Race report: Woofin' It 5K 2014

"Are you up for a challenge?"

That was how Furry Friends' director greeted me at Saturday's Woofin' It 5K.

Last year's "borrowed" dog, Sam, had been bursting with energy, but Cory and I had survived. (Taking turns holding the leash helped.) So I laughed and said sure, bring it on.

Enter Rowan, a 6-year-old American Staffordshire terrier mix. As I took the leash of this ball of muscles, the shelter folks warned: "Just so you know, he's a bit of a puller ... "

And we were off! By the time we met up with Cory, who was pinning his bib on and stashing his belongings in the car, I'd already broken a sweat. This didn't bode well for my "costume."

It turns out that cheap eyeliner is NOT waterproof. Should've taken a picture before the race, I guess. Not pictured: Cory's awesome socks, with a cat saying "woof" and a dog saying "meow."

Because we showed up a bit late, we hadn't quite made it to the start line when the race began, but with Rowan towing me, we caught up, no problem.

After we crested the first hill, my legs already complaining about the previous day's 21 bike miles/3.1 run-walk miles, I happened to glance down at my shoe. The keyholder was gone.

CRAP. I handed Rowan off to Cory and fled down that hill, sweat pouring from every pore (oh hi humidity!), to find it at the very start of the race.

How many college grads does it take to secure car keys on a pair of shoes while a feisty dog itches to race? More than two, evidently.

The good news for me, I guess, was that doubling back helped tire Rowan out a bit. Don't get me wrong, that dog was ready to run, but after the first mile or so, I was able to maintain some semblance of form and not spend every other breath shouting fruitlessly "heel! heel!"

Still, Rowan was determined to save face in front of other dogs. He might slow to a trot when it was just Cory and I, but let another human-dog duo pass us, and he'd leap to action.

Or when he needed a break, 8 times out of 10, he would act like he was marking yet another plant. (Though I didn't look closely, I had a hunch that nothing was coming out from under that raised leg.)

On the other hand, he seemed determined to make Cory and I look like bad pet parents. The other race participants chuckled indulgently at our swerving, abrupt stopping/starting, and bathroom breaks; the couple sitting on their porch seemed less amused by Rowan's liquid present on their lawn.

All three of us were glad to see the finish line, I think, but it was a happy tired.

There sure wasn't a dull moment with Rowan at the helm ... though if Furry Friends has an even more energetic dog waiting for me next year, I might ask about hooking him/her up to my bike instead!

For the record: Even with our doubling back, I finished this 5K faster (42:11) than the Girls on the Run one the night before (somewhere around 46 minutes).

Upcoming race: Woofin' It 5K

I received an email recently with the news I'd been eagerly awaiting all spring: Registration was open for the Woofin' It 5K.

Last year's event was one of my all-time favorite race experiences and definitely my favorite fun run.

I mean, if you're an animal lover, how can you not enjoy watching dogs of all shapes and sizes galloping about, sniffing things, sporting costumes and never running the tangents?

I hope I'm able to borrow a shelter dog again, even though my companion last year gave me a sore shoulder. (No, I won't bring my cats just in case I can't run with a dog. Someone has already asked.)

I also hope that I'm able to round up a lot of registrants to help the awesome shelter that saved my Dusty cat, given the noncompetitive and super-cute nature of this event — some friends run, some friends used to run and some friends own dogs, so there's a wide appeal.

Does this guy look like he's ready to run? Nope, but he does look awfully dapper in that harness.

If anyone who's reading this hasn't already been gently nagged to register, it's at 9 a.m. May 10 at Campbell Park in Clive.

Last year, the location was perfect because I lived only a mile away; this year, it'll be nice to hit up a trail (the Clive Greenbelt) I haven't run on since probably November, if not earlier, and admire all the nice houses around there again.

One month until taper time

Training for the IMT Half Marathon has absolutely flown by.

That might be another benefit of fall half marathons, compared with spring ones. I tend to get so bored with aimless running that I expand my training schedule in the spring; whereas if I continue doing RAGBRAI, as I hope to do, I won't start training for real until the first full week in August.

Yesterday, as I did my nine-mile long run, I realized how fast it had crept up on me — and subsequently how little time I'd spent looking ahead with dread.

Particularly during the flat miles — approximately from miles 3 to 7.5 — I was flying. Being in the cool, shady, flat stretch of the Clive Greenbelt Trail really helped, but there was a sense of confidence, too.

After all, as I've been reporting on Daily Mile, I'm getting better about gently encouraging myself up hills by focusing on consistent effort, not speed. I'm also notching about the same speed during my shorter runs in hot, humid weather as I would during more favorable conditions.

So once I warmed up (even before the flat stretch) and until I slowed to grab my water bottle and tackle the horrible hill from Greenbelt Park to Sunset Terrace, I found myself thinking: "I could totally tack on four miles to this run. I could do the half marathon right now. Especially if I didn't carry my own water at any point."

All I've got left in the long-run department now are 10- and 11-milers, and then it's down to a medium-length run during taper week. Wasn't I just finally running longer than 4.25 miles for the first time since the Hy-Vee half?

(I sound so mournful, but I won't mind ending the pre-long-run anxiety and post-long-run cramming in of all the other things I want/need to do that day. And if I finally set a new PR and/or break 2:05:00, there will be no regrets that it's over.)

I'll end this rambling post with this:

I wrung my Halo headband out after the nine-mile run onto the sidewalk, to see how much liquid it held. "A lot" is my best measurement.

Yep, I'm a sweaty runner. However, let me also add that it took more than eight miles for any of it to roll into my eyes. I'd say the Halo was a good investment.

Long run stats, for those who are interested: Nine miles in 1:23:23 (9:16 pace); splits of 9:31, 9:35, 9:00, 8:59, 8:47, 9:34, 8:49, 9:48 (the hill) and 8:58.

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.

RAGBRAI simulation was successful

When I decided to tackle a 65-mile ride in two separate outings, I did so to avoid carrying a lunch and to venturing so geographically far that surprise storms/mechanical issues could turn me into a cautionary tale.

But, duh, it dawned on me much later that I'd also accidentally planned a mock-RAGBRAI day for myself.

My route took me from my apartment to the Cumming Tap and back (no, I did not stop for a drink), good for 40 miles, and then from my apartment to the Raccoon River Valley/Walnut Creek/Clive Greenbelt trails, for the remaining 25.

Overall, I'd give this adventure a B+ — mostly successful, with a few spots for improvement.

Unsurprisingly, my spirits stayed higher when I had fewer miles to contemplate doing at once. Hooray for manageable chunks!

Surprisingly, my legs rebounded fairly well from the hour-plus stop. I did a few stretches, but nothing out of the ordinary, and not even my complete post-workout routine.

The second ride did end up being noticeably slower, though. I blame a third of that on increased wind/warmth; another third on stops to figure out where I was and where I needed to go; and the last third on minor fatigue.

On the plus side, I was walking just fine that evening. I'd forgotten the magical powers of lying on the floor with legs propped up against the wall. Hopefully now that I've exercised them (ha!) again, I won't make that mistake again.

My sweaty clothing mostly dried off. I'll just leave it at that. The hair definitely did. Hooray for pixie cuts!

The midday reapplication of sunscreen seems to have prevented me from burning. I'm cautiously optimistic, because the majority of my riding came before the fiercest hours.

And now for the biggest mistake I made: heading out too fast after lunch, out of fear that my legs would just lock up. I probably let my food digest for about 30 minutes tops, and I felt it slosh around for about that same length of time during the ride. I tasted it even later than that (thanks to heartburn, not vomiting).

Now that I know my legs won't petrify if I stop for a while, I'll give my stomach more time to settle. But I'll also have far more time on RAGBRAI than on a day when I had early-evening plans. 

Sunburn update

A nerve-racking week-plus without riding made me determined to build two solid rides into my "weekend" (Sunday and Monday, my two days off from work).

I did 30 out-and-back miles Sunday morning, starting on the Clive Greenbelt trail and turning around at the SW Fifth Street pedestrian bridge. All conditions — temperature, wind, elevation, restedness — were optimal; until one final uphill struggle, I was averaging 15 mph.

A chunk of this ride followed the Hy-Vee Half Marathon route, but I am happy to report that I was actually in a state of mind to appreciate the trails rather than wonder angrily why I was even doing this.

Sunburn acquired: a set of parentheses on my shoulder blades, facing like this ) ( . It's the spot where a racerback tank top exposes skin, but where straining sunscreen-covered hands can only swipe awkwardly.

On Monday afternoon, I squeezed in 40 miles, taking the Greenbelt trail to the Raccoon River Valley one. I absolutely loved how quiet, new and rural the stretch from the Waukee parking lot to Minburn was; I was less enchanted with the wind that day.

Still, because it was an out-and-back, what the wind took from me at points, it also gave back. Legs that were tired from the previous day's effort and the current day's 20 mph winds managed to average a 14 mph pace.

Sunburn acquired: several irregular splotches on my legs. This one is deeper than the parentheses, probably because it was on skin that rarely receives direct sunlight ... let alone for three hours. I'll just share photos, for your amusement/commiseration.

I have shorts on, though you can't see them. What you CAN see, however, is the outline of a Band-Aid around a cut I received Sunday night. Evidently I protected not just the wound itself but also the inch or so of skin surrounding it. 

Evidence of the shorts ... and the sunshine hitting my parallel-to-the-ground thighs directly. 

How did this happen? I wore running shorts instead of the knee-length shorts that keep my skin from rubbing awkwardly against the seat and, apparently, from being roasted in the sun.

I never want to be sunburned, let me make this clear, but I'm taking a very optimistic outlook on these burns. Better to find all the weirdly sensitive spots now so I can slather them in sunblock during RAGBRAI.

The Woofin' It 5K told through pictures

Last weekend, I did the Woofin' It 5K charity race to benefit the Clive Jaycees and, much more importantly, Furry Friends Refuge.

A friend/fellow athlete, upon hearing of my race plans amid post-half marathon laziness, said jokingly: "Better get out there and run, otherwise you're gonna be out-of-shape for this race!"

I laughed dismissively. "I'll be fine. It's a race with dogs. It's not serious."

A few days later, on a beautiful Saturday morning, I may have ate those words.

The ultimate costume contest winners: Thing 1 and Thing 2. I've never had such a pleasant prerace wait — so many dogs of so many breeds/mutt mixes, and in so many pieces of clothing!

Most dogs, like this tropically dressed one, were eager to meet and greet their competitors. Many butts were sniffed; many howls and barks were emitted; many humans were jerked in random directions and tangled up by leashes.

When my friend/fellow racer Cory and I approached the shelter director to ask for our dogs, she told us only one was left. This is Sam, a 3-year-old coonhound mix. "Are you real runners?" the director asked us. "Because Sam really likes to run." I was too full of pride at being able to answer yes that I didn't think too hard about what her question meant.

It took all of a mile for me to be grateful that I was sharing Sam with Cory. The first mile was uphill, and Sam's legs were apparently far fresher than mine. Also not helping my performance: how much I kept laughing in between shouts of "Sam, heel!" while keeping a two-handed death grip on his leash.

Sam did a great job. He made the classic rookie mistake of going out too fast, but he took advantage of the water stops and ignored my suggestion that we take a few walk breaks — for his sake, of course, not mine.

This was the toughest 5K I've done in Des Moines — my shoulders and back ached for 24-plus hours afterward — but it was hands-down the most fun 5K I've done, too. Consider me registered (mentally) for the 2014 edition!

I ran/walked 900 miles this year, no big deal

With two weeks left in the year, I reached my downwardly revised goal of 900 miles for the year.

I was at 894.74 through Sunday, so Monday — my day off — seemed to be a good time to cross that line. So after much trial-and-error in planning a long-enough route, I got myself out the door, onto the trail and across the 900-mile marker.

It was just like any other unremarkable milestone (turning 20, turning 25, reaching 100,000 on your car's odometer, etc.), in that it happened without fanfare. Heading in, I'd felt like maybe a sparkler should go off.

It didn't. I knew I'd achieved the goal, but I didn't spend much time congratulating myself on it — one text, only because someone else had texted me good news before; one brag on Daily Mile. Mostly I wondered: What's next? That is, how much closer can I get to 1,000 before 2013?

Poor 900. First it was a consolation prize, now it's a stepping stone. My gaze has moved on to 925 ...

Art on the run

I began this blog with lofty ambitions, one of which was the weekly "seen while running" roundup.

That feature fell victim to complacency, in two ways: One, the more I ran the main roads around my apartment, the less extraordinary their infrastructure/architecture seemed; and two, the more certain I was of my whereabouts (during the daytime), the less I felt compelled to carry my smartphone and invite shoulder twinges.

But still, I appreciate the views I have, particularly the opportunity that running gives me to observe them safely, and I like seeing my overall time/splits after a good stretch and a tall glass of water.

So, while it took me a month or so, I've managed to gather a few works of art and creativity:

Is it Herky or Cy? I'm from a noncollege town and graduated from a Division II college; I have no idea! But seriously: He perches along Woodlands Parkway. Very appropriate.

Whew, something I understand: NFL loyalty and passion for the color purple. And no, Packer fans, I am not going to join you in vitriol against the Vikings just because they're also in the NFC North.

Here's the reason for the creativity reference. It's getting darker earlier, but I love my sweatbands. What to do? Loosen my headlamp as far as it'll go and wear it around my hips — so that it also keeps my shirt from rolling up.

Seen while running: Week of Aug. 26

First, the sights:

This is someone's driveway in Clive. My college's mascot is Spike the Bulldog, so my attention is always drawn to pawprints.

The least-guarded private lake ever. It's a beautiful sight, though, because it always marks the end of a long ascent.

Then the smells: dead animals. Fortunately for you readers, I was on a naked run when I found the mummified squirrel on the 60th Street sidewalk, so I wasn't at all tempted to take a picture.

Even if I had brought the iPhone, though, I would have had to linger near the stench source to get the picture. No thank you.

And last, the sounds. A fellow runner on the Clive Greenbelt Trail seemed to be having just as mediocre of a run as I was — walking breaks, grimace, shuffly feet, etc. I, however, didn't make a coughing/hacking noise every few steps.

In her defense, though, she probably couldn't hear her own coughs. She sure didn't seem to hear me when I called out "on your left" like the other folks on the trail did. Seriously, people, turn down your mp3 players.

Confession: I break rec path traffic rules

During a generally unremarkable six-miler along the Clive Greenbelt Trail, I heard the following warning from a rider: "On your right."

Nope, this biker wasn't offroading, or perfecting her precision by sharing a lane with me. I had once again broken a cardinal rule of rec path use and failed to stay in the right lane.

I'm a drifter. I can't help it.

Often, I can correct myself, if it's oncoming traffic, and swerve out of the left lane. But when the passer is behind me, I'm figuratively caught with my pants down.

(Figuratively is a key word here, because outdoor runners sometimes must do things that require their pants to be literally down.)

During one of my first Des Moines runs, I had a rather breathless conversation with a friendly older gentleman about this issue. Congenital foot problems, and why I still run despite those problems, aren't something one can generally explain in passing with an elevated heart rate, but I tried.

First of all, my bevy of foot problems are for once not to blame. In this case, my podiatrist in Rockford told me, it's that one of my legs is shorter than the other.

Not at a level where it's visible to laypeople or where it needs surgical/orthotic correction. Just enough to create the wobbly stool effect — which would mean my left leg is the extra-short one, if that's how I'm leaning.

Soon after my latest noob-in-appearance-but-not-mind moment, Mark Remy posted his ticket for running violations. I clicked on the link with much joy, because I love Mark Remy, but with much trepidation, because part of me didn't want to find out what else the veteran runners were hating me for doing.

Good news: Lane violations didn't appear in Remy's post or the comments section. The folks passing me on the right don't seem nearly as irate as drivers who have to pass on the right on the highway (not, um, that I would have ever caused that to happen).

Maybe this infraction isn't as severe as I thought. Or maybe everything else about me just screams rookie and my comrades feel sorry for me.

Regardless, if you're ever the passer in this situation, spare a little sympathy for that person who might be an experienced, but slightly physically deformed, runner.

Seen while running: Week of Aug. 19

First, a glimpse of home, and by home I mean the two houses out in the country that I've lived in.

Seeing deer was nothing out of the ordinary at both places, so my sister and I each had some serious eye-rolling when city folks would squeal at a deer sighting — it takes a bold deer who'll let me get within iPhone camera range to impress me.

The brown blob in the middle of the photo is the second of two deer that scooted across the Clive Greenbelt Trail in front of me.

From the route I inaugurated last Monday. Water, whether a natural body, a fountain or a chlorinated manmade structure, draws quite the longing glances from this always-too-warm runner.

What my friends Ken and Annah would call a "shee-shee neighborhood." I don't know how to spell "shee-shee," so please correct me if you do.

Just off 60th Street west of my complex is this house I pass on probably a third of my runs. The first time I went this way and spotted an ambulance in a driveway, I thought there was a medical emergency at the home.

I kept seeing the ambulance in the same driveway, and the theory that an EMT parks his/her work vehicle at home seems only slightly less ludicrous than the same person having medical issues every single time I run — particularly when that person isn't me.

This probably kept any nosy neighbors busy speculating for a few days in a row, the first time the ambulance came home ...

A cool welcome back to Des Moines

It seems strange to describe a trip to the hometown you left only three months ago as a "vacation."

But my recent four-day visit to Illinois, plus the day I spent driving back to Des Moines in time to work an eight-hour shift, definitely represented a deviation from the norm in terms of what/when/how much I ate, when/where I slept and what/how much I drank (sometimes that meant coffee, guys).

Sounds just like most of the previous vacations I've taken. And just like after those more-exotic trips, I came back from this one raring for moderation and what had become my routine after three months.

Once I unpacked from my trip, I fell back into my usual lineup of activities, and it did me good. After breakfast was digested, I mapped a slightly new route and did not while away precious time aimlessly browsing websites — I got dressed and got going.

The title of this post isn't about coolness as in lack of friendliness. In fact, as annoying/condescending as I find coast-dwellers' generalizations about the Midwest, I have to say: If it weren't friendly, it wouldn't be Iowa.

It means refreshing and not hot (as in the weather) and sufficiently interesting — a low-intensity but energizing way to spend 38:11 of my morning.

It's also cool as in not trying too hard. My run wasn't overly ambitious in speed, distance or terrain. Yeah, I stopped quite a few times during the totally new and surprisingly hilly third mile. So what? Apparently I still averaged 9:32 per mile.

I know my cat missed me. I think Iowa might have, too, if my return run is any indication.

Seen while running: Week of July 22

When I rounded a certain corner one evening, I thought I'd stumbled upon a miniputt course and started having flashbacks to Wisconsin vacations.

An office park in West Des Moines. My sources weren't kidding when they said this was the nice part of town ...

On the same route, if not the same run, it wasn't just the humidity making me think of the tropics and tropical drinks.

This is actually someone's house in West Des Moines. Makes our summertime Christmas lights seem a lot more subdued and less of a statement.

Can you guess what this is? Nope, it's not old carpeting. It's grass, on some stretch of land not owned by a business with money and water to spare on sprinklers.

A much better picture of drought than the one I took the prior week.

By far the scariest thing I've encountered on a run, including silent Lance Armstrongs: a possum. Before you laugh at me, just remember that our family dog had to visit the vet after tussling with one of these. The poor dog got bit in the jowls by that filthy creature ...  (Edited Aug. 1: Laugh at me. The dog fought a woodchuck, not a possum. I stand by my assertion that possums are nasty, though.)

Wild animals definitely have the right of way on rec paths. I yielded at a safe distance, hence the blurriness of the photo.

And of course there were Wednesday night's storm clouds, if you didn't catch my tale of daring ... or, rather, my tale of underpreparation and some darn good luck.

I can outrun storms

The title of this post makes a bold claim: that I can outrun storms. Before last night, I wouldn't have believed it possible, either.

However, it's true. I set out blithely without a glance at the weather forecast; I already knew scattered storms had been predicted, so I figured there was no sense in wasting time and ambition by going to weather.com.

What should've been my first sign of trouble was simply treated like a photo opportunity. To the east I saw:

To the west, the eventual direction of my run, I saw:

With nothing more ominous occurring, though, I continued on my route: about 1.5 miles south, then west on the Greenbelt Trail for about a mile. The goal was to do five miles total, which I very nearly did. (That comes later.)

Around mile two/2.25, as I passed a white-haired gentleman, he said something to me that sounded like he'd called me "pardner." No, what he'd said was: "That's thunder."

Just 25 more minutes of safety, and then it can rain as much as the crops around here need, I pleaded — well, pleaded is too strong a word. It was more of a playful bargain I'd offered, with nothing in return.

I reached the top of the hill that marked my turnaround spot at 2.4 miles. More thunder, this time audible. "Keep the pace up," I thought, slightly less facetious than I'd been a quarter-mile earlier.

Then, as the white-haired fellow and I crossed paths again, there was lightning. Every droplet of sweat that splashed down my body made me think the farmers' prayers had been answered instead of mine. After the third mile, this finally became true.

I took off my tank top, wrapping it around my iPhone, and decided to welcome the rain on this hot, muggy evening. This optimism lasted until the intensity ramped up. Squinting against the raindrops, blinking furiously like windshield wipers to see forward, emerging from the protective tree cover of the trail and onto the open sidewalks, I began putting my dad's advice (borrowed from James Bond) into practice: "Always have an escape plan."

Less than a mile away was a Walgreens. Worst-case scenario, I could seek shelter and either try to wait it out ... or make a phone call for help.

While I planned this out, though, the rain subsided. I plugged on, not wanting to tempt fate; even with walking across one intersection to catch my hill- and wind-stolen breath, I did 8:57 over this stretch. As I continued north, the sidewalks grew drier. Could I have ... ?

Not yet. Rain — steady but light and thunder-free — returned as I arrived at the Walgreens intersection. A driver even rolled his window down as I waited for traffic and asked whether I needed a ride. I declined, for many reasons, but mostly because I knew it was less than a mile to my complex. I can do this.

The final 0.8-mile stretch is an upward-rolling one, not exactly where you want a storm to catch up to you. I could feel the judgment emanating from the cars going by as I plowed on, steadily pushed east by wind gusts that stung my ankles with dust.

During the final tenths of a mile, flashes of lightning occasionally illuminated the flailing traffic signal poles. I let the wind shove me downhill and into the apartment complex parking lot as rain once again began to hammer the asphalt.

Safely indoors, I unwrapped my iPhone and hit "save run." I'd managed 4.9 miles in 44:04 minutes, good for an 8:59 average pace. Miles two, three and four each had been finished in less than 9 minutes; during the last 0.9 stretch, I'd kept a sub-8:00 pace. (Thanks, powerful gusts!)

And best of all, I was alive and unsinged, only slightly damper than normal after a Midwest summer run. My fears seemed so foolish as I sponged off — had I really considered phoning east-side friends and begging for help that I would never, ever, confess to my parents that I'd had to seek?

The cockiness of having escaped major trouble is sweet indeed.

Seen while running: Week of July 15

Today's "seen while running" post is a mix of imagery and actual images ... can't get the camera phone out for everything, nor should I, in some cases.

Someone's driveway decorations. My hometown isn't close to many big-name football universities. The college I attended? Let's just say that the few fans at games liked to taunt the opposition by yelling our ACT scores, not the football score. The passion for the Hawkeye-Cyclone rivalry is a fascinating and confusing thing for me to observe.

Seen, but not photographed: in the neighborhood south of my apartment complex, a car in a driveway with its backseat doors open.

When the smell of an Abercrombie & Fitch fought its way through the thick humidity and to my nose, I realized that the figures in the back of the car were likely teens trying to make out. Sorry for staring (or, as I wasn't wearing contacts, for squinting intently).

Another image that reminds me of home — Rock Valley College is our community college.

A poorly lit picture of drought. For comparison, see what Walnut Creek looked like before July 1 here.

Seen, but not heard: at dusk along the heavily wooded, winding Clive Greenbelt path, a biker who whizzed past and scared the crap out of me. The squeak of his bike reached me just as he did, without a single "on your left."

My high-pitched, breathless "oh gosh!" and melodramatic, yet involuntary, hand to my throat did not teach him anything, apparently. When I came upon walkers a few minutes later, I asked them whether they'd seen and/or heard the biker; one told me that she had to yell at him for his silent approach.

My foot, after a 6-foot-tall man wearing heavy boots stepped on my ballerina flat-clad foot. Note the bruise on the bunion joint. This, fortunately, did not impede my running.

Hearing voices

Several runners in my Twitter feed and on my Daily Mile account seem to like the RunKeeper app.

I tried it once and hated it, for two reasons: One, its GPS couldn't handle my country roads like MapMyRun had consistently been able to; and two, it spoke to me. I wasn't expecting that robotic observation of "one. mile. at. nine. minutes. and. fifty. seconds," and it didn't matter to me that disabling voice was probably very simple —trial over, RunKeeper loses, MapMyRun wins.

So over the weekend, I finally hooked up my wireless Internet, which in turn inspired me to finally listen to my phone's prompting to upgrade my apps. I did so ... after clearing off RunKeeper, something I apparently hadn't managed to do last fall.

MapMyRun's welcome screen looked a lot different, but the important part — the live mapping, another feature that RunKeeper either lacked or hid from a certain lazy smartphone user — was the same. Off I went, two easy, gently breezy, humidity free miles.

Then it happened. "TWO. MILES. IN. NINETEEN. MINUTES. AND. EIGHTEEN. SECONDS."

This is why I don't like to upgrade my apps. Last time, it was the garage door opener app that hit a huge snafu, deleting the account name and password that no one could remember with certainty and causing us to reset the password.

Now this time, the user name and alphanumeric password with special characters (IT gods are smiling!) survived, but apparently the price I paid was having the default set to "unexpected robot voice blaring at interval I never track anyway." For me, there isn't any especially good time to hear a voice less humanoid than a GPS one, but why every two miles? I record my single-mile, not double-mile, splits ...

Unlike RunKeeper, MapMyRun gets another chance, with the "voice feedback" setting easily turned to off. But app developers, if you're reading this, please heed this advice: Surprise noisy additions to your products don't make friends, just soiled pants.

Seen while running: Week of July 1

On my way to the Clive Greenbelt path, this is what I see (in addition to everyone stoppin' and starin' at me):

Every time I pass this, I think it's an abbreviated expletive aimed at the city of Clive. If anyone knows what it really is, please do share.

Is this a squash shell? Whatever it is, it's been hanging around for about a week now.

And then once I was there, I spotted these things:

I too was tired when I snapped this photo. Did someone create this graffiti after watching me slog by recently?

Oh hey, I ran all the way to Chicago! In 88-degree weather, no less. Definitely warrants a leap into the lake.

Back home, after a post-half PR of 6.5 miles, I found this. Scratch "foot model" (or LMFAO music video extra) off my list of career possibilities.

Left foot, covered in popped blisters. I didn't even know I had those.

Right foot, covered in blisters and topped with calluses. Friday night fun, this particular evening, was exfoliating.

Not another post about the heat wave

Everyone who's stepped outside or consumed some form of media is probably not only tired of the heat wave, but also of hearing about it.

I think I'm even tired of complaining about it and railing about it, so in the vein of a Phoenix resident's tips for coping, I'll focus on what I've learned this week. Warning: If you're, like me, a cold weather runner desperately combing the Internet for a magic bullet ... I don't have it.

* Des Moines' trail system isn't awesome merely for the bathrooms it features (hey, when nature calls ... ) — it's awesome for the frequency of water fountains. On a related note, it might be time for me to give my Simple Hydration water bottle another try.

* Listening to my body has gone from being veteran runners' wisdom to something completely automatic. It's not a choice. I wish I could say that's because the switch has clicked and I've become a zen runner, but it's actually more like the human body flipping a lever and going into survival mode.

Example: Runs on July 3 and 4 averaged paces around 10-minute miles for the first two (downhill/flat terrain). They flew up past 11-minute miles for the second two (series of uphills) and reached 13:20 during what was apparently my toughest run. The stop-and-walk breaks aren't a matter of me being mentally weak, at this point; they're my body preventing me from overheating.

* There is no "good time of day" to run. Even though the figure on the thermometer almost doesn't matter — it's oppressively hot and muggy, period — I've been checking. We had 88 degrees at 10 a.m. on July 4; on July 6, 99 degrees at 8:15 p.m., 97 at 8:45 p.m. and 96 at 9:30 p.m.

But look at these numbers from my runs on those days: an average of 10:27 per mile over 4 miles on July 4, with the slowest being 13:20, versus an average of 9:56 per mile over 6.5 miles on July 6, with the slowest being 10:50. Plus, after returning from the shorter run, I had to spend probably twice as long in the A/C before I stopped sweating and could take a shower.

The difference was heading out midmorning versus later in the evening. Maybe the heat melted my brain so I don't remember how intensely I suffered during the July 4 run, but I can say with certainty that while I might not have hated running during the midmorning adventure, I know I liked running during the late evening adventure. (Sundown, by the way, comes closer to 9:15 or 9:30 p.m. in Des Moines right now, so the majority of this run was not done in the dark.)

* The last and most uplifting nugget: I'm adjusting. Or getting used to it. Or being worn down by it.

This isn't like "Green Eggs and Ham," where I hated summer runs before I tried them. This is more like being scared of driving on interstate highways until I graduated from college and had to choose between never visiting people outside the Rockford, Ill., metro area and dealing with merging/others merging at 65-plus mph.

To be serious for a second — and honest — I'm pretty proud of myself for choosing the "learn" option (in both situations) instead of the "hide" one. I haven't reached the full-on addiction like the folks I see running around asphalt-heavy, shade-free downtown at 1 p.m., and I don't plan to, but I'm able to suppress the urge to hunker down in the A/C for at least 40 minutes a day, a few days a week.

Take that, climate change. Actually, don't take that, and certainly don't read that as a challenge to throw even more devastating and drastic changes at us.

Seen while running: Week of June 24

Last week while running, I made some new friends ...

Somewhere along 50th Street, providing me a nice catch-your-breath break.

 ... saw some natural and man-made art ...

"Paths Unite," by James Bearden, on the Clive Greenbelt Trail

Walnut Creek, seen from an overlook with a bench, looked awfully inviting on a muggy summer evening. This was the night I checked out the Clive Greenbelt Trail on foot.

... had flashbacks of the upper Midwest (home sweet home) ...

Also the name of a neighborhood in Rockton, Ill.! This one looks a little swankier.

Just like in Stevens Point, Wis., near the Schmeeckle trails, Clive has phallic brick structures near its rec path!

... and watched sweat pool on every square inch of me.

That is a bib of sweat forming on my shirt.

Overall, a good week in running, even with the hiatus for extreme heat, and even with the not-extreme-but-just-intense heat.