Monthly results are in

I'm not sure what this means, but it looks as if I've just had my most successful January of running.

I easily exceeded my very modest goal for monthly miles. I view the months of October, following my marathon, through February as my offseason. Accordingly, I plan only to train minimally. I call it a maintenance plan. It consists almost entirely of short runs -- four miles -- at paces much slower than I would consider acceptable for any other time of the year.

For January, I merely want to log 31 miles -- a single mile per day. For February, I want to ramp up my mileage to 56 miles, or two miles per day. Then, come March, I shoot for an average of three miles per day. These incremental increases in mileage have kept me injury-free and helped establish the base mileage I need when my marathon training begins in earnest in April.

I logged a whopping 74 miles this January. That's more miles than I've ever run in January -- props to Mother Nature for the unseasonably mild weather that allowed me twice to run in shorts in Minnesota in January -- and puts me ahead of my schedule by a month. Now I can either increase my mileage to keep me ahead of schedule or I can maintain my mileage as I prepare for March.

The key thing for me to remember is that I gain nothing by logging extra miles at this time of year. If I run 100 miles in each of the year's first two months and then become ill, get injured or take a prolonged break before March, it's all meaningless.

I have to stay within myself. Run when it feels right. Get in the occasional run of more than four miles. Ignore when my watch tells me how slow I am right now.

Cookie nookie

I'll never be a very domestic guy. Cooking, cleaning, decorating just aren't among strengths. Or interests.

But when Greatest Girlfriend Ever suggests we bake cookies -- literally, no euphemism suggested -- well, I don't have to be asked twice. The reward is too great. Our frosted cookies, besides being capable of inducing a diabetic coma, are quite simply irresistible.

The theme this time was Valentine's Day. I'll admit, I have an issue with baking cookies under the guise of a day the cookies won't last long enough to see. But I went with it anyway.

My role was rather limited. GGE put together the dough and had it rolled out before my arrival at her house. She even had the frosting prepared. All that was left to do was to cut out the cookies, then bake and decorate 'em. Even a domestic idiot like me can do that.

GGE is a relentlessly efficient person. Although I'm often secretly envious of her trait, it's scary sometimes. It pervades nearly everything she does. Cookies are no different.

She already had used heart-shaped cookie cutters to produce the first batch of cookies before I joined to assist her. Her effort was, of course, impressive in assembly line-like fashion.

But being a rules guy, I had to institute a rule. Actually, I had to re-inform GGE of my rule. No cookie cutters. We had to freehand our cutouts. It's my rule. I think doing so fosters a certain degree of creativity and further distinguishes our cookies from any you could buy at the local bakery. Each cookie should be a unique production, a frosted work of art.

GGE at first resisted my rule, er, suggestion. It flew in the face of her normal efficiency. Gradually, however, as she watched me use a knife to carve out hearts and other shapes that were as clearly defined as any that could be done with a pre-fab cookie cutter, she came around to my idea. She became a creative cookie-cutting fiend just as we ran out of dough.

The decorating of our products was predictably time consuming. But it was time well spent, despite the fact that I know we spent far more time creating our cookies than we will spend enjoying their delight. It was an enjoyably relaxing way to spend a Sunday night in late January. And I can't imagine a better person with whom to spend it.

Shorts story

It didn't take long this year before I was able to achieve a personal running first. Unfortunately, this one has nothing to do with achievement.

For the first time in my running career, I ran outdoors in Minnesota in January while wearing shorts. Twice.

I can't even describe how strange it felt. I'm sure it wasn't a pretty sight, with the shade of my legs practically matching the remaining remnants of snow.

But how could I resist. Daytime temps approaching 50 degrees. Steady blasts of sunshine. Little wind, if any.

So I eschewed the running tights yesterday and today. Heck, I didn't even wear socks for my seven-mile run today. It was wonderful. Gleeful might be a better word. Almost made me feel like a kid sneaking a cookie out of the cookie jar.

It won't last, I know. But this brief dalliance with warm weather provided a much-needed respite from the frigid horrors of winter. Even though I felt some discomfort in the front of my right hip when I ran tonight, I couldn't resist the opportunity. I've lived here long enough to know I might never get it again.

Wedding planner

Greatest Girlfriend Ever and I are barely a week into our engagement and life has definitely changed. Not in a bad way. Just a busier way.

So much too do, so little time.

I can't imagine any man would enjoy the whole process of planning a wedding. I'm a detail-oriented guy, but this wedding planning has my head spinning. I'm learning about things I never even considered. And I thought finding a diamond, choosing a ring and proposing took planning? I'm not sure how people ever manage to get through all of the details in planning the actual event.

I'm lucky though. Seems besides finding a wonderful woman with whom to share my life, I've also found a woman who can plan with the best of them. A project manager by profession, she's perfectly suited to arranging countless details in advance. Me? I can't even tell you what I'm going to have for dinner tonight.

So as GGE -- does she need a new monicker now that we're engaged? -- goes into overdrive to plan our nuptials, I watch in amazement. She made arrangements for the church, date, reception site and a host of other things within days. One by one, she's knocking down details, checking items off the spreadsheet she created. I'm still in the planning-to-plan stage as far as the other things I'm responsible for. Clearly, she's more cut out for planning this sort of thing than I am. So I'll just hang on for the ride, let her run with it and allow her to impress me in yet another way I never imagined.

Weekly grind

Had a date with my cycling trainer again tonight. This is going to be a love-hate relationship. As in, I'm going to love hating that thing.

I planned on another half-hour session. I achieved my goal, pedaling just a couple hundredths of a mile farther than I did last week in a second less time. My average watts were 171 again, so I guess I'm already consistent, if nothing else.

I know I'm not in the condition I want to be in. I know I'm nowhere near where I'll be in a few months, when I ramp up my marathon training. But the way I feel on my trainer is ridiculous. By the time I finish, it feels like my heart is going to explode. I don't feel nearly so miserable when I run, which suggests that I'm not pushing myself enough when I run.

I hate feeling like that. Makes me feel weak. At the same time, I love it. If it doesn't kill me, it will make me stronger.

Hello, trainer

Greatest Girlfriend Ever and I bought each other bicycle trainers for Christmas. Same trainer. Same store. Same gift-giving thinking. Coincidence? I prefer to think that great minds think alike.

Tonight was my formal introduction to my trainer. I had been on a trainer only once before -- in December, when I tested the trainer I bought for her. My initial trainer session in December was rather brutal and then I was worried only about the unit's function and what accessories I might need to purchase so that she could get the most of it.

This time is was all about a workout. I figure that whatever I can do on my bike now, in the comfort of my basement weightroom, will help me stay fit now and better prepare me for springtime cycling.

I planned on a half-hour ride. I didn't plan on it be so grueling.

When I used the trainer in December, I didn't have the use of a computer to monitor my progress as I pedaled. I had no idea how fast I was pedaling or how my efforts might translate into distance. I think that made that session easier. I simply pedaled and presumed I was working at a decent clip.

This time I had objective real-time results staring me in the face. It wasn't pretty. I don't recall 17 mph seeming so difficult to maintain while cycling the local trails. Clearly, this trainer business is different.

I quickly learned a couple of other things. First, without the aid of wind or breezes caused by your motion while cycling outside, you sweat buckets on a trainer. And the temperature in my weightroom prior to my trainer session was only in the low 50s. Nevertheless, I perspired profusely. My sweat dripped below my bike and pooled on the rubber flooring. The waves in my pool of sweat crested at about two inches.

Secondly, 30 minutes -- the planned duration of my ride -- is an interminable amount of time on a trainer. I don't know how hard-core cyclists and triathletes spend hours at a time pedaling in place. Even with the distraction of my favorite college basketball team playing on the TV in front of me, a half-hour seemed like an merciless eternity.

I think the trainer will be a welcome, useful addition to my offseason routine. If the first 30 minutes -- not to mention 8.5-plus miles and 171 average watts -- on it is any indication, it just won't provide the easy workouts I thought it might. They'll be tougher and, as a result, I'll become a stronger cyclist.

Rules of, er, for engagement

I'm a man of many rules. I establish personal rules for just about everything. They differ from subject to subject, but once established, they're consistent. Most go unspoken. Many, I suppose, aren't even noticed by those around me. They simply become who I am.

So when it came time for me to consider one of the most momentous events in my life -- my marriage proposal to Greatest Girlfriend Ever -- I had to have rules.

It was only natural. I had never seriously considered such a thing before GGE entered my life. In fact, I used to say I was going to wait for a woman to propose to me. GGE changed all of that. By last summer I was already considering my proposal options. Rule number one -- make sure she's Ms. Right For Me -- had been accomplished.

My rules for the act of proposing unfolded over time. Whatever I did, it had to have my signature all over it.

Nothing flashy. Nothing elaborate. Nothing cliché.

That meant no stadium scoreboard proposal. No ring in a restaurant dessert. No hot-air balloons, horse-drawn carriages or weekends at a bed-and-breakfast.

I had to pick the right time, too. It couldn't be at Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's or Valentine's Day. All are too predictable.

I had to come up with something uniquely us. A time and a place that somehow was symbolic of what defines GGE, me and our relationship.

I had already done my ring shopping, which, in typical me fashion was exhaustive in itself, so I didn't have to worry so much about that. I had an idea of what she would like and what she might expect. I went with that idea and exceeded it.

Despite brainstorming for months on the how, when and where I would propose, nothing I came up with seemed quite apropos. It didn't help that I didn't seek anyone's input. Only my contact at the jewelry store knew of my intent. I was completely on my own.

Then, finally, as we approached the two-year anniversary of our relationship, I devised my plan. GGE knew I wouldn't be the kind of guy to propose on any of the holidays. And I had successfully Heisman'd her for months, leading her to believe I wasn't ready to propose yet. So I knew I would have the element of surprise -- another of my requirements -- on my side.

There was a chance, albeit slight, that she might think I would propose on the date of our anniversary. Two years, to the day, would be something she might have thought possible of me. And it was. But I had to out-think that possibility.

I chose the date before our anniversary -- January 8 -- because she wouldn't expect it. It satisfied my rule of surprise. It satisfied my rule of additional significance -- because the year we met was a leap year during which we gained an extra day to be together, our anniversary could be said to be on Jan. 8 instead of Jan. 9. Finally, it satisfied my rule of practicality. She had to do training presentations at work during the week and the distraction of engagement might have interfered too much had I waited another day.

All that was left to decide was the location. It really was a no-brainer for me. Neither of us is the type who would want to share such a private moment in a very public setting. I had to make sure we had the moment to ourselves, in a special place.

I chose a footbridge along the trail I run and we bike. It's situated almost perfectly between her house and mine. It's quiet, secluded -- surrounded only by wildlife and a view of the Minneapolis skyline some 10 miles in the distance -- and beautiful in the winter. Mother Nature helped my cause by dusting us with a couple of inches of snow, enhancing the setting even more.


All I had to do was get her out for a walk along the trail. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem because she enjoys walking, but I wasn't confident I could get her to go for a walk into the middle of nowhere after dark on a chilly winter night. And I was afraid that if I suggested we go for a walk -- something that I rarely do -- I might raise suspicion as to my plan.

So I planted my bait a day earlier. I told her that I ran past a fox den during my run and I noticed some fox puppies. Then I dropped the subject. When it started snowing the next day -- on THE day -- we both remarked how beautiful the snow made everything look. I knew then that my plan would work.

She actually suggested we take the walk. She even wanted to bring my dogs with us -- not according to my plan, but it was only fitting that they be there, I guess. In keeping with my diversion, I suggested we take the camera, just in case we see the foxes. She complied. With the ring comfortably secured in my jacket pocket, we conversed as we normally do while we walked.

Then we reached the bridge. Funny, I hadn't been nervous until that time. Suddenly, my heart was racing. It was all I could do to muster coherent sentences. I don't think she noticed. If she did, she likely thought I was simply cold or distracted by my dogs' inexplicably good behavior.

We stopped midway through the bridge. Well, actually, I did; she was unaware of my plan and proceeded to keep walking. I had to think swiftly of a reason to keep her on the bridge. Ah, yes, the camera. Even though there was no sign of a fox -- a fact she discovered all too quickly -- we could take a self-portrait on the bridge, amid the fluffy, white snowflakes.

It worked. After taking several photos of ourselves, I knew I had my moment. Proposal was the last thing on her mind when I dropped to a knee, grabbed her hand and revealed the ring in my pocket.

She was, I believe, shocked as much as surprised. She didn't hesitate to say yes, but afterward, as we walked back to my house, she was speaking no more coherently than I had been minutes earlier.

Everything unfolded according to my plan. Despite the rules, I somehow managed to not only surprise GGE, but also impress her. The setting and the moment were perfect. For us.

Just like my rules said they had to be.

2005: Running review

What the @#$% happened to me in 2005?

I never really hit my stride. I didn't achieve the degree of fitness I aspired to. I didn't reclaim the endurance speed, however modest, I once had. I couldn't seem to stay healthy.

It's easy to blame these self-proclaimed inadequacies on illness and injury. There were plenty of those to derail me. In fact, 2005 ranks as my most unhealthy year as a runner. I suffered through some sort of respiratory crud for most of first third of the year. It took until May before my wheeze went away. Unfortunately, it was replaced by ankle problems just before Grandma's Marathon.

My right ankle remained swollen for more than a month straddling the marathon. I can't even pinpoint the source of the injury. Maybe it happened any one of the several times I tweaked my ankle during training runs. Maybe it happened when I couldn't get my cycling shoe out of a pedal as I came to a stop and I felt a brief 'POP' in my ankle. Whatever the cause, the resulting trauma to the ankle didn't seem significant at the time. It didn't hurt much later, either. But the swelling persisted. That, I believe, resulted in a chain reaction of nuisances that ultimately caused another injury.

The swelling caused blisters that affected the way I ran. My stride changed. I ran more cautiously, less fluidly. It was like my lower body was out of whack every time I ran. I ran in fear that my wheels would fall off. The finish line at Twin Cities Marathon didn't come a moment too soon. Immediately upon finishing, I experienced a pain in my hip unlike any I had experienced.

What hurt worse, though, were my marathon times. I don't set a lot of running goals for myself. I keep 'em simple: I want to run at least 1000 miles annually and I want to improve my marathon times. in 2005, I succeeded in the former (big deal), failed miserably on the latter (BIG DEAL).

I finished on the slow side of 3:30 in both marathons I ran. I want to say that's unacceptable. For me. For this time in my running career. But that's unreasonable, I'm told. The injuries were responsible for running four minutes slower than I had a year earlier, I'm told.

I fear the real reason for my slower times is worse than injury. I got soft. I lost my fire, my intensity. Sure, I made my goal for annual miles. I ran more miles (1111.9) than I had in any other year except 2003. I became more consistent. I ran more often (177 runs and two marathons). I averaged a 10K everytime I headed out the door. Heck, at one point I even got into a groove that found me making weekly trips to the local high school track for speed work.

But more often than not it felt like I was going through the motions. Just running for the sake of running. Just putting in miles to get them done. I didn't spend enough time hurting because of effort, not injury. I didn't push hard enough. For that, there is no excuse.

But there is a new year to make adjustments and improvements. I'm beyond the point of running marathons simply to finish. I want to improve. I am not an elite runner. Not even close. Never was, never will be. But I would like to qualify for Boston someday. Preferably some day before I'm 70.

At my best, I was less than 11 minutes away from qualifying. I'm not going to improve that much anytime soon, if ever. But in a couple of years I'll enter a new age group and five minutes will be added to my qualifying time. That leaves me needing to shave only about six or so minutes off my PR in the coming years. That can be done.

A healthier, hungrier, more intense me can do that. Can I do it this year? Stay tuned.

On the bright side

I didn't need a meteorologist to remind me of the depressing lack of sunlight my hometown has seen recently. My mind and body had taken note long ago.

Apparently, the Twin Cities had seen only two hours of sunshine -- not even two full hours, but more like two hours in which the sun made a dispiriting now-you-see-me, now-you-don't cameo appearance -- in the previous five days. Our dearth of sunshine goes back further, at least another week.

That's not to say it has been dark here, as it is nearer the North Pole. But it seems it's just constantly cloudy here. Gloomy.

This is winter. This is one of the primary reasons why I don't exactly embrace the season. Especially here.

But not all is bad. In fact, despite the disappearance of sunshine, we're enjoying an exceptionally mild January. By Minnesota standards, anyway. Temps have routinely approached and surpassed the freezing mark. Overnight lows have been in the mid-teens or higher Fahrenheit.

This weather, lack of sunlight aside, makes it hard to create excuses not to run. January comes smack in the middle of my offseason. My traditional goal for January is to run only 31 miles -- an average of a mile a day. Heck, I'm more than halfway there in the first week of the month.

It won't kill me to run more, to exceed my goal. But I'm not sure it will help me much, either. I finally feel fully recovered from a string of nagging injuries I endured last year. I don't want to do anything to jeopardize my physical comeback or my 2006 marathon training, which I have scheduled to begin in earnest in mid-to-late March.

So I run occasionally. More than I might normally would in January, but just as slow as ever. The slowness of my runs frustrates me. It's not unexpected now -- not in my offseason, not when I'm running without serious purpose, not when I'm not in peak condition, not when I'm running fully clothed, not when footing can be treacherous -- but it's frustrating nonetheless. To run my final mile at a perceived level of exertion that I would describe as moderately intense and see that I'm barely running faster than 9-minute miles is discouraging. I have so far to go.

Technical difficulties

I'm still alive. Really, I am.

It's only my computer that isn't. Make that computers.

How is it possible that all three -- count 'em (personal laptop, newspaper-issued laptop, personal desktop) -- computers in my house are functioning sub-optimally? Just luck, I guess.

My work laptop suddenly, unexpectedly crashed on Christmas Eve. I informed my editor and he forwarded my problems to the tech guy. He told me to expect a techie to contact me about resolving the problem. That was more than a week ago. I'm still waiting to hear from a geek.

After the holiday, I resorted to my old laptop, the same one that provided me with numerous headaches in 2003. It functioned, but seemingly only when it wanted to. It would shut down without warning and for no apparent reason. I can't even begin to express how frustrating this was or how many in-progress files simply disappeared before I could save them.

I was reminded of this when I called it in from the bullpen last week for some spot relief duty. It didn't take long before I was ready to chuck it through the window in my home office.

No problem, I thought. I could always wake the dinosaur, my dusty desktop from 1997.

Um, yeah, that wasn't frustratingly slow or anything. I couldn't even utilize my DSL with it. When I went to install the appropriate driver files so I could use DSL, I discovered that I couldn't even drop a CD into the computer. The CD drawer wouldn't open. So I did what any American male would do. I grabbed a screwdriver and pried the thing open.

Worked like a charm. The prying, I mean. I wasn't able to get the driver to close properly with the CD inside.

That brought me back to my personal laptop. I've tinkered with the thing endlessly for days. I have no technical background aside from what I've learned on my own as the result of my previous computer problems. Somehow, I've managed to resolve -- OK, cross your fingers with me -- the unexpected shutdown problem. All I had to do was remove all the screws holding back all of its circuitry and make a makeshift adjustment to the power receptacle.

But I was still having difficulties with my Internet security and anti-virus program. It refused to work properly, prompting me to consider re-installing it. No go. More problems, this time software related. Just what I needed -- another technical headache.

So today, instead of dropkicking my laptop across my driveway, I gutted the thing. Not physically, but virtually. I guess that's the best way to put it. I completely reformatted the hard drive. I started from zero. Again.

I did this without a hint of technical support. Not so much as even an owner's manual or help screen. It's a testament to nothing more than some of my previous technical issues.

So far, so good. I still don't have everything re-installed, but I'm getting there. This computer, even with its skeletal software contents, is still slow. But at least it's running.

Kinda like me. I've run twice this year -- a 5-mile run on New Year's Day and a 7-miler tonight -- and I feel so slow. Well, actually, I don't feel slow; I feel like I'm running at a decent, comfortable pace. But my watch reminds me that I'm running much slower. What feels like an 8:30-mile turns out to be more like a 9:15- or 9:30-mile. I'll accept that now, in the heart of my offseason. A couple of months from now, when I formally begin my marathon training again, such times will be very much unacceptable.