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?

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....

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....

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.

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.

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.

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.