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.

Race report: Bix 7

The Bix — and my performance at it — far exceeded my low expectations, I am very happy to report.

Here's how I did with each goal.

* Focus on the experience. My friend Emily's advice, on the eve of the race, was to have fun with it, and that turned out to be a cinch.

I will say that pre-race logistics were a little annoying; parking far away and biking to the closed-off area worked out perfectly, but once I got to the staging area, it seemed like I turned into a pinball, bouncing from volunteer to volunteer who gave sometimes conflicting directions on where I should be and how to get there.

From the minute I got to where I needed to be up until the post-race party, though, I was fully able to soak in the sights and sounds.

The music along the route was as good as advertised (special shout-out to the brass band playing "Barbara Ann" along Brady Street, and the bongo drummers around the turnaround point who invited runners to take a swipe at their instruments as they passed).

The spectators were genuinely enthusiastic about watching, and there was indeed a slip-n-slide that people actually used. I would've felt slightly cheated had I not spotted that ... even though I had no intention of hopping on it myself.

My favorite sign, though, wasn't on a spectator; it was on a participant. The back of one youngster's shirt asked: "Can you run faster than a fifth-grader?" I wish I knew — I spotted him when the race was still fairly crowded, so I don't know whether he shot ahead of me or fell way behind.

* Don't walk. Done!

I started out speedier than I anticipated and thought I felt myself slowing down later in the race, but at most I slowed to an easy jog during the water stops.

Speaking of walking, let me rant one more time about people who line up closer to the front than the back and then proceed to walk right away ... in a race of literally THOUSANDS of people.

Seriously, folks. You spent at least 15 minutes waiting for the race to start and stared at the opening hill the entire time. If you didn't think you could run it, you should've moved farther back before the gun even went off.

* Finish under 1:10:00. SMASHED. Pie in the sky? More like a piece of cake, evidently.

My chip time was 1:03:27 (9:04 pace) — meaning I notched a negative split, because my first-half chip pace was 9:15.

That was a shock to me. I thought I'd gone out too hard given the heat and humidity (not to mention the infamous hills).

So that leads me to my most boastful observation of all: The hills weren't that bad, and/or I trained really freakin' smart.

Yes, I could tell I was putting in an effort, but it felt no different than tackling any of the hills I hate around Des Moines ... you know, the same ones I made sure to run twice a week for the past month or so.

The tl;dr version of this post is: I'd do it again and encourage others to join me. And I'll actually be wearing the T-shirt, because despite it being a unisex small, it fits me decently.

Goals for the Bix 7

I don't have any special excuses for not blogging for almost a month (!), so I'll just acknowledge the silence and move on ...

Yes, I'm still doing the Bix 7. Quite a few pieces of this experience will be different from the past three years' worth of races I've done.

Totally new: racing seven miles; sleeping in a tent the night before (I'm joining my RAGBRAI friends in Coralville just so I can see Cheap Trick!); and coordinating a finish-line viewing with other out-of-towners (my parents are coming in from Rockton to watch my race and then hang out).

Unfamiliar: traveling any farther than a half-hour — and outside my metro area — to a race; racing a distance that isn't 5K or a half marathon; picking a race between Memorial Day and Labor Day; and doing a race where my goals are basically no loftier than "finish."

What are my goals? In a second.

First, let me emphasize how glad I am that they're so underwhelming, because pretty much all conditions will be against me Saturday: hills PLUS 90 percent humidity, with the start-time temperature at 75 degrees. It should, at least, be overcast.

With that said, don't laugh too hard at how lame my aspirations are.

Most attainable: Beat my friend Emily's 2012 time of 1:19:03 (11ish-minute miles).

That summer was awful, so I'm not judging her ... but back when it was still late spring and I was fresh off my half marathon PR, I thought this seemed like a piece of cake.

Midrange goal: Focus on the experience and not the difficulties.

Lofty goal: Don't walk.

Pie-in-the-sky goal: Finish under 1:10:00 (faster than 10-minute miles).

I haven't trained hard — running twice a week — and much of the summer has been mild, but I haven't let myself avoid hills, and I have stayed active. So I'm not really sure what to expect ...

... except beer and ice cream. Bent River, here I come!

Progress report on Hy-Vee Half Marathon training

I have been a very diligent little runner this spring, and it seems to be paying off.

Of course this year, I haven't had to contend with the polar vortex, so skipping workouts has been harder to justify.

Nor have I brought my phone on most of my long runs — I get tired of holding it and of obsessing over the statistics. Also, Cory has joined me on most of them, so I feel less likely to encounter trouble with no way of calling for help.

So that means I'm judging progress on feel alone, which is OK. I signed up for this half marathon to keep myself accountable in general and to get in tip-top shape for a spring 5K. (Mission accomplished.)

Here are my takeaways from the long runs so far, though.

Seven-miler: My parents had visited us this weekend, and while we hadn't indulged ourselves on a Roman emperor's level, we certainly hadn't skimped on the calories or hydrated optimally.

We also didn't head out until midafternoon on the first truly nice weekend Des Moines had seen all year, so temperatures were a little higher than what we were used to.

Nevertheless, I felt amazing through the first four or five miles. I did lose a little bit of giddy-up once we hit Bulldog Hill, which only surprised me because of how good I felt leading up to it, and how easy the hill had felt in earlier shorter and colder long runs.

Eight-miler: We left much earlier this time. It took me longer to find my groove during this run, but I did find it.

Our route also hit three hills that we'll encounter in the race: up from Gray's Lake, west on Grand Avenue from downtown, and up Bulldog Hill. Yep, definitely getting harder ... but not impossible.

Nine-miler: I noticed my enthusiasm shrivel once I put running clothes on, a sure signal that training is peaking and that race day had better be soon OR ELSE. (This is the second-to-last long run of the plan, so race day is close.)

If you were in Des Moines on Easter Sunday, you can easily imagine how this run took some effort. If you weren't — it was warm and windy. Not constantly windy, or constantly in-your-face windy, but definitely drying.

I felt slow and sluggish at first, probably because of both the weather and a lingering cold, and when we stopped for water around mile 5, I developed a side stitch. Good timing, as we had our three hills still ahead of us.

Either my random prodding of muscles worked, or my body handled the stitch on its own, because by the time we got up Grand to take on Bulldog Hill, I don't remember it being there anymore. In a way, I was glad for the wind, heat and cramps — any or all of these could happen on race day, so might as well be prepared.

Cory peeled off at 28th, so I had to do Bulldog Hill alone. Even without peer pressure, I did NOT cave and walk. But man, is that hill growing tougher as the runs get longer ...

Eating my words, spring half marathon edition

As promised, here comes my explanation for signing up for a spring half marathon, something I declared I wouldn't do again*.

The best explanation I have to offer is that this is a practice half marathon (there I go again, saying things that only "real" runners say).

A half marathon registration forces me to run, and that the training program puts me in optimum 5K shape, which I need in order to redeem myself after last year's Friendly Sons fail.

Yes, I could do these things without spending $60 to wear myself out on my day off work. I could also totally bail out on the financial commitment.

I probably won't do either, though. I'll spend two month being some combination of sore, sleepy and starving, complain about it the entire time, and then (finally) be grateful I did at the end of each race.

Nonrunners and some really intrinsically motivated runners might not understand, but I have full faith that most other runners are nodding their heads emphatically or empathetically.

My choice of race — the Hy-Vee Road Races half marathon — might also have some of you wondering about my sanity. In descending order of importance, my reasons for picking it are:

1. It's a month-plus earlier than Dam to Dam and on my regular day off of work. The timing thus hopefully works better for training and racing weather, and it definitely lines up better with the 5K race date.

2. The horrible hills at the end of this route are very close to where I live, so I can prepare myself — it won't make them that much easier, but it'll help me, mentally.

3. I know the route is a beast, and I know that race-day weather is a total crapshoot. With that in mind, I'm highly unlikely to secretly and/or realistically think about a PR attempt during what's supposed to be a shake-it-out event.

4. Cory and I were able to guilt friends into joining us. (Zach and Emily are totally going down.)

Base-building is in progress right now; full-on training starts Feb. 16-ish. Wish me luck.

* Have you noticed that of my first four posts in 2015, half of them address me retracting previous posts. So much humble pie.

Race report: Dam to Dam Half Marathon

All you need to know about my Dam to Dam experience is that I'm not truly angry about the fact that my official results have yet to materialize.

(I think this is operator error, because my sweat-soaked shirt came off in the last half-mile, and with it went my race-chip-bearing bib. I've got an email query out.)

If it had been a quarter-marathon, I'd be singing a different tune — through mile seven, I'd channeled my negative emotions into strong running — but around mile eight, I melted down physically and mentally.

Because I finished slightly before Cory, I know that I ran faster than 2:08:10, which means I did manage to notch my second-best half marathon time ever, in possibly the most humid conditions I've ever raced in and potentially the warmest weather on record for Dam to Dam.

A few moments of levity I still managed to appreciate:

* A shirtless male runner hanging his bib from his nipple rings. If only I'd had a camera or a smartphone.

* A Christmas tree-costumed person at mile two. No reason for the costume was apparent.

* A Disney singalong around mile nine, begun by a couple of bros who were mangling the lyrics to "I Just Can't Wait To Be King." I couldn't let that continue, so I filled in most of the words for them.

In their defense, they stepped up when it came to "I've been working on my ROAR!"

* A kid offering beer to runners around mile 10. Better yet, I saw a man actually take the can.

* "Never trust a fart" posters. If there's bathroom humor on a sign, I'm almost guaranteed to smile, or at least grimace, at it.

* A T-shirt (or were there several?) that said: "Run? I thought you said RUM."

The only circumstance under which I'd consider doing a Memorial Day half marathon in the Midwest again would be if a newer/less trained runner sought support — but I'd consider the Dam to Dam 5K, only because of the afterparty.

Hands down, it had the best refreshments after a race in my entire running career. I got a grocery bakery cookie as I left the finish line area; found ice cream; finished that en route to Fighting Burrito nachos; and moved right over to Smokehouse Catering's sandwiches.

Not the way I'd hoped to close the book on spring running, but it's confirmation that I'm right to call it quits on spring half marathons and take a mental breather.

A look back at my year of running

Every time I do one of these, it makes me feel like I'm in middle school/high school again and am filling out those surveys you used to forward to all your friends.

But the slight discomfort with most early 2000s flashbacks is overpowered by the millennial love of sharing my special snowflake-ness with you all.

Also, it's nice when other bloggers help you write your own posts. So from Miss Zippy via Pavement Runner, here is my year of running.

Best race experience? Tough question, because I didn't do a single race by myself this year, I only truly bombed one, and I had three personal-record-setting races.

As far as the actual experiences go, though, I have to set the Woofin' It 5K and the Boone County History 5K Run/Walk apart.

Unlike with PR-setting races, or simply races that were freakin' hard, the challenges in these races were always inherently funny: Of course it's hard to run up a hill when an energetic large dog is pulling you (and you're not on roller skates)! Of course wearing an old towel that's masquerading as a toga will slow you down in the August heat and humidity!

I'm not knocking serious races or completely noncompetitive ones (like the Glow Run or Color Run), but both of these had the right combination of pushing myself and enjoying myself. Particularly because one came right after the Drake Relays disaster.

Plus, the causes were close to my heart: Furry Friends Refuge and our good buddy Pam's employer.

Best run? Either I'm getting old and forgetful, or I just run too much to keep many individual ones straight. So I'm going to pick the early spring run at Raccoon River Park with Regina, Emily and Zach, because of how it broke the seal on social running for me.

I rarely ran with others back in Rockton. In 1.5 years in Des Moines, I'm sure I've done as many group runs, if not more, than in the 3.5 years I ran in Illinois ... counting races.

I knew making plans to run with others would hold me more accountable, but I had no idea it would also prove to be a fun way to spend time with people.

Best new piece of gear? My Halo headband, which I bought for RAGBRAI and continued to use the rest of the year. It's officially my favorite sweatband.

Best piece of running advice you received? Definitely the rhythmic breathing method, which I read about in Runner's World this spring.

It's significantly reduced the aches and pains I would feel on one side of the body but not the other, and focusing on syncing my breath and feet helps pace me better. I don't even care if it turns out to be 100 percent placebo effect — the benefits for me are real.

Most inspirational runner? I should be able to list off Boston Marathon bombing survivors or any of the people who tend to be featured in a Runner's World article, but right now, the one that sticks in my brain the most is Katie of run this amazing day.

In her most recent Ironman attempt, another biker hit her, possibly breaking her arm, near the end of the bike portion of the race. And she still ran the marathon portion, passing people while she did it.

If I can continue to treat this like an essay test and not a fill-in-the-blank, though, I'd like to add that my friends who push their limits — either by starting to run, returning to running or taking the marathon plunge — inspire me as well. Thanks, guys!

If you could sum up your year in a couple of words, what would they be? Better than ever.

This was definitely a breakthrough year: I notched quite a few PRs; maybe more importantly, it seemed like most runs were generally good ones in terms of performance and how I felt; and I cultivated a group with whom I could run and do races.

When I realized that I'd been running for about five years this past fall, I half-believed it, but now, I fully believe it — because things are certainly clicking.

Borrowing from others

I thought about trying to wait this heat wave out, but then I looked at the long-term forecast and had to come up with a better plan.

Running after the sun had set, or after it was well on its way to setting, worked out well last summer. Also a good idea: getting by with some help from my friends.

First of all, I thought back to July, when Emily completed a marathon during that hot stretch we had before RAGBRAI. It made me feel appropriately humbled and empowered. If she could do it for 26 miles, I can do it for three.

Of course I expect the pace to be slower and yet more challenging. Regina and I, with two other friends, went on a night run at Gray's Lake recently, and she decided no walking until mile two.

The next day, when I was running during the late evening hours (read: there was still sun), I struck the same bargain with myself, because mile two came in the middle of two small but long inclines. Worked like a charm.

And I paid attention to a mistake that Cory, who is preparing for the Hy-Vee Triathlon, made during his post-work run on city trails — no water bottle. I generally don't like carrying water bottles, but during that two-mile walk break, I decided that I can tolerate it during heat waves.

I didn't feel like I was pushing too hard during that run (though it definitely didn't feel easy), and yet here were the numbers: 91 degrees with a feels-like reading of 97 degrees; 3.5 miles in 32:19 for a 9:15 pace; splits of 9:36, 8:50 and 9:04 for the full miles; and only one walk break. Downhill portions help, but I bet water breaks do, too.

So despite my insistence that the Boone County 5K was SO HARD because it was SO HOT YOU GUYS, I've still managed to enjoy a few of the heat wave runs. What a surprise, and what a nice change from previous summers where I sulked inside in the air conditioning about "not being able to run."

Boone County History 5K Run/Walk: Veni, vidi, vici

When I registered for the Boone County 5K History Run/Walk, I did it solely with the intention of helping a good cause. Nothing more.

I wasn't aiming for a PR or a place — not in late August, when I'd only been running again for a few weeks — and I wasn't even going to dress up, let alone compete for the costume prizes.

Yet look what I came home with:

I'll be honest: Not enough people were cool enough to join this event. The fields for best costume and second-fastest woman were not extensive.

I'll keep being honest: I don't care how much that might water down my victories; I've spent enough of my life being costume- and sport-challenged where anything beyond a participation trophy is going to be displayed proudly and boasted about.

Here's the winning costume, with the event's unofficial Des Moines marketing coordinator:

Marco was able to correctly identify my costume on the first try. That in and of itself was almost enough of a victory for me.

Julius Caesar was quite the hit with volunteers, the barbecue's caterer, photographers and even a few accidental spectators — "Is it hot running in that toga?" "Don't talk to her, she's running hard!" The entire evening was like being a celebrity (or being on RAGBRAI again).

Oh, and about the run: Yeah, it was hot, and it would've been without the toga. I started out too fast, of course, and made it all of 0.36 miles before safety pins started giving out. Oops.

When I wasn't clutching the bottom half of my toga, I was adjusting my sash or pulling up my tank top straps. Basically every part of my costume began falling apart except for the part I was most convinced would — the wreath, made of a sweatband, safety pins and shipping tape.

All of this tucking and bunching and grabbing, plus the overambitious first half-mile, meant I was certainly able to admire the historical site signs. As we learned on RAGBRAI, I get a kick out of small-town tourism; here, I passed Mamie Eisenhower's birthplace and saw where Boone's only female funeral-home director ran her business.

I declared to the race director that I was looking forward to defending my two titles next year, but I think I'd be perfectly OK letting some other woman come in second — it's the costume contest I hope to win again, this time against more competition.

Riding the emotional roller coaster again

I found myself having a Lindsay Bluth Funke moment a few days ago, during a run.

"Have I lost it?" I asked myself during the first of five miserable intervals.

"Did I ever even have it?" I thought as nausea rose after the third.

I'll still agree with the thought that the only run you regret is the one you don't go on, but man, I did not award myself any gold stars after that particular effort.

Well, OK, despite how certain friends feel about participation trophies, I did pat myself — gently — on the back for realizing it wasn't my day and adapting my effort/expectations to conditions. (Hot and humid.)

Some of this floated around my head as I prepared for and embarked on my first long run of training — five miles, the longest I've run since April 28's half marathon.

But as it turns out, all of this RAGBRAI preparation had erased my memories of the emotional cycle most of my runs follow.

Today, the first few steps felt awesome. I loved running. I was thrilled to be running. Did I have to stop at five miles?

After the first mile, the sweat and fatigue began to build up. Running was kind of tough, but why? I'd had a good night's sleep, proper nutrition and none of the trigger foods/drinks.

Midway through, I found my rhythm. Running was awesome again. I passed a few groups of social runners. Thanks for the brief snippet of "Runaround" from your iPod, ladies, but some of us are flying at the target 9:30 pace.

And then came the hills, sometimes metaphorical, other times (like today) literal. Negotiations about when to walk ensued. The mind won today; next time, the body likely will. Hopefully the mind wins more often.

Finally, during the last half mile, the hundredths of a mile took their sweet time registering, but I knew they'd tick up even more slowly if I slowed down. Plus, that average pace — which had bloated to 9:44 in the previous stage — was shrinking.

Biking (well, in flat Des Moines at least) didn't feature so many mood swings. All of that happiness and gourmand behavior must've softened me up. Hence the day of doubt.

But hey, the deeper the slide, the higher the rise, and I haven't found much in athletics yet that can beat the runner's high.

Ignoring conventional wisdom

If there's one thing I know about preparing for major athletic events, it is this: Don't make big changes before the big day.

So literally a week before I begin RAGBRAI (I'm jumping in at the middle, remember), I went out and bought bike shorts and a sweat-absorbing headband.

I didn't become so much of a n00b that I failed to test these items out before the kickoff, though. That counts for something, right?

Thoughts from a 25-mile ride that began when it was 88 degrees (heat index in the 90s):

* My favorite part of the bike shorts may be how high-waisted they are, at least on this child-sized adult. I like my odds of preventing further tramp-stamp burns.

* My least favorite part of the bike shorts is wearing them when I'm not on a bike. I don't recall what wearing a diaper felt like, but I'm willing to bet that this is a very similar feeling.

* The shorts are an appropriate length, but wow, there is a LOT of incredibly pale skin seeing some direct sunlight. Will there be a vat of sunscreen into which I can be lowered before putting on my clothes?

* The Halo sweatband purchase will probably pay more dividends for me than the padded shorts. What sold me on it in the first place was the little ridge that diverts sweat toward your jawline instead of directly into your eyeballs; this is just about as good as advertised. (The corners of my eyes did catch a few sunscreeny sweat droplets.)

It's also a good thing I've resigned myself to tan lines instead of exposing maximum skin in hopes of an even skin tone, because with the Halo band and my sunglasses shielding the upper third of my face, I'm going to be a walking gradient for a while after RAGBRAI.

But put all this together, combine it with my hand-pump-bearing road bike and throw on some bike gloves, and I look like I belong on RAGBRAI. How far I've come from old college T-shirts and a hybrid!

You know nothing, Little Runner!

Last Wednesday, I congratulated myself for what seemed to be a RAGBRAI trial run: a ride with a lunch stop in the middle and a little bit of heat/wind at the end. I've totally got this.

Um, not quite. The 65-miler lacked humidity, 90-degree weather, more than a few hills, more than a few stops, fried food, frozen treats and beer.

But don't worry. I got all of that in Sunday, and I can handle it. Mostly.

I rode with several of my RAGBRAI companions from the Principal Riverwalk up to Big Creek and back that day, which was everything I've come to expect from July in Iowa. Throw in the hills on the Neal Smith Trail, plus some residual fatigue from the previous day's run, and I was a little uncertain about how well a 50-plus-miler would go.

The first prolonged one came at Latitude 41, and the idea of lunch had me positively giddy. I ordered a Summer Shandy and a catfish strip basket and tucked right into both.

It was so delicious ... and so greasy. Did we really have to get back up and keep riding north and then turn back around? We couldn't just nap? No? UGH.

The next seven or so miles were not the easiest miles I've ever done. My first all-fried-food meal in months sloshed around, and the beer's carbonation didn't bring me any relief until well into our next stop (at Big Creek).

Almost as good as the relief from the grease? The 25-cent Fla-Vor-Ice I got at the air-conditioned concession stand. So much welcome coolness.

When we trusted that the rain on the radar had passed, we hopped back on and flew. The hills were mostly down; the wind, mostly at our backs. I felt strong, cheerful and grateful for second-half momentum — and then we stopped again. Latitude 41 was still there and still open.

At the time, I would've rather kept going. But that's not what we're going to be doing in a few weeks. In a few weeks, we'll be riding only long enough to build up a thirst and a hunger. So it was good that we stopped for another beer and another few glasses of ice-cold water.

And really, come to think of it, our stop-and-go riding was done during the sunniest part of the day. After that beer, we stopped only for a bathroom break on the 16 miles back to the starting apartment, under a sky only just bright enough for my sunglasses to still help, not hinder.

So how did I feel upon our return? Surprisingly, just sweaty and of average fatigue/hunger. Not dehydrated, sunburned or queasy. And most of all, content with how my stomach handled a true RAGBRAI simulation.

Still to be determined: how my legs and seat will handle RAGBRAI.

Who let West Des Moines out dressed like that?

I'm back to judging my fellow west-siders' clothing choices — for workouts, that is.

On Sunday, sometime in the middle of the afternoon, I spotted a runner wearing a pullover jacket. Three-quarter-length sleeves, but a jacket nevertheless.

I admired her strength for running in the sun, during the hottest part of the day, in the humidity, in June in Iowa ... but my T-shirt-clad torso broke out into a sympathy sweat.

Sure, sometimes one can underestimate the weather conditions, but I'm pretty sure we'd been in at least the 80s, if not 90s, for a few days. Am I a tough northerner? Or are my neighbors just trying to sweat off all their excess weight?

Then, on Monday, I found myself behind a teenage boy on the bike path; he was wearing a T-shirt and shorts, like me, but unlike me, he had his entire rear end hanging out of those shorts.

Never mind walking with your pants halfway down your legs — how do you balance on a bike like that?

I'll say this, though: I've made some questionable wardrobe decisions for workouts and beyond, but these folks have me feeling pretty smart.

The evolution of my RAGBRAI fears

When I made my RAGBRAI announcement, I mentioned how many fears were swirling around my head.

Now that I've been biking for a couple of weeks, I wish I could say I'd put them to rest. However, it turns out that training simply changes the topic of my worries.

First, before I even signed up, there were the logistics questions, namely where I'd be staying and how I'd get back.

The former was put at ease by the friends who have a guaranteed hotel room — and therefore room on the floor — for me; the latter, somewhat eased (though not settled) by the same friends' breezy assurances that whoever's taking them home can take me, too.

Then came the fitness fears. I read the training suggestions on the RAGBRAI website and did the math on how far short I would fall. Hastily, I canceled one of my running days each week — I was still preparing for the half marathon then — and in response, Iowa canceled its springlike weather.

So once the race and my rest week were both over, I hit the bike with a vengeance. One Sunday, I did 52 miles with only water to sustain me; the following day, I logged 30 miles and did more than "just survive"; and a few days later, I went for what I found myself calling "only a 20-miler."

It was then that I realized my legs and seat region will be just fine for four consecutive days of riding. But you know what might not be? My skin.

I attributed my first sunburn to the foolishness of allowing a winter-pale Midwesterner to sit on El Bait Shop's patio for half an hour midride.

The next sunburn I got from biking — not my next sunburn, period, but the next bike-related one — was a bit of a puzzle. Sure, I'd been outside for hours with no sunscreen, but I was tilted forward on an overcast day ... must've been windburn, right?

Then came the "tramp stamp" sunburn, at which point I began panicking about how to ward off blistering during four whole days in the late July sun.

Sure, my skin will have had time to adjust by then, but I'll still need sunscreen ... and I'll still need to reapply throughout the day ... and I'll still need to figure out where to store it in a place where it won't melt.

I might just have to be the equivalent of the kid whose mom makes him/her wear a T-shirt to the pool over his/her swimsuits (yes, that was me) — maybe I'll just wear a burqa.

I returned to running and survived

I finally went on my first post-race run, and it exceeded my expectations.

Yes, those expectations were set awfully low: I steeled myself to expect buckets of sweat; burning muscles and possibly skin; wheezing; and anger at how fast my fitness had faded.

Upper 60s and sunshine still felt warm to hot, depending on whether I was near trees or in a breeze, but it sure wasn't the misery of our random 80-degree April day — the sweat situation was still closer to a glowing mist than a raging river.

It took me 1.68 miles to cave to the temptation of walking it off, and I did work in a few more walk breaks during the rest of the 3.5-miler. That was OK, though; these breaks were far different than the frustrated stops I made during the half marathon.

The weirdest part was how slow I felt, not just because I was deliberately not pushing myself, but more so because of all the biking I did Sunday and Monday. I've gotten used to covering more ground in less time, apparently.

Don't get me wrong, I was happy to finish. My phone-carrying shoulder, after its week-and-a-half reprieve, became a little crabby with me, and I was more than ready to gulp down some water and take a shower.

I think running once in a while during RAGBRAI training can and will happen, however. Maybe just once a week, and almost definitely in the cooler evening hours (before any half marathon training begins again and forces me to demand more of myself, i.e., not to dodge all sunshine and all warmth).

Running just for fun, not for a purpose — now that will feel strange.

Race recap: Hy-Vee Road Races half marathon

So as not to bury the lead, several race-day fears came true yesterday at the Hy-Vee half marathon.

I was comfortable in a T-shirt and shorts at the starting line, meaning the abrupt warmup I'd fretted about had indeed arrived. And the combination of adrenaline, wanting to break free from the crowd and a prolonged downhill stretch at the beginning meant I started far too strong.

Toss in misleading MapMyRun distances and paces (apparently I ran 13.75 miles at a 9:30 clip!), and you've got the makings of a letdown. Watch the slow, steady downward progress:

My 5K split was 28:33 (a 9:11 pace); 10K split was 58:40 (a 9:26 pace); 15K split was 1:29:30 (a 9:36 pace); and overall time was 2:10:33 (a 9:58 pace).

I'd rather focus on the positives, though, and the good news is that, once I literally cooled down, this wasn't even a struggle.

* Spectator signs were excellent. My favorite was "If this were easy, it would be called your mom," followed by "Worst parade ever :( " and "Run faster, I just farted."

(I would've smiled more at "Don't walk, people are watching," except that I indulged in walking and did not care who saw.)

* The friend factor was off the charts. Emily and Zach ran the half with me; we let Zach take off with the fast kids, but we ladies stuck together for not quite half of the race. Even though we hardly talked (she's an iPod runner), somehow it made the miles fly by.

No sweat, no scowls: This is obviously a pre-race photo.

After the race, I got to commiserate about the conditions with the friends who ran the half, and I was consoled/credited by those who didn't run the half, all along the lines of "Seriously, you just ran 13.1 miles. That's amazing. I can't even fathom doing that."

And both of those groups united for a long, leisurely post-race celebration.

* Post-race brunch was beyond amazing. We hit up Jethro's for a $6 all-you-can-eat brunch, and words cannot describe how amazing everything tasted ... for a beyond-reasonable price.

That first bite of bacon tasted soooo good. I might've wept for joy. The potatoes, which you can barely see, were the real star, though. Yes, those are Bloody Marys; no, I didn't finish mine after the first two sips. 

To top it off, we saw Huckleberry stroll by and mark a shrub as his, and there was this sign:

Don't worry. I left a tip.

* Post-race beer was fantastic. One at Jethro's, a few more in a supportive friend's courtyard. There's no caloric guilt in having a few Summer Shandies after running 13.1 miles, right? And it's totally OK to drink your post-race fuel instead of eating it, right?

Overall, while I fell short physically and mentally during the race (I'm really sorry to everyone who heard me ask where the f*** the finish line was, or declare that this length was f***ing bulls***), I'm pleased with the lead-up and aftermath.

I trained my body well; it just so happened that race-day conditions didn't arrive until the taper period.

And with that, plus my embarrassment/frustration/anger at acknowledging hopes and dreams only to fall short, it was less than an hour before I was thinking and saying: "Maybe I can redeem myself at the Des Moines half this fall."

No declarations of "running sucks, I quit forever." It's just time to recuperate and think about RAGBRAI now.

Figurative meltdown over a possible literal meltdown

One or two long runs left to go, at most, before the Hy-Vee Road Races half marathon.

The 11-miler's mapped out, and there are two days remaining this week on which I can do it. The high both days: 46 degrees at the most, depending on which weather site you consult.

Lower temperatures don't bother me; it's wind, humidity and heat that frustrate me. I'll be fine in this weather.

Moment of calm. Then —

But what about normal April weather? Or abnormal-in-the-opposite-direction April weather?

Weather.com, my bible, says the average high for April 28 in Des Moines is 67 degrees.

Moment of panic. Have I run more than once in that temperature yet this year? Have I run long on a day that reached the 60s yet this year, even? Maybe my nine-miler ... during the final few miles.

The 70-degree-day run had many complicating factors besides the heat, but wow, that was a tough run. My body is not used to sun and warmth.

If I keep my faith in Hal Higdon, I might have one chance to reacquaint myself with late-spring conditions. If I bow to the advice of the rest of the running world — end the long runs already! — I'll have well-rested but ignorant legs.

Breathe in and breathe out. The high doesn't hit until later in the day, and the race starts at 8 a.m.; it can't be worse than last year's half marathon, held on a day that reached 80 degrees.

I might be the only one in Iowa thinking this right now, but if there are weather gods and they're listening, I would really appreciate your keeping temperatures cool until April 29. Or even just after noon April 28.

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.

Plans for the new year emerge

First things first: I'm still not running, nor have I picked training plans or their desired outcomes. However, thanks to friendly nudges from my co-workers, I have been finding and signing up for races.

Originally I'd thought of doing the Dam to Dam, mostly because I knew it existed, but I showed up at work Tuesday to find that Emily — who'd invited me to do the Des Moines Half — wanted me to join her at the Drake Relays' half marathon.

The benefit of having a buddy to hang out with pre-race aside, the Drake Relays also appealed to me because of how much earlier it is: I'm less likely to be overtrained by April 28 than I will be June 1, and I'm also less likely to overheat in late April than I am on Memorial Day weekend. The memories of melting down, literally and figuratively, during a half marathon last year on May 20 are too vivid to risk a June 1 distance race.

Hibernation ends Monday (yep, once it gets cold again in Des Moines, go figure), so that would leave me with 3.5 months to prepare for Drake — a big enough gap to tempt me to overtrain.

I'd been urging various other runner friends to either join Emily and me for the half or any of the shorter events on the same day. My reference to making matching T-shirts might have scared some of them off, but it didn't dissuade Marco — whose Remembrance Run registration I used after he pulled a muscle — from showing interest in the 6K.

And there was my answer to how to stretch half marathon training across 3.5 months: pick a smaller distance in the meantime. A tip on the Capital Striders' Facebook page led me to exactly what I wanted, a 5K in March in the Des Moines metro area. It's the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick 5K on March 24 ... with a start time of 11 a.m. What a great stroke of luck!

During my search for that 5K, I did come across a 10K that seemed intriguing: the Capital Striders' Loop the Lake, held at the same spot where I PR'ed so emphatically during the Remembrance Run 5K. (Is it a sign ... ?)

However, I think I'll hold off on signing up until I build some sort of responsible training plan, i.e., decide which distances I should train seriously for in hopes of reaching any goals (that I haven't set yet), and which distances should be fun tune-up races ...

... says the person whose most strenuous activity in 2013 has been carrying laundry up and down stairs.

My adventures in trying to run fast

Thrilled with my Remembrance Run 5K results, I decided that it was high time — after 3.5 years of running — to push harder. I'd seen what I could do, after all.

After three attempts to repeat said speed, I'm starting to fear that I peaked Sept. 30, 2012.

On my first attempt, a too-strong start had me gassed before I hit the hilly portion. Those hills, by the way, weren't supposed to be there. Splits: 8:35, 8:22, 9:03, 8:58, for an average of 8:44.

On my second attempt, I knew what I'd done wrong the first time. That didn't mean I was able to avoid repeating it. Splits: 8:19, 8:18, 9:44, 9:20 for an average of 8:56.

CAVEAT: I fudged my numbers the first time by pausing the clock for things like nose-blowing, retying of shoes and catching my breath/swearing. I was more honest the second time, resulting in some larger numbers.

On my third attempt, I went with some boring out-and-backs along a not-quite-mile-long, flat stretch. Surely this would help, right? Wrong. Over 3.35 miles, I did average 8:47, with another incredibly speedy first mile catching up to me on the following 2.35 miles.

None of this was fun, except for each run's first mile. I was frequently angry and in some sort of discomfort. Surprisingly warm weather on one day and surprisingly strong winds on another contributed to my frustration.

During one low moment, though, a perfectly timed quote floated into my head: "If it were easy, everyone would do it."

That doesn't magically make it all kittens and bon-bons — I still feel only an average amount of accomplishment after these runs — but it does remind me to be a little more rational and realistic.

For example: Perhaps instead of repeatedly trying to run four miles at a pace I only achieved during a 5K full of positive peer pressure, I should remember all the advice I've heard/read about good speed workouts and do one each week.

Instead of assuming that one extraordinary race meant I'd learned pacing and mental endurance overnight, I should expect a learning curve. Even after 3.5 years.

And finally, instead of being grouchy about my failure to relive the magic, I should applaud myself once more for ever finding appropriate race-day aggression — I earned that medal.