Well, has anyone told you how humid it was? I actually thought it was about 71% humidity, until I learned later that it was more like 94% humidity.
I loved seeing all the Gazelle's before and during the race, especially, my crew, AW, CC, AT, Double D. I really loved seeing CR, Leslie, and CW at the start. I was excited for them and hopeful. They don't know it, but they helped relax me.
I started out ok, probably the wrong placement and too fast for the weather. But, I was unaware. I made the cardinal mistake and started too fast, feeling too pressed by my previous times. I ran with some guys from the National Guard...they were helpful and supportive. Tall Dan came up and ran with me for awhile and really cheered me on.
I ate the hill, that was good. Saw LB twice. Dan cheered more great thoughts my way. Karen S ran alongside me for a bit which really gave me a boost. Gilbert picked up my Hail Mary at the exact spot in the prayer where I was...this is now the second time he's done this and it freaks me out. But, I know I am fading. Too fast fades to too slow to hit the number. Slow gets slower, now I am hanging on to qualifying for New York. A marathon I won't even go too...I know this, but it gives me something to strive for. I try, I push, I kick what I can.
I cross the finish, congratulate the women that I worked with on the course, pick up my stuff, change, sit on the curb and start to cry. I'm alone, no one I know is nearby, no Gazelles, no family. A poor showing for me. I haven't trained well; I tossed out the plan. I pick myself up and head to watch for my friends.
Good news, my foot held out. It doesn't swell, I am walking. I watch the elite marathoners come in and wonder what that is like.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Running and Mothering: The Obstacles
Well, I've been absent from blogging. Honestly, I just had to let something go. I have to say, that it's a struggle sometimes to get it all done. And, I'm not the most organized.
The flu kicked my Jersey butt. My son got "it", and then I did. The first week that I felt sick, I ran anyway. My family hates when I do that. But, seriously, anything above the shoulders, you run. In the chest, depends. Below the belt, definitely not!
So, then, since my immune system was compromised, when my son fell ill, I, naturally, got it. I have to say, the pain was horrible. I've had shingles, which can be painful. But with this flu, I ached through to my hip bones. It hurt to lay down.
Running suffered as a result and I am so not where I wanted to be for the San Antonio 1/2 Marathon. Aside from that, I have a killer over committed weekend with a 1/2 marathon in it.
I'm disappointed. I'm admitting it. I had some hopes to see the old Red at SA. But, now, I have to let it go. I honestly feel so unprepared. It's like not studying enough for the test. I can't wing it, but I will have to.
It might be a good lesson for me. Letting go. Just doing it. The problem that I have is that I don't know when to push harder or if I am. I don't know how to gauge it yet.
I ran hard today along the Endfield. I was pissed. I was mad that I'm not as disciplined as I should be, that I didn't get up to run on Saturday, that I stopped going to the gym.
If I'm going to have a good race in Boston, I have got to hunker down.
The flu kicked my Jersey butt. My son got "it", and then I did. The first week that I felt sick, I ran anyway. My family hates when I do that. But, seriously, anything above the shoulders, you run. In the chest, depends. Below the belt, definitely not!
So, then, since my immune system was compromised, when my son fell ill, I, naturally, got it. I have to say, the pain was horrible. I've had shingles, which can be painful. But with this flu, I ached through to my hip bones. It hurt to lay down.
Running suffered as a result and I am so not where I wanted to be for the San Antonio 1/2 Marathon. Aside from that, I have a killer over committed weekend with a 1/2 marathon in it.
I'm disappointed. I'm admitting it. I had some hopes to see the old Red at SA. But, now, I have to let it go. I honestly feel so unprepared. It's like not studying enough for the test. I can't wing it, but I will have to.
It might be a good lesson for me. Letting go. Just doing it. The problem that I have is that I don't know when to push harder or if I am. I don't know how to gauge it yet.
I ran hard today along the Endfield. I was pissed. I was mad that I'm not as disciplined as I should be, that I didn't get up to run on Saturday, that I stopped going to the gym.
If I'm going to have a good race in Boston, I have got to hunker down.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Silicon Melting
Well, finally, Silicon...no, not the kind you stick in your chest wall, the Relay!
I signed up with LB and friends to do the Silicon Labs Marathon Relay. The last relay I did was Ragnar -- which was much harder and longer. But, I haven't raced since I my foot injury -- that is my unremarkable injury.
I have to admit I was horribly nervous. I used to get like this ages ago, but then one year I raced a ton and got over the jitters, but got hurt. I'd rather have the jitters.
I was the last...the caboose, they called it. I prefer clean up. I headed downtown with kids in tow as Rolph had a soccer game. The kids did fine. Although I did my OC thing and called LB a million times trying to find him, they were parked near the Gazelles. When we showed up Gilbert had just finished his leg and he came over to say hi to the kids. Yes, me, chopped liver!
Then Bernard came by and he was sweating. This scared me. I mean here is a dude who didn't break a sweat in August at night for a 10K. I said, Bernard, seriously, what's up, you are drenched? It's hot out there Red. Ok, got it. Now I want to puke.
I head to the corral to find the entrance and pester LB many more times about where I go in and when. How he puts up with me at races, I truly do not know. I kissed the kids and left them with LB with strict instructions to behave.
I waited behind a tall dude for the shade. I swished water and spit it out. I was nervous.
T came in and I headed out. My legs were like cement blocks. I had not warmed up enough at all. Trudge, trudge. Come on old girl I yell internally, get moving. I decide not to look at my watch at all. I start to pass people. LB gives me strict instructions not to let anyone pass me. I feel awful and want to quit. This also happens to me in every single race. I always want to quit.
I start to hit a groove and a guy starts to run with me. Good pace he says. We start to talk and I realize that while it's a good distraction, I'm slowing down. Still, I won't look. He eventually takes off without a word and I feel myself sink some more.
I turn down First. I think, If Gilbert sees me running this slow, he'll be yelling. But Gilbert is not there. I'm partially glad and partially disappointed, but I kick it in. I heard Evil call my team number and start digging, harder and harder. I see the time and I know what the team had hoped for...we are under.
I cross the line, relief, no puking...I head for the kids and show up at the tent quite like I just went to the loo and came back. Oh hey, you are back. Yeah, I'm done. My last little bit (.15) was fast, but I mistook that for my average pace. For a minute I was proud. Until I realized that I really had positive splits and just got slower and slower.
It was hot (10:15 am). But, I had so much fun being out there, seeing everyone and running. It was great to be back.
I signed up with LB and friends to do the Silicon Labs Marathon Relay. The last relay I did was Ragnar -- which was much harder and longer. But, I haven't raced since I my foot injury -- that is my unremarkable injury.
I have to admit I was horribly nervous. I used to get like this ages ago, but then one year I raced a ton and got over the jitters, but got hurt. I'd rather have the jitters.
I was the last...the caboose, they called it. I prefer clean up. I headed downtown with kids in tow as Rolph had a soccer game. The kids did fine. Although I did my OC thing and called LB a million times trying to find him, they were parked near the Gazelles. When we showed up Gilbert had just finished his leg and he came over to say hi to the kids. Yes, me, chopped liver!
Then Bernard came by and he was sweating. This scared me. I mean here is a dude who didn't break a sweat in August at night for a 10K. I said, Bernard, seriously, what's up, you are drenched? It's hot out there Red. Ok, got it. Now I want to puke.
I head to the corral to find the entrance and pester LB many more times about where I go in and when. How he puts up with me at races, I truly do not know. I kissed the kids and left them with LB with strict instructions to behave.
I waited behind a tall dude for the shade. I swished water and spit it out. I was nervous.
T came in and I headed out. My legs were like cement blocks. I had not warmed up enough at all. Trudge, trudge. Come on old girl I yell internally, get moving. I decide not to look at my watch at all. I start to pass people. LB gives me strict instructions not to let anyone pass me. I feel awful and want to quit. This also happens to me in every single race. I always want to quit.
I start to hit a groove and a guy starts to run with me. Good pace he says. We start to talk and I realize that while it's a good distraction, I'm slowing down. Still, I won't look. He eventually takes off without a word and I feel myself sink some more.
I turn down First. I think, If Gilbert sees me running this slow, he'll be yelling. But Gilbert is not there. I'm partially glad and partially disappointed, but I kick it in. I heard Evil call my team number and start digging, harder and harder. I see the time and I know what the team had hoped for...we are under.
I cross the line, relief, no puking...I head for the kids and show up at the tent quite like I just went to the loo and came back. Oh hey, you are back. Yeah, I'm done. My last little bit (.15) was fast, but I mistook that for my average pace. For a minute I was proud. Until I realized that I really had positive splits and just got slower and slower.
It was hot (10:15 am). But, I had so much fun being out there, seeing everyone and running. It was great to be back.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
13.7 in the Pouring Rain
It's raining in Austin, but I'm not complaining, we need it desperately.
I actually do wake up during the storm and make the mistake of asking LB if we are still meeting to run. Of course, we are.
I head out to the designated meeting point and we load up and head to the start.
It is cold standing in the rain, so I decided to just go. I get frustrated waiting and, I have to admit, I'm slightly irritated and pensive at the same time. Yesterday marked 8 years since 9/11, I was in NY, and I always have a lot to think about. This year, I feel like I should have done more to help other people. I was very humbled to read about all the volunteers and what they did to help others. I think I was in shock, somewhat, but in any event, I want to think about that while running.
So, I don't wait for LB or DD, I just go. My foot hurts, in spite of a session with Pieter, and I am worried about it. I decided to stop thinking about my foot and try to remember some thinks about 9/11...so much of it is still a blur and memories come back in pieces.
It's raining very steadily. M Woo comes up with the group of guys and says, Hey Alicia. Hey. That's it. I am concentrating and move over for the guys to pass me. But, either they are not running super fast yet (warming up) or I am running pretty well. In any event, I decided to stay with them for as long as I can and I do. It feels great, but I know I can't hold it.
I stop at the water stop and wait for LB and DD. The rest of the run goes pretty well with many sub 8 min. miles. I bonk a little at the end, but I figure it's ok. My legs are sore and my foot is swelling, but I am less weighed down by the past, by the visions, by the nightmares...I let it go till next year.
I actually do wake up during the storm and make the mistake of asking LB if we are still meeting to run. Of course, we are.
I head out to the designated meeting point and we load up and head to the start.
It is cold standing in the rain, so I decided to just go. I get frustrated waiting and, I have to admit, I'm slightly irritated and pensive at the same time. Yesterday marked 8 years since 9/11, I was in NY, and I always have a lot to think about. This year, I feel like I should have done more to help other people. I was very humbled to read about all the volunteers and what they did to help others. I think I was in shock, somewhat, but in any event, I want to think about that while running.
So, I don't wait for LB or DD, I just go. My foot hurts, in spite of a session with Pieter, and I am worried about it. I decided to stop thinking about my foot and try to remember some thinks about 9/11...so much of it is still a blur and memories come back in pieces.
It's raining very steadily. M Woo comes up with the group of guys and says, Hey Alicia. Hey. That's it. I am concentrating and move over for the guys to pass me. But, either they are not running super fast yet (warming up) or I am running pretty well. In any event, I decided to stay with them for as long as I can and I do. It feels great, but I know I can't hold it.
I stop at the water stop and wait for LB and DD. The rest of the run goes pretty well with many sub 8 min. miles. I bonk a little at the end, but I figure it's ok. My legs are sore and my foot is swelling, but I am less weighed down by the past, by the visions, by the nightmares...I let it go till next year.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
B-side
Well, it's official, filled out the form and sent in the registration. Now, got to stay healthy, not mess up my foot by standing in high heeled shoes at concerts and not lose my keys for the millionth time.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Tigger - I'm the Only One!
Saturday we headed out and I wanted to try to extend my medium long run by one mile. Just one.
It was a point to point run, so I had to meet my crew part way into the run. I saw LB's truck at my designated parking spot, so I was curious. I watched Gazelle after Gazelle go by. Finally, LB and DD showed up. DD was hurting already. I thought she'd tied one on the night before, but she just did not have enough fuel. So, before we started, DD had to eat.
Off we go. I felt really good -- for a change. At the first water stop, we saw Gilbert and I pulled off to catch up with him for a bit. I sent the kids ahead and then hit the ladies room...that is, ladies pit stop bush.
Next water stop, we hook up with PK, who is going to Boston too. I always like to see PK, he has good energy. We talk a bit and head out.
After the next water stop, I start to feel really good and start pushing. I haven't felt like this in a very long time, so I just keep going. All of a sudden -- way into this run-- I look down and realize that I do not have my car key any longer. Now, granted, I have done this before. I cannot believe that I just now realized that the key was gone. It's a big key on a Tigger key chain -- you can't miss it or drop it without noticing.
I'm pissed at myself. Worse, I can't recall when I saw it last. I'm only 43 for goodness sake. I would curse here, so just imagine it.
Anyway, I go to OC mode (obsessive compulsive). I borrow LB's phone and call Gilbert -- no answer. I run more, I think more, I beat myself up more. Now, I'm running pretty good. I think about having to call my husband to get up and drag my two kids out to pick me up and break into my car. I run harder. My shoulders tighten, my back aches.
At the end, LB hands me the phone and I call Gilbert again. "My sister Red, what's up?" I try to be calm...Hey G, did you happen to see a key on a Tigger key chain? "Is that yours?" Yes. "Yes, I have it, Red, where are you?"
Milagro! I am so relieved, honestly. I just spent nearly $200 bucks for the last key I lost running. I love my Coach!
It was a point to point run, so I had to meet my crew part way into the run. I saw LB's truck at my designated parking spot, so I was curious. I watched Gazelle after Gazelle go by. Finally, LB and DD showed up. DD was hurting already. I thought she'd tied one on the night before, but she just did not have enough fuel. So, before we started, DD had to eat.
Off we go. I felt really good -- for a change. At the first water stop, we saw Gilbert and I pulled off to catch up with him for a bit. I sent the kids ahead and then hit the ladies room...that is, ladies pit stop bush.
Next water stop, we hook up with PK, who is going to Boston too. I always like to see PK, he has good energy. We talk a bit and head out.
After the next water stop, I start to feel really good and start pushing. I haven't felt like this in a very long time, so I just keep going. All of a sudden -- way into this run-- I look down and realize that I do not have my car key any longer. Now, granted, I have done this before. I cannot believe that I just now realized that the key was gone. It's a big key on a Tigger key chain -- you can't miss it or drop it without noticing.
I'm pissed at myself. Worse, I can't recall when I saw it last. I'm only 43 for goodness sake. I would curse here, so just imagine it.
Anyway, I go to OC mode (obsessive compulsive). I borrow LB's phone and call Gilbert -- no answer. I run more, I think more, I beat myself up more. Now, I'm running pretty good. I think about having to call my husband to get up and drag my two kids out to pick me up and break into my car. I run harder. My shoulders tighten, my back aches.
At the end, LB hands me the phone and I call Gilbert again. "My sister Red, what's up?" I try to be calm...Hey G, did you happen to see a key on a Tigger key chain? "Is that yours?" Yes. "Yes, I have it, Red, where are you?"
Milagro! I am so relieved, honestly. I just spent nearly $200 bucks for the last key I lost running. I love my Coach!
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Whatev
I know, it's not Whatever, think Jersey, it's "whatev." That's how I feel about my running this week.
I guess I had higher expectations that I would be more like my old self right now. I mean, ok, I drank too much wine on Friday, so bonked on Saturday. But, I've been behaving, and my last two 7 milers have, well, frankly, um, sucked. (this is called "can't take the Jersey out of the girl)
I'm kind of fed up with it all. I know I shouldn't be. But, on the one hand, Pieter wants me to run at a faster pace and do a speed workout with Gazelles. I just don't feel up to it. I am really struggling on these runs to find the groove, to run without pain or discomfort, to open up the stride.
Basically, I am not running with Joy as coach would say. I'm thinking, I'm adjusting, I'm watching my watch. I pull my knees higher, I watch my foot strike on the right leg, I stick my butt out while pulling my gut in (no easy task) and, I lean forward. I'm uncomfortable. I get one or two miles where I get into a groove and that's it.
I hear my breathing, I hear my plodding feet, I feel my gut go up and down while I run. I run "heavy". I am frustrated with myself and the negative tape plays over and over in my head. I beat myself up for needing an attitude adjustment so soon after coming back from a lovely, restful vacation.
I want to be light on my feet and enjoy the running again. I need to break through this week and my negative feelings. I need to bump up the miles (three weeks at 26 miles for the week) and I need to get over it and get to the track.
I guess I had higher expectations that I would be more like my old self right now. I mean, ok, I drank too much wine on Friday, so bonked on Saturday. But, I've been behaving, and my last two 7 milers have, well, frankly, um, sucked. (this is called "can't take the Jersey out of the girl)
I'm kind of fed up with it all. I know I shouldn't be. But, on the one hand, Pieter wants me to run at a faster pace and do a speed workout with Gazelles. I just don't feel up to it. I am really struggling on these runs to find the groove, to run without pain or discomfort, to open up the stride.
Basically, I am not running with Joy as coach would say. I'm thinking, I'm adjusting, I'm watching my watch. I pull my knees higher, I watch my foot strike on the right leg, I stick my butt out while pulling my gut in (no easy task) and, I lean forward. I'm uncomfortable. I get one or two miles where I get into a groove and that's it.
I hear my breathing, I hear my plodding feet, I feel my gut go up and down while I run. I run "heavy". I am frustrated with myself and the negative tape plays over and over in my head. I beat myself up for needing an attitude adjustment so soon after coming back from a lovely, restful vacation.
I want to be light on my feet and enjoy the running again. I need to break through this week and my negative feelings. I need to bump up the miles (three weeks at 26 miles for the week) and I need to get over it and get to the track.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Running and Red, Red, Wine
The neighbors have little gatherings during the summer on Friday nights. There are lots of times I don't go, either out of sheer fatigue from the week or because I know I'll be getting up early for my long run.
When I first started with the Gazelle's, I could barely finish a long run, especially in the summer. I bonked so many times, it was ridiculous. One Saturday, I walked all the way from the Omlettetre back to RunTex. It took forever and I was really struggling. Not too mention how I had to slink in to my car so no one would see me.
These days, I'm still trying to build on the miles and see how this old body reacts (see last AA blog entry) For three weeks now, I've run 26 miles or so for the week and I've stayed there and made it just fine. On the long runs, about mile 9 or 10, I start to get crabby --- ask LB.
So, back to Friday. I sauntered down to the cul-de-sac with my first wine glass of the night. I promised to keep it to 2. Well, Jersey Girl emerged and before I knew it, I was on to my third glass and talking smack. I also did not have lunch or dinner yet.
I wander home at the end of the evening regretting my mistake and knowing I'll regret more in the morning. All my neighbors have bet against me getting up in the AM and actually doing the run. Because they doubt me so, I force myself up, even though I know for sure I might still register a BAC number if I got stopped on the way to Lady Bird Lake.
Two cups of coffee and part of a cliff bar and drag myself to the car. On the way in, Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody comes on. It's blaring out of my car at 5:20 in the AM when I pull in at the tennis courts. I'm kind of punchy and ready to go.
The first couple miles, I put down pretty easy and then I get a groove and feel great. Then I stop for water at the Jewish Center. I linger too long which was a big mistake. Combined with hills on the way back, I'm eating it by mile 9.5 and have to find a construction site.
Anyway, LB and Double D wait for me. Please don't wait for me, I nearly beg. I am hurting and I know the crab meister will be rearing her ugly head soon.
When we get to the MoPac bridge, LB and Double D stop for water. I'm not stopping, I yell, I just need to finish and off I go. I slug, I curse myself for all that Red, Red wine. But, I finish the run, it's not pretty, but I did.
The neighbors under-estimated my resolve!
When I first started with the Gazelle's, I could barely finish a long run, especially in the summer. I bonked so many times, it was ridiculous. One Saturday, I walked all the way from the Omlettetre back to RunTex. It took forever and I was really struggling. Not too mention how I had to slink in to my car so no one would see me.
These days, I'm still trying to build on the miles and see how this old body reacts (see last AA blog entry) For three weeks now, I've run 26 miles or so for the week and I've stayed there and made it just fine. On the long runs, about mile 9 or 10, I start to get crabby --- ask LB.
So, back to Friday. I sauntered down to the cul-de-sac with my first wine glass of the night. I promised to keep it to 2. Well, Jersey Girl emerged and before I knew it, I was on to my third glass and talking smack. I also did not have lunch or dinner yet.
I wander home at the end of the evening regretting my mistake and knowing I'll regret more in the morning. All my neighbors have bet against me getting up in the AM and actually doing the run. Because they doubt me so, I force myself up, even though I know for sure I might still register a BAC number if I got stopped on the way to Lady Bird Lake.
Two cups of coffee and part of a cliff bar and drag myself to the car. On the way in, Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody comes on. It's blaring out of my car at 5:20 in the AM when I pull in at the tennis courts. I'm kind of punchy and ready to go.
The first couple miles, I put down pretty easy and then I get a groove and feel great. Then I stop for water at the Jewish Center. I linger too long which was a big mistake. Combined with hills on the way back, I'm eating it by mile 9.5 and have to find a construction site.
Anyway, LB and Double D wait for me. Please don't wait for me, I nearly beg. I am hurting and I know the crab meister will be rearing her ugly head soon.
When we get to the MoPac bridge, LB and Double D stop for water. I'm not stopping, I yell, I just need to finish and off I go. I slug, I curse myself for all that Red, Red wine. But, I finish the run, it's not pretty, but I did.
The neighbors under-estimated my resolve!
Thursday, July 30, 2009
AA - Not the Betty Ford Variety
After falling out of my blissful vacation haze, I headed to Gazelle's for a Sat. long run. It was great fun, but I could feel the vacation around my mid-section, so that was really a drag.
I hadn't visited the SPI guys in a while and I headed in to Pieter feeling tentative about my beach running foot blow out, but pretty good about the distance I'd been able to amass in Austin.
Summer is weird in terms of which child has what camp when, so I brought my son Aidan along for this visit. We were chatting in the waiting room for Pieter to come retrieve me and, I honestly don't know how this came up, but my son said something about me getting older. I'm sure it was kind of direct and realistic, but so starts the visit.
Troy is quite fond of reminding me at visits that my body is cooperating because, well, I'm old.
Now, it was Pieter's turn to chime in. A few tweaks and manipulations and Pieter is actually quite pleased with progress in spite of the beach running incident. We twist, turn, pull, push. Aidan is off talking to Taylor about the skeletons.
My age raises it's head again. I swear, I am not the one bringing it up. Perhaps I was complaining.
Pieter has a new term for my category -- aging athlete. Not advancing athlete, alternative athlete....no, aging. Troy, Pieter and honestly, Aidan all have a good little chuckle over this one. I'll take it...at least they called me an athlete!
I hadn't visited the SPI guys in a while and I headed in to Pieter feeling tentative about my beach running foot blow out, but pretty good about the distance I'd been able to amass in Austin.
Summer is weird in terms of which child has what camp when, so I brought my son Aidan along for this visit. We were chatting in the waiting room for Pieter to come retrieve me and, I honestly don't know how this came up, but my son said something about me getting older. I'm sure it was kind of direct and realistic, but so starts the visit.
Troy is quite fond of reminding me at visits that my body is cooperating because, well, I'm old.
Now, it was Pieter's turn to chime in. A few tweaks and manipulations and Pieter is actually quite pleased with progress in spite of the beach running incident. We twist, turn, pull, push. Aidan is off talking to Taylor about the skeletons.
My age raises it's head again. I swear, I am not the one bringing it up. Perhaps I was complaining.
Pieter has a new term for my category -- aging athlete. Not advancing athlete, alternative athlete....no, aging. Troy, Pieter and honestly, Aidan all have a good little chuckle over this one. I'll take it...at least they called me an athlete!
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Una Cubita, Pues, Pues
Ok, so, I just returned from the Dominican Republic, again...We love that country, what can I say. It was quite painful to return to the US and realize that I could not have a Presidente or Cuba Libre any time of the day. It was a much needed and restful vacation for Familia Sankar! Betty Ford Clinic, here I come!
In any event, LAST year, when I was faster and training harder, I ran 3 or 4 times on the beach in the DR. This year, I ran once...5 miles, but once. One time was all it took for the ham to raise it's ugliness inside my running shoe. So, I hit the gym instead at the resort and submitted to the Latin party side of me...ok, well, my husband is Latin, I'm Irish, but I pretend I'm a Latina.
This past Saturday, I braved a Gazelle long run. The Ragnar team was out in force and it was nice to see friends again. I was way behind the herd. Ah, that's my fate for now. I did run....drum roll....10 miles! It didn't feel too awful...what with Lorenzo Blanco and all the other cast of characters to chat with, including Double D and Dr. M.
It was really nice running in to DM and DV and catching up a bit.
I have to say, I'm really tired of being of injured. It seems like it's been an entire year. First the hip, then the foot. Forget 'bout it.
And, yes, my foot swelled up after the 10...if only I could have a permanent cold pool just to stick my foot in.
We'll see what the crew at SPI thinks this week...in the meantime...Una cubita, pues, pues...time for a cuba libre! I'm thinking of carrying some rum and cokes with me to the PT session! Wonder what Spears would say?
In any event, LAST year, when I was faster and training harder, I ran 3 or 4 times on the beach in the DR. This year, I ran once...5 miles, but once. One time was all it took for the ham to raise it's ugliness inside my running shoe. So, I hit the gym instead at the resort and submitted to the Latin party side of me...ok, well, my husband is Latin, I'm Irish, but I pretend I'm a Latina.
This past Saturday, I braved a Gazelle long run. The Ragnar team was out in force and it was nice to see friends again. I was way behind the herd. Ah, that's my fate for now. I did run....drum roll....10 miles! It didn't feel too awful...what with Lorenzo Blanco and all the other cast of characters to chat with, including Double D and Dr. M.
It was really nice running in to DM and DV and catching up a bit.
I have to say, I'm really tired of being of injured. It seems like it's been an entire year. First the hip, then the foot. Forget 'bout it.
And, yes, my foot swelled up after the 10...if only I could have a permanent cold pool just to stick my foot in.
We'll see what the crew at SPI thinks this week...in the meantime...Una cubita, pues, pues...time for a cuba libre! I'm thinking of carrying some rum and cokes with me to the PT session! Wonder what Spears would say?
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Pinky Gets Whacked!
I'm a frequent flyer now at SPI. I should ask for the special club, with drinks and music while I wait for Dr. Spears!
Yes, it's been another month and I'm back in the room waiting for Dr. Spears. I brought my laptop and start to work. I figure this will keep my mind off of the dreaded "nutrition" talk and, I'm hoping I look busy so Spears will just send my right out to the torture pit, which is why I am here anyway.
So, Spears heads in and gets back up to speed on my foot. Not my speedy foot anymore, that is. We chatter and he reaches for the foot and starts poking at it. No way, I mean for many a visit, this did not happen. I'll take the nutrition speech over this any day. Pieter bounds in during the foot poking. Spears asks him how it's going (why do I feel like I'm not in the room). Pieter says, well, it's going, but slow. Ok, I just got thrown under the bus by the Dutchman! He must have bionic hearing from the torture room and realized Spears had not yet asked me about my nutrition. I give Pieter my best bad ass Jersey girl stare.
Seems now I have some issue with some muscles around the bone. The ask me to spread my toes. I try. You try it. It's not that easy. The pinky does not move. Spears seems excited about his new discovery. See? he says to Pieter. The jabber on in their physical therapy kind of speaking in tongues thing and I look at my Pinky toe. I mean, what the hell do you need your Pinky toe for anyway. I look at Pieter -- just cut it off, I don't need it. It doesn't work.
Off to the torture chamber with me.
Here we are at the table and Pieter starts demonstrating my continued lack of ability to move my pinky toe. Look at this, he tells the Riff Raff in the room...I'm a science experiment now. Pieter says, I don't do this a lot, but I'm going to massage your foot. I'm thinking, ok, it's the least you can do for throwing me in the grease with the doc and mocking my Pinky.
Next, more humiliation. This is going to seem silly, but we need to work on it. He tells me to spread my toes and hold my Pinky out there and resist the pressure he will apply. I think he's joking. He's not. I try to do it and I can't. Come On he says in that deep gutteral voice. I try again, nothing. I want to try a judo kick right about now. Again. Pieter urges. Now that is ridiculous. I glare at him...we both bust out laughing. It is pathetic I say.
Toes do need exercise apparently. We Pinky get skinny now with all this work?
Yes, it's been another month and I'm back in the room waiting for Dr. Spears. I brought my laptop and start to work. I figure this will keep my mind off of the dreaded "nutrition" talk and, I'm hoping I look busy so Spears will just send my right out to the torture pit, which is why I am here anyway.
So, Spears heads in and gets back up to speed on my foot. Not my speedy foot anymore, that is. We chatter and he reaches for the foot and starts poking at it. No way, I mean for many a visit, this did not happen. I'll take the nutrition speech over this any day. Pieter bounds in during the foot poking. Spears asks him how it's going (why do I feel like I'm not in the room). Pieter says, well, it's going, but slow. Ok, I just got thrown under the bus by the Dutchman! He must have bionic hearing from the torture room and realized Spears had not yet asked me about my nutrition. I give Pieter my best bad ass Jersey girl stare.
Seems now I have some issue with some muscles around the bone. The ask me to spread my toes. I try. You try it. It's not that easy. The pinky does not move. Spears seems excited about his new discovery. See? he says to Pieter. The jabber on in their physical therapy kind of speaking in tongues thing and I look at my Pinky toe. I mean, what the hell do you need your Pinky toe for anyway. I look at Pieter -- just cut it off, I don't need it. It doesn't work.
Off to the torture chamber with me.
Here we are at the table and Pieter starts demonstrating my continued lack of ability to move my pinky toe. Look at this, he tells the Riff Raff in the room...I'm a science experiment now. Pieter says, I don't do this a lot, but I'm going to massage your foot. I'm thinking, ok, it's the least you can do for throwing me in the grease with the doc and mocking my Pinky.
Next, more humiliation. This is going to seem silly, but we need to work on it. He tells me to spread my toes and hold my Pinky out there and resist the pressure he will apply. I think he's joking. He's not. I try to do it and I can't. Come On he says in that deep gutteral voice. I try again, nothing. I want to try a judo kick right about now. Again. Pieter urges. Now that is ridiculous. I glare at him...we both bust out laughing. It is pathetic I say.
Toes do need exercise apparently. We Pinky get skinny now with all this work?
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
3 for 3; 4 for ....???
Sometimes it's all about the numbers. 6-8 weeks, 2 miles, 2 days, 3 miles, 3 days! Grumpy, Happy and Skinny! (that's 3!)
I don't know how many people remember Schoolhouse Rock; but it was awesome. There's a song, "3, it's a magic number!" It' true. My son and I used to listen to that song over and over; now he's nine, which is three times three, so, he's not interested in schoolhouse rock.
Two weeks ago, Pieter released me to run 3 miles, 3 days, not consecutively. Sounds simple, huh?
Well, of course, LB, every the loyal friend and running mate, met me for the big add on. I could not believe how winded and out of shape I was. LB, I said, I am really out of shape (mind you, I have been going to the gym and pool running). Yes, he says dryly, you are. That's what I love about LB, pure honesty, no bull.
Anyway, I get the 3 for 3 in. Then, I have to go on a one day business trip -- up and back to Colorado Springs. I make a huge error and ditch my running shoes in the car at the airport. Hours later, my foot is blowing up and I regret it. Next, the flight is delayed and I can only get to Denver for the night (supposedly). However, the plane arrives and when we get to Denver, I bust out like it's the Congress Avenue Mile, except I have my shoes in my hands, and my one foot and my ham of another foot are zooming toward the gate. Once again, I realize how out of shape I am.
3 miles climbs to 4, then the body breaks down. Too much driving, too much stress. Will I ever get to B-town. I feel the weight and slugishness climbing. The trainer at my gym needs to meet James Gandolfini...one more blow off and you should be at Strailes. I mean, give me a break, are you trying to make money or what?
After the visit with the matriach, new shoes, form analysis, a trainer who can't seem to get up at 5:30 and small skirmish in Kurundi: I'm moving on...4 miles, 3 times this week...Whatev....
I don't know how many people remember Schoolhouse Rock; but it was awesome. There's a song, "3, it's a magic number!" It' true. My son and I used to listen to that song over and over; now he's nine, which is three times three, so, he's not interested in schoolhouse rock.
Two weeks ago, Pieter released me to run 3 miles, 3 days, not consecutively. Sounds simple, huh?
Well, of course, LB, every the loyal friend and running mate, met me for the big add on. I could not believe how winded and out of shape I was. LB, I said, I am really out of shape (mind you, I have been going to the gym and pool running). Yes, he says dryly, you are. That's what I love about LB, pure honesty, no bull.
Anyway, I get the 3 for 3 in. Then, I have to go on a one day business trip -- up and back to Colorado Springs. I make a huge error and ditch my running shoes in the car at the airport. Hours later, my foot is blowing up and I regret it. Next, the flight is delayed and I can only get to Denver for the night (supposedly). However, the plane arrives and when we get to Denver, I bust out like it's the Congress Avenue Mile, except I have my shoes in my hands, and my one foot and my ham of another foot are zooming toward the gate. Once again, I realize how out of shape I am.
3 miles climbs to 4, then the body breaks down. Too much driving, too much stress. Will I ever get to B-town. I feel the weight and slugishness climbing. The trainer at my gym needs to meet James Gandolfini...one more blow off and you should be at Strailes. I mean, give me a break, are you trying to make money or what?
After the visit with the matriach, new shoes, form analysis, a trainer who can't seem to get up at 5:30 and small skirmish in Kurundi: I'm moving on...4 miles, 3 times this week...Whatev....
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
2 Miles and many more to go till Boston 2010
Well, here we are...at the beginning of a journey to Boston. It starts with 2 miles today.
Pieter released me to run two miles twice this week. Not without a raised eyebrow and a sullen stare that would ice your bodily fluids... "Just 2; not consecutive days and no pool running immediately after the 2 miles." Damn...too many blogs, he knows me now as he's giving very specific instructions.
I have to admit that I have been very blue this whole time. Ok, blue is a nice way of saying, I've been a complete witch, but with a b. (Sorry Gilbert)
Anyway, I headed to the trail today to meet LB who I last saw as he ran the Bun Run.
We ran 2 miles. Seriously. Mostly, we talked about life, dogs, retirement, or not, core work outs, poor trainers and plans for Boston. Yes, Boston...a year away. I am a planner. At least for 26.2 miles. LB is one of a very few people who doesn't mind talking about running and the race that is a year away over and over and over.
Anyway, imagine how it felt to see the same guy with the Ford Explorer who parks at the tennis courts every day and walks his dog; the three old guys that walk together every morning; and, wait, a Gazelle, a Gazelle, Tall D, a Gazelle.
I get a shout out from another LB...great to see you running. Thanks, I yell. And, it feels so great. The crunch of the trail under my shoes (yes, still Mizunos), chatting with LB.
There's a heaviness to my breathing and my body (ok, only one pound difference since the 6 week lay off), but I don't care. I'm running. Not on a treadmill, not in a cheesy gym, not in a contraption. I have some bad thoughts about my time, about how I'd like to pick it up, about how I'd love to add on. But, LB keeps me clean,for Pieter and for me. No, he says, we have to turn around.
I start to ponder the long road to Boston...2 miles...many more to go. We do planks and sit ups and plan. I go home and read some blogs about Boston. I read some good advice. Stop listening to everyone else and plan your own race.
Tomorrow, Troy will get a look at the foot...I would guess that Troy would have rather I waited another week or two....
Pieter released me to run two miles twice this week. Not without a raised eyebrow and a sullen stare that would ice your bodily fluids... "Just 2; not consecutive days and no pool running immediately after the 2 miles." Damn...too many blogs, he knows me now as he's giving very specific instructions.
I have to admit that I have been very blue this whole time. Ok, blue is a nice way of saying, I've been a complete witch, but with a b. (Sorry Gilbert)
Anyway, I headed to the trail today to meet LB who I last saw as he ran the Bun Run.
We ran 2 miles. Seriously. Mostly, we talked about life, dogs, retirement, or not, core work outs, poor trainers and plans for Boston. Yes, Boston...a year away. I am a planner. At least for 26.2 miles. LB is one of a very few people who doesn't mind talking about running and the race that is a year away over and over and over.
Anyway, imagine how it felt to see the same guy with the Ford Explorer who parks at the tennis courts every day and walks his dog; the three old guys that walk together every morning; and, wait, a Gazelle, a Gazelle, Tall D, a Gazelle.
I get a shout out from another LB...great to see you running. Thanks, I yell. And, it feels so great. The crunch of the trail under my shoes (yes, still Mizunos), chatting with LB.
There's a heaviness to my breathing and my body (ok, only one pound difference since the 6 week lay off), but I don't care. I'm running. Not on a treadmill, not in a cheesy gym, not in a contraption. I have some bad thoughts about my time, about how I'd like to pick it up, about how I'd love to add on. But, LB keeps me clean,for Pieter and for me. No, he says, we have to turn around.
I start to ponder the long road to Boston...2 miles...many more to go. We do planks and sit ups and plan. I go home and read some blogs about Boston. I read some good advice. Stop listening to everyone else and plan your own race.
Tomorrow, Troy will get a look at the foot...I would guess that Troy would have rather I waited another week or two....
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
A Loyal Friend
Well, It's not easy to say good-bye, no matter who it is. Lately, there seems to be lots of people calling to report a death of a loved one...one right on top of the other. three, in fact, in less than two weeks. And, whether expected or not, it's always so hard to hear it, take it in and honor that life that was.
Now, while I do not mean any disrespect to the wonderful people that I have known that have passed recently, just last week, we lost our dog.
It may seem silly to some. I knew he was going to die soon and I thought I was ready for that time. But, truth be told, when the moment came, I really wasn't ready for him to not be a part of our lives anymore.
Morrissey was just the runt of the litter, really. They called him Slinky and he couldn't even get up on all fours when I first met him. Nobody wanted him, except his brother, Gordy, who was the dog Rolph and I had selected from the litter of Belle -- a wonderful border collie who had mated with a black lab. When it came time to get Gordy, Morrissey was the only one left behind, and, clearly, no one was coming for him. So, Rolph and I packed him up with Gordy and took them home.
They were, by far, the best of friends ever. They were a two-headed dog. They sat next to each other and looked like one big body with two heads. They curled up together to sleep. They would never be parted from each other. We took them everywhere with us. You really had to see it to believe it.
One funny story we always share...Gordy was notorious for hanging out of the car window way too far. One day, on Barton Springs Road, by the Old Palmer Auditorium, he just fell right out the window. Well, Morrissey just leaped out the window after his brother and there they sat on the sidewalk, unharmed, more concerned for each other than for their hysterical owner.
So, when Gordy passed away, it's safe to say that Morrissey was devasted. He was never the same after that and, if you know the muscian, you know, the name suited him. He was miserable. He would not get up or eat or even appear the least bit excited to see you. I thought I would lose him then and we found him a friend at the Town Lake Animal Shelter.
Tootsie (more on her later) kept our friend alive for a few years for us.
And, while we joked that he'd become grumpy and incontinent, we kept hoping we'd spare him the needle. I used to sit with him and just say to his face, Please, go quietly into the night my friend.
Last Wednesday night, he seemed chipper, as chipper as Morrissey could be. So, I took him, Tootsie and my daughter for a little walk. He was too old to go too far, even though he would really try. At one point, he kind of barked at me, which was really unusual and I stopped and asked him why he was so grumpy with me since I was taking him to the golf course. He headed on, ignoring me the way he always did. We had a great walk, all of us, and Morrissey seemed really, well, happy, as best he could show it.
The next morning, I couldn't get up to go to the gym. I have been working out as much as I can since I'm not running. I just decided to stay and hit the alarm. Once my son was ready for school, I decided to feed the dogs, a chore normally reserved for my daughter.
Tootsie was her perky, alert and hungry self. But there was no sign of Morrissey. I called him and called him. I realized he must not be able to hear me as he'd gone selectively deaf recently. So, I looked over to where he normally curled up to sleep, between the two air conditioners and saw his legs. To me, he looked like he was breathing, so I hit the AC unit a bit to wake him. Nothing. I went back in the garage and grab my husband's sandals and headed back out. Once I stepped off the stoop, I saw that he wasn't breathing at all. He wasn't curled up, but just stretched out and stiff.
It was a terribly sad day. I thought I was ready, but I wasn't. I cried all day long. He was with us for nearly 16 years....so many memories. We joked about his disposition, but he was a very loyal dog. And, he did what I asked of him...he went quietly into the night.
Now, while I do not mean any disrespect to the wonderful people that I have known that have passed recently, just last week, we lost our dog.
It may seem silly to some. I knew he was going to die soon and I thought I was ready for that time. But, truth be told, when the moment came, I really wasn't ready for him to not be a part of our lives anymore.
Morrissey was just the runt of the litter, really. They called him Slinky and he couldn't even get up on all fours when I first met him. Nobody wanted him, except his brother, Gordy, who was the dog Rolph and I had selected from the litter of Belle -- a wonderful border collie who had mated with a black lab. When it came time to get Gordy, Morrissey was the only one left behind, and, clearly, no one was coming for him. So, Rolph and I packed him up with Gordy and took them home.
They were, by far, the best of friends ever. They were a two-headed dog. They sat next to each other and looked like one big body with two heads. They curled up together to sleep. They would never be parted from each other. We took them everywhere with us. You really had to see it to believe it.
One funny story we always share...Gordy was notorious for hanging out of the car window way too far. One day, on Barton Springs Road, by the Old Palmer Auditorium, he just fell right out the window. Well, Morrissey just leaped out the window after his brother and there they sat on the sidewalk, unharmed, more concerned for each other than for their hysterical owner.
So, when Gordy passed away, it's safe to say that Morrissey was devasted. He was never the same after that and, if you know the muscian, you know, the name suited him. He was miserable. He would not get up or eat or even appear the least bit excited to see you. I thought I would lose him then and we found him a friend at the Town Lake Animal Shelter.
Tootsie (more on her later) kept our friend alive for a few years for us.
And, while we joked that he'd become grumpy and incontinent, we kept hoping we'd spare him the needle. I used to sit with him and just say to his face, Please, go quietly into the night my friend.
Last Wednesday night, he seemed chipper, as chipper as Morrissey could be. So, I took him, Tootsie and my daughter for a little walk. He was too old to go too far, even though he would really try. At one point, he kind of barked at me, which was really unusual and I stopped and asked him why he was so grumpy with me since I was taking him to the golf course. He headed on, ignoring me the way he always did. We had a great walk, all of us, and Morrissey seemed really, well, happy, as best he could show it.
The next morning, I couldn't get up to go to the gym. I have been working out as much as I can since I'm not running. I just decided to stay and hit the alarm. Once my son was ready for school, I decided to feed the dogs, a chore normally reserved for my daughter.
Tootsie was her perky, alert and hungry self. But there was no sign of Morrissey. I called him and called him. I realized he must not be able to hear me as he'd gone selectively deaf recently. So, I looked over to where he normally curled up to sleep, between the two air conditioners and saw his legs. To me, he looked like he was breathing, so I hit the AC unit a bit to wake him. Nothing. I went back in the garage and grab my husband's sandals and headed back out. Once I stepped off the stoop, I saw that he wasn't breathing at all. He wasn't curled up, but just stretched out and stiff.
It was a terribly sad day. I thought I was ready, but I wasn't. I cried all day long. He was with us for nearly 16 years....so many memories. We joked about his disposition, but he was a very loyal dog. And, he did what I asked of him...he went quietly into the night.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Potato, P-AH-TAH-TOE
Could I really be near the end of my sentence? Might I be granted time off for good behavior (or behaviour)? I can hardly contain my excitement.
I've missed a few entries on my appointments with Pieter, Troy and, new character, Bill. I write these things in my head sometimes and I just haven't gotten them down on the computer.
A few highlights:
On one visit I realize how incredibly week my right foot is. I mean, really. Pieter throws a towel on the floor and asks me to drag it with my toes. Oh, yes, there's a weight at the end. I simply cannot do it. So, we go for the "Girlie" weight (ok calm down feministas, I'm one of you, so I can say it). And, it's not alone ridiculously light, but also Pepto Pink! So, please. I can barely do that, and so, now I have a new exercise of getting my toes to actually do something aside from sport poorly applied nail polish (not in pink.)
It's not a good idea to bring your incredibly cheeky four-year-old child with you to PT. First you can't concentrate. Second, she tries to do what you are doing on the treadmill and she might get hurt. Third, she's not exactly a wallflower. And, most importantly, she will manipulate the bones on the fingers of the skeleton into a familiar NJ greeting (unbeknownst to her the true meaning, but --- ah, a chip off the old block nonetheless).
Lastly, no matter how long you give the Jersey girl mean stare to Pieter, he will win the stare down and you will not be running until he says so.
So, now we're down to week 6 for me, but apparently it's only week 4 for Pieter (thus, the title). So, we split hairs until we agree that it's week 5. Somewhere between people from NJ being big complainers along with people from the Netherlands, we get down to work. I'd rather have a beer and keep complaining, but, I've grown lazy in my new non-running life.
Pieter pokes and prodes my foot and, finally, pops it. Oh, relief! Amazing! I get to do a few exercises and then, big prize, I get to run on the treadmill. This is really torture, mostly becuase of the device they string me up in to run. Let's just say, it's not glamorous. I get to do 15 minutes this week. My new friend, Bill, keeps me company and we chat about, what else, running. I'm glad he's there as the time goes faster. And, I finish.
Troy comes out of hiding to see what's up. One more week, Pieter declares. Then, maybe I will let you run again. I sigh with relief and I want to hit the wall at the same time. I need to hit the trail, but I know that if I don't wait, the treadmill torture device beckons again.
I've missed a few entries on my appointments with Pieter, Troy and, new character, Bill. I write these things in my head sometimes and I just haven't gotten them down on the computer.
A few highlights:
On one visit I realize how incredibly week my right foot is. I mean, really. Pieter throws a towel on the floor and asks me to drag it with my toes. Oh, yes, there's a weight at the end. I simply cannot do it. So, we go for the "Girlie" weight (ok calm down feministas, I'm one of you, so I can say it). And, it's not alone ridiculously light, but also Pepto Pink! So, please. I can barely do that, and so, now I have a new exercise of getting my toes to actually do something aside from sport poorly applied nail polish (not in pink.)
It's not a good idea to bring your incredibly cheeky four-year-old child with you to PT. First you can't concentrate. Second, she tries to do what you are doing on the treadmill and she might get hurt. Third, she's not exactly a wallflower. And, most importantly, she will manipulate the bones on the fingers of the skeleton into a familiar NJ greeting (unbeknownst to her the true meaning, but --- ah, a chip off the old block nonetheless).
Lastly, no matter how long you give the Jersey girl mean stare to Pieter, he will win the stare down and you will not be running until he says so.
So, now we're down to week 6 for me, but apparently it's only week 4 for Pieter (thus, the title). So, we split hairs until we agree that it's week 5. Somewhere between people from NJ being big complainers along with people from the Netherlands, we get down to work. I'd rather have a beer and keep complaining, but, I've grown lazy in my new non-running life.
Pieter pokes and prodes my foot and, finally, pops it. Oh, relief! Amazing! I get to do a few exercises and then, big prize, I get to run on the treadmill. This is really torture, mostly becuase of the device they string me up in to run. Let's just say, it's not glamorous. I get to do 15 minutes this week. My new friend, Bill, keeps me company and we chat about, what else, running. I'm glad he's there as the time goes faster. And, I finish.
Troy comes out of hiding to see what's up. One more week, Pieter declares. Then, maybe I will let you run again. I sigh with relief and I want to hit the wall at the same time. I need to hit the trail, but I know that if I don't wait, the treadmill torture device beckons again.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
PT - The New Confessional
After much coordination with my real world and mother/driver schedule, I land on an appointment with Troy at SPI. I'm so relieved. I almost cancel due to a conference call, but, frankly, I can't take it anymore, my foot is a little ham at the end of my Q-tip leg.
Troy pokes his head around the door. Hey, come on back. I load up (like a camel -- laptop, bags, water) and start heading toward him. He looks at me, dubiously.
You're limping, he says. Yeah, Troy, it's killing me.
Silence. Have you been running? he asks me, half serious and half joking.
Are you kidding, I ask him. He bores his eyes into me. Seriously, Troy, I have not been running. I'm back to junky status. Cut to the A&E episode ...Intervention. Cue the music. Troy, really, with my hip, I could still run. I mean, yes, it hurt, but I could do it. Dude, I cannot rotate this foot.
Troy still looks skeptical.
Pieter is there too. Yes, Pieter is the way his name is really spelled. Sorry, I have been spelling it the American way. Anyway, he says, what did you do? Oh God, here we go. I swear, I have not been running. Really.
So, I say, hey, you all told me I could go to spinning. I went to spinning on Sat. By the way, it is SOOO boring, but I did it! Anyway, the next day, I was really busy running around and by the end of the day it was a little ham again.
You told me I could to spinning. Yes, they both acknowledge their previous suggestion that spinning was fine. Troy starts to move my foot, cracking things, commanding me to walk, sit, crack more. He's quiet, that Troy. I start babbling away about the trainer at Lifetime and how he's going to help fix my stride issues. He ran track, blah, blah...Crack, walk. So unglamorous, definitely not a cat walk.
So, Troy asks inquisitively, Spinning?
Yes, really! I declare, proud of my restraint.
Did you sit on the seat the whole time, or did you get up and do all the jumps and stuff.
Bam! Zing!
There it is. Pieter and Troy both stare, waiting for the reply. But, you said I could do spinning -- I went to a class. I mean, I wasn't going to just sit there and ride. I had to get a work out in. Pieter starts to laugh. Troy shakes his head. You need to just sit in the saddle, no jumps or standing.
I slouch. I probably look like a sullen three-year old. Ok, I murmur. No standing. Just sitting and riding. Crack, rotate. Sit here. Ok, walk again.
You guys have to be more specific, I tell them.
Hey Troy, I thought you'd release me to run a few miles this week. You know, like 2 or so on the trail. No, forget it, he says. Pieter laughs again.
On the way out, I run into my friend Patrick Evoy. Hey Man, what's up? Oh, forget it, Achilles. Yeah, I have fifth Metatarsal -- Yeah, I know, I read your blog. We high five and go opposite ways...he goes in and I head to my car. I think, again, we sound like we've fallen off the wagon...we need a group.
Troy pokes his head around the door. Hey, come on back. I load up (like a camel -- laptop, bags, water) and start heading toward him. He looks at me, dubiously.
You're limping, he says. Yeah, Troy, it's killing me.
Silence. Have you been running? he asks me, half serious and half joking.
Are you kidding, I ask him. He bores his eyes into me. Seriously, Troy, I have not been running. I'm back to junky status. Cut to the A&E episode ...Intervention. Cue the music. Troy, really, with my hip, I could still run. I mean, yes, it hurt, but I could do it. Dude, I cannot rotate this foot.
Troy still looks skeptical.
Pieter is there too. Yes, Pieter is the way his name is really spelled. Sorry, I have been spelling it the American way. Anyway, he says, what did you do? Oh God, here we go. I swear, I have not been running. Really.
So, I say, hey, you all told me I could go to spinning. I went to spinning on Sat. By the way, it is SOOO boring, but I did it! Anyway, the next day, I was really busy running around and by the end of the day it was a little ham again.
You told me I could to spinning. Yes, they both acknowledge their previous suggestion that spinning was fine. Troy starts to move my foot, cracking things, commanding me to walk, sit, crack more. He's quiet, that Troy. I start babbling away about the trainer at Lifetime and how he's going to help fix my stride issues. He ran track, blah, blah...Crack, walk. So unglamorous, definitely not a cat walk.
So, Troy asks inquisitively, Spinning?
Yes, really! I declare, proud of my restraint.
Did you sit on the seat the whole time, or did you get up and do all the jumps and stuff.
Bam! Zing!
There it is. Pieter and Troy both stare, waiting for the reply. But, you said I could do spinning -- I went to a class. I mean, I wasn't going to just sit there and ride. I had to get a work out in. Pieter starts to laugh. Troy shakes his head. You need to just sit in the saddle, no jumps or standing.
I slouch. I probably look like a sullen three-year old. Ok, I murmur. No standing. Just sitting and riding. Crack, rotate. Sit here. Ok, walk again.
You guys have to be more specific, I tell them.
Hey Troy, I thought you'd release me to run a few miles this week. You know, like 2 or so on the trail. No, forget it, he says. Pieter laughs again.
On the way out, I run into my friend Patrick Evoy. Hey Man, what's up? Oh, forget it, Achilles. Yeah, I have fifth Metatarsal -- Yeah, I know, I read your blog. We high five and go opposite ways...he goes in and I head to my car. I think, again, we sound like we've fallen off the wagon...we need a group.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Unforgettable, that's what you are
I've noticed that I forget a lot nowadays since I'm not running. And, did I mention that I can't sleep either. And, my digestive system doesn't function as well. Anyway, lots of things are off and I find I have no idea what word or phrase I mean to say next since I'm so ungrounded. Now, I'm just complaining!
I met with a trainer who ran track in college. His 400 meters was a crazy :47. He really focused on issues that seem to be on my right side. But, he's not cheap. But, I've watched him and I know he knows how to get runners running again. Plus, he really figured out my issues pretty quick. The funniest thing was when he was trying to help me stretch. It was crazy. I'm so super tight that stretching was painful.
Today was the first day that my right foot actually connected with the floor. That was a very cool feeling. I went to a spinning class and about 1/2 hour into it was completely bored. But, I started to watch the video on the screen and got into the Giro Italia and tried to forget that I was inside, in a studio, on a bike that didn't go anywhere. Suddenly, I got the rush and I remembered when I used to do triathlons (before kids) and how much fun they were. Admittedly, I was kind of taking it easy on the resistance. I was freaked out by how close spectators get in these cycling races (while watching that is.)
When leaving, this guy came up behind me and said, hey, just a warm up before the long run? And I thought, what? at 11:30, I would have been done hours ago. And, I thought, I wish. But, I said, nah, just cross training and I've got an injury, no long runs for me.
Everyone at my daughter's soccer game asked me, hey you didn't run today? No, I didn't, my freakin' foot doesn't move.
Anyway, spinning...ugh...1 hour. We'll see...hopefully, I will be running sooner rather than later.
I met with a trainer who ran track in college. His 400 meters was a crazy :47. He really focused on issues that seem to be on my right side. But, he's not cheap. But, I've watched him and I know he knows how to get runners running again. Plus, he really figured out my issues pretty quick. The funniest thing was when he was trying to help me stretch. It was crazy. I'm so super tight that stretching was painful.
Today was the first day that my right foot actually connected with the floor. That was a very cool feeling. I went to a spinning class and about 1/2 hour into it was completely bored. But, I started to watch the video on the screen and got into the Giro Italia and tried to forget that I was inside, in a studio, on a bike that didn't go anywhere. Suddenly, I got the rush and I remembered when I used to do triathlons (before kids) and how much fun they were. Admittedly, I was kind of taking it easy on the resistance. I was freaked out by how close spectators get in these cycling races (while watching that is.)
When leaving, this guy came up behind me and said, hey, just a warm up before the long run? And I thought, what? at 11:30, I would have been done hours ago. And, I thought, I wish. But, I said, nah, just cross training and I've got an injury, no long runs for me.
Everyone at my daughter's soccer game asked me, hey you didn't run today? No, I didn't, my freakin' foot doesn't move.
Anyway, spinning...ugh...1 hour. We'll see...hopefully, I will be running sooner rather than later.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Unremarkable
Well, I have never been described as so unremarkable so many times in one report. Ok, maybe I have, but I didn't know it.
I just got the MRI report from Dr. Spears at Sports Performance International...I've been holding my breath. The good news is that I am unremarkable...that is, that section of my foot is. I do not have a stress fracture. Yes! Excellent, but....Oh yes, there it is, the but -- as in the conjunction, not the gluteus maximus.
I have severe edema at the base of the fifth metatarsal. Somehow this is bad. Apparently, it's a pre-stress fracture. And, somehow the punishment is the same. No running. So, I get no sympathy boot cast or something to keep my foot from messing up more, but I can't run either. Aqua-jogging, cycling, elliptical. Did I mention that it's the right foot and it hurts to drive?
I look down at the floor while Dr. Spears is talking to me. First, he's calling me Alice. Alice doesn't live here anymore. I don't want to correct him. His assistant is calling me A-Lish-A, which is not me either. Anyway, I see Peter heading our way with a very determined stride and I figure I'm in the clear -- they will get my name right now and Peter will translate what the Dr. is saying to me.
They both start explaining that it looks like I have trauma to the bone -- multiple trauma. Wait, I don't remember a trauma or a multiple of the trauma. All I said to Lorenzo Blanco was let's do 10 instead of 7. I mean, this was an easy day. I feel like they are talking to someone else.
So, I say, Do the two weeks that I have already put in toward my 6 count? Now I feel like some petty criminal who's negotiating a lighter sentence. Notice how I said 6 at the long side and they said 8. Peter shakes his head and laughs.
Dr. Spears starts talking about how this is normal for runners who are used to a certain exercise level. They need something to replace their threshold of exercise. Ok, now I feel like a junky. For someone unremarkable, I feel like I've already played a lot of roles in this movie. Now I'm in an episode of Intervention on A&E.
Troy comes over now with the very nice assistant. Sorry, I forget her name. She's lovely. Everyone is flocking to the scan. Troy looks at me like I'm 2 and I just squeezed my puppy too hard.
Peter comes back in and kind of gives me the speech. Running hard, not a life long runner, over 40, etc, etc. I look down again, the tears are coming and I'm trying so hard not to cry. I cry at this office a lot. I think they need an on site therapist. Then I could really get a lot work done on all these personalities I have and my basic unremarkableness.
I slink out of the office and dutifully make my appointments. This isn't like the hip. I could run through that pain. But, this foot just won't work right now. It's as stubborn as I am.
I want to call someone from the car, but I don't bother. I don't think anyone will understand how I feel. Running grounds me. I work things out in my head when I run. I release my anger, my stress. I push myself. I'm alone, but I'm with people all at the same time. I had some ideas about this Spring. I just need a minute to accept it. After 2 weeks, my foot really doesn't feel any better at all.
When I get home, I pull out the report and read it. This is where I learn how normal and unremarkable I am. For a second, I start to think they are all wrong and I can lace up and head out tomorrow. Then I stand up and try to walk to the stairs, that I have to climb up and my foot is like a little pink ham in a shoe. I hate my foot!
I just got the MRI report from Dr. Spears at Sports Performance International...I've been holding my breath. The good news is that I am unremarkable...that is, that section of my foot is. I do not have a stress fracture. Yes! Excellent, but....Oh yes, there it is, the but -- as in the conjunction, not the gluteus maximus.
I have severe edema at the base of the fifth metatarsal. Somehow this is bad. Apparently, it's a pre-stress fracture. And, somehow the punishment is the same. No running. So, I get no sympathy boot cast or something to keep my foot from messing up more, but I can't run either. Aqua-jogging, cycling, elliptical. Did I mention that it's the right foot and it hurts to drive?
I look down at the floor while Dr. Spears is talking to me. First, he's calling me Alice. Alice doesn't live here anymore. I don't want to correct him. His assistant is calling me A-Lish-A, which is not me either. Anyway, I see Peter heading our way with a very determined stride and I figure I'm in the clear -- they will get my name right now and Peter will translate what the Dr. is saying to me.
They both start explaining that it looks like I have trauma to the bone -- multiple trauma. Wait, I don't remember a trauma or a multiple of the trauma. All I said to Lorenzo Blanco was let's do 10 instead of 7. I mean, this was an easy day. I feel like they are talking to someone else.
So, I say, Do the two weeks that I have already put in toward my 6 count? Now I feel like some petty criminal who's negotiating a lighter sentence. Notice how I said 6 at the long side and they said 8. Peter shakes his head and laughs.
Dr. Spears starts talking about how this is normal for runners who are used to a certain exercise level. They need something to replace their threshold of exercise. Ok, now I feel like a junky. For someone unremarkable, I feel like I've already played a lot of roles in this movie. Now I'm in an episode of Intervention on A&E.
Troy comes over now with the very nice assistant. Sorry, I forget her name. She's lovely. Everyone is flocking to the scan. Troy looks at me like I'm 2 and I just squeezed my puppy too hard.
Peter comes back in and kind of gives me the speech. Running hard, not a life long runner, over 40, etc, etc. I look down again, the tears are coming and I'm trying so hard not to cry. I cry at this office a lot. I think they need an on site therapist. Then I could really get a lot work done on all these personalities I have and my basic unremarkableness.
I slink out of the office and dutifully make my appointments. This isn't like the hip. I could run through that pain. But, this foot just won't work right now. It's as stubborn as I am.
I want to call someone from the car, but I don't bother. I don't think anyone will understand how I feel. Running grounds me. I work things out in my head when I run. I release my anger, my stress. I push myself. I'm alone, but I'm with people all at the same time. I had some ideas about this Spring. I just need a minute to accept it. After 2 weeks, my foot really doesn't feel any better at all.
When I get home, I pull out the report and read it. This is where I learn how normal and unremarkable I am. For a second, I start to think they are all wrong and I can lace up and head out tomorrow. Then I stand up and try to walk to the stairs, that I have to climb up and my foot is like a little pink ham in a shoe. I hate my foot!
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Running Drought
Well, the post have been few since the runs have been few. I managed to get hurt, again. Yes, again. On a very easy 10 mile run, suddenly my foot locked up after the Longhorn Dam and never really rotated again. I tried and tried to shake it off, but ended up just toughing it out.
Alas, I have worn my lightweight shoes on too many runs. And, since I only run on the right hand side anyway, my right foot decided to, well, just start to cave in.
I headed for Sports Performance and have seen Troy twice already. He cleared me a silly 3 mile run and I couldn't even do that. The adjustment he made to my foot came completely undone on a business trip, so, I was back to square one.
I can't believe how much running really means to me. Except that everytime I can't do it, I just about go crazy. I can't sleep and my entire system is off kilter.
I'm heading out tomorrow to give it a go...I have to try and see if I can hold my own.
There are so many races coming up and I was just starting the speed work outs...it's so frustrating!
Alas, I have worn my lightweight shoes on too many runs. And, since I only run on the right hand side anyway, my right foot decided to, well, just start to cave in.
I headed for Sports Performance and have seen Troy twice already. He cleared me a silly 3 mile run and I couldn't even do that. The adjustment he made to my foot came completely undone on a business trip, so, I was back to square one.
I can't believe how much running really means to me. Except that everytime I can't do it, I just about go crazy. I can't sleep and my entire system is off kilter.
I'm heading out tomorrow to give it a go...I have to try and see if I can hold my own.
There are so many races coming up and I was just starting the speed work outs...it's so frustrating!
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Austin Marathon: Spectator and Crew
If you asked me why I finally decided to do a marathon, I couldn't tell you. I didn't have that burning desire to do one; nor have I wanted to repeat the process. As you may have read in earlier posts, I felt like, well, really S&(*&Y at the end. It was a terrible feeling. And I wasn't too keen ot repeat it.
So, the Austin Marathon comes around and I told my friend I would help her along. Finally, we agreed that I would meet her at mile 17. I've done this many times over the years -- meeting folks in different places and running a bit.
Now that I've run one myself, I came prepared. I was so prepared, that I woke up like it was a marathon day for me. Seriously, 4 AM, I could not get back to sleep. I headed to the course super early and went to the spot -- way to early. I back tracked to mile 11 to see Gilbert who, by the way, decided 8 weeks ago to run it. Ok, I guess you have to be elite to do that.
I sat a mile 11 forever, shivering. I wish I'd been running instead. The elite truck comes up and here come the guys...Gilbert is 5th at this point, smiling away looking like he's having the time of his life. I've never really watched him in a race, so, for a moment, I'm stunned. It looks so easy and elegant when he runs. I forget to tell him what I have, so I hop in my car and head to mile 15 and wait. I start to run toward him and yell...I have Gu, I have sodium, water, tissues. No Red, I don't need anything, I'm fine. Off he goes again. I stare. The guy who is pacing him asks me for a Gu and I hesitate, but toss it.
I head to mile 17 and wait for all the folks I know. I cheer, I jump up and down, I give out water with carbo pro to BH. I scream and scream for people I know and don't know. I start to lose my voice. Then, I start to worry, so I head in the opposite direction of the race and find my friend. And, off we go.
It's getting hot and we're trying to move along. I try to be encouraging, but not a pain. My friend is hurting, I can hear her. I give her water, soak a washcloth for her and we keep pushing.
We see Gazelles everywhere, which is nice. I encourage her on the hills -- there are so many, and she digs in so hard. I tell her not to quit, not to walk, keep moving. There are so many hills at the end, it's merciless. Push, I tell, it's not that bad, we're almost done. Focus...I don't know if I'm helping or hurting.
Here comes the shoot, just 1ooo meters and I have to head out. Ok, you are on your own, you have this, give it some juice. You can do it. I run along side the fences, screaming all the way, just 800, just 400, just 50 meters, push, push, you can do it. She crosses the finish and I'm screaming...you are awesome, you did it! It was tough, no PR, no BQ. But somewhere along the way, I got pumped for her in a way that I never got pumped for myself. My heart was pounding when she hit the shoot. I was so happy and proud that she hung in for so long when it was so hard.
I felt better that day than I did when I crossed the finish line in San Antonio myself. We walked to RunTex and talked about doing Ragnar again. We talked about a flater course. We talked about Boston. We talked about pizza. We saw Gilbert walking to RunTex with his family, the little one on his shoulders, just hanging out.
On to the next challenge.
So, the Austin Marathon comes around and I told my friend I would help her along. Finally, we agreed that I would meet her at mile 17. I've done this many times over the years -- meeting folks in different places and running a bit.
Now that I've run one myself, I came prepared. I was so prepared, that I woke up like it was a marathon day for me. Seriously, 4 AM, I could not get back to sleep. I headed to the course super early and went to the spot -- way to early. I back tracked to mile 11 to see Gilbert who, by the way, decided 8 weeks ago to run it. Ok, I guess you have to be elite to do that.
I sat a mile 11 forever, shivering. I wish I'd been running instead. The elite truck comes up and here come the guys...Gilbert is 5th at this point, smiling away looking like he's having the time of his life. I've never really watched him in a race, so, for a moment, I'm stunned. It looks so easy and elegant when he runs. I forget to tell him what I have, so I hop in my car and head to mile 15 and wait. I start to run toward him and yell...I have Gu, I have sodium, water, tissues. No Red, I don't need anything, I'm fine. Off he goes again. I stare. The guy who is pacing him asks me for a Gu and I hesitate, but toss it.
I head to mile 17 and wait for all the folks I know. I cheer, I jump up and down, I give out water with carbo pro to BH. I scream and scream for people I know and don't know. I start to lose my voice. Then, I start to worry, so I head in the opposite direction of the race and find my friend. And, off we go.
It's getting hot and we're trying to move along. I try to be encouraging, but not a pain. My friend is hurting, I can hear her. I give her water, soak a washcloth for her and we keep pushing.
We see Gazelles everywhere, which is nice. I encourage her on the hills -- there are so many, and she digs in so hard. I tell her not to quit, not to walk, keep moving. There are so many hills at the end, it's merciless. Push, I tell, it's not that bad, we're almost done. Focus...I don't know if I'm helping or hurting.
Here comes the shoot, just 1ooo meters and I have to head out. Ok, you are on your own, you have this, give it some juice. You can do it. I run along side the fences, screaming all the way, just 800, just 400, just 50 meters, push, push, you can do it. She crosses the finish and I'm screaming...you are awesome, you did it! It was tough, no PR, no BQ. But somewhere along the way, I got pumped for her in a way that I never got pumped for myself. My heart was pounding when she hit the shoot. I was so happy and proud that she hung in for so long when it was so hard.
I felt better that day than I did when I crossed the finish line in San Antonio myself. We walked to RunTex and talked about doing Ragnar again. We talked about a flater course. We talked about Boston. We talked about pizza. We saw Gilbert walking to RunTex with his family, the little one on his shoulders, just hanging out.
On to the next challenge.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Running the wrong way
To say that the last few weeks have been challenging is an understatement. And, the fact that I've had to squeeze in workouts and figure out how to run makes it worse. I sound whiny, but I guess I was spoiled for so long. I had a routine, a sitter and it worked. Now, I'm winging it everyday and, frankly, I hate it.
I used to hate running. Honestly, I am not an athlete. I'm a dork. I'm the person no one wanted on their team. I Irish Danced before "Lord of the Dance" came around and everyone made fun of me, so I quit. I started running at 3o when I decided to do triathlons. Now, I'm 43. Where did the time go?
I have goals this year, but don't know if I'll accomplish them. I'll try. I just want to get Boston in 2010. MW posted a great "info sheet" on Boston and I was equally scared and excited. I know I have a lot of training ahead of me. And, to be honest, my whole right side still bothers me .... A LOT.
At the end of my run today, I didn't intend to do so, but ran the opposite direction of some Gazelles just starting. By that point, I was in pain and frustrated. I said hi and smiled a lot. My right leg aches from my hip, down my hamstring to my calf. When I stop, finally, I am hobbled, just like my San Antonio finish and I go to the annex to stretch.
I want to fix it and fast. I need a good run and soon.
I used to hate running. Honestly, I am not an athlete. I'm a dork. I'm the person no one wanted on their team. I Irish Danced before "Lord of the Dance" came around and everyone made fun of me, so I quit. I started running at 3o when I decided to do triathlons. Now, I'm 43. Where did the time go?
I have goals this year, but don't know if I'll accomplish them. I'll try. I just want to get Boston in 2010. MW posted a great "info sheet" on Boston and I was equally scared and excited. I know I have a lot of training ahead of me. And, to be honest, my whole right side still bothers me .... A LOT.
At the end of my run today, I didn't intend to do so, but ran the opposite direction of some Gazelles just starting. By that point, I was in pain and frustrated. I said hi and smiled a lot. My right leg aches from my hip, down my hamstring to my calf. When I stop, finally, I am hobbled, just like my San Antonio finish and I go to the annex to stretch.
I want to fix it and fast. I need a good run and soon.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Shoe Fly Don't Bother Me: Tales from 3M
Last year, I trained long and hard for the 3M. I ran the course 4 times and practiced picking up the pace. This year, I was not prepared. The time between the San Antonio Marathon and 3M was short relative to my ability to get some speed work in.
So, the week before, my daughter got the stomach bug and I got cedar fever. I get sick every year the week before 3M, so it's really part of the deal. But, I was really wiped out from, well, cleaning everything in my house and not sleeping that much.
I showed up on race day with no plan. I rode with Lorenzo and friends and he reported that he was not racing. DD wanted to do a good training run as she's training for another marathon. I hit the Afrin for the nasal passages and hoped for the best.
I saw Lucy at the start (see Jingle Bell entry) and squeezed in by some Gazelles. They were all going to run fast. I saw DV as he made his way to the front. I hugged DD and off we go. I started out fairly well and tried to pull the pace down. At about mile 4, I wanted to quit. But, I wouldn't give up. I heard Lorenzo talking to DD behind me. What the heck, where'd he come from? He came up on me and we ran for a bit, then he took off and I just couldn't catch him....again.
I decided that it had to be my own race and I just hunkered down for the lonely ride. I saw MWoo and he cheered and encouraged me. He told me about the head wind coming up. When I turned onto North Loop, I was ready, not too far to go Red. I was playing chicken with this other gal. I'd pass her, she'd pass me...back and forth.
Suddenly, I feel something around my left foot. I look down. My shoe is untied. No, really, it is. I couldn't believe it. I lace them 3 or 4 times. How did that happen? I had to stop and tie it. My hands were cold, it was hard to bend. I kept trying and trying to tie it and nothing would happen. The clock is ticking, people running by...one after the other. I shout some curses and get it done.
Off I go. I'm pissed now. I have so much to make up. I concentrate and hit the secret weapon. I come up to and pass some folks that were near me before. Ok, I'm good (this was from 7:21 to a 7:00 during that time). Then I see some Gazelles who I know are fast and I'm feeling a bit better. One is near, but she goes by. Darn it! On Duval, a guy next to me tells me, I don't have much to give. Yes, you do, I tell him. You are breathing too shallow. Try to take a deep breath and relax some, lean forward a little. He does this and I hear him taking big deep breaths. We pass by two Gazelle-spectators with the cow bell and they give me a huge cheer. You know them the guy says. Yes, they are my friends from the Gazelles. He breaths again and takes off.
I start to dig, not looking at my watch. I just have a little bit to go. Hold on, I tell myself. There's Gilbert -- come on Red, dig in. He shouts a time at me. Ok, I think, almost there. You didn't train really and it's almost over, just dig in. And so, I do. I try to give more and head for the finish.
Lorenzo meets me and asks me where the heck I've been. My shoe came untied, I tell him. I lost some time. Didn't you triple knot them. I did, I don't know what happened.
Anyway, I'm happy, I did it, I was alone. I had no cheering section and I tried to help someone along the way. I didn't get a personal record, but I hit the top 10 in my age group. That was my goal all along. Next year, steel laces.
So, the week before, my daughter got the stomach bug and I got cedar fever. I get sick every year the week before 3M, so it's really part of the deal. But, I was really wiped out from, well, cleaning everything in my house and not sleeping that much.
I showed up on race day with no plan. I rode with Lorenzo and friends and he reported that he was not racing. DD wanted to do a good training run as she's training for another marathon. I hit the Afrin for the nasal passages and hoped for the best.
I saw Lucy at the start (see Jingle Bell entry) and squeezed in by some Gazelles. They were all going to run fast. I saw DV as he made his way to the front. I hugged DD and off we go. I started out fairly well and tried to pull the pace down. At about mile 4, I wanted to quit. But, I wouldn't give up. I heard Lorenzo talking to DD behind me. What the heck, where'd he come from? He came up on me and we ran for a bit, then he took off and I just couldn't catch him....again.
I decided that it had to be my own race and I just hunkered down for the lonely ride. I saw MWoo and he cheered and encouraged me. He told me about the head wind coming up. When I turned onto North Loop, I was ready, not too far to go Red. I was playing chicken with this other gal. I'd pass her, she'd pass me...back and forth.
Suddenly, I feel something around my left foot. I look down. My shoe is untied. No, really, it is. I couldn't believe it. I lace them 3 or 4 times. How did that happen? I had to stop and tie it. My hands were cold, it was hard to bend. I kept trying and trying to tie it and nothing would happen. The clock is ticking, people running by...one after the other. I shout some curses and get it done.
Off I go. I'm pissed now. I have so much to make up. I concentrate and hit the secret weapon. I come up to and pass some folks that were near me before. Ok, I'm good (this was from 7:21 to a 7:00 during that time). Then I see some Gazelles who I know are fast and I'm feeling a bit better. One is near, but she goes by. Darn it! On Duval, a guy next to me tells me, I don't have much to give. Yes, you do, I tell him. You are breathing too shallow. Try to take a deep breath and relax some, lean forward a little. He does this and I hear him taking big deep breaths. We pass by two Gazelle-spectators with the cow bell and they give me a huge cheer. You know them the guy says. Yes, they are my friends from the Gazelles. He breaths again and takes off.
I start to dig, not looking at my watch. I just have a little bit to go. Hold on, I tell myself. There's Gilbert -- come on Red, dig in. He shouts a time at me. Ok, I think, almost there. You didn't train really and it's almost over, just dig in. And so, I do. I try to give more and head for the finish.
Lorenzo meets me and asks me where the heck I've been. My shoe came untied, I tell him. I lost some time. Didn't you triple knot them. I did, I don't know what happened.
Anyway, I'm happy, I did it, I was alone. I had no cheering section and I tried to help someone along the way. I didn't get a personal record, but I hit the top 10 in my age group. That was my goal all along. Next year, steel laces.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Nooner
Well, now that I have your attention. Today, I had a nooner. No, not the kind you are thinking of...I went to the trail and ran, at noon...exactly.
The trail is different at noon. There are lots of people, dogs, and, um, smokers, iPhoners. It's not like the morning (like 5 or 5:30) when it's mostly Gazelles, people with routines, and, let's nto forget, the stick lady.
But, I had to get my run in as my husband is on a boondoggle ... I mean ski trip in Tahoe and there will be no running on Sat. In fact, that was my first reaction, but what about my long run? (Like a child, I might add).
And, I must say, it's not fun at noon. Not running anyway. I slogged it. My legs hurt; it was hot and I was in a time crunch. 9 became 7, 7 became 5...it all went down hill. I imagined that my face was turning as red as my hair and that my stride looked completely Frankensteinish.
I longed for a Gazelle to run me down, run in front of me, behind me, anywhere. Maybe someone I knew was doing a recovery at noon or a double.
I tried to pass people, I got slower. I quit so easily. Couldn't Gilbert or Bernard just magically appear?
I am a morning runner. I am not a good lone runner.
The 3 M looms large. My expectations dwindle quickly. In fact today, they are up in smoke.
Garcon, more wine please! oh, and a cigarette!
The trail is different at noon. There are lots of people, dogs, and, um, smokers, iPhoners. It's not like the morning (like 5 or 5:30) when it's mostly Gazelles, people with routines, and, let's nto forget, the stick lady.
But, I had to get my run in as my husband is on a boondoggle ... I mean ski trip in Tahoe and there will be no running on Sat. In fact, that was my first reaction, but what about my long run? (Like a child, I might add).
And, I must say, it's not fun at noon. Not running anyway. I slogged it. My legs hurt; it was hot and I was in a time crunch. 9 became 7, 7 became 5...it all went down hill. I imagined that my face was turning as red as my hair and that my stride looked completely Frankensteinish.
I longed for a Gazelle to run me down, run in front of me, behind me, anywhere. Maybe someone I knew was doing a recovery at noon or a double.
I tried to pass people, I got slower. I quit so easily. Couldn't Gilbert or Bernard just magically appear?
I am a morning runner. I am not a good lone runner.
The 3 M looms large. My expectations dwindle quickly. In fact today, they are up in smoke.
Garcon, more wine please! oh, and a cigarette!
Monday, January 5, 2009
Are we in Jersey?
Double D, Lorenzo and I all ran today. It was freakin' freezin'. I mean Jersey freezin'. And, I thought to myself. For #$%# sake, I would NOT be a runner if I still lived on the East Coast. My hair would be big, I'd have gold around my neck, maybe a few more diamonds (forget 'bout it) and I WOULD BE BIG. Anyway, I am here, in Texas, my hair is not big and I headed out today in the cold, wet, rain.
Double D and I got to business for a while, but I screwed it up by talking...way too much. Ok, I don't know what the heck happened, but I was like blah...blah...blah...Poor Double D. We were ahead for a bit, but slowly but surely, I heard Lorenzo's stride behind us (he's tapering) and I knew we were running way to slow if he was catching us on taper-speed and we were supposed to be at 1/2 marathon speed. UGH.
Not to mention the fact that those firecracker runners come from no where. And this is both disarming and disillusioning at the same time. I mean, at first, it was hey, how ya doin'? Then suddenly they appear from hear and there; at points where you don't expect them on the trail. And, I have no idea where they came from. Anyway, at one point, those firecrackers were just hanging out on the trail. I don't know what was going on, but they suddenly stopped fakin' me out and they were just standing there motionless. I asked them what was wrong. They mumbled some firecracker/gazelle language (maybe it's at top speed too and only fast people can understand them) and I just carried on like I knew what was happening.
I tried to catch LB then (story of my running life) and every time I got close, he sped up. Oye. Anyway, we get to the end and Double D says, we're short 3 tenths. Crap. Now that my Garmin is working, I can't short it. I'm at 10.72. Here comes a splinter group of the firecrackers again and I start to trot. "I'm short 3 10th's" I shout. As if to say, I am trotting in slow motion next to you super fast Gazelle trot which to me is a run because I just need to clock the miles and I'd rather not exert myself too hard.
But, I know they don't believe me.
Double D and I got to business for a while, but I screwed it up by talking...way too much. Ok, I don't know what the heck happened, but I was like blah...blah...blah...Poor Double D. We were ahead for a bit, but slowly but surely, I heard Lorenzo's stride behind us (he's tapering) and I knew we were running way to slow if he was catching us on taper-speed and we were supposed to be at 1/2 marathon speed. UGH.
Not to mention the fact that those firecracker runners come from no where. And this is both disarming and disillusioning at the same time. I mean, at first, it was hey, how ya doin'? Then suddenly they appear from hear and there; at points where you don't expect them on the trail. And, I have no idea where they came from. Anyway, at one point, those firecrackers were just hanging out on the trail. I don't know what was going on, but they suddenly stopped fakin' me out and they were just standing there motionless. I asked them what was wrong. They mumbled some firecracker/gazelle language (maybe it's at top speed too and only fast people can understand them) and I just carried on like I knew what was happening.
I tried to catch LB then (story of my running life) and every time I got close, he sped up. Oye. Anyway, we get to the end and Double D says, we're short 3 tenths. Crap. Now that my Garmin is working, I can't short it. I'm at 10.72. Here comes a splinter group of the firecrackers again and I start to trot. "I'm short 3 10th's" I shout. As if to say, I am trotting in slow motion next to you super fast Gazelle trot which to me is a run because I just need to clock the miles and I'd rather not exert myself too hard.
But, I know they don't believe me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
