Winter, you aren't going to make this easy for me, are you?

Louie in my garage.

My training has hit a hurdle because I hit a patch of ice.

Anyone reading this blog is going to think that maybe Louie and I are a dangerous mix but Monday night, on the first frightfully frigid day that was more akin to mid-January than late fall, I rushed home worried about the little guy.

He had been outside all day and I had visions of him shivering, confused and scared, in his snow-covered straw house in a neighbour's backyard.

I did a lap around my condo complex, following the trail of tiny paw prints in the snow — paw prints that seemed to only go in circles. I called out to my little buddy and finally saw him crawl underneath the fence of a neighbouring yard, giving one of his high-pitched meows all the while.

I ran toward him, like a parent relieved to be reunited with missing child and scooped him up with every intention of getting him into the safety and pseudo-warmth of my garage. I moved fast, focused on keeping Louie shielded from the falling snow flakes and from jumping out of my arms.

Too bad I didn't see that patch of ice until I was laying on it with Louie lying right next to me, body slammed to the ground because I had no time to react, no time to throw him in the air so he could land on his feet and I could put my hands up to break my fall.

Nope, we went down, fast and hard. He wasn't happy and scampered off, glowering at me from afar until I convinced him I really didn't mean it in between wincing in pain.

Problem is, Louie seems to have fully recovered. In fact, he's relaxing in my garage as I type. I, on the other hand, have bruises all down the left side of my body, which took the impact. I even had to take Tuesday off work so I could stay horizontal because sitting or standing were sheer agony.

That also means I have taken a hiatus from my training, but I'm hopeful it won't be for too long. I have back-to-back races coming up: one on New Year's Eve and one on New Year's Day.

They're only five kilometres each but still, I'm worried about getting rusty. Mostly, though, I'm worried about slipping again and not having a chubby homeless cat to comfort me.

Eight kilometres, two teeth marks and one head bump

Me with a pained look on my face as I neared the finish line
in the Grimsby Casablanca 8 km.

My head hurts.

I have a small bump and scratch on it that stings. It's not from any battle wound I earned running the Grimsby Casablanca 8 km run today. Nope, it's from rubbing Louie's belly.

Louie, who arrived in my life as a stray this spring, has taken up residency in our garage. After getting home from the race today, he was here to greet me and came into the garage for belly rubs. As he rolled around rapturously while I obliged, he knocked over a broom whose sharp metal end bonked me on the forehead. Hands went straight from a soft, warm belly to the agonizing pain above my left eye.

Ah Louie. It wouldn't be lovin' without getting hurt. It only makes sense I got a congratulatory injury from him. It matches the one he gave me for good luck before the race.

As I set off along the North Service Road in Grimsby this foggy, cool morning — the kind that leaves a damp chilly film on everything — I did so with the deep impression of two of Louie's fangs in my arm.

The little guy came inside for some warmth last weekend, only to be agitated through our patio door by the neighbourhood bruiser, Bruce. Though it could be Brenda. Hard to tell. All I know is that this bully of a cat has Louie's number and when I reached for my little bud to quell the mournful, threatening yowls, I wound up with two teeth firmly implanted in my forearm, a prescription for antibiotics and a visit from the health unit to prove that Lou is not a frothing-at-the-mouth menace to society.

It was my little reminder of why I'm running these monthly road races — a reminder I needed this morning at the six-and-a-half kilometre mark when I felt like my chest was going to explode and I was burping up the mango smoothie I polished off on the drive from St. Catharines to Grimsby.

I crossed the finish line with a time of 49:32 after a loop through the gorgeous Fifty Point Conservation Area. I'm feeling good about that time though I have no other eight-kilometre race performances to compare to. Thanks to my pal Monique Beech for coming out and joining my husband Steve to cheer me on as I crossed the finish line.

I'm also feeling optimistic about hitting my fundraising goal of $1,000 for the Lincoln County Humane Society's low-cost spay/neuter clinic. So far people have donated $320. The generosity has been amazing and coming from some surprising places: mostly people I hardly know or strangers, including a contender for city councillor, who heard about my cause in the Twitterverse and collected $110 at what really should have been his victory party.

Thank you so much to everyone who has given so far. Your donations are being put to good use and the tax receipts are in the mail.

Next up, the Resolution Run, a five-kilometre jaunt on New Year's Eve when I will resolve to keep up my training through the long, cold winter. No easy feat for someone who finds it so easy to hibernate on the couch in pajamas any chance I get.

Pounding pavement, pounding heart

Me at the finish line of the Friends of Crystal Beach 5-kilometre run,
half smiling, half wincing. 

It's one of my favourite Monty Python skits.

It's the one with the fat guy sitting in a restaurant, gorging himself, and with each bite demanding the waiter 'Get me a bucket,' before he eventually explodes after eating a wafer-thin mint.

I could relate to the gross glutton as I neared the finished line today at the Friends of Crystal Beach 5-kilometre run. I felt like I was going to hurl and explode all at once.

My apples and peanut butter were eaten two hours earlier — a safe distance, I thought, from my race start time at 11 a.m. But with each step, I could feel what was left of them churning in my stomach, apple-flavoured burps bouncing out of me as I bounced along Erie Road.

With each stride in those last two kilometres, my feet felt heavier. My chest felt more and more stretched by every quickened heart beat.

But after 28:44, I crossed the line, took a deep breath, put my hand to my mouth and asked the powers that be to spare me the embarrassment of spewing in front of hundreds of people, and relished in the fact that I ran the fastest 5k of my life.

I high-fived my husband Steve while giving him heck for running too fast for his slowpoke wife — a point I quickly recanted when the urge to throw up passed and the endorphins had fully kicked in.

One race down and at least eight more to go as I pound the pavement for the broken ground at the LCHS where a spay-neuter clinic will soon take shape.

So far, I've raised $70 and that makes me happy. Thank you to the awesome donors who have contributed. Tax receipts will soon be in the mail. While I've set a running goal in my run for the cats, I haven't set a fundraising goal. But with nine months to run, I'm hopeful I'm not too out of line to aim for $1,000.

Next race: the Casablanca 8km Classic in Grimsby Nov. 12. Here's to the next month of training and fundraising.

Lacing up my running shoes

Otis, adopted from the Lincoln County
Humane Society.

So, normally, I write about food. It's a passion.

But so is the four-legged crowd. As the owner of three cats and the occasional pit stop of the neighbourhood stray, which I recently had neutered, microchipped and given his shots, I have a real soft spot for animals.

All of my guys, Sonny, Maya and Otis, have been adopted from animal shelters or families who just couldn't keep them anymore. The neighbourhood stray, Louie, was clearly dumped. He was a scrawny runt when he first pathetically mewed at my back door. Now he's bulking up and divides his time between two backyards in my condo complex.

Sonny, adopted from a family
that couldn't keep him any
longer.

In September, when the Lincoln County Humane Society launched its capital campaign to raise $1.6 million to build an addition that would house a low-cost spay and neuter clinic, I couldn't help but cheer. Louie is evidence that something like that is desperately needed.

Being that the shelter's executive director is also a friend, I was also asked if I wanted to help fundraise. So, this was my idea: being a tad lazy when it comes to physical activity, I have decided to run at least one race between five and 10 kilometres long each month until June.

For some, that probably sounds laughable, but with winter coming, I don't think it's going to be easy. And I've only run 10 kilometres three times in my life — all this year.

Maya, adopted from the K-W Humane
Society.

I'm also upping the ante. There may even be a half marathon in the mix come spring.

So, for my efforts, I'm asking you to sponsor me. All donations go to the LCHS capital campaign and all endorphins go to me.

My first race in this series is Saturday in Crystal Beach. It's five kilometres. I will use this blog to post updates, race recaps and photos for you to track my progress.

Thanks for reading, sponsoring me and helping the animals.

Louie, the neighbourhood stray who I recently had fixed.