A couple of weeks ago, I gave up on running outside every day (even in the garage) and I brought my dreadmill into my home office:

                       
                                     


Now Ethel's mad because I'm sweating all over her walls. And French doors. And furniture. And floor.

But there's nothing to be done about it - I've gotta train. I'm four weeks out from the AFC halfathon, and I'm in no shape to race it yet...yes, I can run it. I can finish it. But I ran almost fourteen miles on Saturday. I'm not trying to FINISH a half marathon; I go longer that that pretty much at least once a week. I want to RACE a halfathon.

For the first twelve years or so of my running, I never ran a half-marathon slower than 1:29:XX - actually, I never ran slower than that until I moved to Arizona.

Since I moved to Arizona, I haven't been able to get anywere NEAR the slowest times that I used to run. So I've taken a big step down in my running; my fastest time since the move was 15 minutes slower than my slowest time before the move.

If I had any sense, I would QUIT. To continue to do the same thing, over and over, and expect a different result is (some say) the definition of insanity. However, the fact is that I do, indeed, keep getting a different result. In the last few years, those different results have tended to be WORSE rather than better; this might lead a skeptic to say "Then you are always getting the same result - in that your times get WORSE rather than better".

But this is, sadly, the only game in town. When other folks were out there picking out their hobbies, I was running; as a result, this is what I have. So I'm sorta stuck with it. My smarter friends were becoming good golfers or buying woodworking equipment or doing Civitan or Rotary Club - I was out getting sweaty and chafing myself.

It's just one more reminder that "I'm not nearly as smart as I think I am". If I was as smart as I think I am, then I'd know that I'm not as smart as I think I am - but, since I'm not, then I have to keep getting reminded.

This morning I ran up to the top of the Livingstone Trail pass beside Daisy Mountain with Patrick the tree-top ecto. Patrick is the kind of guy who runs easily - he's a Fifty-Stater (one of those people who is attempting to run a marathon in each of the fifty states) and he can run a marathon on any given day.

He's a foot taller than I am, and lighter. He and I look like a bowling pin and a bowling ball going down the road. He ought to be doing this; I ought to be finding something else to do.

But I'm not. I'm gonna get up tomorrow morning and go to the gym and run and lift before going to work; I've got 13 miles planned, with 11 of that at AHMP (Anticipated Half-Marathon Pace).

What was that definition of insanity again?'