Run to the Hills

Can one really miss WI in the winter while visiting Phoenix? Coming as a complete surprise to even myself, I sit in Phoenix, wishing I were home. Sure, it might have a great deal to do with missing Mary and the kids, and things could definitely swing towards the other direction if I had a bike. But to be honest, I’ve never had any luck with riding in Phoenix (too congested, too flat, and not enough bike lanes), and the running from downtown leaves a lot to be desired. Apparently there are good trails up in the hills, but similar to Las Vegas, the hills – which are seemingly close in all directions – are still too far away to reach by foot, or at least by these feet. And to top it off, I can’t get Iron Maiden’s Run to the Hills lyrics – or at least the only two lines I know (run to the hills, run for your lives) – out of my mind. Scary on a couple levels…

My Dad is actually here, so it’s really great to see him, and I’m trying to soak up a little vitamin D while I’m here. But as Simon and Garfunkel said:

Homeward bound,
I wish I was,
Homeward bound,
Home where my thought's escaping,
Home where my music's playing,
Home where my love lies waiting
Silently for me.

OK, perhaps there’s no such thing as silence awaiting my return home (at least not at my house), but when Sadie and I break out into an impromptu dance party on Sunday (which I’m sure we will do), at least it won’t be to the lyrics of an Iron Maiden song.

Killing Me Softly

I’m pretty sure my friend Craig is trying to kill me. At first I didn’t notice, his efforts so subtle and masked underneath his friendly demeanor, but I’m onto him now. It all started, innocently enough, with an invitation to join he and his brother Larry for Sunday long runs. Ok, I told, him, although I wanted/needed to keep it slow. Something in the 7:45/mile range. No worries he told me, yet 1:56 and 16.6 miles later (a 7:00/mile average) we were finished. Our next several outings – even with the snow and slippery conditions – were the same speed. Definitely faster than I intended, but I survived. Nice try, Craig, but it will take more than that.

Next he gave me a copy of a Troy Jacobsen time trial DVD. Although it didn’t kill me, it certainly felt like it was going to, and it provided my legs with some good cramps by the time I hit my cool down. But his most recent test really opened my eyes: an invitation to join the Shroeder masters group for a 100 x 100 swim workout.

I knew going in that there was no chance of me completing the workout, but wanted to see how far I could go and what would happen. Long story short: I made the first 60, and all but the final 8 on a 1:45 send-off. 6,000 meters, which is almost 2,000 meters further than I have gone before. The first 40 or so were hard but do-able, and by about 45 I really started to hit the wall. For most of the final 7 or 8 I just kept reminding myself that I still needed enough energy to be able to pull myself from the pool.

Craig continued to offer words of support whenever our send-off’s would see us both at the wall at the same time, but I now recognize them for thinly veiled attempts to encourage my eventual drowning. Little did he realize I did, in fact, reserve just enough energy to crawl out of the pool, assume the fetal position, and cry softly behind the stack of kick boards where I couldn’t be seen.

I still haven’t figured out why he wants to take me out, but I’ll be sleeping with one eye open from now on.