Tag Archives: being thirty

I Can Hear the Rocky Theme in the Distance…

Today was training day 2 of my official half-marathon adventure. According to my Smart Coach from runnersworld.com, I had to run 2 miles today. I just could not convince myself to go to the gym to run on the treadmill like a hamster. I wanted to run outside in the fresh winter air, even though it was completely dark by the time I was able to get out.

Fears of being assaulted or hit by a car aside, I stepped out of my front door and ran six times around my block (2.3 miles total). This was a major accomplishment, considering that we live at the crest of a pretty tall hill.

This means I ran up and down the really tall hill six times, and I did it at a 12-minute mile pace, which, for me, is pretty darn average. Two words: hell yes.

That half marathon is starting to look easier and easier.

The Wisdom of Gnarls Barkley

As I ran my two mile training jaunt while Gnarls Barkley’s “Crazy” flooded my ears, I realized how much wisdom those words held. Crazy. Such a deceptively simple word that exactly describes my current state of mind. This is because the other day, a friend convinced me to stop training for Bay to Breakers and start training for a Half Marathon. And the best part? The half marathon is two months earlier and 6 miles longer than B2B. Her argument: Just think how easy B2B will be after you’ve run 13.1 miles…

13.1 miles. Every day, I try to fathom how far that is. I live closer than 13.1 miles to my work. My mom probably lives only about 7 miles from me–and in a car in rush hour traffic, even that seems interminable. In fact, I don’t think I DRIVE 13.1 miles during the course of a day, and she wants me to run it. Do you want to know the craziest part? I said yes.

So now here I am in the midst of full-on training. Yesterday was my first “official” day, even though I consider the 6 miles I ran last week as pre-training. I’ll run another 6 this week, and then the real fun begins. Part of me says, “Hell yes, I can do this” while the other (and sometimes louder) part of me thinks that I am, in the immortal words of Gnarls Barkley, crazy.

I will say this, though. When I was a senior in high school, awkward, chubby, and somewhat ugly, I never even dreamed of running around the block, let alone running a half marathon.

I guess 30 isn’t quite that bad.

Back on the Wagon (or moving belt)

Seriously, why is it so hard to get back in shape as we get older? I ran the Bay to Breakers (a 12K–7.5 miles for those of you who are metrically challenged) last May, and I haven’t run since (save two two-mile jaunts in June or July–I don’t even remember which month it was). B2B is only six months away now, and if I have any prayer of beating last year’s time, I need to get moving–literally.

Yesterday, in an effort to prepare myself for an hour and a half (well, 1:39 according to my official timing chip) of physical Armageddon (and to fit my butt into the new Seven jeans I bought on eBay), I dragged myself to the gym to give it the old college try on the treadmill. My hope was that I would be able to run two miles at a somewhat reasonable pace (two miles is my get-back-into-training-distance that I usually have no trouble doing). My Sunday adventure, however, was a much different story. After one mile, I had a huge cramp in my side and I was all but ready to drop to the ground. I had to stop and walk for a few minutes before I could increase my speed to a slow jog. And today, I’m in pain. Real pain. My quads are screaming for some Motrin.

I have no doubt in my mind that I’ll be ready for May 17, and I’m relatively certain that I can beat last year’s time. My thirty year old body, however, may have a different agenda. Let the battle of wills begin…

ThirtyGirl is Thankful

I always hear people–especially my dad, who’s a very young 68–say, “Age is not a number; it’s a state of mind,” and they’re probably right. Unfortunately, when you experience your first major decade change (10 and 20 don’t count), sometimes it’s way too easy to get wrapped up in that simple little digit.

That’s why, in the spirit of turkey, stuffing, and mashed potatoes (or goose, acorns, and pumpkin–if you want to get technical), I’ve decided today to celebrate all the things my thirty years have gifted me.

1. My personal and professional experiences.

In my life, I’ve had opportunities to travel to places my parents haven’t seen–and may never see. I’ve eaten pizza while staring at the Duomo in Florence; I’ve tasted wine at a local, family-owned winery in Ston, Croatia; I’ve performed a scene from Othello on the Globe Theater stage as the bells of St. Paul’s were chiming midnight. I was selected from a large pool of professionals–some with much more experience than I–to help lead the reform movement at the high school where I teach. At thirty, I am a respected, integral part of my professional community–at an age where many people are just starting to launch their careers.

2. ┬áThe knowledge that it’s more important to be respected than to be liked.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a bitch. Bitches aren’t really respected anyway–more like feared, and I’m not interested in that. But what I have learned is that by spending too much time pleasing other people (in order to be liked), I forgot to please myself.

3. My family

Even though they’re third on my list, they’re not. This is going to sound cliche, but I don’t care. My family–my husband and daughter, as well as my mom and dad and other more extended family–are the ones that keep me sane (more or less) on even my worst days. No matter how hectic or crazy my life gets (which it does, on a daily basis), they’re the ones who keep me grounded, and they’re the ones that motivate me to be successful in my life.

Whatever your age today, I hope you’ll reflect on those gifts that your years have given you. Today isn’t about crow’s feet, gray hairs, or joint pain. Today is about life–and what really matters.

Happy Thanksgiving!