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.

Upcoming races, of sorts: Woofin' It 5K and Walk MS

May is apparently my charitable athletic month this year. I've signed up for two events that benefit causes with particular significance to me, so I'll use this platform to recruit others to join me.

May 9 is the Woofin' It 5K, which loyal readers recognize as a fundraiser for Furry Friends Refuge, the no-kill shelter that kept Dusty for 1.5 years before I adopted him.

The first picture I ever took of Dusty, when he'd just come home. I wasn't sure whether he'd like me, and he probably wasn't too sure about the whole situation, either.  

It's literally the cutest 5K I've ever done and probably will ever do, because dogs are invited to accompany their owners and participate in a costume contest.

So. 9 a.m. start on Saturday, May 9, in Campbell Park in Clive. Registration is still only $25; sign up here. (Please. Think of the puppies! And the kitties, even though they're not invited!)

A week after that is an event to help humans: the MS Walk in Cedar Rapids. My good friend Chelsea has been doing this event for a few years now, inspired by our friend Doug's battle with MS.

In the past I've given to team Mighty Myelin Power Rangers, but this year I'm headed out to the actual event. If you feel like supporting my endeavors without running, you can donate here.

/end soapbox.

The urge to run is stirring

A strange thought flitted across my mind the other day, as I thought about the upcoming week's workout regiment.

It was: "Hm, maybe I'll run Wednesday. Or run-walk. But definitely not bike, and definitely more than just walk."

Three weeks into my month of not running, it seems that I haven't quite lost the bug yet, in spite of all my head-shaking as I see runners braving the heat and humidity. What good news!

Did I run? Nope. But that's OK — I fear the loss of interest more than the loss of fitness. (I may retract this statement next month.)

Granted, several factors that weren't the sheer love of running kindled this desire: Smashburger, a Drake Diner milkshake, a Bauder Pharmacy hot fudge sundae, a weekend devoid of any exercise, and an unwillingness to devote an hour-plus to exercise when I had a long to-do list, to name just a few.

That's also OK. I don't care why I want to run, I just care that I do want to run.

The spectrum of race-day goals has been established

We're three weeks out from the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick Day 5K, and having done a sort-of trial run for it recently, I've been able to draft some goals for it.

They are, in descending order of probability:

* Have fun. Spring could very well stick around until then, so what's not to like about running on a nice day with friends and beer?

And if the weather stinks, well, at least there will be a group of other people ready to grouse about it with me over beer. It'll be the Drake Relays half all over again!

* Resist the temptation to walk, even if -- especially if -- no other goals look plausible. If race day just isn't my day, then at the very least I can point to this minor victory. And if race day is my day, then nothing further down the list will happen.

Furthermore, while I can recite reasons why I'm not at peak physical shape until I'm blue in the face, I shouldn't have excuses for not being mentally strong: Sure, the winter made running outdoors tough, but I managed to actually get out there.

* Break 25:30. That's about how fast I did this race last year, and it's how fast I did the recent speedy three-miler. Race-day adrenaline should help me knock out that extra 0.1 without extra time.

* Beat my gentleman friend again. He has overall fitness and natural aptitude on his side. I have more consistent and speed-specific running on mine. Which will win? Let the smack talk continue.

* Set a PR (i.e., 24:08 and faster). I'd definitely "settle" for breaking a PR by mere seconds, with it being so early in the year and such a tough winter. Especially if this is a gun-time-only race like last year.

* Sub-24:00. I highly doubt this will happen, but a girl can hope and strive, right?

About those 20 seconds

I don't think I've addressed the 20 seconds in a blog post yet. Now it's time.

Don't worry. I'm not going to berate myself or demand sympathy, because I honestly don't see either of those as necessary.

I will admit to realizing, fairly early on, that I had a decent shot at hitting or breaking 2:00:00 during the Des Moines Half Marathon.

As the miles — and my strength — wound down, I checked back frequently to gauge the possibility. Around mile 12, as one of my cheerleaders biked past me on his way to the finish line, I shouted back at his words of encouragement that I thought I could break 2:00:00 still.

Obviously it didn't quite happen, and the instant that I realized that — probably a minute or so out — I was as disappointed as my low energy levels would allow me to be. Not devastated, but definitely negative.

But after the race, until I'd gotten the massage that I so desperately wanted, I was crabby in general. I don't know how much of it was disappointment, compared with fatigue, irritation with the crowds and anxiety over finding/waiting for the massage.

I can honestly say, though, that once I was on the table and telling the DMU student about my race, I no longer cared.

Even if the woman hadn't been stretching me in wonderful ways, it would've been difficult to tell her that I took eight full minutes off my previous best — set 2.5 years ago — and I finished 4.5 minutes ahead of my best-case-scenario goal, but I should've finished at least 20 seconds sooner.

Yeah, I can be a harsh critic of myself, and I can often find a reason to look past the fact that I trained diligently for two-plus months and finished a half marathon, sometimes in adverse conditions, to focus on the end numbers.

Not this time, though. The PR-breaking margin is enough to keep me from second-guessing anything, like the two nausea-fighting walk breaks or the post-gel-water-drinking walk break.

Sure, if I'd kept running, I might've been able to break two hours. But I also might've thrown up, spilled the entire beverage, choked or just missed a chance to catch my breath and refocus.

And if all I walked during a half marathon (more than a half marathon, because I haven't mastered running the tangents) is 20 freakin' seconds ... that's something to be proud of. Which I am.

Full race report: Des Moines Half Marathon

The theme of my Des Moines Half experience (2:00:20, to boast once more) was doing everything right.

When I told people my goals, their responses were either "Oh, you can totally do that" or "I think you'll do even better than that."

But previous races have shown me that executing my part of the plan isn't a given — nor is the continuation of the weather conditions that I've trained in.

That wasn't so Sunday. While it was cooler than the majority of my training, it was just about identical to the taper runs I'd done over the past week.

First good move: fighting off the paranoia about being too cold and trusting (correctly) that I'd warm up enough to appreciate a T-shirt and shorts.

I must've tapered properly, because the only body part that demanded "why are we running?" was my brain. My legs felt fresh and fluid, and I definitely did not get the sense early on that it wasn't going to be my day.

I feared starting off too fast and burning myself out. So once we got started — and wow was this a big race; I think it took about three minutes to cross the starting line — I kept an eagle eye on my phone until I settled into a comfortable pace.

Mission accomplished. MapMyRun says the first mile was my slowest, and it also says I stayed within a 40-second range.

Throughout the race, I mostly trusted my body. I've never taken so few water breaks during a half marathon, but I just wasn't thirsty, and I also really didn't want to stop and break my stride. I did have water around the halfway point, because I'd taken my gel, but that was it.

I've also never taken so few walk breaks. Again, I was in the zone and didn't want to leave it. There were times when I wanted to, but my practice telling myself "you got this" paid off.

The bargaining method ("you can walk at mile 10") worked even better than during training — as other runners have observed, once I reached whatever marker, I actually felt fine and just kept going.

On the converse side, I felt queasy twice. The first time was after the only hill in the half marathon, and after I passed some AWESOME friends who showed up to cheer me on with a sign; the second time was within sight of the finish line.

I let myself walk both times — embarrassing during the second time — and the nausea subsided.

Finally, to wrap this up, my post-race activities were mostly spot-on. I got the massage as soon as possible; I didn't go completely sedentary, but I didn't stay on my feet the entire time; I hit up a hot tub later in the day; and I went to bed at 9:30 p.m.

In conclusion? ALL GOALS ACCOMPLISHED.

Your body knows best

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The further into the 1000 Mile Challenge I get, the more diligent I become about tracking my walking.

No, I don't log the distance from my work to my car, or my apartment to my car — though maybe I should — but if I'm going to save my sanity and stroll to an event rather than move my car a half-mile closer, or if I'm going to spend a few hours at a festival, yeah, I'm gonna record that. Particularly if I feel any sort of burn the next day.

It's really like saving your spare change here and there, but there were definitely a few weekends in September where that walking put me up over 20 for the week. The recent short-term goal has been to get closer to 20 than 15.

So anyway, through Sunday, I've logged almost 705 miles for the year. The weekly average to win creeps ever higher: I'd have to get 24-plus per week, and that's just not in the cards.

But to get to 900, it looks like about 16 or 17 per week will do the trick. I just have to keep remembering that running chases away the grumpies and the caloric remorse over beer.

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.