How should I spend the rest of 2015?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What I'm doing instead of the Des Moines Marathon

Most readers of this blog had no idea I was even considering the Des Moines Marathon, so the declaration that I've decided against it doesn't have quite the impact.

After my half marathon success, I began to wonder whether I should take on a new challenge, and the obvious next step seemed to be a marathon.

The even more obvious next step seemed to be the Des Moines Marathon: It takes place in late October; I live near one of the more challenging portions of the race; and I now work from home on flexible hours.

What I didn't account for, though, was the freedom of no longer working nights and weekends. I've been taking full advantage of this new development — it's like summer break for grownups, because there's time to play and income to fund the fun.

There were a few other factors pushing me away from the marathon, but that was the primary one.

Here are the races I'm considering instead:

Bix 7 (July 25). I still have to figure out whether I trust myself to not party too hard during the July 24 Cheap Trick concert in Coralville and then wake up at 5 a.m. to get to Davenport by 6:30 a.m. for day-of packet pickup.

Also, I'll be honest: Racing in Des Moines has spoiled me when it comes to race-day travel. With the exception of RAGBRAI 2014, I've barely given transportation and parking a thought since I left Rockton.

But the outlook looks fairly promising. I'm struggling with motivation to run, and encouraged by the general feasibility of doing this race.

Capital Pursuit (Sept. 20). The website claims it's a fast race, so we'll see whether I can beat my last 10-mile race, which definitely incorporated hills. This will force me to train, but not to suffer: I'd probably start training the last week of July (or early August, if I do the Bix 7).

Sycamore 8 (early December). An off-road race in the Midwest in early winter? If that doesn't say "new challenge," I don't know what does.

Half marathon wild cards: I would consider doing the NewBo half marathon (Sept. 6), the Des Moines half (Oct. 18) or the Hillbilly Hike (Nov. 7).

Friends have expressed vague interest in doing the NewBo half and the Des Moines half, so I offered to run with them should they decide to do so. Also, NewBo and Hillbilly both also host a 10K; I could use those as a baseline, if 10K becomes next year's speed target.

And finally (geez, I ramble), I have two formal bike rides actually planned: this weekend's Bacoon Ride, which we could manage to stretch into a century ride, and more importantly, the Tour de Fur on Aug. 30, which benefits Furry Friends Refuge!

My plan for returning to running

I haven't run in almost three weeks, but I have at least been thinking about it.

Specifically, I've taken time to be my own sports psychiatrist, and I've diagnosed myself as needing to ease back into running and learn to like it again.

So here's what I've come up with.

July 1: Open my mind back up to running. Twice a week at most. With only the expectation that it won't be easy or fast.

July 27-Aug. 3: Relax and rest up after RAGBRAI.

Aug. 4: Start a 10K training plan.

Last year, I started training for a half marathon at the beginning of August, right after I'd done RAGBRAI, and it worked out great. This year, the thought of doing that makes me tired and overheated.

As my hairdresser said when I told her I'd most likely skip the 2014 Des Moines Half Marathon: "Yeah, you wanna have fun during the summer."

Yes, I do. I like having something on the horizon, but the local long races are just too close to the dog days of August and two months of intensive biking.

A 10K seemed better-suited to the conditions. Plus, I've never done a road 10K race — only a nighttime trail one — so it'll be interesting to see what I can do.

Sept. 8: Do the Maffitt Lake five-mile. This should be the right combination of fun and challenging — i.e., exactly the kind of carrot/motivation I need.

Fun, because off-road running is scenic and lets me lower my expectations for myself without feeling like I'm a wimp, and challenging, because Living History Farms is the only off-road running I've done since moving to Des Moines.

Sept. 20 or 21: Do a 10K. Preferably the one on a Sunday, if I can find sign-up info and not just a date on the local sports store's race calendar.

Sept. 28: Do the Brew Mile. I again won't have time to do much mile-specific training, but I'll have more residual strength than I did before the Grand Blue Mile.

I'll have the power of the crowds pulling me along, and because I work Saturdays, I'll have the advantage of sobriety over the participants who have already hit up Oktoberfest.

Oct. 11: Do the Boone County 5K History Walk/Run. I'd better start thinking about a clever costume that also allows for good movement, because this time of year is much better for running.

If my schedule and motivation level allow, I might look for a serious 5K in hopes of breaking my PR, but I'm not going to stress about it. I'd rather be a little lazy the rest of this year than risk ruining my hobby for myself.

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.

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.

Good news: I still like running

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The 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.

The flesh is weak(er) this time

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

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

Those trends came together last Tuesday night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seen while running: Week of Aug. 5

All three sights — only one of which was documented by camera — were scary in their own way last week.

First, on Monday night, was what I assumed was an act of violence. I'm pretty lukewarm toward watermelon, though it did hit the spot perfectly after my first 40-mile bike ride, but it couldn't have done anything to warrant this treatment!

The scene of the crime: a sidewalk along 50th Street.

I will say this, though: When I first spotted this, in the dark and without the benefit of contacts, I assumed it was a watermelon wedge. Then as I doubled back, it occurred to me that perhaps rubbernecking was a bad idea — what if the red flesh wasn't fruit, but actual flesh?

Gone are the days when roadkill was an everyday obstacle on my runs. Someone's gross-out instinct is weakening each day she lives in a city ...

Second, on Tuesday night, came another stealth biker. I nearly walked into him as I set foot on the sidewalk for my run. More like "not seen while running."

It wasn't completely his fault that I didn't see him until the hum of his rapidly spinning gears and the breeze created by his speed startled me — I was about to embark on a nighttime run.

And third, on Saturday morning, was Jordan Creek Trail, on foot, east of 50th Street. Unfortunately, I wasn't supposed to see that. I was supposed to turn north on 50th Street during my 4.5-mile route, which I'd started an hour before I needed to be in the shower so that I could arrive, clean and punctual, at work.

All of those things still happened, because I realized my error just late enough to nudge the run toward five miles ... and because I'd packed my lunch the night before.

On the dark side of the street

This Q&A about takes place between me and an imaginary amalgam of all the people who would likely express worries about my safety.

We begin with concerned person asking whether I'm still running and my affirmative response. Then:

Q: How do you survive this heat? (This fake conversation begins in early July and stretches out over the past month-plus.)

A: I've been running after work, when it's cooler.

Q: Isn't it dark out then?

A: Well, yeah, but that's why it's tolerable for running. Turns out my summer-run suffering was mostly caused by the relentless sun bouncing back off the asphalt, because the temperature and humidity become somewhat tolerable at night. And it also turns out that my inability to wake up/get moving is a moot point: There is no "early enough" to beat the heat, only "late enough."

Q: But you can still see?

A: Yeah, well enough. It doesn't get fully dark until about 9:30 p.m., you know. (Note: This was true when I first began running at night. It's not anymore.) Plus, there are streetlights. The ones in the more residential areas are kind of hit-and-miss, as are the sidewalks sometimes, but so far, so good.

Having said that, my next night run probably will result in a face-plant.

Q: Aren't you scared?

A: I was at first, but I stay along the main streets where there's traffic and businesses, like Walgreens and Kum and Go. Definitely not the rec trails through the forests. I also tend to keep these runs a little shorter, saving the longer ones for earlier start times. And I always bring my cellphone.

Q: What about creepers?

A: I haven't seen any yet. I see a lot of walkers, runners and bikers who apparently have the same idea I do. It startles me when they call out "on your left," but that's about as scared of other people as I've had to be, so far. In fact, I got to scare one of them the other night, when I passed him wide on his left — he was wearing earbuds. Now that seems like a dumb idea.

Q: What about cars?

A: Sometimes their doors slam, their horns honk, their rap music blares or their lights go out/come on abruptly. That startles me. To be honest, quite a few things startle me at night. I'm not sure how much of that is fear-conditioning and how much of that is a natural skittishness when it comes to loud noises.

Q: I mean, can they see you?

A: My running gear is bright, so yes. Also, I stay on sidewalks and look both ways before I cross the street.

Here, the questioner purses his or her lips, shakes his or her head regretfully and indicates through other body language that s/he does NOT endorse my decision. That's fair. I would've disapproved until fairly recently.

I don't have any data-driven rebuttals; the reasons I choose to run at night are that I like running, and that right now it's more practical for me to do so at night. Once we stop doing cartwheels over highs in the upper 80s, I'll head out before work rather than after it. In fact, between the heat wave's break and a shift in my schedule toward earlier start/quit times, the dark runs' reign may be nearing an end.

But the bottom line is, I control everything that I can about my own safety, just as we all do in the rest of our lives. And when all else fails, I think of a French professor at Truman who — I believe I'm remembering this right — went jogging around Moscow during the Soviet days while she was pregnant. On the danger scale, that beats Iowa during democracy and nonpregnancy.

Web wrap-up: July 23 to 29

Runner's World: Treadmill Innovator Bill Staub Dead at 96. I probably would've missed this news, actually, if my boss hadn't mentioned it. (The comment served a dual purpose — one, to inform a known runner of running-related news, and two, to inform a copy editor for a media company of actual news.)

The fact that a man inspired during the 1960s to turn the treadmill — then too expensive for mass consumption — into a home gym staple lived to be 96 should help shut up the "running is bad for everyone's health!" crowd. It's not right for everyone, but it's right for many people ... just like treadmills aren't right for everyone, but they clearly are right for a lot of people.

The Penguin Chronicles: The Trails Less Traveled. John Bingham, a self-described city kid, moved to the country, or at least somewhere a lot more rural, and learned to appreciate trail running. (Though, to be respectful of hard-core trail runners, "groomed multiuse trails" are a little bit different than forest paths. But I digress.)

The opening paragraph shocked me:

"I’m a city kid. I believe in the grandeur of the manmade concrete and steel canyons. Yes, mountains are beautiful, but the gleam of the morning sun off thousands of windows has a beauty all its own."

I'll grant you that there are many kinds of beauty, urban and rural. This might be the Midwesterner in me talking, but who in God's name implies that a whole bunch of windows reflecting light — a natural characteristic of glass — are more impressive than, say, the Rocky Mountains or the Alps?

Anyway, despite thinking this guy is cracked, I kept reading. I was heartened to hear him praise rural sights in a nonpatronizing way, but still, I couldn't help rolling my eyes when he discovered how much nicer shaded trails were during the summer compared with all those glinty windows and all that asphalt.

I must've put my judgy pants on that day, sorry. The rant ends now.

NPR: Summer Science: Clothes Keep You Cool, More or Less. I love exercise-related science, or at least the kind that someone who hasn't taken a science class since 2003 can understand: why your GI tract reacts to running in certain ways, why humidity makes exercising so miserable, etc.

Now, thanks to NPR, I have a much more nuanced view of how to dress for summer exercise. It's not just a matter of wearing as little clothing as possible; the clothes' color and fit, as well as the sun exposure, play a factor.

Miveu-X. My co-worker and friend Ken sent me this link (does that mean I'm getting one for my birthday?). It's a device that straps your smartphone onto your chest so you can record movies from your point of view.

If I did have this, I would most definitely face-plant and break my phone. However, as much as we chuckled over the Miveu-X — and the mental image of my face-planting video — I do have to admit: It looks like a better way to haul my iPhone on a run than the methods I use now.

A runner's heat index: Blessing or curse?

Yes, when I most recently blogged, I linked to a motivational poster that scolded runners who whine about the heat. So what am I gonna do today? Write about oppressive heat, of course.

One of the Runner's Digest entries on RW Daily linked to a tongue-in-cheek post titled "The runner's heat index." The author included a serious chart — one that combines temperature plus humidity to tell you how safe or dangerous running under certain conditions is — and suggested that math-savvy runners create one more specific to them.

Miss Zippy proposed a formula adding temperature, humidity, miles run, pace and time of day, possibly subtracting degrees depending on how hydrated you are. If I were actually qualified to build said formula, I'd drop time of day in favor of whatever figure measures sunshine (maybe UV index?) and the type of terrain. During yesterday's mid- to late-morning bike ride, it was remarkable how much different I felt on the forested parts of the Neal Smith Trail as opposed to the wide-open ones.

Which reminds me that wind — speed and temperature — would be other important variables in this now-very-complex equation. (I'd need to build an app where you just plug in a few numbers in order for anyone to use my hypothetical formula.) Thus far, though the humidity in Des Moines makes me perpetually droopy, the breezes around here are basically perfect: gentle and cool, as opposed to the fierce and blazing ones I encountered in the Rockford Half Marathon.

Joking aside, I think I'm glad I found this blog post. I say "think" because it doesn't exactly endorse some of the running-related decisions I've made.

For example, it confirms my decisions over the past two days not to run at all — highs were in the upper 90s, and it's safe to say the humidity was high enough to warrant "extreme caution" — and, over the past week or two, to run at night when the temperatures fall into the 80s.

But on the other hand, it's like a delayed scolding for runs that, while not resulting in heat stroke or heat exhaustion or dehydration, were technically ill-considered. Example: Fourth of July midmorning run. And let's face it, when you're a heat-hating, fair-skinned late-comer-to-running, do you need any more encouragement to sit on the couch?

I know, I know. Knowledge is power. Forewarned is forearmed. Always be prepared. Still, I can't help wanting to use that chart as proof of my toughness afterward, instead of arguments for joining a gym (UGH).

Seen while running: Week of July 8

The sights were a little scarce last week ... time to start working in new terrain, or keeping the sweat out of my eyes more efficiently. My sweatbands aren't prepared to handle what a Midwest summer can do!

Seen along 60th Street. I hope this is some sort of road patching material ... or basically anything other than what it looks like. I didn't notice a smell — I'll say that at least.

Also on 60th Street. Looks like our family dog isn't the only critter who bounds through freshly poured pavement!

I also saw/overheard a belligerent man on his cellphone across the street from my apartment complex: "Are you retarded? I think you're mentally unstable. You shouldn't be driving," he was snapping, very helpfully, at someone who apparently was having some sort of car issues.

Usually I love eavesdropping, but this time I just felt bad for the person on the other end. Don't worry, I had no intention of intervening — I just put an extra spring in my step to finish the last quarter-mile and round a corner out of his sight.

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.

My sixth check-in on the Rock River 1000 Mile Challenge

With the year halfway done, here's how I'm doing on Daily Mile's Rock River 1000 Mile Challenge.

Obviously, I should be at 500 miles ... and I've logged 461, or 39 off pace for the year.

I know objectively that this is a somewhat significant gap, as far as catching up goes, but when I think of how much I avoided summer runs in the past few years, I feel like patting myself on the back, high-fiving myself and buying myself a celebratory drink.

After all, I logged about seven-ish miles for the two weeks after my half marathon, which had put me within three miles of being exactly on track. Those two weeks were spent recovering from the race and moving 300 miles for a new, improved job, so I don't have any reason to berate myself.

That fortnight is responsible for about two-thirds of my shortfall; over the course of the following month, I came up short a few miles a few weeks, and that's it. So I'm well on my way to establishing the habit of running four-plus miles regularly, and I'm working on going past that more often.

Will this get me to 1,000 miles by Dec. 31? Maybe, maybe not — I have to average closer to 21 miles per week for the rest of the year. But it's not outside the realm of possibility, and I'm on track to break 900 if I maintain the status quo. That would still be worth celebrating.

* * *

Past monthly check-ins: January through April (at Get Running) and May (at Little Runner, Bigger City).

Seen while running: Week of June 17

I have an iPhone and new territory to explore. I'm hoping this adds up to achieving my goal of putting more artwork in my new blog than I did in my old one.

So here are some sights to share with you from the week starting June 17.

The sidewalks in West Des Moines have exceeded all my previous expectations for sidewalks (namely, that there are some). They're wide, smooth and continuous, including over interstates.

My favorite overpass so far is the Ashworth Road crossing of Interstate 35, primarily because the south end looks like the entrance to a garden (very "Secret Garden"-esque) and secondarily because it's fairly flat (unlike the Westown Parkway crossing over Interstate 35, which is a rolling uphill).

The Ashworth Road overpass, above Interstate 35. Taken June 17.

On the same run, I made a detour through a neighborhood so I could hit a full four miles. I spotted a lot of nice, upper-middle-class houses, a few dogs and their masters, and ... this creepy creation. Imagine visiting these people at night for the first time and having your headlights illuminate this thing. And to make matters worse, once I uploaded the picture, I spotted the tall one's companion crouched in the foreground.

A house not far from my complex. Taken June 17.

Speaking of creepy ... I noticed this during June 20's freaking hot run, but the call of the chilled Gatorade, air conditioning, ice-cold water and shower was too loud to allow me to stop.

Taken June 23. I hope this is the only Peeping Tom within running range of my place.

This one is sort of a cheat. I spotted it along 60th Street coming back from a bike ride, but since I checked it out the next time I ran, technically I saw it while running.

Apparently I live in the Wild West Des Moines. Taken June 23.

Not pictured: The couple in a too-close-for-this-kind-of-humidity embrace along a path/playground combo smack in the middle of a neighborhood. I was polite and glanced the other way ... but allowed myself to think — and post — smarmily that my night was hotter and sweatier than theirs was.

Cross-training across Des Moines

I haven't run the past two days, but it's OK — recovery days are also reconnaissance days, as it turns out.

On Thursday I again joined the Scheels bike group for a 30ish-mile ride (my total distance was 33.5 miles, but that includes biking to the meeting place and peeling off to go directly home at the end).

This group serves a couple of purposes for me: socializing; challenging myself in something at which I actually can improve; and, duh, guiding me through the Des Moines trail system ... in particular, showing me a fast way to access a nearby trail, without making me read a map.

With a slower pace and better weather, I had more mental energy to spend on observing the trail, as opposed to gluing my eyes to the next-to-last cyclist's wheel. The trees, the creek, the gentle breeze were all so refreshing and energizing as we whizzed through at 15 mph. And it hit me — why the heck was I running on shade-free sidewalks, especially when the sun was out?

Maybe, in addition to the timing switches I've been considering, I should consider changing locations, to the forested valley through which the bike group leads me. It's less than two miles from my complex; a full-grown (mentally full-grown) adult should be able to manage her time adequately enough to make a cool run there happen.

Friday, I took advantage of my early-bird downtown parking spot to stroll over to the Des Moines Arts Festival after work. (Yep, I counted that, plus a short morning errand, toward my 1,000-mile goal. Every mile, and every mile increment, counts.)

One of the timing switches I've been considering is incorporating more evening runs into my routine. On Friday and Saturday nights, I'm off work early, leaving me time to head home, eat, digest and then exercise while it's still light. Other days, when I leave at 9 p.m., I don't have that luxury — but it occurred to me that I could stave off both dehydration/heat stroke and running route boredom by bringing running gear to work and heading out right away.

The link between this and the art festival: My co-worker mentioned, as we passed the Western Gateway Park sculptures, how beautiful it is when the pieces are illuminated at night. Aha! A new, well-lit place to run!

I feel very satisfied with this cross-training/recovery combination.