On Day 2 of my 30 Days of Running, I ran 3.99 miles in 40:55. The fact that I didn’t run that extra 0.01 miles is proof that I completely ignored Little G while he was tracking our progress through New Calvary Cemetery and around Celtic Avenue. Celtic Avenue is an itty bitty street that gives the picturesque 50th Avenue the aspect of a smile of pearly whites interrupted by a chipped tooth. 50th Avenue is lined by old trees, with arching, well-leafed branches. The homes that claim 50th Avenue as their address are brick-faced, with front windows that have little peaked eaves, and itty bitty stained glass panels looking out at us like a third eye. As I circled the cemetery grounds, I could see the sun rise to the east of me, and its reflection shimmered in the windows of the building to the west of me.
On Day 2 of my 30 Days of Running, I also started my One Hundred Pushups program. On Monday, I was humbled by the result of the test. I could only do 6 push-ups (the real ones, from my toes rather than my knees) before completely giving up in a quivering pile, moaning owie owie owie. Six push-ups meant that on Day 1 of Level 2 I had to do a total of 25 push-ups, broken out into sets of 6-6-4-4-5. Gave myself a little pep talk after I got back from my run. TK you got this. I went into the bedroom and closed the door. No way was Husband going to witness this indignity. The first 6 weren’t so bad. So I launched into the second 6 after the alloted 60-second break. By the fifth push-up of my second set I’d started to slow down, and I thought, surely you don’t need to employ mental toughness techniques after just 11 measley push-ups, TK? But yet, there I was, talking myself through push-up #12, saying Think how fabulous your arms will look when you have to wear that strapless bridesmaid dress at your sister-in-law’s wedding!
It was after I completed my second set of push-ups that I decided to take the longer break the program offered between sets, for the most pathetic among us. I looked around. I know, I’ll make the bed! Once the bed was made, I dropped and gave you 4. That’s right, FOUR. Ggrah! I waited 60 seconds and did 4 more, muttering under my breath, You can do this TK! Ooh feel that? Your abs are working too! After those 4 I decided to take another longer break. I folded a bag of clean towels. Once that was done, I whistled a bit as I looked around for some other thing to tidy up. All that was left was dusting, which would require me exiting the bedroom to get a cloth and a spritz bottle. If I came out before I was done, I’d never finish, so I relented and tried to ignore the burny, wobbly feeling as I pushed my body up five more times.
When I finished, I shuffled out to the living room and held my arms out to Husband. Whah whah, I whined (or something approximating that). He shook my hand, my arm flopping around like an overcooked linguine, and tried to pull me out of his line of vision: I was blocking SportsCenter. I flexed and said I’m going to have great arms! He said, while never once losing eye contact with Chris Berman, “Push-ups work your triceps. If you want biceps you have to do curls.” I nearly fell over.
The idea of racing 26.2 miles didn’t even induce taper madness this year, but completing 25 push-ups requires self-cajoling and pep-talking of a magnitude that would imply I was taking on the Knickerbocker 60k. I promise, if I stick with this Hundred Pushups program, I WILL post a photo of my fabulous arms–in the strapless bridesmaid gown (which will appear decidedly less fabulous by comparison). Who wins here? I admit, it’s still unclear.