Enough of serious talk. Let's chat about something better. Something like food.
|Ain't it pretty? My homemade pizza with tofu and goat cheese. Yum!|
I don't know if it's the cold weather or the rapidly leaving light (the sun doesn't rise until almost 9 a.m. and it's dark by 4:30 p.m., and we haven't hit the worst of it yet), but I have become horribly domesticated and have this deep, overwhelming urge to cook. To bake, actually. Go figure. I'm thinking it's like a virus, bakeitis or something. Maybe there's a herbal remedy I can take or maybe I'm doomed to bake (and pack on the pounds from said baking) all winter long.
Regardless, there is something primal in kneading dough. Why is that? Sometimes, as I'm folding and kneading, I imagine all of the millions of women before me who have done the same thing, and I feel connected and warm.
|Oh, dough, how I love to knead you!|
And I know you're waiting breathlessly for the finished product, so here it is.
Okay, now that I've devoured two pieces of pizza (imagine a ladylike burp here), it's time to move over to the good stuff: Running.
Returning to Anchorage and 20-degree temps last week was a bit of a culture shock after balmy Nebraska City. I had to pull out the tights, the long sleeve tech shirt covered by the windbreaker, the hat and mittens, and still I was cold.
It's sad how easily my body adjusted to the warm climate and how stubbornly it's resisting the cold (I think it wants me to move to a more moderate town). My first run was a 10 mile tempo with MM, and it went great.
That, unfortunately, was the last outdoor run that went well. Every single one since I've been cold. I even wore two (two!) pairs of gloves on our 12 miler Sunday and my hands were so cold by the end that I couldn't even shut off my Garmin. I screamed at MM, "Shut it off! Shut it off!" as he looked around the wooded trail, wondering what the hell I was yelling about.
|Do people ride fat tire bikes where you live? I bikes look plump and cheerful, though they do take up a lot of room.|
Basically, my runs have been going well. I'm hitting my paces. Heck, I'm going faster than my paces in many cases, in desperate attempts to stay warm. I feel strong. My body wants to move, and I love that. I'm just bummed at how cold I've been.
And it's still in the 20s.
Time to bring out more layers. The sad thing is that I'm wearing now what I wore last year while runnng in single digits. My body is wimping out on me, sigh, sigh.
Funny, isn't it? I was moaning and complaining about running in Nebraska, and now I'm moaning and complaining about running in Alaska. I need to shut my mouth and just run. I need to be grateful that at my age (spoiler alert: I ain't exactly young) I am still able to run, and that it brings me such joy.
I am working on that. I am baking bread and working on my attitude (now that song is in my head, "New Attitude" by Patti LaBelle).
Weekly stats (from last week):
Tuesday: 90 minutes elliptical and stair torture machine
Wednesday: 10 miles nighttime trail run (awesome!)
Thursday: 8 mile speedwork on treadmill while watching "House Hunters"
Friday: 1 mile, swim
Saturday: 7.3 miles, tempo, paved Coastal Trail
Sunday: 12 miles, slowish, trails
"Pretty is What Changes," by Jessica Queller
"Wilderness Tips," Margaret Atwood (love you, Margie!)
A lot of promo and publicity brainstorming for my book--ahhhhh!
A lot of contest and resideny deadlines. My brain feels as if it's run a marathon