Summer blues

August. Never my happiest month. I think I keep expecting something of myself come September: some new and exciting direction, some elaborate plan, some back-to-school nerves. But of course, I'm an adult, pretty much set in my routines and schedules, and August just means, well, the end of summer.

Two years ago in August I had the brilliant idea that I wanted to complete a triathlon. Amazingly, I achieved the goal in less than a year, despite having to learn how to swim. Two summers later, I love swimming.

July was all about swimming. I'm hoping to continue swimming at least a few times this week, in the outdoor pool, and lots next week, in a lake (which is a very different experience). Because it doesn't involve the same pounding that running does, I can do it every day. I'm not so sure about running every day.

But I discovered something, reading about those Olympic marathoners and 5,000/10,000 metre specialists: they run not just every day, but three times a day. Yipes. I'll bet that would make me faster ... or injure me in the process. And I can't possibly devote that kind of time to the pursuit of speed, not at this late date in my athletic life. I'm not exactly in my prime anymore.

This past week, my goal was to run every other day. I started last Saturday with the 35 minute treadmill run. Monday I ran 10km in a respectable 52 minutes (respectable, but not especially fast for me.) Then I ran Tuesday (oops), 5km, brutal. I'd just eaten supper, and thought I was going to throw up. Not pretty. Not fast either. Got up the next morning, Wednesday, and ran 9km with my friend (we always go slowly, for which I was truly grateful). A few hours later, I swam 1600m at the pool, and felt terrific, not at all tired and achy, which surprised me. Bouyancy, I guess. Then I subbed in my spin/kettlebell class on Thursday, ran out of time to squeeze in a run on Friday, and instead got up early on Saturday and ran 16km. I didn't even let myself think about it in advance, just got up, put on running clothes, ate banana, took a drink along, and went out. I told my husband I'd be going 10-12km, because that was all I could bear to think of running myself.

And then I got going. And then 16km seemed pretty manageable. In fact, I was quite sure I could have run a half-marathon distance without harming myself. That said, the pounding on my joints feels greater, lately, than I remember it feeling last summer when I was training for distance, and I wonder: is it age? Is it just that I've forgotten how the pounding feels? Is it having been injured? I wonder whether I read my body's signals differently post-injury. A bit of fear added in, somehow.

In any case, I was thrilled to have gone 16km. And I played my soccer game yesterday without ill effect. I didn't fatigued or worn out in the least.

Soccer has changed my training, a bit. I've been hesitant to do long runs the day before a soccer game (which is a long run in and of itself -- 90 minutes of interval training, essentially, tons of sprints, and movement up and down the field). But on Saturday I decided just to train for today, not worry about tomorrow. I need to maintain that mentality and get out for more long runs. I think if I can get a couple around 20km, and continue running at least five times a week, I'll be able to complete the Run for the Toad at the end of September. The only issue will be me giving myself permission to complete it in a slower time than last year's. There is no way I can duplicate the kind of training I'd done going into last year's race, mainly because I lost out on the winter training due to the hip injury, and I can't pretend it's there to back me up. I also haven't raced all season.

But if I can accept running the Toad at least 15 minutes slower this year, I should be physically able to complete it. Here's hoping I can show up mentally. And enjoy it for what it is.

Today's plan: a short run after supper. Or a hot yoga class to stretch out. I'm missing that too, in my training. It might be more beneficial than a run, today, frankly.