Week 11/11: Well, here we are, what?
Half Marathon training log, day before the race
The thing is, when I wrote that I´d make weekly updates, I did not imagine that the thing would get so bum-numbingly boring. Since it was too cold and slippery to run outside, the training basically consisted of me climbing on a treadmill every other day, and then experiencing mild physical discomfort for 60 to 90 minutes (ETA: just in case it would come across as athletic, this includes long snailish warmups and cooldowns). Through this time, I would stare at a fixed point on the display (usually some vaguely menacing instruction in German) and listen to Alanis Morrisette. Between tracks, I´d have a mono thematic conversation with myself, trying to persuade me not to climb back down already.
Meanwhile, similar convo was going on lower, only with more whining. (I was, of course, sensibly dressed. Plain black stockings in the gym for me. I took the pic as I came home from work and crudely erased my wall.)
transcript
Hoo boy, ow.
I hear you, sistah.
Ow ow, ow.
LA GRÈVE!
Wha?
´s French
Means let´s go on STRIKE
THAT would piss her off.
HEHE (ow)
HEHE
Hey ankle, do a twitch!
K :D (left ankle)
K :D (right ankle)
Yesterday, I picked up my gear - the official running t-shirt, number, chip - and a bag full of leaflets. This also contained a certificate about my adoption of a tree, printed on a thick art paper, which is mental and I hope it was not made from my tree. *headdesk* I am certain that everyone would be perfectly happy with online confirmation, anyway. Hope running does not rot the brain.
Er.
I have named the tree Small Tree. This will likely be the whole extent of the relationship, since I have only a vague idea where it will be planted and that it will be a leafy tree. Which is nice.
Anyhoo, wish me luck! I will report in 20 hours or so. It will be beautiful weather for a half-marathon. And I am fidgety. In you, o warm milk, my trust I lay. Knock me out.
The thing is, when I wrote that I´d make weekly updates, I did not imagine that the thing would get so bum-numbingly boring. Since it was too cold and slippery to run outside, the training basically consisted of me climbing on a treadmill every other day, and then experiencing mild physical discomfort for 60 to 90 minutes (ETA: just in case it would come across as athletic, this includes long snailish warmups and cooldowns). Through this time, I would stare at a fixed point on the display (usually some vaguely menacing instruction in German) and listen to Alanis Morrisette. Between tracks, I´d have a mono thematic conversation with myself, trying to persuade me not to climb back down already.
Meanwhile, similar convo was going on lower, only with more whining. (I was, of course, sensibly dressed. Plain black stockings in the gym for me. I took the pic as I came home from work and crudely erased my wall.)
transcript
Hoo boy, ow.
I hear you, sistah.
Ow ow, ow.
LA GRÈVE!
Wha?
´s French
Means let´s go on STRIKE
THAT would piss her off.
HEHE (ow)
HEHE
Hey ankle, do a twitch!
K :D (left ankle)
K :D (right ankle)
Yesterday, I picked up my gear - the official running t-shirt, number, chip - and a bag full of leaflets. This also contained a certificate about my adoption of a tree, printed on a thick art paper, which is mental and I hope it was not made from my tree. *headdesk* I am certain that everyone would be perfectly happy with online confirmation, anyway. Hope running does not rot the brain.
Er.
I have named the tree Small Tree. This will likely be the whole extent of the relationship, since I have only a vague idea where it will be planted and that it will be a leafy tree. Which is nice.
Anyhoo, wish me luck! I will report in 20 hours or so. It will be beautiful weather for a half-marathon. And I am fidgety. In you, o warm milk, my trust I lay. Knock me out.