Um, I'm a coach?

For my work's annual auction, I put up 5 hours of "running coaching." Two days ago, the lady who "won" it called me up and was ready to get down. She wants her first 5k by march, her first half by april and her first full marathon by october.

After a few minutes of shuffle-jogging, her HR was 187. I received my initial full first-aid course during my junior year of high school and have re-up'd ever since. Hell, I worked a double stint after Katrina for the goddamn American Red Cross! Over the summer, I commandeered a fuckin' boat by leaping from another boat, during a storm after the captain had been knocked unconscious and then docked the damn thing with a broken steering line!

This was the first time I was really prepared to save a life. I thought, "Holy shit, dude, you're gonna kill your first client athlete." Luckily, we walked that 187 down to sub-160 and had a good long chat about using our heart-rate monitors.

Honestly, she's a mother of 3 (youngest is an infant, oldest is 5!), workaholic with a workaholic husband and now she just wants to get back into shape for the first time in years. She's currently hitting two hours a week of pilates, an hour of yoga and getting in three run/walks per week. I need to step up my fucking game!

So, the whole thing was cool. I was very encouraging, gave her some ideas, talked a little about the warning signs of burn-out and we're set to run again on saturday. Whoa. I need a beer.