Moved...

Now at atalantasapples.wordpress.com !

"weekend" runs

I'm on vacation with my family in Delaware, and so have been thrown off my usual long-slow-Saturday recovery-Sunday pattern. Nonetheless, I overcame this adversity.

Yesterday, headed out for 14, which ended up being my longest run yet. It was long. It was slow. It was even a little boring. Since I figured I'd get lost otherwise, I did seven-out, seven-back on Route One, a flat and mostly straight four-lane highway with a pleasantly wide bike lane. There were plenty of advantages to such a situation. The flatness was one of them: my hometown is (marginally, supposedly) known for its seven hills, and where I went to college, the only flat neighborhoods should be assiduously avoided by lightweight vulnerable-looking female solo runners. The scenery, at least to the left, was nice. The beautiful tailwind for the first seven miles helped me astonish myself at my continually unelevated heart rate.

Oh, yeah, the tailwind. Just so happens that on an out-and-back course, the tailwind becomes not so desirable on the second half. After turning, I scoffed at my moronicity, picked it up, and commenced my LSD game of last resort: playing A-my-name-is-Alice-and-I-like-artichokes with myself. I only got to G, but it got me through the worst of the mental slough.

Then came my pseudo-Sunday recovery -- during which I generally, and rather self-consciously, try to "reclaim the joy of running" -- just kidding there, I swear. But I do try to make it fun. Like a carnival. I listen to music, I keep whatever pace I want, I fartlek based on the beat, sing along a little, insert a few dance steps, head-bang it, count the number of cars who swerve thanks to my antics, etc.  So I did the prescribed 45 minutes of that, and was just turning into our rented house when I met my dad coming out for his run. Accordingly, I joined him for another 25. It wasn't exactly kosher, but -- hey, flexibility, right?

And I will spend another halcyon day tomorrow fighting with my siblings and nursing sun- and sand-burn (those Atlantic waves really churn you up). Best wishes to my non-existent readership.

Good evening, sports fans

Call me Currendo, although I'm aware that's hardly a feminine form. I'm a northern Virginian Latin teacher with a running habit that some might call 'obsessive,' though my mom assures me it's merely 'disciplined.'

(Granted, she told me this after I had spent the day irrationally snapping at anybody in sight and intermittently weeping, all because I'd forced myself to take a rest day. I am not sure how reliably this testimony can be considered.)

I am pretty sure, by the way, that this running I speak of should also be called 'rather slow' and 'just for kicks' and 'in need of a lot more dedication especially in the area of track workouts because I just am terrible at making myself do them no matter how much I plan and resolve and brush my teeth with my left hand.' (Supposedly increases overall willpower. I'm skeptical.) And just to complete the qualifications, I'm actually a soon-to-be Virginian, a soon-to-be Latin teacher. All-too-soon-to-be, judging by my to-do list as I prepare to move and start the school year -- and the summer session.

I'm looking forward to spreading my already-detailed training logs to the wider, uninterested world. Despite several years of half-serious and six months of pretty-serious running, despite a competitive streak that's been limited to intense games of Boggle ever since high school quiz team came to an end, I've yet to run even one race. I think I'm scared. So this, too, will be described in full.

Thanks for reading this far. Rest assured that I have probably been stalking your blog for months.

Why ablative?

Why not?