Runagogo! Week number eight.
[18/2/07-24/2/07]: 9 miles.
37.5 miles down. 62.5 more to go.

I did WHAT?

That’s more like it! Nine miles this week. That might sound small to some, but it's a 50% increase over my previous weekly max. With only five weeks left, I'll need to average 12.5 miles per week to get up to 100 miles in time for April 1st. But if I keep increasing my weekly total at a reasonable rate, it’s still well within reasonable expectations that I will reach my 100 mile goal by walking and not have to use my bike to fill in some mileage.

And here's the punch-line (make sure you're sitting down when you read this): I jogged. Yep. That's what I said. I actually loped along at a steady respectable jog for one long block. In the middle of a long midnight walk with DH on Tuesday, I just felt an overwhelming desire to pick up the pace and run. His initial reaction to this urge of mine was to ask me for two pieces of I.D. (Lady, who are you and what have you done with MezzoDiva?). But when the impulse didn’t fade, I took off just to see what it would feel like. It was a very short, freakish thing, only 1/8 of a mile. And you know what? I liked it! I'm not sure what are the precise rate parameters dividing the forms of human tread motion, and I probably wasn't going fast enough to call it running, but it was definitely not walking.

If you knew me at all (42 years, most of them sedentary, size 24…) you'd know just how bizarre it was that I actually wanted to do anything like that. Impact activities are not my thing. There is no bra in the world sufficient to control the bouncing of my 42F++. I have a repeat history of severely sprained ankles and some back and joint issues (not a surprise given the excess baggage on my 5’3 frame). And then there was the aversion therapy: I had a gym teacher in high school who used to throw us all out for timed 1.5 mile runs around several city blocks – nothing but torture for a teen who went from plump to obese over the course of my secondary schooling. Not to mention that back then what passed for athletic shoes provided only slightly more support and cushioning than those flimsy paper slippers you wear when getting a pedicure.

So if you’d suggested to me, even earlier that same day, that I would choose to run of my own volition and what’s more I would like it, I’d probably have suggested you check the expiry date on your meds. Just goes to show: Never say “never”.