Honest.
So, the original plan was to update the training blog twice a week, which let's face it, is charmingly naive. The second plan, a little more realistic, was to go for it weekly. That didn't work, of course.
Consequently, I'm just posting when I get a chance. Said chance would be now, as Diaz is off securing another master's degree and I'm home alone with freezing rain outside.
We've actually made some strides (ugh...not a pun) in going for the half-marathon. Two weeks back, I met with a podiatrist to ensure my orthotics (fancy name for the shoe inserts semi-cripples such as myself require) would hold up for 22 kilometres.
This whole thing came about after Diaz and I attempted to power-walk 25 kilometers and I thought it would be a good idea to try the stunt in hiking shoes one size too small. Somewhere around the 18k mark, my feet hurt like hell and the beautiful wife literally had to support me each time we moved from sidewalk to street due to the pain. I then limped for three days, resembling an obese sea lion with a spear in its side, while she skipped about effortlessly.
Right.
Back to the podiatrist.
Since it's been at least 12 or 15 years since I had orthotics made, it was suggested I get myself a new pair. (The cynical would suggest part of the impetus on the good doctor's behalf was his knowledge my insurance would partially cover the hundreds of bucks required.)
I strategically made the appointment the morning after the kicking Hives show at Koolhaus (I reviewed the concert for CHART, but they moved some paragraphs around--as is their wont--and I kinda liked my original better) so I could sleep in a bit. I'm brilliant like that. Similarly, I'm picking up the new inserts next week, again strategically the morning after a concert (the wicked/awesome Scottish rock quartet, Sons and Daughters at Lee's Palace) to ensure I'm not denied my beauty rest.
We also signed up for the Sporting Life 10k, which takes place on May 4. Out of the wide variety of 10-kilometer races that I've run (i.e. two), the Sporting Life one is probably my favourite. Yonge Street's closed down and you pretty much run straight to the lake (i.e. downhill) before detouring to sprint out the final meters under the Gardner Expressway. The fact 8000 others are doing it at the same time actually enhances the event; it makes you feel like a part of something. Not necessarily anything particularly noble, but something nevertheless.
To train for this, we renewed our membership at the local (Mitchell Field) City of Toronto indoor running track. We ran three times last week (25 to 30 minutes, plus a couple minutes of warm up and about 15 minutes of post-stretching stuff), but we're already dropping the ball for this session. The plan had been to run yesterday (and then go vote the Green Party into third place for our Willowdale riding by-election to justify us having Lou's sign in our window all week), but this was changed at the last second to the slightly less healthy 'head to Burger Hut for killer burgers, feta poutine, Cokes, and onion rings' plan.
We're running tomorrow, though, dammit.
In semi-related news, we also signed up for the WWF CN Tower climb (appeals for cash TK). This is incredibly stupid because we use to want to die after the 30 flights of our old Beecroft condo (stupid fire alarms) and the Tower Formerly Known as the World's Tallest is 144 flights.
Yes, seriously.
Diaz just wanted to show up and wing it, but this is beyond suicide. I've suggested we casually waltz into an office tower on Yonge Street, quickly find the stairwell and practice. We'll see.
Ok. The rest of my exciting night we'll include making baked chayotte and grilled cheese con ketchup, re-reading Rocketo, and pretending not to watch American Idol.
This is the second post.
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