I should be dead.

I aged up last Saturday. That's not why I should be dead though. The reason I mention the aging up is that the birthday brought with it a brand-spanking-new Garmin 405 with heart rate monitor. I've only recently become interested in the whole heart rate thing. In fact, until last Saturday I didn't know didley squat about it. Since then I've found out about the "220 minus your age" equation and target heart rate zones and aerobic vs. anaerobic exercise and resting heart rate and yadda yadda yadda enough to bore most people to tears.

Here's why I should be dead: I went for a run yesterday with my trusty new heart rate monitor. The run was hot, humid, and hilly. My pace was slow, as it has been for months now (don't even get me started on that rant). When I came home and uploaded the data from my watch to the GarminConnect website, it showed my maximum heart rate was higher than the actual maximum heart rate calculated by that 220 bit mentioned above. Did you get that? My heart rate while running reached a value HIGHER than my maximum heart rate! Uh, is it me, or is that totally whack?!?

Apparently I'm now either a zombie or a pathetically out of shape blob who has no business doing cardio and should take up a daytime television/tub of ice cream addiction because each run holds the potential for a massive coronary.

Great.

Swoosh!

I love Nike. I mean, I reallllly love Nike. In fact, I just might be a Nike whore. Few things get me as jazzed as finding new Nike running gear. There's just something about the fit, the fabric, the style...I really love Nike. I recently got these and they promptly moved to the top of my list of favorite running gear. This is more momentous than you realize because, see, I've eschewed running shorts in favor of running skirts for a good two years now. I guess I thought I was hiding extra jiggle with the skirt. Or that I could pretend I just happened to go for a run when I was coincidently dressed cute. Or maybe I was overcompensating with femininity after marathon training stole my boobs. Whatever. Anyway, when this crazy, insane heat wave came, it made me want to wear as little as possible while out there trailing through the asphalt jungle. Skirts have an extra layer that I just don't need when we're looking at code red temps for the fourth consecutive day. So I got some shorts. Know what? The shorts are definitely cooler--in more ways than one, if you ask me. Hmmm, I guess I'm a convert.

Hope everyone is staying cool!

Stella in her doggie dreams.

A Running Resentment

This is Stella. Yup, she's cute, playful, precious, snuggly, and full of puppy goodness. She also wakes up before 6 a.m. every day. A few weeks ago, when I was relishing the summer opportunity to sleep in as only a teacher can, that early wake up would have bothered me. Since then, however, I've made a renewed commitment to log my runs in the early a.m. and Stella now serves as the world's cutest alarm clock to make sure I get out the door at a decent time.

Except on the days that it's my husband's turn to run.

See, we've made a new agreement. He runs Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings, and I run Tuesday and Thursday. (We flip-flop from week to week so it's fair.) Yesterday was the first day in way too long that the temperature was in the 60's at 6 a.m. Not to mention there was no humidity. I woke up, with windows wide open, breathed in the cool autumn-like breeze and felt a surge of excitement to don my running shoes. Then I remembered it wasn't "my day" to run. Grrrrrr. I probably could have handled it better if my husband was really into running and had logged as many miles as I have in the soul-sapping heat. But he hasn't. In fact, he was supposed to run that 10-mile race with me two weeks ago and bailed at the last minute because he never actually trained for it. Yet there he was, running the open road, in the best running weather we've had in months. I was pissed!

When he got back, I expressed my resentment by banging cabinet doors, huffing in response to his conversational attempts, and rolling my eyes as much as possible. When he asked what was wrong, I replied "Nothing!" I was staring at the gaping abyss of a ruined day when it dawned on me that his car was still in the shop, forcing him to leave later for work that day. I asked if he'd be around for another hour or so. The affirmative response was barely out of his mouth before I had my running clothes on and was out the door.

I felt the tension start to fade immediately. I was smiling by the first quarter mile and on cloud nine by the time I came home.

Ruined day? Saved. Marriage? Still good.

"Yeah."

This past Sunday, some of our neighbors organized a kindergarten mixer for all the kids starting kindergarten in the fall. It was a great opportunity for my middle runlet to meet some new friends and for Runner Boy and I to mingle with their parents. When I was talking to one of the moms, she asked where we live. I told her the street name and she asked me to describe my house. She said the street is on most of her running routes (!) and she probably has passed our place many times. Of course I jumped on the running topic immediately.

Me: So you're a runner?!?

Her: Not really. I'm trying to become one though. I trained for a half marathon while my husband was training for a full marathon last fall.

Me (to her husband): What marathon did you run?

Him: Memphis.

Me: Ooh, that sounds flat. Was it?

Him: Yup, it was pretty flat. So you must be a runner?

Me: Yeah.

Yadda, yadda, yadda from there. But, and this is huge, I had just nonchalantly confirmed that I'm a runner! When I first started this blog almost two years ago, I remember feeling like a poser and hoping that one day I could actually consider myself a "real" runner. I guess all those miles in between have changed me more than I realize. Yeah, I AM a runner.

Back in the saddle...

Woah--I've just spent some time catching up with all the ol' running blogs I used to read. It's a new world out there! I guess I have to figure out the whole giveaway thing. That seems like the "it" trend.

A quick update for anyone interested: Cleveland screwed up my foot bad enough that I ended up taking eight loooong months off from running. The upside is that I discovered I actually like weightlifting. And my gym membership got more action in those months than it did in the past eight years.

I got the official green light to start running again this past January. Like any good runner, I promptly signed up for a race as soon as I got home from the podiatrist's office. I figured a little 10-miler would be doable and I had six months to train. Long story short...I ran the 10 miler last weekend and a 5k yesterday.

There are still lingering foot issues that the good doc and I are working diligently to resolve, but boy does it feel good to be back!

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.