From the gimp files...

Since I can't actually run (thank you, Mr. Stress Fracture), I can at least still write about running.

Here's something I found recently. They're all true for me, how 'bout you?

You know you're a runner if:

Your entire iPod is devoted to running songs
You give directions in tenths of a mile increments
You try to convince others to run a 5k because its only 3 miles
You consider pasta and sports drink a food group
You can easily convert kilometers into miles
You have more running apparel than regular apparel

What's missing?

Cleveland Marathon--Race Report

A few weeks ago, when I wrote about taper madness, I mentioned that one of my toes had been hurting. I mentioned it casually and had been downplaying it as much as possible leading up to the marathon. Only Runner Boy, who watched me pop vitamin I like it was Smartees and ice my foot with frozen peas at every opportunity, knew how much it was really hurting. I figured if I didn't draw any attention to it, it would be okay for the big race. I even toyed with the idea of aiming for a sub 4:00 marathon.

Fast forward to Saturday, the day before race day, when my dad and I took an extended walking tour of Cleveland. (Btw, I could write paragraphs about Cleveland, but my grandmother always told me "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." I'll leave it at that. Oooh, except I can't help but mention the cops outside the sushi restaurant on Friday night who told us "Don't worry, it's safe now." Nice.) So, as Runner Daddy and I were walking, and walking, and walking, and walking, my toe began to feel not so great. I told him I wanted to veg out for a while--not mentioning the toe because of that whole "don't draw attention to it" thing--and I managed to sneakily ice my foot while RD napped.

We had dinner Saturday night with about twelve people from my running group. It was wonderful to see familiar faces in a strange city and I got a last-minute adrenaline boost for the race. By the time I saw them again the next morning, I was pumped and my foot issue was honestly in the recesses of my mind. I lined up between the 4:00 and 4:15 pacers and decided to see how I could do.

The first five miles were great. I was maintaining just under a 9:00 min/mile pace and was feeling really strong. The weather was in the mid-40's and the sun wasn't blazing. I was coasting, taking it easy, and my cardio was excellent. Then the shit hit the fan. Suddenly, out of the blue, my foot started screaming. I mean, it was blinding pain. I think I even started crying. Unfortunately, I was surrounded by a gazillion half marathoners and they were counting down the miles and high-fiving at each mile marker. I could only focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

At mile 12, I saw the split for the half marathoners. I considered taking it. And I'm not just saying that. I really almost veered off at the split. At that point, not only was my toe hurting, but I was obviously compensating somehow with my ankle and that was now screaming too. I decided to stay on the marathon course with the idea that if it got to the point I literally couldn't run anymore, I would turn around and walk back to the half mary finish. When I reached my own half marker, my time was 2:03. I was still running strong despite the pain.

At each mile marker I did the mental math, it was x miles back to the half and y miles to the finish. I just kept focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. I refused to walk because I knew it would just take that much longer to finish. I reached the point of no return at mile 20. I felt a rush when I saw the marker because, despite the pain, I knew I was going to finish.

The rest of the race was one foot in front of the other. Don't think, just run. I hit my lowest point at mile 24. I threw up and didn't' know if it was from pain, exhaustion, or a combination. I walked for about a quarter mile until I realized that was taking too long and I just wanted the race over. Even if I ran at 13:00 min/mile pace, I was still running. So I went for it.

At mile 25, a lady on the sidelines was handing out chunks of fresh orange. I debated taking one, worried how it might affect me, then I realized it really couldn't get much worse. I bit into the orange and it was the most amazing, delicious, refreshing food I've ever had. As I slurped down the juice, I realized I was crazy thirsty. I quickly drained two entire bottles from my Fuel Belt and pushed on.

As I approached the finish, I realized I might actually have a chance of breaking 4:20. That had become my pie in the sky goal somewhere around mile 16 or so. I dug deep into whatever reserves I had and sprinted to the line. The clock time was off from my chip time and I was running too fast to look at my watch. I automatically hit "stop" on my Garmin after crossing the finish and didn't look at the time until I had my medal. When I glanced down, I noticed I had missed my goal. Oh well, I thought, at least I finished. Then my dad came running over, hooting and hollering. My official chip time had been texted to him: 4:18:59. I did it!

And I have an appointment with the podiatrist today at 1:30. :)

Cleveland did have some nice hardware:

UPDATE: Yep, it's broken. The doctor said I have at least one stress fracture. This is my new designer footwear...

Race Week!!!

It's here! I can't believe it! Less than one week from now I will have run my second marathon. My runs have been kind of craptastic lately and it's sent my freakout engine into overdrive. For my mental health, I decided it was time for a change up. When the midweek distances got too long for morning runs, I became an evening runner. Sometimes I ran outside after Runner Boy got home, but a lot of my miles have been on the hamster wheel in the basement--a nightmare in and of itself, but even more so when you have to deal with three little runlets incessantly interrupting and vying for attention, snacks, boo boo assessment, etc. Try to get in a zone with that going on!

So a change up made sense. It wouldn't hurt physically either. The marathon starts at 7 a.m. and I don't want my system doesn't go into shock on race day. With that in mind, I got up at 5:40 this morning, donned my gear, and headed out. I was supposed to run three miles, but I felt so good that I kept going for one more. (I have to be careful about that this week--the final taper is excruciating. I'm banking the extra mile today and shaving one from Wednesday.) I live amongst a lot of hills and was amazed today when I saw my final average pace: 8:48/mile. Not too shabby for a "let's take it easy and just keep these legs loose and limber" type of run!

I'm starting to get really stoked for this weekend!

Taper Madness

Yep, I've got it. I've got it bad. I guess the first inkling was when Runner Boy found me on the sofa yesterday morning, arm flung across my eyes, groaning in a general state of misery. This was after I had sufficiently snapped at the runlets enough to scare them from the family room indefinitely. When Runner Boy asked "What's going on? Are you okay?" I shrieked, "You really want to know what's going on? Really? It's my toe. It's either tendinitis or it's broken. Either way, I don't see how I can ever run a marathon in two weeks. Two weeks! From today! I guess I'll just gimp through and deal with all the resulting stress fractures later. I mean, my shoes have too many miles on them to prevent injury anyway. Not to mention the fact that I'm gaining three pounds a day--that'll feel great on my knees for 26.2 miles. I might as well just surrender to permanent damage."

Ahhh, poor Runner Boy. Poor runlets. Such is the life of living with a tapering marathoner. Is my toe sore? It has been, but it's actually fine today. And my shoes? Two hundred miles. That's not too much. I'm just irrationally freaking out. Taper madness.

Peak Week!

I can't believe Peak Week is here! Compared to last time, this marathon training has flown by. I'm definitely feeling a little overwhelmed this week--trying to fit in all the miles, work full time, hang out with my three kids, yada, yada, yada. But, I keep thinking "Just make it through Saturday's run and it's taper time!" I'm curious to read my blog posts from Peak Week during my Baltimore training to see what I was thinking/feeling back then. Right now, running just seems like another cog in the crazy wheel of life. Yeah, I got up at 5 a.m. yesterday to squeeze in my miles before work, and, yeah, my father's coming over this afternoon to babysit the runlets so I can get my ten miler done. But it's kinda no big deal. Weird.

I'm striving for at least twenty miles before Saturday and have a twenty-two mile run Saturday morning. Then bring on the taper, baby!

Hellooo? Can you see me??

Lately I've begun to wonder if I unknowingly take on the superpower of invisibility when I run. What else would explain the downright refusal of pedestrians to make way for me on the sidewalk? They must not be able to see me. Otherwise, at least one person in a group of three walking abreast on the sidewalk would surely step ahead or behind his cohorts instead of forcing me a) into the road or b) onto the edge of the adjacent hill. Right?

That happened twice last night during my run. Each time it was at least three people and each time not one single person made a move to share the sidewalk with me. Should I blame it on the fact that they were college students? Maybe that's what they're going to school for--basic manners.

I try to run in the road as much as I can but rush hour, busy roads, and, again, college students (this time behind the wheel) scare me onto the sidewalks from 6-7 p.m.

Thankfully I survived. Tomorrow I'm taking my neighbor out for 16 miles. She's never run more than 13.1, so it should be fun!

Ice, Ice, Baby

Darn this blasted rain!! It forced another TM run this week. And this time I wasn't running with my Red Bull wings, if you know what I mean. I was scheduled for 5 miles but just.couldn't.do.it. I started tuning in to all these imaginary (hopefully) aches and pains, and I just couldn't finish the mileage. I'm ashamed to say I petered out at 3.5 and promptly jumped in an ice bath. I used to take ice baths religiously after long runs and fairly frequently during the week, but I haven't done one since the marathon in October. Let me tell you, I forgot how painful those first few minutes are! Not too dissimilar to childbirth, I suppose. After all, I found myself using the same deep breathing techniques to handle the pain. All I can say is thank god for the numbness that eventually sets in.

I'm supposed to run 5 again tonight. The sun, beautiful sun, is shining. Woot! Why am I suddenly craving Red Bull??

The Secret of the TM...

After Saturday's traumatic experience, I couldn't bear to do today's run outside, even if it was just drizzling, so once again I ended up on the treadmill. Now, anyone who has even glanced at this blog knows how much I detest the treadmill. It's a hatred for the ages. But, and this is a HUGE but, today's run was great. Really. All nine miles of it. Yup, you read right: nine miles! Oh yeah! Who's awesome???

I had fun; I felt energized; and, I even added an extra 0.1 to the end just for the heck of it. (Well, I really did that to bring my training log back up to whole numbers, but we don't need to delve into that freakishness.) My secret?

Red Bull.

I chugged one right before my run, and apparently it's the elixir of the gods. Unfortunately, I may be awake until 3 a.m., but a good nine miler is worth a little insomnia.

April Showers Bring Soggy Runners

I think I might have PTSD. I ran my 20 miles yesterday. In the rain. In the pouring rain. In the pouring rain with driving wind. In the pouring rain with driving wind and cars whizzing by spraying buckets of extra water at me. And there were puddles. Lots and lots of puddles. But I ran all 20 of them. And my foot feels pretty good. Looks like I might be doing that Cleveland marathon after all.

Whatever...his shirt actually has dry spots. Wuss.

Dreadmill, My Dreadmill

What with it being Spring Break and all, I took advantage of the week off and decided to sleep in a little. (Those 5:15 wake-ups are pretty harsh, let's be honest.) That meant moving my runs from outside predawn to inside whenever. Not bad, as long as you don't hate the treadmill with the power of a thousand suns like I do.

On my first attempt, I tried to listen to a This American Life podcast. I usually like those on my slower, easy runs. However, I think it actually made time move backwards on the treadmill. Next, I tried to zone out with the ladies of The View. That might have worked, but did they have to keep saying "sex" and "orgasm" every three seconds??? I'm no prude, but my children like to watch me run on the human hamster wheel (yeah, weird, I know) and I don't need to be answering "Mommy, what's an orgasm?" from my four-year-old while I'm working out my treadmill issues. Finally, I resorted to the ol' standby playlist of cheesy club music and classic 80's. It passed the time, barely.

All in all, I logged 15 miles this week and am trying to decide how far to take tomorrow's run. Do I dare go for 20?

Running Amongst the Blossoms

Picture perfect Cherry Blossoms!

Well, I guess the heel is a officially rehabbed because I survived the Cherry Blossom 10 Miler today without incident. Woohoo!! And I can now say I've run Cherry Blossom--that's a bragging right around these parts--which is good because I don't think I'll do it again. Don't get me wrong, the trees were beautiful, they really were, and D.C. showed off all its wonderful D.C.-ness (monuments, White Houses, and whatnot), but I didn't dig running with that many other people. I don't know the official count, but I heard there were about 14,000 runners. That's a lot of bodies in motion! Seriously, I feel like I spent the entire course weaving in and out of folks. Not to mention that they ran out of shirts and goodie bags at the expo. What's that all about?!? Granted, that's partially my fault for showing up fifteen minutes before they shut the thing down, but still, they knew how many people were registered, right? Did someone forget to carry the one when completing the purchase order? No big deal though, the shirt, as they say, is in the mail. And the weather was AMAZING. (Okay, it was little too warm for my liking, but I'm trying to keep it positive, ya know? It was certainly better than the freezing rain I heard someone talking about at last year's race.)

A sea of runners. I'm in there somehwere. Where's Waldo???

I ran with my friend and we finished in 1:26--a pace of 8:37/mile. My Garmin actually calculated an even 8:30/mile, but I'm not going to quibble over a few seconds when my running has been significantly limited in the past month. Like those who feel "lucky just to be nominated", I felt lucky just to be able to race today. And my favorite part of the race? The guy holding a giant stuffed Puss in Boots (ala Shrek) and screaming "RUN! Puss wants you to RUN!!" It's the little things.

Hi! I like runners!

The happy finisher.

Back in the game...I think

Things have been looking up on the running front. I've been hesitant to write about it and draw the attention of the mischievous sprites keen on toying with us vulnerable humans, but I think I'm over the hump. The podiatrist took a bunch of x-rays and did several poking and twisting tests to diagnose my injury and he seemed to agree it's plantar fasciitis. Since the pain was localized in my heel, rather than my arch, he said it wasn't a severe case. He taped it, asked if I wanted cortisone (I said no because I'm afraid of needles--he was cool with that), and told me I could continue running as long as the pain doesn't intensify. I ran 12.5 miles last Saturday without incident and I've survived a 5 miler and a 6 miler so far this week. My heel hurts enough at times that I need to take some vitamin I, but it's nothing like the pain I felt before, and I'm no longer watching the clock waiting for my next dose.

I have a 10-mile race this weekend; then I plan on getting back to marathon training 100%. With any luck, I'll be able to catch up on the missed distance and actually manage to run all 26.2 miles on May 19.

Do I Dare Hope???

I ran yesterday and my heel only hurts a teensy bit! I managed 5 miles and I even kept my pace below 9:00/mile--not too shabby considering that's the farthest I've run in two weeks. I'm heading back to the gym tonight; I don't want to push the injury, after all, but I'm pretty stoked right now. Could the worst be behind me??? Let's see what the podiatrist says tomorrow.

Stiff Upper Lip and All That

I'm trying. I'm really, really trying. I'm trying as hard as I can to not let this injury get me down, but...it's getting me down. I realized today that I've been avoiding the blog so I'm back with a little update.

I ran 3 miles last Monday and my heel felt great. Honestly, it felt as good as new. I was on cloud nine. So, I went out for 4 miles on Tuesday. What's that Julia Roberts says in Pretty Woman? "Big mistake. Big. Huge." Yeah, I was basically crippled again.

I took Wednesday as a rest day and hit the bike on Thursday. My heel was doing a little talking the last part of the week but I wasn't limping. I talked to Coach Crazylegs and he said to try 7 miles today. I made it 3. (In all fairness, I cut it short after the other members of the running club had a little freak out over the fact I was running at all.) Now my heel hurts. Still? Again? I don't even know. It's a blur.

I made an appointment with my podiatrist for this coming Wednesday.

My marathon is in 8 weeks.

Paying the Piper

I knew I was in trouble this morning when my first words to my husband, as I lay wallowing in bed, were "I'm spiraling into the abyss." (Heck, you should know by now I have a flare for the dramatic.) I indulged a few more minutes, picturing my running group on their 20-miler, before I pulled myself up by the bootstraps and headed out to my new sweaty, nasty, funky (not the good kind of "funky") gym trying to maintain as much cardio as possible.

Not being a bike person, I managed to endure half an hour of burning thighs before I got bored of pedaling and staring at the jiggling buttocks on the dreadmillers in front of me. I moved on to the elliptical, and my heel hurt for the first minute or so but seemed to adapt pretty quickly. After forcing myself to finish the 32 minutes I initially signed up for, I found myself returning to the bike. I couldn't help but think about all my friends out there running 20 miles and I think I started punishing my body for getting injured. Isn't that sweet? I managed another 30 minutes on the bike--hill routine this time--then moved on to abs and free weights.

Pretty good workout, I admit, but I still keep thinking how much better those 20 miles would have been.

:(

After consultation with Coach Crazylegs, tomorrow's 20 miler has been cancelled. In fact, all running this weekend has been cancelled.

On the bright side, this turn of events gave me a good excuse to renew my gym membership. Now I get to nurture my burgeoning relationship with the stationery bike.

I'm Kind of a Big Deal Around Here

For your viewing pleasure, I submit further evidence of my total and abject running dorkdom. I will be sporting this for the next several nights. Hot, no? I plan on wearing it the next two nights of until I can actually bear weight on my heel or tolerate a stiff breeze blowing past it. Oh yeah, there's tons of breezage in my heel region. Yours too, right?

Now, for the totally geeky cool part. My daddy-o, saint that he is, went to the local running store to pick up that hot messiness for me. When he mentioned he was buying it for his daughter, the salesclerk said "Oh, you must mean Runner Girl ." (Except, of course, she used my real name.) I s'pose I should share that Coach Crazylegs, who seems to know every darn tootin' person in the local running community, had called her and spoken to her about my condition. Still, if only for a few fleeting moments, I actually felt almost famous! As Sally Fields sort of said: They know me! They really know me! Now, if only I could be known for some act of great selflessness or human achievement rather than a running injury. Still, I'll take what I can get.

And, yes, I'm still planning on a 20-miler in less than forty-eight hours. I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.

Sidelined.

Well, crap monkeys. It looks like I have plantar fasciitis. The fact I haven't been able to put any weight on my heel since Saturday night without it resulting in stabbing, shooting pain was my first indication. When I tried to work it out last night during a five-mile run and came back in even more pain, I got the second indication that something really isn't right. I talked to Coach Crazylegs today and he actually told me not to run for the rest of the week! The same man who demands you run through ungodly cold temperatures, pouring down rain, white-out snow conditions, nausea, and mild diarrhea told me to rest for FOUR days! Oh, the humanity!! I was taking the whole thing pretty well, stiff upper lip and all that, until he had to go and get all dramatic like that. Now I'm in major freak out mode. To make matters worse, he told me to ride a stationery bike a few times so I don't lose cardio conditioning for Saturday's 20-miler. That's right, I'm looking at 20 miles this weekend. And I don't have a gym membership. I gave that up when running took over my life. Fortunately I'm able to glom on to the guest access at my parents' gym and hit the bike, but I'll only be able to do it once this week.

Somebody tell me this is no big deal. Please!

Holy crap...

do my legs hurt! I mean, super ouch. Wowza. I've already popped three ibuprofen; I could have maxed out at four but I wanted to leave a glimmer of more potential pain relief on the horizon. Seriously, my legs hurt like they haven't hurt since I got roped into some sadistic BodyPump class that consisted of nothing but squats for an hour. I ran 15 miles with the group today and that distance itself shouldn't cause pain--but, those hills. Lawd, those hills!! Coach Crazylegs is a sick f#$k for creating the course he did today. And I can't help but think, if it hurts this much now, what will tomorrow be like? Y'all know the second day is always worse. Thankfully the weather here was warm enough today to warrant an official "Margarita Madness" night at the Runner Girl household. These legs should be feeling pretty good, and wobbly, realllll soon.

Coach Crazylegs Was Right

Blast him. He proclaimed that I must always attend the obscenely timed 5:30 a.m. track workouts because I would never push myself as hard on my treadmill. Yeah right, I thought, he just doesn't know my masochistic tendencies yet. The theory was put to the test this week when five inches of snow caused track cancellation. Like a good little dedicated runner, I turned to my hamster wheel for some speed intervals. And ya know what? (You see it coming, I know you do.) I didn't run as fast as I do at track. I hate to be wrong, especially when it's combined with a weak performance on my part, but when I found myself singing along to Britney I knew I wasn't running fast enough. Yet I didn't increase my speed. It continues to boggle my mind that I can be both a marathon runner and lazy at the same time. How is that possible??

Oooh, better log the rest of my dreadmill miles for the week. Thank god they're over. Have I mentioned how much I dislike that thing?

Tuesday: 5.25 miles

Wednesday: 6 miles

I Need Some Wine with my Cheese

With the Blizzard of '09's five inches keeping us housebound today, I found myself heading for the basement dreadmill to log a few minutes of sanity. Not being a true devoted fan of said dreadmill, I am constantly looking for new forms of entertainment to help ease those miles. Today, the burden fell on my dear beloved iPod shuffle. I started by finishing the FreshAir podcast, because I'm edgy like that, from last Thursday's run, but then I decided I needed some tunes to bring it home. That's how I ended up listening to Coldplay's Viva La Vida and imagining myself ruling "the world" of the marathon course in Cleveland. The next thing I knew, I was waving at imaginary spectators, giving my dad a thumbs up while he snapped photos, and tearing up as I neared the finish line. Unfortunately, the finish line was imaginary, but the tears weren't. God I'm a dork.

Today's miles: 5 (yeah, I figure I better start posting them again--it'll keep me honest)

Only the Lonely...

Who knew the middle of the pack could be such a lonely place?? At the encouragement of Coach Crazylegs, I've been pushing the pace of my long runs a bit. To fully grasp the pain-inducing effect of this endeavor, I should probably be honest and admit that my old Running Partner and I used to run at about a 10:15 pace. Sometimes we even hit 10:30. Amazing, eh? We were blurry streaks, I tell ya. Now, before you get all high and mighty with your speedy selves and look down on our turtle-ish pace, it's only fair to recognize that we chose this pace so we could talk freely and easily about the minutia of our daily lives. That was the main purpose of the outings at the time; the running was secondary.

Fast forward to two weeks ago when I tried to follow a friendly looking subgroup from my larger running group. We clocked in 12 hilly miles at around 9:00/mile. I thought I was going to die.

I took it a little easier last week--and Coach Crazylegs noticed. He was not pleased. You don't want to upset Coach Crazylegs, there's punishment in that.

Sooo, this week I tried to take it up a little notch. I managed 17 miles at 9:22/mile. Granted, some of you speedsters might still look down on that, but you're just being snobby if you do. I was proud of my pace.

Here's the problem: Out of the 20+ runners that ran today, not.a.single.one ran a similar pace. They all seemed to be going sub 9:00 or over 10:00. What's up with that? I joined a running group so I could run with people. If the people are too fast or slow, what's the purpose? At one point I stopped and waited for the back of the packers because I was, well, ahem, lost. And the friendly man (he said "good morning") holding a knife made me think I wasn't in the best area to go wandering.

Ah well, 17 miles are done. And Runner Boy and I are ditching the runlets so we can go to a concert tonight! Woot!

Runner Boy surfing the crowd around 11 p.m. tonight.

Oink, Oink

I'm a pig. Darn Subway and their $5 foot longs! I fully intended to save half for dinner but something ugly and gluttonous happened whilst my coworkers were daintily nibbling their grub. Seriously folks. I devoured that entire thing AND a bag of chips in TEN MINUTES. Can I call that carb loading for tomorrow's 17 miler?

My Cheatin' Heart

Gah. I hate to admit it, but I've been thinking about cheating. On my mileage that is. You see, I can pinpoint the problem. The problem is I have no frickin' official training schedule for this godforsaken marathon that's only ten (?) weeks away. Who doesn't even know how far away their marathon is?!?! For chrissake, I'm a hot mess this time around.

I've got Coach Crazylegs in one corner yelling "Run, run, run! A billion miles a week! Faster, longer, harder!" He's insane. Then I have Hal Higdon in the other corner saying "Take it easy. It's time on your feet, not effort that counts. Have fun. Be gentle with yourself." (That's a paraphrase obviously. Don't sue me, Hal.)

So where does that leave me? I try to find my own happy medium but this chick doesn't work well with some abstract happy medium. I need numbers. I need a spreadsheet. I need a training program that says what to run on what day.

I'm thinking I need to make up my own schedule, but I'm having trouble trusting myself with that endeavor. I'm committed to Coach Crazylegs for Wednesday track, which is about 5.5 miles, and Saturday long runs--which tend to be at least 4 miles longer than ol' Hal's suggestion on any given weekend, mind you. Should I just follow Hal for Tuesdays and Thursdays? What about when Hal's schedule gets up to 10 miles on Wednesday and I'm only doing 5.5 at track? Does that fact that I run so fast I puke in my mouth make up for the difference in distance?

Does everyone freak out this much??????

My New Obsession

Runner Boy gave me the best gift for Christmas: a running log. What did I ever do without it??? How did I not know that I needed one so badly??? I loooooove my running log. I use it to track the usuals: distance, time, and pace; and I’ve created my own little rating system for each run. (The rating system if VERY high tech and complicated; it involves a check, a check plus, and even a check minus! I know, I’m wild.) But my favorite part of the running log is that I use it to record the outdoor temp and the clothing I wore for each run. I’m obsessively religious about this part. I check the temp at the last possible second before heading out the door then I diligently come home and record every article of clothing on my body. Then I add a nice reflective sentence on the effectiveness of said clothing combination. There's gotta be a Pulitzer for that somewhere.

I have to admit it’s taken on a life of its own and made me totally obsessed. For instance, I know I’m running tomorrow morning so tonight I’ll check the predicted temp for tomorrow’s start time. (I'll wait to check until right before I go to bed because they might change the forecast a degree or two before then. Yup, that's how anal I am with this shizz.) Then, I’ll go to my log, find the entry for every run that has been within five degrees of that temp, and read my sweet, pensive postrun sentences. Next, I’ll pause for a few moments, pondering the data I’ve collected, and thinking about the outfit for the next run. Finally, I’ll decide the clothes I want to wear and lay them out for the morning.

Hmm...is this an appropriate time to mention I sleep in my sports bra every night before a morning run?? I've convinced myself it saves many minutes of valuable sleep time. Is that too much information?

The Dark Ages

That’s how I think of my midweek runs right now. The fact that I have to leave for work at 7:15 a.m. is beginning to create some very dark start times for my runs. Poo. I don’t like it. Not one bit. Today my neighbor was gracious enough to run with me, but she hadn’t thought about how dark it would be at 5:40 in the morning. The poor girl showed up in black tights and a black sweatshirt—no reflective strips whatsoever. Fortunately for her I was sporting my god-awful, please don’t let anyone I know see me in this, reflective vest. Thankfully the few cars on the road avoided us. Oh yeah, and lest I forget, it was eighteen frickin’ degrees outside with a single digit wind-chill. Lovely. When’s spring??

A Girl's Gotta Do What A Girl's Gotta Do

And this girl had to take the Brooks back. Sorry, Brooks, but homegirl just isn't down with running pain. Our love affair was intense and brief and we're both better for the parting.

Now I have a bright white pair of Asics waiting for their inaugural run--perhaps tomorrow? I should be recovered from today's 15 miles by then, right? (When did 15 miles become hardly worth mentioning???)

Head Games

I got a new pair of shoes last Saturday. Big woop, I know, but these are really new shoes. As in “NEW BRAND” new. I made the switch from Asics to Brooks. Asics have been my go-to shoe of choice for many rounds now, but I just didn’t like their most recent incarnation. So you take an annoyed-with-her-brand runner, a clearance sale at the local running store, and you have the perfect storm for drastic change. Was it the 50% discount that swayed me? The pretty green color of the Brooks? The lack of better options? Who knows. But I committed to the Brooks Ghost and have been obsessing over the decision ever since.

I’ve been wanting new shoes ever since I first donned my latest pair of Asics last fall. They just weren’t comfy. Not to mention, my ankle felt a bit twingy in them. Mr. “I’m Angry So I’m Going To Get Tedonitis and Knock You Out for Six Weeks” Ankle is very sensitive. I held off on buying new shoes, endured the Asics, because I didn’t want to waste money. However, after logging over 400 miles in them, I felt justified in dropping cash on new shoes. Four hundred miles is a lot of time to deal with shoes you don’t like. You can imagine how excited I was to replace them. It’s then not a far leap to imagine how disappointed I was when I ran in the Brooks for the first time and had to stop because my ankle hurt. {sigh}

I iced my ankle; it felt better. I ran track; it hurt. I ran this morning; it hurt. BUT, my junk in the trunk hurt too. As did my hamstrings. And my calves. Heck, even my toes felt a little weird. Is this a trickle up effect where a change in the shoe impacts the entire leg and it’s just a matter of adapting to the change? Or, are these new shoes the spawn of Satan??? How am I supposed to know? (This stuff actually keeps me up at night. My poor tormented little brain.)

Pyramid of Death

Now I know some people think I have a tendency to hyperbolize, but I really don’t know how else to label this morning’s track workout. What’s that, you say? Track? Oh yeah, that’s one of the new aspects of running I’ve taken on since the last mary. Wednesday track workouts at 5:30 a.m. Yes, I am insane. Fortunately there are about fifteen other similarly afflicted folks who show up each week. Not to mention our fearless leader, Coach Crazylegs. Coach Crazylegs loves to force, I mean give the opportunity to, hapless victims to lead certain sections of the workout. Coach Crazylegs seems to have latched on to me as his 800 victim. I’ve learned that when he says we’re doing an 800, yours truly will be the rabbit. Ugh. I literally almost vomited in my mouth last week as I was running. Did I mention that of the fifteen or so gluttons for punishment, at least half have qualified for and run Boston ? Yeah, that’s great. Try to rabbit them. Not pretty. Today I actually improved last week’s time by 4 seconds but the recovery was much worse. And that wind-sucking interval fell in the first half of the deadly pyramid: 400, 600, 800, 1200, 800, 600, 400. You don’t even want to know what that 1200 looked like. Gross.

Aaahhh, but it’s done. Therein lies the appeal of track. Kill yourself for an hour, question your motives, your desire, your endurance, your humanity, then go home, shower, and be grateful the workout is done for the day.

And Awaaaaay We Go...

Crap. I'm doing it again. Yup, that's right--I've officially signed up for another full marathon. Cleveland, 5/17/09. And no, that wasn't a typo. It's in May. A mere 12 or so weeks from today. RG better get her run on! (No worries for reals, I've joined a local running group, have logged 167 miles so far in '09, finally have some decent cold weather gear, yada, yada, yada--yeah, basically we have lots to catch up on.)

So. I'll try to post here as much as I can. I'm still doing the Frederick Half in May (uh-huh, THAT May, the marathon May) and the Cherry Blossom 10-Miler in April.

Let the fun begin!