enough to get to bust through a large flock of birds.  They scatter into the water with flighting wings and protesting squawks.  Yep- move it or lose it chicken tenders.

Rusty, Todd, Joe, Nash, and John all ran a 5K time trial looking fit and ready to race.  Hmmm, I do not feel fit and ready to race.  ”Yeah, you got a lot of guts lining up.”  Huh-em.

“Well there will be other women Drea,” Joe says, “Aren’t you in the masters?”

“No, I’m in the open.”

“Why?”

“Uh, because I am 34.”

“YOU are 34!”

“How old did you think I was?”

Silence.  Todd starts to laugh and then smooths things over with an obviously fabricated, “I thought you were 24.”

Huh-em.  I need moisturizer….to go with my guts.

Saturday was another short grass session- just a little 2 mile time trial looping around Girsch Park.   Mike Swan ran with me for the first mile before he quickly distanced himself from my sinking body in the last mile.  Grass- like water on a witch- “I’m melting, I’m melting!”  The first quarter mile felt pretty good.  Yep, then the arms started to swing faster while the legs began to soften into that cushy green terrain.  I finished the set in 11:42 with hands on knees.  I hope I am not allergic to grass- maybe this is the problem?  Har Har Har.

And I better not be whining about the cold either!  Weather looks to be about a high of 35 on Saturday in St. Louis.  Now, I forgot….what does 35 feel like?  Ah, it can’t be that different from sunny and 60 degrees.  I’ll wear a headband.

I headed back over to Santa Barbara Running Company and ordered my new XC Spikes- they are purple and BLACK.

Fabulous!

“Mommy,” she says while she floats through a sea foam of Johnson&Johnson bubbles, “Your butt is big.”

“No it isn’t,” I protest pulling a towel around my body.

“Mommy,” she smiles and kicks little waves in the tub, “Your boobies are big.”

Sigh.  ”No they aren’t,” I fling my towel off and wrap it around my head so that I tower over her floating body.

“Well, compared to mine- your butt and your boobies are BIG!”

I would call this evidence for the Theory of Relativity; however, I am aware that E=mc2 has absolutely nothing to do with T&A….unless I could run so fast as to bend space time around my ass.  But, I never started a run screaming, “To infinity and beyond!”

If Albert Einstein ran, would he wear Newtons?

A body at rest wants to stay at rest?  I agree that gravity does a nice job of pinning my pillows to the bed.  I can do that too.  I know men who can hold down a couch all day.  When was the last time you tried that?  I am sure that I am mistaken in saying that it looks so easy- so effortless to lie there undisturbed by the sounds of whirling vacuums and squealing naked heathens children.

A body in motion wants to stay in motion?  Did Newton actually ever go for a run?  I mean a really long- long- run.  Alright, alright, alright- I get it.  Gravity is a bitch.  At this point I would like to bring up my own personal short shoe review that has nothing to do with Newton- I bought some all black shoes off line that are shit.  Uh-hem.  Notice reader, I did not say “The Shit.”  There is a clear distinction when one drops the “The.”  Easy to misinterpret just like…

“You are a piece of work!” He says.

“You are a work of art!” She hears.

“Ahhhh,” she shrugs, “Thanks honey!”

Blank stares.  Blank stares.  And blank stares is all I am going to give those shoes after three easy runs birthed tendonitis in my left anterior tibialis tendon.  Really?  Really?  At this point new cropping pains are pure comedy.  ”Oh look!  My leg hurts!”  Ha ha ha!  Good one!

I sound like Sparky.

“Look kids! Big Ben!”

And cue the insane hysteric laughter.

“Look kids! Leg pain!”

“Don’t worry,” I say with calming hand gestures, “I know how to fix this.”

“Don’t say it,” He walks away.

“I just have to run more!”  Duh!  See once I am in motion, my body will want to stay in motion!  Behold!  Newton!  Not just fruit and cake.

And so it goes- my leg does not like to start up, but once I am running the pain dissipates.  In fact, the faster I run, the better the leg feels.  Witness how walking and jogging have instantly become over-rated.  Sprinting- this is the new way to travel….to “Infinity and Beyond!”

Uh-hem.  Sigh.

“You know,” she says, “This is your lucky year!  Gemini loves the year of the Dragon.”

Apparently this is the year of the Black Dragon.  I don’t really believe in any of this stuff- but since I do like to invent fictional running Gods embodied into little toy false idols, I figure I might as well read up on a year that is supposed to bring me luck.  Plus, it sounds good- Black Dragon!  Down with pink!  Black is the new Black.

“You are looking very ninja these days,” he says, “In marathon mourning?”

“No,” I stare at my new black  Devil shoes and think “Black Dragon- Duh.”

I mean everyone should be in black sipping salsa and chewing Altoids.  Bold- machine washable- and Curiously Strong.

Then my leg started hurting.  I returned the shoes and put the dragon on ice.  Research says?  I am actually a Black Rabbit!  My lucky color is WHITE.

OK, OK, OK, I replaced my black kicks for white Saucony Cortana and Kinvara.  I bought these shoes at Santa Barbara Running Company and I absolutely love their no frills easy ride.  Perfect for a neutral runner.  Tendonitis you are free to vacate.  Thank you for stopping by, but your welcome is worn (notice the key word “the”) THE fuck out.

Lucky color white….

Black Rabbit…

Halo loves pink…

This post is going to the gutter really quick.

By the way- cartoon girl, your butt and boobies are really big compared to mine.

THANK  YOU EINSTEIN!

“Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new.”

“Everything should be made as simple as possible, but not simpler.”

“Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.”

“Not everything that counts can be counted, and not everything that can be counted counts.”