Indecision

The week before last I took what I thought was one last run in shorts and t-shirt. That day it was 75 degrees, but a front was predicted and we soon had arctic temperatures. It's been outstanding to run in the cold lately.

Short-lived, though.

Saturday morning, I kind of thought I was going crazy. It was December 16. In December, you're supposed to put on tights and at least a couple layers of shirts. And gloves. And a hat. I had frozen sweat last weekend, after all. On this day, though, I checked the outside thermometer and it said 58.

?!?

That's hot. To a runner, hot is anything over 40. Ok, so I conceded to shorts, and based on the thermometer, figured I should just wear one short-sleeved shirt on top. "It's freaking December, though!" hollered a voice somewhere in my brain. Ok, I'm a sucker. Just out of principle, for the sake of December, I couldn't resist layering a long-sleeved shirt under my short-sleeved shirt. It is just not right to wear shorts and short sleeves the week before winter solstice.

This called for further research. (For those who are familiar with my low status in the category of "morning person," I realize you may be laughing right now as you picture me attempting serious decision making at 5 a.m. on a Saturday. That's fair. It probably is funny. I wouldn't know, I wasn't really awake). So I went out and stood on the front porch to evaluate the atmosphere for myself. Yup, hot. "But!" the little voice was back, "It's a little windy...you could get chilled in the wind. It's bound to be colder down near the river anyway..go ahead, wear two shirts. Better safe than sorry." By this time it was 5:30 and I needed to get going, so I stayed dressed and headed out.

This week we met at Murray Park. It was a huge relief, when I got there, to see that I wasn't actually going crazy, that my first instinct had been correct, that lots of people also opted for shorts and t-shirts. Not that I'm always quick to do things"because everyone else is," but well, I admit, I don't often seem to grasp what is common sense to others. Case in point: Even after seeing nearly everyone else dressed in short sleeves, I was unsure what I should do. I jumped out of the truck, stripped off the long-sleeved shirt, thought about it, worried if I'd get cold, put a different, lighter long-sleeved one on, stood around a few minutes, thought about it some more, walked over and asked Tom his opinion, heard him (standing there in shorts and t-shirt himself) confirm that short sleeves ought to be fine.

I haven't had ten great years with J without learning a few things, including the fine, fine art of compromise. Shorts and one short-sleeve shirt, it would be, but also, a pair of gloves. If (when) I got hot, I could take 'em off and tuck 'em in my FuelBelt pocket. For whatever reasons, this solution worked. The voices in my head either went back to sleep or agreed the compromise was fair.

While I was having my little crisis, I'd failed to notice the number of cars coming into the parking lot. I'm used to there being anywhere from 40-100 runners and walkers on any given Saturday. Now, it was 6 o'clock and the parking lot was nearly full, with a line of headlights still streaming in. That line snaked back down Rebsamen Road for as far as I could see.

Tom climbed up on his car and did his usual, "Gooooood morning, crackheads!" and made jokes and announcements in an attempt to stall until most of the traffic got in. I later heard a runner bitching about how slow people were driving on Rebsamen. "They were going, like, 35 miles an hour!" That is the speed limit there, by the way, and I can't even count the number of tickets I've seen people getting on that road. The complainer is the same person whom I've seen yell at and almost hit cars with her hand if she thinks they're driving too fast past us runners in a neighborhood. People are fickle. Me too, often. J says so.

By 6:10, there were easily 150 present, with cars still rolling in. Tugboat Mike, who didn't run Saturday because he'd run long on Friday, showed up for the post-run camaraderie and said he counted the names on the sign-in sheet while we were out, and it was over 150. Plus, I know several folks that were there that never sign in. Looks like there may have been 175 or more.

The run itself was good. The River Trail loop. 14 miles. 2:25.

My legs were happier on the first half, when a group of 6 or 8 of us trotted along at 11:, and then 10:30/ miles. We turned left out of Murray Park and ran along the road past the golf course, apartments, Winrock, and Alltel, then turned left on Cottondale. That took us back around the Discovery, Jr. Deputy ballfields, the Exhibit Shop strip, then under the scary Cantrell bridge and up in front of Episcopal School. Right on Cross, left on 3rd. Third becomes Markham, which we stayed on until the Main Street bridge where we crossed the river. Around here, someone decided to pick up the pace. (You can count on it not being me). On the NLR side, it was River Trail all the way to the Big Dam Bridge, 7-ish miles. Somewhere around the Burns Park golf course, someone picked it up even more. We were running 9:30's by then and I was hanging in, but sucking wind. A bunch of times...around a hundred times...I thought about dropping back. Knew I'd regret it if I did. Thought a lot about why I wanted to slow down. Tried to pinpoint what good reason I had to let myself do that. Injury? No. Suffocating lack of oxygen? Uncomfortable, yes, but not dying yet. I realized it was really just because I wasn't having 100% fun. I wasn't getting to traipse along and notice how nice the day was and have chipper little conversations. This was work. It was requiring focus and discipline.

I began to dread our arrival at the Big Dam Bridge, because experience told me that all four of the runners I was hanging with are hill lovers and they would probably kick it up a notch up that huge ramp, not take it easy. An accurate prediction. As we headed up, I didn't slow down, but they did all speed up, leaving me 10-20 yards behind them. Across the crest, I worked on breathing to get back some of the oxygen debt, and then on the descent, gravity worked in my favor and I nearly caught them by our stopping point.

Tom showed me his splits. That last mile, he and Chris were running at 8:40/ pace. I was hauling butt to catch up, meaning I was probably in the 8:20 range or less. Hoo rah.

Felt it today. Stiff. 1500 yards in the pool helped.

One final note: The run was hot. I ditched the gloves after two miles.