Dog tired

Days 15-16ish:  I spoke with my older sister, Mag, yesterday on the phone.  She has been running for years and is no stranger to half marathons.  She told me she hasn’t been able to run lately because of her dogs.  Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’ve always thought dogs were supposed to be ideal running companions.  I imagine a dog would make a true friend, gently urging me onward yet passing no judgement on my awkward gait, oblivious to my flying snot and able to serve as my guide dog as the stream of tears becomes too thick. Not so with her dogs.  She rescued them a few months ago and while she claims they are docile, wonderful animals, they allegedly lean toward the neurotic in terms of potty behavior. They reportedly take inordinate amounts of time and distance outside carefully selecting the most appropriate location to relieve themselves, all the while lollygagging and leaving no rock unsniffed.  Indoors, however, they will happily defecate at random without a concern in the world.  I think they are brilliant.  Masterminds of some greater scheme to reverse the owner-pet relationship with my sister and quite possibly rule the world.
     At some point during our conversation, she inadvertently mentioned that while she was running she used to cover an average distance of 30 miles per week.  Wait, what? She prattled on, but I didn’t hear anything else she said.  After having thought about this, I believe what she meant to say was 5 miles per week, but she rounded up to 30.  I’ve already seen how a runner’s math can work like that.  Is running 30 miles per week even humanly possible?  Crap, did my family drop the ball in letting her pursue a law degree when we should have steered her towards the Olympics?  I don’t know how fast she was, so maybe it took the better part of the week to complete.  As far as I’m aware, her kids have always been able to recognize her and correctly identify her as their mother, despite her running habits and more than full-time job, which makes me think she couldn’t be that slow.  She runs two separate scouting clubs for both of her kids, and she’s an official at Habitat for Humanity, and I believe she may in fact be Wonder Woman.  Her house’s dirtiest day is still cleaner than mine on a good day, except when her dogs wreck havoc on the carpet (God, I love those dogs).   Someone needs to run over there and give her a trophy, or a medal, or both in a hurry before I have a stroke on her behalf, which she could never do because she doesn’t have time for that.
     Having difficulty processing the 30 miles per week concept, I called Kristiann, the sister running the Bolder Boulder with me.  With some careful calculations, she admitted to averaging 15 miles per week, with a bit more miles added shortly before race time.  Had I talked with her first, this probably would have still seemed alarmingly high but after my discussion with Mag it seemed not at all unrealistic and potentially attainable.  For now, I need to keep my focus on the task at hand and trot along as I am able. Confidence restored, I am stepping up my workouts.  I am getting ready to tackle my “long run” today at the gym, aiming for 4 miles of monotony.  I also lengthened my work out yesterday and made it through two ugly, back to back Jillian workouts for a total of 40 minutes.  Five weeks of training to go, better get moving.

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