Two steps forward, one step back

After my sports massage Wednesday, I was of course very interested to see how my hip would feel during runs.

I went on a short run Thursday, not quite 24 hours after the massage, and the hip felt much better, though I could still feel it at times. 

But Friday, even though I was working harder (it was hill day), I rarely felt the hip tenderness at all. When I did, I would shorten my stride, and it seemed to go away entirely. Woo-hoo!

On Sunday, Cory and I did a seven-mile run, starting with five mostly flat miles from our apartment up Polk Boulevard and back, then concluding with two miles along 28th Street.

Mostly I felt great during that run. The back of my right knee did have some twinges during the five-mile portion, which concerned me a little bit. 

The good news was that it went away; the bad news was that it was replaced with hip twinges during the 28th Street portion. I'm chalking that up to fatigue. 

So all in all, a very successful half-week ... which, unfortunately, I almost completely undid on Monday.

Monday was insanely nice, weatherwise: high of 84 degrees, low humidity, mostly sunny. All of that, plus the minimal soreness I had after the previous day's long run, meant I threw caution to the wind and went for a shakeout three-miler.

Wrong choice. It wasn't a bad run, but it was an unexpected challenge that I'm still feeling a little sore from. I felt worse after that three-miler than I did after Sunday's seven-miler.

I shouldn't have run at all — should've found some other way to enjoy the weather — and if I did have to run, I should've stuck to a route I knew to be flat, no matter how many times I've already run that route.

Oh well. I'll look at it from Cory's perspective: that I seized a good chance to "shock" my system with a weather change (which of course was what happened on race day in 2013).

The return: Painful but rewarding

Five months ago, I signed off the blog, with an acknowledgment that it might be a Michael Jordan-esque retirement.

I don't remember missing it for quite some time, unless you count being mournfully touched when faithful readers told me that they missed it.

The decision to reboot lacks a quality explanation, just like the one to pull the plug did.

A writing assignment for The Des Moines Register on how to keep running through the winter probably deserves credit for laying subtle groundwork, but in total seriousness, I mostly just decided in recent days that I'd like to revive it.

(You know, the same way I started running — on a whim.)

My return to blogging coincides with my return to running in 2015.

Since I last blogged, I've notched very little of significance, mileage-wise and time-wise, but I did achieve the goals of making running fun for myself again and completing another Runner's World Holiday Run Streak.

After Jan. 1, I began my Post-Holiday Run-Free Streak. It was glorious. So was the weather, actually. Getting motivated to start running again is much easier when the sun is shining and temperatures reach the 40s and 50s.

My run last Saturday, the first since New Year's Day, was two flat miles in shorts. No walk breaks even necessary. It was a treat to run that day, not a chore, though my quads disagreed the next day.

Then on Tuesday, I ran the farthest I'd run all year: three miles. There were a few inclines, so I walked, but without guilt. (And without pants — shorts in January again!)

This time my calves and right hip complained a bit. I'm just about ready to go for a third shorts-in-January run, so we'll see what else has gotten rusty. Possibilities include: my bunions, my shoulders, my writing inspiration.

Rain on my parade? I think not

I went for my first run in nearly six weeks on Friday: two miles.

I'd planned to alternate between running and walking every quarter-mile.

That lasted all of one walk segment. Partly because I got a late start; mostly because going slow felt just fine.

I also didn't plan to get caught in a downpour, but it happened anyway. And yes, when I saw that there was a light drizzle with chances of thunderstorms, I considered staying in and staying dry.

Obviously, I didn't cave, and my determination was applauded by a bicyclist chugging through the same storm.

Many of my leg muscles were less thrilled the next day, but I'll tolerate their complaints after their surprisingly good performance during the run.

A text from running/riding buddy Regina that arrived later summed up the experience best: "So I went for a run and it didn't suck! This bodes so well for post-RAGBRAI."

Agreed.

I finally wiped out

I had a good streak going this winter.

"Oh my gosh, you RAN today?" co-workers would gasp on snowy days, telling me of how they had wiped out multiple times while walking the dog that morning.

I'd like to think I was modest about it, acknowledging that yes, it was indeed slippery, and that I'd just been lucky, though my worst spill ever was on dry ground, so go figure.

So it wasn't necessarily with confidence that I set out Saturday night, but it was with a sense of calm.

If only I'd been a jerk runner, I would have gotten the whole three miles in with only a small stutter or two.

But when I noticed a truck with a huge trailer trying to reverse out of a driveway, I decided that running on the sidewalk, instead of the better-maintained street, would be the safest route. Literally within yards, I lost it.

Unfortunately, I don't have any good bruises to share. It hurt the most on the right side of my ribs, and I checked periodically for evidence of my fall, but the only lingering proof is the tenderness when I blow my nose, stretch or laugh too hard.

The good news is, my phone was still alive when I fell, so if anything worse had happened, I could've called for help. Or I could've just asked the gentleman walking his dogs — whose barks either triggered my fall by startling me, or whose barks were mockery after I bit it — to save me.

Maybe next time I should take my chances with dodging the reversing trailer.

My first impressions of the stair workout

On Friday, I capped a three-mile run with 10 minutes of running up and down stairs.

While Runner's World advised doing it after a long run, to boost your ability to push through fatigue, I decided that near-zero temperatures and a beastly hill near the end were tiring enough.

Was I right? Sort of. I mean, it was definitely a workout and not a cakewalk.

Within just a few minutes, I had my worst case of cotton mouth in recent memory, and I kept checking the timer on my cellphone, thinking that surely more time had passed than it really had.

But you know what also didn't help was having wet shoes from running outside on a set of stairs that only had rubber grips on one of three flights. Or choosing stairs that had very frequent turns.

Or doing the workout while maintenance was vacuuming, and nearly getting your foot caught in the vacuum cleaner cord as you tried to sneak past the maintenance man.

Next time, I'll consider using the stairs in the garage, because while there's only one flight there compared with three, I'll probably interfere with people less, I'll have less rest in between climbs and I'll have better traction.

And fortunately — or unfortunately — I was able to do 10 minutes on my first try, so that means I have no excuses for doing less than 10 next time.

Seriously, I thought I would hit a dangerous level of exhaustion on the first try. After all, climbing three flights of stairs to work every day leaves me breathless at the top.

Yet there I was at the end of 10 minutes, slightly proud that I'd exceeded my own predictions, and yet slightly annoyed that this sets the bar higher for next time.

A first for Little Runner: Running errands

During this past Holiday Running Streak, I did consider combining small, nearby errands with my workouts.

But unlike Run, Karla, Run!, I never actually did it. I forget why. I'm sure the reasons weren't very convincing (though in my defense, I have done errands by bike instead of by car).

I broke that particular streak this week, however, and I think I may have found the perfect motivating factor: laziness/incompetence.

Let me explain. I'm well aware that often, it's easier not to drive because of parking and traffic, and when it comes to downtown events after work on Fridays, I wholeheartedly support hoofing it. And while I haven't made a habit of it, I have willingly done a few errands on two wheels instead of four.

But returning a library book midday on a Wednesday, when you literally will pass by the library on your commute to work? It was tempting to find an easier route — coming back from downtown is slightly uphill and into the 9 mph wind (imagine a baby crying) — and just head to work a few minutes early.

And then I thought about parallel parking, which I never learned in high school and never attempted by myself until I moved to Des Moines in May 2012; and parking meters, which no one likes, but which especially annoy people accustomed to living in second-rate cities that don't dare discourage shoppers by charging for parking.

Oh, and don't forget how, if you park with the driver's side next to the curb, which I find easier, you have to climb over the frozen snow to get to the meter and sidewalk.

That settled it. I may be the world's biggest baby, given all the minor inconveniences I just listed, but I can carry a single, pathetic paperback book for less than two miles as I glide downhill, the wind at my back, while deliberately running slowly because it's base-rebuilding time.

Fashionistas would likely be horrified to hear that not only did I do it and survive, but that I also realized there's no reason I can't actually pick up a book or a few small groceries while doing more errand runs.

There will be spandex and a light sweat. But hey, even though Des Moines is cool enough to make people pay for parking, it's not so cool that it can't handle my midrun rosy cheeks and messy hair once in a while.

Recovering from hibernation and from that first run after

My brain is happy to report that hibernation ended Sunday. My muscles are now, finally, no longer annoyed to share that same news.

I lucked out majorly by picking Sunday as the day to quit plowing through holiday leftovers and move off the couch: Highs in the mid-40s called for shorts in January!

We went for an easy route, with no shame. The out-and-back from my place to Salisbury House and back was about 3.25 miles, with only short, slight hills. (We did have to leap over puddles quite a bit, though, so — sarcasm — we're not total slackers.)

Based on Cory's criticism of his own first post-hibernation run and my own experiences returning to running, I'd expected to suffer quite a bit. For me, though, the misery didn't hit until later.

I was a dutiful runner and made sure to stretch afterward, but that didn't prevent the stiffness in my upper lower body and the soreness around my shins/ankles.

However, I was lazy and didn't use the foam roller until Tuesday — um, for the first time since sometime in November — and holy moly was that a punishment. Surprisingly, it was my quads and not my IT bands that suffered the most (IT band was second-most painful).

The best part of course was re-realizing how much pleasant/chatty I feel on days that I run. Too bad that doesn't linger like the aches in unused muscles do.

2013 run streak is in the books

It's official: Cory and I both won the 2013 Holiday Running Streak, and I can finally take a solid week off from running.

Last year's victory came with more of a sense of accomplishment, though: It was my first time, so I had doubts; Thanksgiving was earlier, so it took longer; and I suspect I did more longer runs.

I totaled 77.66 miles over 35 days, for an average run length of 2.2 miles. More than half of the days, I didn't break three miles (my mental milestone for a full run) — 16 single-mile days, plus three two-ish mile ones.

Cory and I agreed that we each had intended to rely less on single-mile runs, but this was definitely an example of life being what happens when you're busy making plans. Weather, travel, parties ... all legitimate reasons to not worry about getting more than one mile in.

And it's still a mile more than I might've run on the days when our highs were in single digits, when an ice storm struck Des Moines, when I spent all day unpacking my new apartment so I could cook for a Thanksgiving potluck at which I spent six hours, etc.

This year brought more fun in addition to more obstacles (and, um, six fewer days).

It's good to have online partners in this challenge, but it's more helpful to have a real-life partner with you — particularly on the days when you grumble that you really don't want to do this, and your partner reminds you there's always the option of just running to the half-mile mark though you'll probably want to keep going at that point.

(He's right, and he's actually punished for that because he is the one who wants to turn back at the half-mile mark, but you're loving the downhill route too much to remember how miserable the uphill return will be.)

The real-life buddy keeps you accountable when he's already gotten his run in for the day, while you've been procrastinating, or vice versa; and the real-life buddy will still laugh every time you're high-stepping through snow/tiptoeing around ice spots/rubbing feeling back into your frozen face and you say, "Man, this hobby sucks," or, "Why did we decide to do this stupid streak again?"

My real-life buddy and I concluded the streak together on New Year's Day, well before sidewalks were cleared in my neighborhood and also before most dog-walkers had been out to forge a trail for us.

It was like being a kid again, and we were already giddy at how close we were to finishing this streak when we heard honking and yelling — it was Zach and Chelsea, visiting friends waiting for us to get this one last run in so that they could see my new place and have brunch, driving somewhere to kill time by walking their dog.

Hooting and hollering about a quarter-mile from the end, no missed runs and no wipeouts at all? Sounds like a successful streak to me.

Shivering ... with delight?

As I mentioned previously, dressing for winter runs — and just getting excited about running, period — has been a struggle of late.

Once a week, though, I've relied on peer pressure to get me out there. The recent strategy is, after too much eating and sitting on a Saturday, I text Regina on a Sunday to make plans to run Monday.

Including this past Monday, we are three for three on following through on those plans. What's more impressive: Our most recent one was on the evening of Des Moines' first snow.

Throw on a blanket as you read the key figures from the Monday night run:

28: Actual temperature.

16: Feels-like temperature.

18: Wind, in mph.

10: Minutes after sunset that this run began.

1: Other people spotted during this lap around Gray's Lake. (Two other runners wrapped up before we started, and one biker took off before us.)

I arrived before Regina did and made the mistake of looking up these weather stats. If I hadn't thought it would be rude to bail while she was en route, I would have. (I made another mistake in confessing this to her, at which point she told me that it would've been OK this particular time.)

Instead, I went through with it. And you know what? It was actually kind of fun. Very cold, yes, and slippery in spots. But I'm glad I put on an extra layer instead of texting "actually never mind."

Despite the pitch-black sky at 6 p.m., as I drove back, I felt cheerful and enthusiastic — OK, less negative — about winter running. I might not go into early hibernation after all!

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. 

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."

Back home, back to running

The silence from this blog might've indicated that I disappeared on RAGBRAI.

I did not, but I did lose a great deal of ambition upon returning to civilized life. The intention is to put up a few posts about it; we'll see how that goes.

However, I have managed to accomplish two running goals, one of them even during this post-RAGBRAI lazyfest.

The Sunday before RAGBRAI was the last day of a lower price tier for the IMT Des Moines Half Marathon.

It seemed wrong/dangerous to sign up for a running event before I'd even completed the bike one that took months of training ... but to save about $10 or $15, I did it anyway.

Judge my frugality if you want, but my running shoes are bursting at the bunion seam, so that earlier-bird discount (a still-cheaper price expired in April) is nothing to sneeze at.

That was goal No. 1. Goal No. 2 was to go on a run this morning, and it did require some self-judgment ("you're not even sore from RAGBRAI; get off the couch, you bum") before I got going.

To my great, pleasant surprise — OK, so I did plan it to be flat and downhill — the run wasn't bad.

Before I'd finished the first mile, I was definitely feeling the rust and the head cold, prompting the standard early-part-of-training-season doubts about why I'd want to do this for 12.1 more miles.

Then I hit the gentle downhill slope and shade, though, and decided that I wouldn't need to do the run-walk combo anyway.

If I hadn't received a startling text at mile 2.5, I would've done all three — mostly in sun, humidity and heat — without stopping. Which is good, because Hal's training plan is designed to be feasible for those who can run 30 minutes nonstop.

Training officially kicks off next week. Here's hoping it goes as well as last half's training, but with a better conclusion.

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.

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.

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.

When walking the walk turns out spectacularly

On Friday night, I was discussing weekend workout plans with Regina, a member of our "running club." The club hadn't met in several weeks, thanks to various people's out-of-town trips, and she was ready for us to revive it.

Except I'd already made plans to go on a bike ride. I urged her to run Saturday instead; she countered with the wet weather forecast.

"So just run faster. Like my dad said to me before, 'Are you made of sugar?' " A pause, then I confessed: "Sometimes I am made of sugar, though."

Still, that moment of bluster fluttered around my brain as I slowly woke up Saturday morning to the sounds of water dripping off something -- was it current rain, or past rain falling off the roof?

Regardless, it didn't sound ominous enough for me to spend my free half-hour doing household chores instead of running while retaining any self-respect. The plan to attempt a fast three-miler, to gauge my preparation for next weekend's Friendly Sons of St. Patrick 5K, was still on.

And thank God shame, or even the threat of it, is such a powerful motivator. It wasn't raining during my sprint, though it was more humid than I like, and the air felt pleasantly brisk on my legs (yay shorts!).

Most importantly, I notched some impressive numbers that have me feeling optimistic (too optimistic?) about this upcoming 5K PR attempt. I'm trying not to build myself up too much on here and inside my head, because race day is always a wild card, but no matter what, it can't erase these numbers:

Mile 1: 8:17 pace. Feelin' good!

Mile 2: 8:25 pace. Feelin' good until I had to turn around and go uphill. I caved and took two brief walk breaks.

Mile 3: 8:09 pace. Loving the return to flat terrain. From 2.25 through about 2.75, the miles seemed to drag, but a quick break revived me and powered me to a dominant finish.

End result: 3 miles in 24:57, for a 8:19 average clip. My halfway point was 12:15, so it wasn't a negative split, but it wasn't as skewed as I feared it might be around mile 1.75 (that's when the uphills started to wear me out).

So Regina, I'm sorry that I was kind of a hypocrite and scoffed at your disdain for rain, but in a way I'm glad -- otherwise, I might be sitting here now, proud of my clean dishes instead of my mad running skills.

Obligatory whiny post about the lack of spring

In case you couldn't tell from the calls to fire Punxsutawney Phil, yesterday was both frigid and the first day of spring.

I'm not truly a Viking, embracing cold and snow, but I like to think I'm not a crybaby about winter, either.

Still, reading "feels like 1 degree" in late March, pulling on the bug inspector mask, covering my tights with yoga pants and worrying more about saving my cellphone's strength than my own are not on my list of favorite things.

Worst of all, though, is dealing with my sinuses.

Flashback: Back in the day, I was a big fan of "The Baby-sitters Club" series and its spinoff, "Baby-sitters Little Sister," starring elementary student Karen Brewer. Karen had a friend whose grandpa died in one of the books and whose socks were droopy in every single book ... and, if I recall correctly, her nose was always running, too.

That's me. I'm Natalie Springer. It's not at allergy level, but I have Kleenex with me at all times, including on runs. (I have not mastered the snot rocket, nor have I tried since the era during which I was reading "Baby-sitters Club.")

Running doesn't make my sinuses behave any worse than normal, but being out in the cold does, obviously. And so running in the cold can be messy.

I tried to hold off on breaking my nose's seal yesterday — anyone else notice that once you blow your nose, your sinuses seem to overcompensate? — but I had to, eventually. No sooner would I get moving again than my left nostril would start tickling again.

Yeah, I can wipe my nose while moving, but blowing it as I run leaves me a little too breathless, and it also steams up my sunglasses if I don't push those back too, and forget about operating a zipper with my gloves still on ... so many first-world problems over a single half-hour.

It was quite the stop-and-start effort, so I'm glad it was only a short shake-out run. I still reaped all the mental and physical benefits of running, but I couldn't help thinking wistfully — and irritatedly — of last Friday's 60-degree temps and the mostly calm sinuses they brought.

The hardest half-mile

After probably a month of talking about it, we were finally doing it: Three friends and I had met at Raccoon River Park last Sunday to do an easy 5Kish loop.

The sun had been shining earlier; temperatures had been well above freezing; the route was flat as a pancake. It was a perfect time and place to inaugurate our running club.

Except that we missed the window of faux-spring weather. And the wind was gusting at least 20 mph at times. And as we deliberately set out into the wind — to get it over with, pre-sweat and pre-fatigue — our skin began to prickle: rain, or snow or sleet.

We hadn't reached a half-mile yet, and we were tiptoeing around puddles that had somehow survived the day's onslaught of drying wind, while barely surviving it ourselves.

There was no conversation, only grimaces. Maybe the friend who'd refused to join us had been the smart one.

I waited for someone to say it: "Forget it. Let's go home."

As we rounded the corner that eased the wind's ferocity, we began to speak again, but not of quitting. Our feet splashed and squished through the gravel that hadn't drained, but no one complained seriously. (OK, maybe I did.)

We'd lived through that first, horrible half-mile. We paired off by pace. We dealt with runny noses in our individual fashions (sleeves, snot rockets, Kleenex tucked into sports bras).

And back in the parking lot, we joked about doing it again "in nice weather" next Sunday.

I think we made it official: We're a running club.

The runs that made a believer out of me

I went out with purpose Friday and Monday: Hal Higdon said to run fast on the former, I decided to target half marathon pace on the latter.

Both were achieved. Couch time and cookies were definitely earned.

I almost whiffed, though: On Friday, I checked and rechecked the weather widget in hopes it would say something different than still-below-freezing and strong wind gusts. It never did. 

"But how am I gonna run faaaaast?" I wondered petulantly. "Should I go tomorrow morning, even though I work the night shift tonight and have an earlier start tomorrow and the temperature is expected to drop?"

Yeah. I shut up and went. First on a half-mile warmup, which served my head well (in knowing when the wind was going to punish me later) and my legs even better.

The first 1.5 mile of my out-and-back was slightly downhill and with the wind at my back, so I was happy but unsurprised to see an 8:30 average pace at the turnaround point. Now for the wind to be in my face before I hit the uphill section. Gulp.

I did stop once, and I did experience a minor technical error (to be discussed in a later post), but as I surpassed 2.75 miles, I realized I was in a race against the clock ... that I could win. The seconds ticked toward 26:00; the hundredth-miles slipped away at what felt like an agonizing slow pace but was somehow faster than MapMyRun's timer.

End result: 3 miles, 25:48. Had I continued to a full 5K, I wouldn't have beat my PR — I'd averaged 8:35 – but I beat my previous three-mile PR by at least a minute. That's including the time I spent but didn't record. 

More importantly, I'd shown myself that last fall's 8:29 wasn't a fluke.

And most importantly, I'd shown myself that with weeks more of practice, 8:22 isn't beyond possibility.

My next run was successfully delayed by the weather ("But it's icyyyyy!"), but also ultimately successful (when it happened a day late). 

I headed into the five-miler hoping to stick around 9:30 per mile, my ambitious goal for April's half marathon. The end splits: 9:26, 9:22, 9:04, 9:04, 9:24, for an average of 9:17. Bonus fact: This route included my least-favorite hill (an overpass, actually), other elevation variation and wind in my face for half the run.

Just like with Friday's record-setting run, the muscles at times were reluctant, the stomach complained on occasion, and the lungs burned once in a while. And yet I came back with all the numbers I sought.

Right now, I couldn't attain either of the goals I set for myself in January. But after only two full weeks back running, I'm greatly encouraged that I can come near, if not attain, those goals once I've put three months of work in.

I have to at least try

We're only a few days — out of I don't know how many — into the cold snap, so I'm afraid that I'll jinx myself by saying this.

It's not been that bad for me ... running-wise. (I didn't particularly enjoy that frozen gas line that killed the heat for at least seven hours Monday.)

I nearly wimped out Sunday, walking from my car back into my apartment. The previous night had included a bizarre two-hour wakeful period, and my stomach was happily full of El Mariachi. A nap sounded far better than cold, snow and wind.

It was too early in the training schedule to cave, though. "You have to at least try," I told myself, and I ended up having a fabulous run. Getting the windy portion out of the way first helped, but I also just love the squeak of sneakers in the snow. Don't know why.

Hal Higdon said to rest Monday, and I did not argue (in fact, I don't think I saw a single runner out and about). Tuesday's weather reading didn't look much better — 6 degrees, with a wind chill of minus 2, at 9:30 a.m. — but Sunday's wintry triumph kept me on the straight and narrow. You at least have to try.

From the neck up, I looked like a bug exterminator:

And from the neck down, I looked normal ... but I wasn't. Yoga pants over the running tights; thermal socks over the Balegas; short-sleeved T-shirt over the thicker long-sleeved T-shirt, all topped by a windbreaker; and gloves tucked into the jacket cuffs.

The final measure of protection: Because I only needed to go three miles, I just picked a half-mile stretch along my apartment complex and did it six times, in case hypothermia set in.

So of course, everything went fine; I even pulled down the face mask a few times. My thighs never quite loosened up, and I found myself stopping for a breath and a nose-clearing every half-mile, but otherwise it was pleasant enough where I couldn't even brag about still going out despite the conditions.

At this point, I was bursting with love for winter runs. I shed a layer (the outer T-shirt) in celebration of Wednesday's 17 degrees ... but picked a route based on terrain, not wind direction, and suffered all the way home.

Still, though I couldn't wait to return to the warm, still air of my apartment, that failed tempo run was exactly what I needed. It feels refreshing and invigorating, despite the fatigue; cleansing, despite the sweat and car fumes; and disciplined, despite all the procrastination and escape plans I build in.

And I've found the phrase that will push me out the door: I have to at least try.