Today was one of those rare and relaxing mornings that included a not-too-taxing but satisfying run....followed by a massage. I love massages. My whole family does. My dad says we're like a bunch of monkeys. I'd get a massage every week if I could afford it. I'd rather have a massage than eat. I'd even rather have a massage than eat CHOCOLATE.
The run was a 10-miler out on the backroads. The uphill first half felt labored, with lots of huffing and puffing and shuffling and not much speed to show for it. All five of the first miles took me over 9 minutes. The second half felt much better, as it always does going downhill, and in the end my average was a decent 8:56/mile. It wasn't as fast as the Snowman Stampede 10-miler two weeks ago, but I never go as fast when I'm not in a race environment. Thank you, weather gods, for keeping the wind in its cage today. It was cold-ish--shoulda brought gloves--but quiet and still. Subtle signs of spring abounded: ditches flowing with melt water; two red-wing blackbirds that I saw (and lots more than I heard); frisky horses breaking into a run in the fields.
The massage, courtesy of a gift certificate from my awesome sister-in-law, Kate, featured no fairy cards, salt crystal lamps or chanting. That was just fine with me. Kate's gift got me time at the student clinic at the Boulder College of Massage Therapy, which sends a fleet of aspiring therapists to every Bolder Boulder and Colder Bolder race. They always do a great job with the 15 or so minutes they get at those races, so I knew I was in for a good experience with the full hour.
Sure enough, a soothing young guy named Geoff worked on my tight hips, IT bands and calves. By the time he was finished, I felt reinvigorated, which was a good thing because when I got home Ruth and Will were waiting for me to start the naptime routine, and I was as hungry as a longshoreman. I read to them (one book each), dealt with the usual bathroom trips and requests for toys after (they are allowed to play quietly in their rooms if they prefer that to sleep, which Will usually does) and I then practically inhaled leftover pasta, two hard-boiled eggs, a spoonful of peanut butter and a glass of Nuun water, all the while trying to keep quiet so Will's keen ears didn't pick up the clink of fork on bowl or the crack of the eggshells.
At $35 for an hour and $50 for 90 minutes, BCMT's student clinic might actually be a place I can attend on my own dime more often than every six months. Something to think about with marathon training looming!