Suburban Duathlon

I did a duathlon today, or maybe even a modified tri. I raked for a good two hours with a couple of dump runs to get rid of my leaves. Picked up C1 down the street at a play date and took her on a quick errand. When we got home I geared up and went out for 31 minutes.

Raking is a great workout. It works the upper body, the legs, the abs. You do dead lifts and hustle barrels to the pickup, then drag it out of the truck bed and do it all again. I did a shortened stroller router this evening (solo) and it felt really really good. I'm having a good time right now just getting out and running. I'm shooting for minutes rather than miles and while I'm firmly in the 4-5.5 range right now the mileage is not the thing -- time on the road is. I'm trying to figure out some new routes, but I've been out 4 times since last Sunday and run three routes and that has helped immensely.

I dedicate today's run to my Dad's sister-in-law's father. He died today at the age of 95! He lead a long and good life. I liked him very much. He'd been sick a couple of weeks ago and in the hospital. He got sick again and said, no more hospital, no more medications. It's time. I think that's pretty amazing, brave and wise. It was time for him, he knew it. He accepted his mortality, and took control. It's not sad. It's empowering.

Running and Crying

The light was out by 10 PM and the alarm was set for 5:30 -- I was ready to go out and get 5 miles this morning before Mrs. Agricola's early morning meeting (7 AM . . . ). I was having trouble sleeping, I was tossing and turning and I couldn't get comfortable. The phone rang at 11 PM. It was my brother. He told me that my Great-Uncle, Tim, had died that evening from cardiac arrest. He had been sick for about three weeks with a baffling array of ailments that left him essentially non-compis-mentis and unable to communicate with his family and his doctors. While sad and not the desired outcome his death was probably for the best. I lay in the dark pondering the death of yet another family member when the phone rang again, it was my mother. We spoke briefly. She was crying. Mrs. Agricola and I chatted for a bit before sleep finally overtook both of us around midnight.

I didn't hear my alarm until 5:40. I rolled out of the rack and got dressed, determined to get some miles in and to dedicate them to my uncle. The time I lost forced me to start cutting back on my distance. I was picking up my pace and huffing a bit as I came up a long false flat (which I ever realized was a false flat until today), looking at my watch and considering what piece of my route to cut out when I stepped on a piece of asphalt that turned my ankle and sent my flying. I rolled in the street for bit clutching my ankle. Then moved to the strip of grass between street and sidewalk, cursing a blue streak through gritted teeth. I leaned over on my side and noticed that my head was about 6 inches from a piece of dog-poop . . . even in the midst of this there was some humor to be had.

The dog poop inspired to stand up and head for home -- this run was done. I was about 2.25 miles out, I'd been running for about 19 minutes, but could get back home in about 1.6. I walked for a bit and tried to run. No dice. I walked a bit more, a bit further then ran up a hill. The pain wasn't bad but I didn't like how I was favoring my bum tire so stopped. I came to a point about 7/10s from my house, with a cutout up the road that would shorten it a bit more and I decided to run.

I made this decision at the bottom of the hill that I sometimes mention kicks my butt a bit, and I ran it with a bum tire but a pretty good stride. I started thinking about all that had transpired since 11 PM the night prior, but mainly about my uncle and his family -- despite being in his mid-late-70s, he had a 17 year old son getting ready to graduate from high school . . . and there I was, running and crying. I could barely see, my eyes were filled with tears that started running down my cheeks and I sobbed as I strode a very familiar section of road. I was thinking about what to say about my uncle, and this is what I came up with:

He was a good doctor, a good husband, he loved his son fiercely. He was a good man.

There really is nothing more to say.