Sorry. This isn't a tribute to Tiffany, but maybe that song is stuck in your head now.
I buckle the dog's running harness around his torso. He's ready to go. He makes this high-pitched squeak while I tie my laces. He wants to go NOW!
This goofy dog has social anxiety disorder and also hates to be home alone (not a good combo), but he loves to run. We start running, and the leash is taut. He can't ever start at a moderate pace. He's lunging forward, pulling me up the hill while my legs try to warmup. Of course, as soon as I find a rhythm, he slams on the brakes and squats to do his business. As soon as he finishes, we're off to the races again.
Between miles two and three, I'm finally warmed up. The dog has burned through some of his anxiety. We're actually running together now. His ears are flying behind him. The leash isn't yanking my arm out of my shoulder socket. It's nice.
We do a lap around the college tennis courts. We circle the power plant. (It's actually kind of a nice setting, with native plants and some small ponds. I often see deer around here.) We head toward Windmill Island.
My watch buzzes at mile four. I check my pace. Whoa! Today's not a speed day. Why am I going so fast? I mean, I know the dog is semi-dragging me, but I consciously try to ease off the pace a little.
Mile five. Still too fast. Like, I feel good, but I ran fast on Monday. Too fast on Tuesday. Now, too fast again. I'm not a young man anymore. My body's not going to like this if I keep racing my workouts.
I'm thinking these thoughts on my run as I try to relax. I'm able to slow down a little bit, but the speed keeps creeping back up if I'm not paying attention.
If this was a dream, I would accuse my mind of not being subtle at all. My weekly calendar also tends to make commitments that my body and mind feel like are too much, but activities (good activities) also creep in just like that speed.
Hopefully, today's run will be slower. (I'm not taking the dog today. That should help.)
This goofy dog has social anxiety disorder and also hates to be home alone (not a good combo), but he loves to run. We start running, and the leash is taut. He can't ever start at a moderate pace. He's lunging forward, pulling me up the hill while my legs try to warmup. Of course, as soon as I find a rhythm, he slams on the brakes and squats to do his business. As soon as he finishes, we're off to the races again.
Between miles two and three, I'm finally warmed up. The dog has burned through some of his anxiety. We're actually running together now. His ears are flying behind him. The leash isn't yanking my arm out of my shoulder socket. It's nice.
We do a lap around the college tennis courts. We circle the power plant. (It's actually kind of a nice setting, with native plants and some small ponds. I often see deer around here.) We head toward Windmill Island.
My watch buzzes at mile four. I check my pace. Whoa! Today's not a speed day. Why am I going so fast? I mean, I know the dog is semi-dragging me, but I consciously try to ease off the pace a little.
Mile five. Still too fast. Like, I feel good, but I ran fast on Monday. Too fast on Tuesday. Now, too fast again. I'm not a young man anymore. My body's not going to like this if I keep racing my workouts.
I'm thinking these thoughts on my run as I try to relax. I'm able to slow down a little bit, but the speed keeps creeping back up if I'm not paying attention.
If this was a dream, I would accuse my mind of not being subtle at all. My weekly calendar also tends to make commitments that my body and mind feel like are too much, but activities (good activities) also creep in just like that speed.
Hopefully, today's run will be slower. (I'm not taking the dog today. That should help.)