How should I spend the rest of 2015?

I think I've settled on how I'll spend the rest of 2015, at least when it comes to workouts.

After the Bix, my bunions had started to bother me, and so had the heat/humidity. "Sit out August," I told myself. "Don't wreck running for yourself; just enjoy summer."

Easier said than done, evidently. I've been crabby and sedentary lately, and you know what cures both of those things for me? Setting — then following — a running schedule.

So August will be twice-a-week runs, with a heavy emphasis on cross-training (yoga, bike rides, walks). Ideally one run would be shorter and more intense, while the other would be longer (four to six miles) and more relaxed.

If I could get myself started on the habit of doing some pushups twice a week and planks twice a week, that would be great. 

Even better would be distilling a short post-work yoga routine, created with my personal favorite poses from the various yoga videos/classes I watch/take. But that sounds like the kind of lofty aspiration that I excel in never attempting ...

By September, I hope to have started on at least one, if not both, new challenge: Capital Striders track workouts and mountain biking. 

Why mountain biking? So I can do the Dirty Duathlon in November by myself, instead of just being someone's runner.

I mean, running two miles on trails — with a break in the middle for someone to do 10 miles of mountain biking — won't exactly be a piece of cake, but it's just close enough to easy where I don't want to pay to do just that.

After Nov. 7, I see two routes. One is just kick back and relax until Thanksgiving, when I embark on the holiday run streak again. (This is the most likely option.)

The other is to keep up the trail running, even when it's gross — especially when it's gross — so I can take on the Sycamore 8 in December, no matter the conditions.

That's a bridge I'll cross much later. For now, it's time to finish my beer and hit the sack early to rest up for my first run since the Bix 7.

What's next?

What's next for me? I don't have a quick answer beyond a charity walk on Saturday.

After a strong showing at the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick 5K, I found myself agreeing with Cory that maybe next year, the 10K would be a good idea.

Then, after our strong showing at the Drake Relays half marathon, I found myself with the odd feeling that I've — well, "conquered" or "mastered" are too strong of words ... maybe solved or figured out the half marathon.

And while I proved last year that I can bike across the state of Iowa in a week, I decided that for personal and not physical reasons, I would skip RAGBRAI 2015.

Clearly it's time for something different. I have a few ideas rattling around my head, but nothing I'm ready to commit to on the Internet.

New race distances are definitely in play, such as doing the Newbo 10K (to help a friend commit to the Newbo Half Marathon!), or, closer to home, the Capital Pursuit 10-miler.

Heck, even though hills, heat and humidity are my idea of hell, maybe this would be the best year to attempt the Bix 7 in Davenport — people rave about it, but it's always on the last day of RAGBRAI.

I'm giving myself the rest of the month to figure it out; I kept up a reasonable amount of exercise in the two weeks between the half marathon and Saturday's Woofin' It 5K (race report still to come). I chose "the rest of the month" for two reasons:

One, it seems like the right amount of time to keep myself from burning out, mentally and physically, on running.

And two, my personal life is getting pretty chaotic in a good way: travel plans and job transitions. Starting Monday, I'll no longer have a full-time job; I'm switching to two part-time gigs, one of which has a strong potential to become full-time by the end of the year.

So by the time June arrives, I'll be firmly parked in Des Moines for a while, and I'll have a better sense for what my days look like.

Yes, exercise is a stress-reliever, and I plan to keep active for the next few weeks, but to try to plan workouts around leaving one job/starting another/hitting the road multiple weekends seems like an added source of anxiety.

Tentatively, I'd like to get two bike rides of substance, two runs and two yoga sessions in a week. So many of my friends are into weight-lifting that I feel compelled to worry about getting strength training in ... but that's something I'll worry about in June!

Putting my plan to the test

I opened 2015 the same way I've done for the past couple of years — by not running.

This time, though, I committed to not running. I sketched up my workout routine through the end of April as follows:

* First few days of January: Total rest.

* Weeks of Jan. 5 and Jan. 12: Moderate cross-training (biking, "Just Dance," yoga, walking).

* Week of Jan. 19: Mostly cross-training, but add a two-mile run.

* Week of Jan. 26: Two short runs, plus cross-training.

* Weeks of Feb. 2 and 9: Three runs a week.

* Week of Feb. 16: Vacation and recovery.

* Week of Feb. 23: Time to train for the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick 5K, on March 29, and the Hy-Vee Half Marathon, on April 26. (Yes, I know I declared myself done with all spring half-marathons and this one in particular, but that's a post for another day.)

I designed this to achieve three goals: avoid spring-race-signup-overexcitement, which results in me getting tired of running long before said races; accommodate a nearly weeklong vacation; and acknowledge that Midwest winters can be beastly.

I'm confident that goals one and two — the one I can actually control — are in the books. As for the third one ... well, it turned out there wasn't much horrible weather in January to avoid. (It's here now! Just like the multiple-run weeks on my schedule!)

Let me be clear: I am NOT complaining about mild temperatures and dry skies. I'm just a little sad that my moment of clarity on winter workout planning came a year too late.

At least I'll have that spreadsheet ready for all the miserable Januaries to come.

Scratch those second-quarter goals

I recently had a pretty crappy run — definitely the worst one since my 5K dud or since any possibility of spring first emerged.

Because it was such a slog, I had plenty of time to re-evaluate some life choices and arrive at a few decisions.

These weren't the kind of decisions I spontaneously, angrily make while frustrated by a tough run ("I quit running!" being the most frequent). These were the culmination of a month's worth of observations.

The first big one is, my goal-setting has been far more ambitious than my goal-attempting.

It's obvious that some second-quarter goals were just not working out for me — namely "regain mental strength" (that one required a plan, more than just saying it) and "do 10 stair repeats in 10 minutes."

That latter goal was part of another big problem. My half-marathon training plan had too many pieces beyond the necessary runs: strength yoga, mobility, core, stairs.

Each workout seemed so overwhelming, time- and energywise, when I looked at my fridge.

I'm not denying the value of strength training, but realistically, some of these were just too complicated for me to follow through consistently.

So for the rest of the month, I'm settling for consistent stretching and foam rolling, with a few planks tossed in there. It's taper time anyway; hopefully I remember to keep it simple in a few months when I next work on a training plan.

As for next month ... I might not run at all.

That sounds extreme, I know. I could also quite easily do it: The temperature and humidity are both rising, and RAGBRAI is approaching far faster than I've gotten bike miles in.

Plus, if this month is any indication, trying to run and bike will just end up with my being frustrated that both are difficult.

I may amend it to allow for short, social runs, but at the same time, my friends who run are also doing RAGBRAI. There won't be much peer pressure, if at all.

And finally, I think I've finally committed to giving up on the spring half marathon for good.

Assuming no injuries between now and Saturday, this will be the third consecutive year I've done a spring half, and each time, the weather has dealt a different sort of wild card.

The unpredictability of Midwest spring might not bother me as much if I had less riding on its whims, like training for a 10K instead of a half marathon.

Race (?) report: Girls on the Run 5K

I experienced two personal firsts at the Girls on the Run 5K last Friday.

First, obviously, it was my inaugural time helping out with the program, and it is every bit as impressive —maybe even more impressive — than one might expect.

The party was in full swing when I arrived at Raccoon River Park: a DJ blasting tunes (appropriately, "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun"); face painting and glitter hairspray; and coordinated funky headbands and tall socks, at least in "my" school's case.

There were school and running chants, and the head coach of my friend's team ran a warmup drill of jumping jacks, tae bo moves, stars and clapping — and as silly as I'm sure I looked, I thought it was hilarious.

With all this and the lovely weather, it would've been hard not to catch the spirit of the event.

Enthusiasm during the actual run seemed fairly high, too. Of course there were a few strugglers, but their buddies and the spectators didn't let them sulk or fall behind too much.

It really was cool to see not just the girls' accomplishments, but also the amount of time and energy that the adults put into getting them there. Warm and fuzzy feelings all around!

Second, less obviously, it was my first brick. I toyed with the idea of driving to Raccoon River, either from work or from my apartment after I'd biked back from work, don't get me wrong.

The spirit of Bike Month ultimately won out — plus the realization that it really wouldn't take that much longer to bike versus drive, with the time spent getting to the garage and dealing with rush-hour traffic.

It wasn't really a brick, in the truest sense of the term, because at least a half-hour lapsed between my arrival and the start of the run. And the run was definitely an easy shuffle.

But hey, if the book club members were impressed that I rode eight miles to a 5K, then hopped back on to get to dinner, I'll go ahead and pat myself on the back. I did end up feeling it the next day, I think, so it counts as far as I'm concerned

Goal unlocked: Bike to work

I set five main goals for myself this year, and I've already achieved two of them — run a sub-7:30 mile and, now, bike to work.

As one co-worker pointed out: It's "bike all the way to your desk" month, apparently.

This one was about as easy to achieve as any fitness goal will ever be, I think:

* It's Bike Month, so there's huge positive peer pressure.

* My commute to work is 1.75 miles downhill, or two miles downhill if I want a separate bike lane almost the entire time. (Heading home, obviously, is then uphill, but the cats care less about how smelly I might get than co-workers do.)

* Spring has finally arrived in Iowa — it's sunnier and warmer, but definitely not blinding and boiling.

* My gentleman friend has equipped the Shrimp with all the add-ons she needs: rack and bungees for hauling lunches; and front and rear lights to see and be seen.

Out of the three days I've worked thus far in May, I've commuted by bike for two of them, and I've enjoyed it so far. It's made me more punctual, as well as more eco-friendly and healthier.

We'll see how I feel about it as the temperatures climb — or the rain falls — but right now I can picture myself sticking with this beyond May.

It *is* just like riding a bike

I went on my first bike ride of 2014 on Monday, and appropriately enough, given that it was St. Patrick's Day, it was a little bit of an adventure.

Mostly it was a cinch, making the inspiration for the cliche obvious. And when it wasn't ... as Regina pointed out, maybe I was just getting my snafus out of the way early on.

For instance, I was nervous about using a bike lane for the first few miles of my first ride of the season. Fortunately, traffic was fairly light and didn't scare me onto the trails forever.

But while on a trail, I got too distracted by a huge chunk of glass in an intersection with the road and forgot to watch turning traffic. The car that I headed obliviously toward was going slowly enough — or cautiously enough — that we had more of an awkward standoff than a close call, thankfully.

Maybe it just served to startle me straight, so that hours later, I was fully expecting a pickup truck to completely blow a red light and just waited on my side of the intersection.

Sharing the road on St. Patrick's Day might not have been the best idea, in retrospect. But it saved us about three or four miles on the return.

During the stop-and-start portion of the ride, I was pleasantly surprised at how smoothly I was able to slide my feet in and out of the pedal cages. Normally it seems to take a few weeks before I pick that skill back up.

One thing I didn't count on, though, was how the still-early-spring temperatures would affect my toes. I wound up falling into a crosswalk light post because my slightly numb feet couldn't catch the ground fast enough.

It turns out I still have some strength, because I didn't whine too much about the small hills we encountered, the time flew, and I barely noticed any soreness the next day.

What I don't have, though, is the proper equipment for riding at night anymore. My taillight was sacrificed to RAGBRAI, and the miner's headlamp I wear around my waist could use help lighting the way in front of me, too.

All in all, it was a great way to celebrate safely and break the ice on getting back into biking.

I am almost ashamed to write this post

I did not spend Labor Day sleeping in and lounging around. 

I spent it running 4.25 miles at a 9:10 pace, did some cleaning around the apartment, then joined a group of friends for what turned out to be an almost 45-mile bike ride.

Normally I would be proud to write this. But it's not the frequent stops that are tamping down my pride, nor is it just the next-day fatigue that also delayed my actually blogging about it.

It's that two of my bike companions had done the Hy-Vee Triathlon the day before. Individually, not as part of a relay team. Seriously. 

So no bragging from me — the toughest thing I did the day before my multisport effort was play "Just Dance" with a stomach full of Jethro's and wine.

This is just about all I'll applaud myself for: When I received the text, midrun, suggesting we go biking, my first instinct wasn't to decline because I was running. 

Oh, and at no point during the ride did I complain of fatigue. (Maybe it was because I didn't get too tired, just hungry during the same day and incredibly sore and sleepy the next day.)

Self-deprecation aside, I'd spent the long weekend mostly indulging myself and definitely not working out (again, unless you count "Just Dance"), so I was glad of the chance to sweat it out. 

The weather was just absolutely perfect in Des Moines — I walked outside at 9:15 a.m. in shorts and a T-shirt and was chilly! — and evidently my short layoff from running/long layoff from biking hadn't totally erased all my fitness. 

The secret to running motivation

Early last week, I realized that I hadn't run since Memorial Day. It embarrassed me slightly, but mostly I didn't care, because of RAGBRAI training and Iowa summer's arrival.

That is, I didn't care until Sunday around 3 p.m.

The previous day, I'd driven up to Alexandria, Minn., for a beautiful wedding at Carlos Creek Winery, at which I'm pretty sure I polished off a bottle's worth of wine. (Seriously good stuff, and there was shuttle service back to the hotel.)

I'm positive I had two pieces of wedding cake, because after two bites of her own slice, my friend Chelsea turned to me and said: "Can you help me finish this? I can't eat anymore." (She's known me for nine years now; that was a rhetorical question.)

And I'm afraid to measure how much wholly artificial cheese popcorn I snarfed back at the hotel.

I topped this delightful Saturday with a Sunday brunch of a Culver's ButterBurger and a small raspberry milkshake — my go-to travel meal. I relished every single bite and gulp, and I cherished the memory ... for all of 15 minutes.

So much sugar, from the wine to the cake to the milkshake. So little activity, even if you count the dancing at the wedding reception. So much sitting (12 hours round trip, to be precise).

With nothing to do but think about all of this, I found the familiar itch coming back: go for a run.

Why run instead of bike? I didn't feel I would have enough daylight left to bike as long as I'd like to sweat out some of the partying. The key word there is sweat — I wanted to feel like I'd worked hard, and in fact I do work harder when I run than when I ride.

Despite my cat's attempts to be so cute that I wouldn't leave (he's good, but I'm mentally strong), I did go on that run, nearly five hours after the urge first struck. I did four miles, fully expecting to suffer.

I didn't suffer.

Well, OK, I was a little miserable during one uphill stretch, and I was thrilled to stop for good. But given the length of my layoff and the still-80-degrees-and-muggy weather, a sub-10:00 average and minimal walk breaks is an A+ effort.

I guess this means I've stumbled upon another piece of motivation, besides signing up for a race: indulge most of the weekend.

Like a parent, I can't pick a favorite

When I was a youngster, I used to ask my dad who his best friend was. He would always answer that it depended on the situation, and I never understood that.

Twenty years later (yikes!), I get it. It's how I'd answer the question of which athletic activity I prefer.

For the past few years, this wasn't the case; I had a cut-and-dried response — biking.

Biking was easier (much less wheezing, sweating and aching), and I'd always found that what came easiest to me was the most fun for me. Getting myself out the door and onto my bike didn't require as many pep talks or long-term goals as running did.

Running was useful when I had less time to exercise, I'd concede, and it was a more intense workout. It was also more convenient in terms of the amount of equipment and road/trails needed.

Even after a year of almost exclusively running, even after two blogs about running, even after all the races I'd register for, I stuck with these conclusions.

"I'm not a natural runner. I'm built better for biking," I thought. "If my podiatrist had told me not to run because of my bunions, I would have listened. If some weird supernatural being appeared and demanded that I give up one or the other, I totally would stop running." (The mind goes strange places on a long run.)

But recently, I read Gretchen Rubin's "The Happiness Project," which planted a little seed in my subconscious. The first of her Eight Splendid Truths of Happiness states:

To be happier, you have to think about feeling good, feeling bad, and feeling right, in an atmosphere of growth.

I'd always believe that the discipline and end goals of running appealed to me — still true — but even when I'm not training for a race, I feel like I've accomplished something after a run. And I think that this "something" is Rubin's idea of the atmosphere of growth.

So now, to answer the question no one but myself has ever asked me, I would say that the activity I prefer depends on the need I want met.

Do I want a challenge and a solid endorphin buzz at the end when it's below 70 degrees and/or I have 30 minutes to play? Running it is.

Do I want more time outside, more ability to relax and enjoy the experience and even keep a conversation going, and/or to get somewhere without driving, when it's warmer? Time to ride.

Good news: I still like running

Last week, I actually ran more than I rode, which likely contributed to the escalation of my RAGBRAI fears.

However, though it might not have been helpful for my training, it was a great boon to my attitude.

On Mother's Day, I did a slow, untimed, leisurely 3.35-miler around my parents' neighborhood (my mom was playing outside too, OK?); the next day, I did 3.75 slow, untimed, leisurely miles around our neighbors' prairie path; and a few days after my return to Des Moines, I did three humid evening miles.

At the end of that first run, I was just glad to be moving, not sitting in a car, and to be seeing the sights of home. (As much as I love Des Moines, northern Illinois is home.)

At the end of the second, I was glad to spend time out in the country — spotting outdoor cats, smelling pine trees, listening to the wind and birds in the trees and dodging piles of unknown animal poop.

And at the end of the third, I was just glad to be running. Even the soupiness of the warm, humid air, and the intense sweat it inspired, felt glorious. Before the side cramp hit me around mile 2.5, I even caught myself feeling a little bummed that I "had" to bike for a few months.

So I guess it's official: The aimless runs, the bike rides and the "Just Dance!" have wiped out the angry memories of struggling and feeling let down from the Hy-Vee Half Marathon. I can say again, to everyone's confusion (including my younger self's), that I enjoy running.

Yep, it's still a challenge, but right now, with the finite period of being goal-free, it's a no-stakes challenge that ends with a good endorphin buzz.

Once Iowa heats up with a vengeance and I have the inevitable miserable run, and/or once I return to training for a half marathon, I'll look back at this post and laugh bitterly.

But for now, I'll activate MapMyRun once or twice a week — out of curiosity only, not for pride — and feel free to stop and walk it off, shame-free.

The flesh is weak(er) this time

I've mentioned before, here or at Get Running or both, how I get anxious about taking a break from running: Will the sweetness of laziness lure me away from the delayed rewards of running?

And if you haven't already read between the lines of most of my posts, I (like many runners) have more physical strength than mental strength.

Those trends came together last Tuesday night.

If it was mildly unfair of Mother Nature to throw a warm, sunny day at me on race day, it was equally, if not more, inconsiderate to have the two nicest days of the year immediately follow a half marathon.

I wanted to be outside playing, like the rest of Des Moines; last Monday, in a concession to the beautiful weather and the importance of recovery, I took a somewhat stiff but pleasant stroll around my neighborhood.

On Tuesday, I plowed through a Dutch letter at work and Orange Leaf after work. Emboldened by the still-warm air (it was 9 p.m.!) and jazzed up by all that sugar, I threw on the running gear.

Two and a half days after running 13.1 miles, I decided to set several limits: I'd go slow. I'd walk whenever. I'd go no farther than three miles.

Well, as it turns out, my quads let me go about three breathing cycles. Running just wasn't going to happen.

But still, I was beyond thrilled that, for once, "rest" didn't mean "alternately worry that you'll forget liking to run and hope that you will forget." And though it was only for about a minute, during my tight-quadded-stalk from the apartment up to the sidewalk, I was ready to stop whining about how harrrrrrdddddd running is and just do it.

These aren't issues I generally have while biking, so I might not have much of a chance to work through them until August — if I'm going to do the IMT Des Moines Half Marathon, training starts pretty quickly after RAGBRAI ... meaning there will be hot-weather running.

What better time to test and/or prove my mettle than the dog days?

Fortune favors the brave, right?

Earlier, I wrote about how a post by Kristin Armstrong had resonated strongly with me: "When we wait to be perfect, we wait too long," read the summary.

I didn't mention it at the time, but the reason it spoke so loudly to me was that I was debating whether to do four days of RAGBRAI — from Des Moines to the end — like I'd thought about doing when the weather was safely cold.

It was like a tornado in my brain: Was I fit enough? Organized enough? Ambitious enough? Sufficiently equipped?

Just like public safety warnings about road conditions during snowstorms, I knew, logically, that RAGBRAI's website likely erred on the side of severity. You don't want people who have only logged a few 10-mile rides thinking they can and should sign up for a weeklong, 400-plus-mile event.

And just like with snow warnings, my emotional, worrywart side took over:

"Well, yeah, I live in one of the host cities, know several people interested in doing it — a few who have even done it, actually — and have enough vacation time left over after weddings, but maybe I'll just wait for the 14th-flattest and shortest route in history, rather than the 15th-flattest and second-shortest. I'll be in better shape then!"

That day, I was IM'ing with one of those friends, who'd fearlessly committed to the full week, at the same time as I was sifting through my Google Reader (I'm holding on until the bitter end).

Enter Kristin's post. I don't make all my decisions based on signs, but this one was neon and flashing. I couldn't ignore it. A few weeks and $100 later, I was officially in.

I can't say the worrywart side has shut up; right now, I'm procrastinating on paying $14 for Scheels to fix my second flat tire in a week and berating myself for leaping into a road bike with no mechanical skills whatsoever. (Evidently I don't always wait to be perfect.)

But I can say that, just like when I committed publicly and financially to running a half marathon in my first year of running, I stopped waiting to be perfect. Barring extreme circumstances, I'm unlikely to throw my online cred and $100 — OK, just the latter — away out of cowardice.

Your body knows best

One thing I love about the Midwest is the thrill of the seasons changing. One thing I don't love is how that thrill overrides rationality sometimes.

I woke up Monday feeling just peachy, even though I'd run a fast 5K and biked 24 miles the previous day. With the 70-degree forecast — and midweek cold-and-rainy front — there was no way I was taking a rest day.

Another bike ride was on the schedule; a flat tire five miles into what I'd hoped would be as close to 30 miles as my condition would allow, however, was not on the schedule. The Shrimp (my bike) and I trudged home defeatedly.

I hadn't felt fatigued before getting the flat, but the walk of shame did wear me down some. Still, the weather was so nice, and I had the whole day off work, so there didn't seem to be any reason not to pick one of the week's running workouts in its place. Right?

Wrong, as I realized within the first tenths of a mile. My legs felt weird. At first, I thought it was just post-bike adaptation; when I stopped "to retie my shoe" before a mile was done, I knew that wasn't the case.

And yet I pushed on, thinking that if I simply willed myself through the first half of my out-and-back, I'd be able to float home without trouble.

On a different run, that might've been the case. But I was running on tired legs; I was running on a relatively empty stomach; I was running in temperatures I hadn't seen since September on a sunny, windy day. It just wasn't my day, period.

The cherry on this sundae of crappiness was the jerk driver who honked at me as I crossed — while I had the crosswalk sign! — because I was impeding his ability to turn right. You know, if I were moving that slowly to ruin your day, why didn't you turn while I was still crossing the three lanes before yours?

I ended up getting in 4.75 of the five scheduled ones, and I'm 100 percent OK with that. I should've listened to my body earlier, but better late than never.

My 12th and final check-in on the Rock River 1000 Mile Challenge

One running challenge down, one still left to go. (I haven't gotten my final holiday running streak effort in yet, but I will after I post this!)

I wrapped up my 2012 running season with two very cold and shockingly, nauseatingly fast miles on New Year's Eve. That put me at 931 for the entire year, running and walking.

The night before that — New Year's Eve Eve — I went ice skating at Brenton Plaza with two good friends, one of whom is a natural athlete and the other of whom is, well, more like me. (However she can swim laps around the two of us, so it evens out.)

As natural athlete friend outpaced the two of us who were clinging desperately to the handrail, I found myself thinking: "This was an ill-advised decision for a runner who's just days from completing two challenges she's worked fairly diligently on ... "

But as I found my stride and completed a loop or two, I tried desperately not to jinx myself with thoughts of "wow, I haven't wiped out yet!" but rather "I wonder how far each loop is" and "Does this count toward my run streak?"

It was facetious, sort of; I'd argue that skating is more worthy of being counted than biking, which I definitely saw people doing and definitely am not bitter about.

Thinking back on it post-challenge, however, makes me vaguely nostalgic, because it's emblematic of 2012 for me: I spent the year focusing on mileage, asking my companions "How far do you think we walked around [insert outdoor event or city]?",  re-creating the hike from Ogilvie Transportation Center to Chicago tourist attractions on MapMyRun, live-tracking a midparty liquor quest. 

Can I quit measuring any move of significance, cold turkey? Can I stop demanding that someone else uncork wine because, after all, I walked 1.7 miles to get that wine to share with her?

I should probably say yes to the latter and no to the former. The race against the calendar lit a fire under me to keep active this year, but the takeaway — for a nonwinner — was ultimately a helpful reminder that the walking miles add up in an important way for fitness purposes.

But first comes a well-deserved and much-needed period of inactivity. That will be the true judge of how deeply the fitness-tracking bug bit me.