MCM 2013: The post-mortem!

I’ve always thought that using the term “post-mortem” with a reflection of an event is kind of odd, since in the literal sense I am very much still alive (woohoo!) and the event isn’t strictly a living thing in and of itself. But it kind of makes sense, I guess, if you think of it in terms of having enough perspective on the event to be able to objectively analyze it. That, and the event is now history, something to be remembered rather than anticipated.

So, this may not be the most interesting post to people who aren’t me, but maybe you’ll find something of use in it if you happen to be reading. Also, I put pictures at the end, so if you get bored, you can scroll down to those for a good laugh.

For my recovery this time, I took five whole days off of running and any other physical activity that was not scaling stairs or shuffling after a bus I was about to miss. On days one and two, I felt sure that this was a good decision. On day three, I still felt that it was a good decision, but I could feel the soreness in my legs and joints going away for good, and I started to get that itch again. On day four, personal-life-things took an acute turn for the not-so-good and I was really regretting my stubborn decision to not go for a run even though I was very stressed out and craving like mad the endorphins from exercise. My legs were not sore, so I was itching quite badly to run, but I told myself “no”. Day five was 3x worse than day four, but I had a light at the end of the tunnel: on day four I’d set up a day-six morning run with the friend I’m pacing through her first half, so I knew I’d be getting out and chasing endorphins by the next morning. One of these years I’m going to make it a full seven days between “marathon” and “run again”, but this is not that year.

The run itself was a warm and cloudy 9.5-mile jaunt in about 1:40, which is about right for my long runs, so at least it looks like friend and I have about the same pace, which is good. I think she started out too fast, though, since by the end she had slowed down a lot and was not feeling happy. I’m trying to think of ways I can subtly steer her towards a slower start that don’t involve taking off from the start line at a half-jog, so if anyone has any suggestions (and no, loading her pockets with rocks is not going to work) I’m all ears. My own legs hurt a little by the end, but it felt fantastic to run again, both for the sheer motion and the endorphins. I’d told myself to stick to 8-9 miles, and accidentally overshot to 9.5, but I felt like I could have gone for at least another three or four.

On Sunday, I’d planned to run an easy-easy recovery 5 miles, but then I realized that I had not slept in and failed to run and been lazy and given Saint the pleasure of my company on a Sunday morning since… um… early June. Fuck that, I said, and rolled right back over and ignored the alarm. I have no regrets. 🙂

I was back at the gym this morning for some cross-training, and tomorrow I’ll ease back into the running-weights-Tuesday-Thursday and running-Wednesday and rest-Friday routine. Saturday morning I’ll go for an early, easy 11.5, and then Sunday I’ll aim for an easy-recovery 4.5ish.

Okay then! With that out of the way, commence the 2013 MCM post-mortem, which I have labeled “NOTES TO SELF”.

– I had zero, none, zip, zilch! stomach issues throughout the race at all; not even any feeling of having to poo, which was odd (but very much welcome!). This could have been due to a lack of water consumption on my part, but I did eat my usual pre-race cereal and finish it 2 hours before the race began (instead of finishing 45 minutes to an hour before running), so maybe my stomach had time to process it properly? One hour before the race began I ate a snacky bar, and all was well. I also sipped on water before the start, which turned out to be ok, so it’s good to know I can do those things again if I need to.

– Being on my feet as much as I was the day before the race (waiting in line at the packet pickup/expo for an hour and change, spending a lot of time walking to and from Metro stations and my hotel and places nearby) might MAYBE have fatigued my legs somewhat. My next marathon takes place the day after the local 10-miler WHICH I SWEAR I WILL RUN ONE OF THESE YEARS DAMMIT, so I plan to volunteer at the race for the second year in a row. However, I know now to look into volunteer opportunities that involve a lot of sitting down. 😛 I was at a water stop last year, but that was a good 3-4 hours on my feet, so that’s a no-go, which sucks since it’s a lot of fun.

– 3/1 long runs (run the first 3/4 slow and gradually speed up over the last 1/4 of the distance) should probably be written down on my training calendar so that I actually adhere to them at 3-week intervals. I think I started doing them early on in my training, and then by week 9 or 10 they sort of fell by the wayside, That may have contributed to my lack of strong finish.

– Running by feel is a good thing. I may honestly never wear a watch when I run ever again. I’m used to it now, so I can’t imagine going back. (Yes, this means you have to return the Garmin you got me for Christmas. Awww!)

– So far, day 3 after the marathon was the one on which I was the least sore, but having said that, future self: TAKE TIME TO STRETCH RIGHT AFTER THE RACE IS OVER, DAMMIT. Getting good sleep (at least 7 hours/night) and eating well (lots of extra protein) also worked well for me.

– Day 4 was when I got the itch to run again. I am telling my future self to ignore it. Wait until day 6. I REPEAT: WAIT UNTIL DAY 6.

– IMPORTANT: Try a two-week taper next time. Three might have been a BIT much. Maybe do a 22-miler 2 weeks out, and go from there?

– Not lifting weights the week before the race was a good idea. Do that again next time.

– It’s still okay to drink a beer or two the day/night before the race, but maybe no more than two. The beer lunch was a lot of fun, but it might not have been exactly the best idea.

Okay then! Post-mortem done. Pictures you want, pictures you get.

Because I am too cheap to buy anything from MarathonFoto before they reduce the prices heavily, here’s a link to the page that has my pictures:

http://www.marathonfoto.com/Marathon/Marine-Corps-Marathon-2013/LastName/THOMPSON/BibNumber/25907/offering/myMarathonfotos/RaceOID/13692013F1/Language/en?utm_source=SilverpopMailing&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=6%20More%20Photos%20ID%20ENG-SPA%20%285%29

Last but not least, here are the pictures Saint took, in chronological order!

I somehow COMPLETELY missed this guy’s sign, which makes me sad because that’s a reference to one of my favorite movies (“Better Off Dead”, if you’ve never seen it BUT YOU SHOULD):

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I saw a sign similar to this one at mile 7, and I had to actively avoid focusing on it as I passed it in case my bowels understood what was going on:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Saint found this guy’s outfit amusing. Also that he stopped to stretch in that spot:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hey look, it’s me! Right around the mile 17 marker, and feeling great for it being that late in the race. You can see my grandfather’s pin on my left side (though it’s on the right, here):

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Around the corner, this is me making my confused “why are you running after me to take pictures?” face (the scaffolding on the Washington Monument behind me is coming down this week, btw):

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Finally, one last shot before we parted ways to meet at the finish:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That one would have come out pretty well if not for that silly sign blocking half of my torso. 😛

That’s that, then! Happy Monday to you. 🙂

 

 

YAY more health and marathon stuff. (But: I think I figured out the weirdness!)

Health stuff first. If this makes you squicky, skip ahead to the Marathon stuff below. (this is when I miss Livejournal and its cut-tags!)

Right. so: at last post in, um, June I was on inhalers after an “all-clear” signal from the cardiologist. I gave them two weeks, and they didn’t seem to be helping; I had a couple of panic attacks that they definitely didn’t help, so I called my PCP I guess about two weeks ago from this Wednesday (July 10, if you’re counting) and said “hey, these aren’t doing anything, so what next?” He steered me towards a pulmonary specialist to make sure it wasn’t a lung issue, and then he said “at the same time, you may want to consult psychological services (called CAPS here at school) to see if they can’t refer to you someone to help you manage the physical symptoms that I think are pointing towards panic disorder”. So, I did those two things; the pulmonary folks got me in for July 15, and CAPS – well, CAPS works a little differently because they do a screening phone call to help figure out where they should best send you. I’ve had some not-so-great experiences with CAPS in the past, both for me and with other people (as in, hearing about their experiences), so I was not entirely looking forward to the process. But, at the same time, these panic attacks had been starting to interfere with my daily activities – and especially running! – in a way that made me say “okay, it’s time to do something about this already because I cannot handle this on my own anymore”.

CAPS dude called me on July 11, and instantly he was fantastic. He asked good questions, and seemed genuinely interested in my situation, and at one point actually said to me “I am going to follow up with you – and I want you to follow up with me – every week, because I’m going to be with you until we get a solution to this problem”. This was huge, because no one at CAPS has ever said anything like that to me, and it was such a relief to know that – even though my issues aren’t life-threatening or even really that big of a thing – this guy had my back. He gave me one referral, and I called her and set up an appointment with her for last Thursday (July 18, again, if you’re counting).

Fast-forward to July 15. I went to the pulmonary folks, and we did a bunch of tests to see if I had asthma, all of which I passed – as in, no asthma, completely clear lungs, no clots or fluid or weirdness or anything. The doctor did suggest that it could be vocal cord dysfunction, in which the cords don’t fold or unfold properly during inhalation or exhalation and can cause blockage of the airflow into the trachea and lungs. Since I’ve been having trouble inhaling, she thought it would be more this than asthma, especially since I came out of the tests asthma-clear, and the inhalers didn’t do anything (they’re more for lungs than throat). But, we left it at that, and I told her I was going to pursue other possible leads in my quest to figure this all out.

Before my July 18 appointment with the licensed professional counselor (LPC), I – somewhat at Saint’s insistence – returned to the idea that all of this could very well have been caused by the birth-control switch. I had an IUD put in at the beginning of May, before our trip to London; specifically, it was the Mirena IUD, which had a long list of side effects and, I noted while reading and asking around for others’ experiences, was one of the most hotly divided between “love it/hate it” among those who’ve had it put in. The first couple of days after the insertion, I felt meh, but not awful, and within a week or two I felt more normal. Then London, then the weirdness. Saint kept saying that the timing was just right – three weeks after insertion – for it to have been something about the IUD that was the root cause of all this. I didn’t discount that theory, but I wanted to rule out everything else first. Now that I’d done that, well, there I was.

One side effect that isn’t anywhere in the mound of literature that comes with a Mirena insertion is “panic attacks”. A quick Google search will lead you to an apparent army of women who never had a single panic attack in their lives who started having them after getting Mirena put in. You know that feeling when something so blatantly obvious finally goes click in your brain and you wonder why you didn’t realize it sooner? That was what it felt like, reading about all of these women who were completely derailed by this device. Another thing I didn’t realize about Mirena is that it is partly made of silicone; I’ve recently – as in the past month – had a very bad reaction to something else containing silicone, so I’m wondering if there isn’t some silicone allergy I never I knew I had that would be causing my weirdness. In any event, every instinct in my body was telling me “get this thing out of you“, so I decided to sleep on it and see if I still felt the same way the next day (which was July 18).

I did, so I went to see the LCP and told her immediately that I wanted to rule out the possibility of the IUD/silicone allergy being responsible for my panicky everythings, and she agreed, and we had a very nice hour together talking about ways for me to cope with weirdness for the time being. I told her that if it did turn out to not be the IUD or silicone allergy, that I’d prefer the mental coaching / cognitive therapy approach first, and then short-term medication second, if that didn’t work. I’m in no way saying that I attach a stigma to being on something like Xanax – which is what she said would be prescribed – and I can hear my sister saying “You voluntarily turned down Xanax? Are you nuts?!”, but because my other sister is a somewhat-functioning prescription drug addict, I’m quite leery of being on prescribed medication if it’s not absolutely necessary. (I get irritated enough at having to take 4 horse pills per day for my ulcerative colitis, and I won’t even take ibuprofen for a headache unless I can’t see straight. I may also be slightly overreacting to the idea of taking medicine, yes, but we’ll save that for another day.) I’ve even taken SSRIs before – Lexapro – with good results, and I know plenty of people for whom SSRIs and similar types of medicines have worked. I just want to emphasize that I don’t know if these medicines are right for me at the given moment, is all.

Anyway, LCP and I had a really lovely time together and I felt bad that we might possibly not see each other after the 18th – I told her I’d get back in touch with her at the beginning of August – and as soon as I left I called the folks who’d put in my IUD to talk about getting it taken out. Things escalated rather quickly, and I found myself with an appointment the next morning (this is Friday, the 19th)  to get it taken out after I told my doctor there what had been going on.

So, that happened, and just like that! it was out. I got a prescription to go back on the Pill, and went on my merry way. Now, I should explain here that the gynecologist I saw in January for my annual exam noted that the Pill and ulcerative colitis patients tend not to mix, because the danger of blood clots caused by the pill is elevated with UC. But, my UC has been pretty darn well held in check for a while, and I’m – at my GI doctor’s word – a rather low-risk patient at the moment, and managing well. I also never had a single panic attack when on the pill, and never had any other issues with it. It was working fine for me, so why not go back on it? I talked to both the doctor who put in and removed the IUD and the gynecologist about this – specifically, whether or not I should try a copper IUD (no hormones, just a copper device) or an implant, or just go back on the Pill – and we collectively agreed that the Pill was still the best option. I’m a bit gunshy about getting another IUD put in me, and the implant is something I’m still considering – though, my thinking is that if I’m going to get a form of birth control that lasts 10 years, why not just get my tubes tied? (I’ve known I don’t want kids since I was 12. No, I am not ever going to change my mind. Yes, I have met The One, and he doesn’t want kids either. So, hush. :)) So, the Pill it is again, and we’re back where we started.

So, where am I now with the weirdness? I feel like I need to wait a few weeks to be sure that I can conclusively say that it was, in fact, the IUD that was the cause of all of this. I’m also going to try as best I can to eliminate the source of the silicone that may have also been the culprit. I also have the vocal cord dysfunction in the back of my mind, so I’m not entirely prepared to rule that out as a possibility either. In the short term, however, I can say that – and I hope it’s not the placebo effect – I feel rather better already. I’ve gone on two runs since Friday, and cross-trained at the gym today, and didn’t get the dizziness or numbness in my hands and feet at any point during or after exercise. I did have some shortness of breath, though a good deal of that can be attributed to a) going uphill b) the fact that I was doing a pace run on Saturday and AUGH I HATE THOSE because I always feel like I’m going to puke but that’s how I know I’m hitting my pace and c) the fact that we’re still dealing with dew points above 70F at 6am when I run in 75-degree weather, which makes it really hard to breathe normally. My heart rate has been much better about going down and – more importantly – staying down when I’m done running or working out, and it’s not racing when I wake up in the morning or am sitting still. So, I will keep my fingers crossed for the next couple of weeks, and be vigilant about monitoring symptoms and whatnot.

BTW, I feel like I should just print out a copy of all that and hand it to my dissertation advisor and say “This. THIS is why I haven’t gotten any work done in the last two weeks!” It’s been frustrating and time-consuming, for sure, but I feel like there’s a light at the end of the tunnel and I’ll soon be able to put it all behind me.

Okay, health stuff done! On to Marathon stuff.

So, yes: I’ve finished week 4 of training, and am on to week 5. I like this part of the plan because it’s when I start hitting 30-mile weeks and can justify an extra snack or beer or two or three in my diet 🙂 Plus, I really enjoy the double-digit long runs; not to say that 9 miles is nothing to shake a stick at, but it’s a mental thing – simply because it’s double digits, 10 or 11 miles feel so much cooler than  9 miles. When I do a 9-mile cutback long run two Sundays from yesterday – at the end of week 6 – that will be my last single-digit long run of training. After that, shit gets real. Woohoo!

This weekend I had a 6-mile pace run on Saturday and an 11-mile slooooow long run on Sunday. I’d done a 5-mile pace run last weekend in much cooler and less humid temperatures on a much flatter route (I was in Saint’s city), so I was a bit worried and irritated at the idea of doing a 6-mile pace run in warmer and much more humid temperatures and on a rather more hilly route in my own town. I even thought for a hot second about taking indoors to a treadmill, but then I remembered how much I absolutely hated every second of every pace run I ever did on a treadmill last year while training for my first marathon (plus, it’s too easy to bitch out and start slowing down on a treadmill). I also got mad at the humidity and decided that I was not going to let it take over my life like that. Armed with an abundance of caution – I was ready to take the necessary measures to slow down and cool off only if absolutely necessary – I set out early Saturday morning to get going.

Happily, it was overcast, so at least there wasn’t going to be any sun for my run. It was still grossly humid, so that by the time I was done I was completely covered in sweat (yes, even in those places). My time wasn’t as fast as I’d wanted – I was able to hit a 9:12/mile pace last weekend in the cool/flat run, and here I managed about a 10:10/mile pace – but, all things considered like hills and humidity, I was pleased. I was tired, sweaty, hot, but happy, and knew I’d set myself up well to have a nice slow long run the next day.

Sunday (hey, yesterday!) dawned with rather a lot more sun than Saturday, which I thought unfair because I had to run nearly twice as long and thus be outside for nearly twice as long. Happily, I accidentally mostly picked roads in the shade, and the first hour of my run was completely shaded because the sun hadn’t completely risen and I ran about 3 miles in a park down by a river 2 miles away. So, that was pretty awesome. I did hit some sun later, but it wasn’t too bad, and was never bearing down on me for more than .2/mile at a time. (No, I did not put on sunscreen or wear a visor. Why do you ask? :))

I did two things differently with this run than I normally would, and that was: 1) stop for water twice; 2) take 2 gels with me to consume. I’m at the point where I could probably slowly run a half-marathon without either water or food; I can do 9-10 miles without and still maintain a reasonable pace, but since it’s summer and I hemorrhage water and electrolytes like it’s my job, I decided to be smarter about replenishing stores during instead of afterwards. I also have an idea that I might need to take in more food-fuel during the actual marathon, because I’m not sure I ate enough last year. So, I’m going to start eating and drinking more on my long runs to get my body used to this idea. It worked like a charm on Sunday; I timed my consumption well, and I’d already been feeling pretty good prior to said consumptions. (Heh, that sounds like I had a really good experience with a medieval disease… not quite!) By the end, I was having to hold back a bit, because I was tempted to sprint the last half-mile home on my tired-but-feeling-gooood legs. I resisted, though I did accelerate somewhat ridiculously through the traffic light intersection closest to my house because I really just wanted to not have to wait to go the last 0.1 mile to get home. I actually laughed after that and thought, where the hell did that come from? And I was smiling like a good a couple of minutes later when I slowed down and ended my run. My average pace ended up being an embarrassingly slow 11:47/mile pace, but whatever – that’s what these long runs are for, to teach me to run long on tired legs. On fresh legs, that would have been at least 90 seconds faster; in less humid conditions, at least 2 minutes faster. So I like where I am now, but I know I have room for improvement, and plenty of time in which to get it done.

Long story short, MCM training is going well and I am pleased with my higher mileage and excited for the summer heat to eventually cool off and make things a bit less temperaturely-excruciating.

And hey! Bonus Food stuff.

I don’t have nearly as much to say here, but I had some absolutely amazing barbecue on Saturday from a local hole-in-the-wall that I am still thinking about and drooling over, and I also made some pretty awesome banana pudding (yes, the kind with Nilla wafers and whipped cream) on Saturday that I have tried very hard to not completely consume before today. I don’t think it’ll see Wednesday, but we’ll see. I swapped out Greek yogurt for the whipped cream and you can’t tell the difference, which is great, because it somewhat curbs my guilt at consuming all that sugar in one go.

Non-food stuff, but still fun.

I hiked to a swimming hole with some friends yesterday (sure, why not an easy 4-mile hike to jump-start the long run recovery?) and it was hot and humid and gross and then we got in the water which was deliciously cold and then it started clouding over and THEN we got torrentially thunderstormed upon as we were hurriedly packing up to leave. Normally I’d be irritated at getting completely soaked for a second time in one day (first time was after my run, yum!), but when you’re already swimming-hole wet, it just doesn’t matter. I did have to lay out my wallet, its contents, and my spare clothes to dry them out afterwards, but there was delicious beer and a hot shower afterwards so it was all good. A well-spent summer Sunday if ever I saw one, I say.

Thus ends the stuff! Carry on, friends, and be well.

 

A quick update on health stuff. Oh, and MCM training!

– because, you know, my many readers are wondering what happened at the cardiologist. I know, the wait was killing you! Here is your answer:

I got an echocardiogram (after having a normal EKG). It was *awesome* because I got to hear and see all of the ways my heart moves blood around and it was all sorts of colorful and squishy-sounding. A few pokes in the ribs, sure, but otherwise it was one of the neatest things I’ve ever had done to me in a doctor’s office. It turned out completely normal, save some very very minor regurgitation (I think that’s the word the cardiologist used) that isn’t supposed to be a Thing. So, I asked: what next? Off to see a primary care physician, to try a more general approach.

To sum quickly, what I’ve been dealing with is a month-plus of panicky feelings – near panic-attacks, but never having an actual one – plus difficulty breathing, dizziness, tingling in extremities, tightness in the chest, shortness of breath, pain in lower legs, thumping-heartbeat feelings, elevated heart rate, aaand I think that was it. Blood clots in legs and lungs were ruled out, heart issue was ruled out, anxiety is still on the table as a possibility (but why? I’m not anxious about anything, really; could be hormones from switching birth control…), but PCP said hey, maybe it’s something in your lungs, which sound clear but let’s try inhalers to see if we can’t open up your breathing passageways. (Going up a flight of stairs puts me very much out of breath, and I run 20ish miles a week. Laying in bed makes breathing difficult too, regardless of how I am positioned.)

So, that’s where we are now: albuterol before exercise and every 4-6 hours, and fluticasone every twelve hours. I’m learning quickly that albuterol – known for causing the jitters – is not combining well with caffeine, so I need to watch that combination. I feel like I’m slowly turning into my mother, who used inhalers for most of my childhood and may still do so, for all I know. 😛  We’ll see how this goes for about two weeks, and then re-assess as necessary.

Anyway, yeah. This week is/was week one of MCM training. 24 miles, 11 of which I’ve already done – 5 tomorrow, 8 on Sunday – and I’m feeling okay about this. I wasn’t so jazzed a couple of weeks ago, but I feel better now. My runs have gone slightly better since then, and I have a feeling this training will be harder than the training for my first one, not just because of the breathing issues but also because it’s a more advanced plan. That’s intentional, because I’ve realized that running more miles in training = faster time on race day, and I want to break *ahem* 4:30 in this race, and I think I can do it.

One week down (mostly), 17 to go…

And with that, I’m off to teach and then off to South Carolina for the weekend. Woo!

I went to London. I ran. I came back from London…

…and I’ve run, but I have a somewhat tenuous relationship with running right now because something weird is going on with my body. (This is nothing that anyone should freak out about, btw. But you know when something just isn’t right? That’s what this is.)

London was great. It was beyond great; it was all of the superlatives you can ever assign to a vacation, and I intend to write about it at great length eventually. Running in London was great, too, and when I got back I had some nice runs before things went weird. That was a little over two weeks ago; I’m seeing two doctors this week (one was pre-scheduled for a follow-up, but the other is a cardiologist), so I hope I can get to the bottom of whatever is going on, because I want things to not be weird. This morning was the first time in a while I’ve felt close to ‘normal’ during a run – like I always do – but I haven’t really had a run lately where I felt strong or good or good-tired during or afterwards. It’s all been blergh or bad or bad-tired or ‘my legs can’t hold me up any more’. I don’t know. I broke my daily running streak on June 1 – this was the one that had been going on since November 21 – and took off June 2 as well, and have run no more than 3 miles at a time since then. I could maybe go further, but I ran an 8-miler two weeks ago and felt like absolute crap.

I may just be exhausted or fatigued or overtrained. I don’t know. I’m supposed to start training for the Marine Corps Marathon at the end of this month, and I want to feel normal again by then, but I’m afraid I won’t, and that irritates me because I was just trying to build a base before training begins so I can run more miles during training and finish stronger and faster. I was running 30-35mile/week weeks without any issues; these first two weeks of June, I’ll be lucky to hit 16mile/week weeks.

Blergh. This sucks. I’m sure I’ll have more to write after I see the doctors, but for now, I’m just wondering what the hell is going on. Didn’t Tom Petty sing a song about the waiting being the hardest part…?

What, does my ass read the Internet or something? Also: 48 HOURS. WTF.

Okay, so hand to God, not twelve hours after my last post outlining in excruciating detail my medicine issues of the past week, everything I’d written about as being wrong (which I will not recap here, but you’re free to scroll down and read for yourself but maybe not if you’re eating anything right at this minute) suddenly went POOF. Vanished. Gone. Solved! What the hell? It’s like my rear end is suddenly part of some vast customer service conspiracy: Nothing positive gets done until you complain about it on the Internet.

So, yeah, I’m glad I held off on writing to my doctor, because (knock wood) I seem to be back to normal in the digestive area of things. This is good news, because OH HEY I have a marathon coming up in OH CRAP less than 48 hours. WHAT THE FUHHHHhhhhh.

I have to give a million thanks to my running/blogging pal Alyssa over at NJ Runner Girl (http://www.njrunnergirl.com/) for her shout-out to me – while you’re over at her page, show her home state some love (as your way of thanking her too for her support) and make a donation or two or four to some of the relief efforts still going on. There’s still a lot of work to be done there, and no donation is too small! (Might I suggest the texting donations through the Red Cross and the American Humane Society? Text REDCROSS to 90999 and HUMANE to 80888 to make a $10 donation, as many times as you want)

But, um. Yeah. I’m on day two of my two consecutive rest days this week, and today I’m starting to get that when-can-I-run-again? twitch. I can run again tomorrow morning, when I will do a two-mile blowout run, and then after that it’s time to wait. There are a ton of cliches about this period in a marathoner’s journey to the race: The hay is in the barn, the gas is in the tank, the beer is in the keg – wait, hang on… Point being, I’m ready for this, and have been really for about two weeks, but now I’m in that weird headspace where all I can do is just count down the hours until the gun goes off. AAAAHHHHHhhhhh. I expect things will get exponentially worse tomorrow evening when I pick up my race packet and have a bib with a number and my name on it and the words Richmond Marathon and suddenly it’s t-minus 12 hours and HOLY CRAP I’m getting tingly just thinking about it.

Okay. Enough taper craziness for today – no, for now. I can’t guarantee this won’t keep happening for the next, um, 47 hours and 22 minutes… not that I’m keeping track, ’cause I’m not.

AAAHHHHH! 🙂

In which I am annoyed. (Warning: poop talk ahead.)

But wait: yes, I am five (5) (V) days out from my first marathon and am entirely too cognizant of this. Yes, my last long run on Saturday proved to me that I am beyond ready to run this thing. Yes, it’s weird mapping out dinky (to me) 2- and 3-mile runs for this week. Yes, I am nuts for running in shorts in 35-degree weather this morning, but my legs are still forgetting that they’re really actually okay with this. Yes, I am sure that I am going to go insane – and drive all 5 of my readers insane – with the lack of running I will be doing this week. And yes, I am grateful that I have a lot of work to do this week to help keep the craziness a little at bay. I’ll probably address all of that later on in the week, but for now, you get a post-Halloween treat!

Yup, this is one of those NSFW posts I keep promising you, so if reading about other people’s rear ends and their troubles makes you squirm, get out now.

Okay, so if you keep reading you can’t complain about gross things any more.

Really.

Okay! So I know that in the grand scheme of Things That Are Bad in People’s Lives, this currently is astronomically low compared to what People Who Are Not Me are going through. But that doesn’t mean I’m still not irked by it. I’m irked enough to broadcast it on the Internet, if that tells you anything. My apologies if you stumble on this during your dinnertime; I think I put this off for most of the day because subconsciously I knew that fewer people would be reading at this time of day, at least on the East Coast of the U.S. where I am and where I think most of my readers are. But then I think: we have an Election tomorrow, so more people might be Internetting? I don’t know. Anyway, if you’re in the U.S. and you just read that, GO VOTE TOMORROW MORNING. Or I’ll poop on you.

Ahem. Anyway, I went to my butt doctor last week, as alluded to in my last post, and she gave me a different medicine to try, as I also alluded to in my last post. In case you don’t hang on my every word (tsk), I was nervous about switching to this medicine because it’s the oral version of the first butt medicine I started taking after my UC diagnosis last December. I don’t know why I stuck with those suppositories for so long, because they ended up being awful: my anus itched constantly, and only ever stopped when I cleaned it out with soap and water, so basically, it stopped itching once a day, for the merciful period in which I was showering. As soon as the next poop came, boom! Back came the itch. And I was pooping pretty much every time I used the toilet, and it was no longer the round, solid, dark toilet bombs I was used to flinging into the bowl. No no, this was much less formed and almost… orange, like I’d eaten nothing but carrots for weeks. Because it was soft and less formed, it started requiring much more TP usage to get myself clean, and even then I’d never feel like I got everything, which led to digging around, which over enough time led to irritation to the point of inflammation, and then an hour later I’d fart and think hmmm, was that a fart or a poop? and often have no way to immediately get to a bathroom to find out. And then I’d start thinking I’d just crapped myself, and with no way to fix it would just have to walk around smelling like poop for a while, the thought of which was superbly embarrassing, because sometimes I’d be doing things like teaching or meeting with students or driving people to work. Oh, and the gas? Mortifying. Silent farts became impossible. The constant stream of soft, orangey, stinky, reluctant-to-leave poo was frustrating as all hell, and within a month or six or maybe even ten or twelve weeks, I called my doctor and said, “We have to try something else because my ass is dying”.

So, she put me on a cortisone butt foam, which is a steroid and intended for short-term use. I’m not sure how short short-term really is, but the medicine she’d first had me on *is* intended to be for long-term use, so the hope was that I could try the steroids for a bit and then try the oral – pill – version of the original suppository. Within three days, the butt foam was working miracles. The first thing to go was the itching anus, and everything else followed suit within a couple of weeks. Christmas! I could fart and be confident that it was, indeed, made of air and air alone. I’ll spare you other details, but suffice it to say that it was a huge improvement.

Alas, all good things must come to an end, so I was very, very gradually – over the course of seven, eight, nine months? – tapered off the butt steroids with an eye towards getting me on oral medication. That day finally came last week – Thursday to be precise, the day after my appointment with my butt doctor – and she told me I could keep the foam for maintenance purposes, and use it “as needed”, in her words; to my understanding, only if symptoms get so unbearable that I need a temporary solution until I can get in touch with her. I asked her if it was really such a good idea to be switching medicines so close to my marathon – runners have a long, storied, and not always pleasant relationship with poop, which both of us openly discussed – and she said I would be fine. I believed her, and on Thursday morning started the medicine.

Well.

Here it is, Monday evening, and I have to actively resist the urge to spend the rest of the evening sitting in my bathroom scratching my ass. It itches so damn much. Everything that happened with the suppositories is happening again, and I’m pissed about it. (there’s a joke there somewhere…) Now that I’ve compared the dosages, the four I take every morning are giving me four times as much drug as the one suppository I was taking last year. They’re extended-release, which I guess is maybe why I continuously poop soft and orange all day, and why the gas and the uh-oh-what-are-these-really farts keep going, and why the itching will. Not. Stop., except when I’m just out of the shower. Thankfully, the two runs I’ve had since I started taking the pills – on Saturday, and this morning – have passed without incident, but when I am in the middle of running 26.2 miles I want to be thinking about anything other than wow, my ass itches SO MUCH right now, can someone please kill me? Okay, that’s a bit dramatic, but this is *exactly* why I was hesitant to start taking a medicine this week that has proven troublesome to me in the past. Maybe my doctor thought the pill form would be less awful? I don’t know.

So I’m torn between sending her a message saying “guess what, my old friend Anal Itching is back again with a vengeance, and he brought ALL OF HIS FRIENDS to the party”, and waiting a couple of days to see if things even out, so that I’ll have been on the medicine a week before saying anything. Maybe this just needs time to iron out the kinks? But I thought that last time, too, and suffered for no reason for like three months. There have to be other oral medicines out there I can use, right? But also, man, I spent 130 fucking dollars on this bottle of pills, and I still have sitting in my closet the mostly-full box of un-used suppositories from last year that I kept “just in case” the butt foam didn’t work, and I spent a pretty penny on those, too, and I would be doubly pissed if I end up having to just throw the pills – and all of that money – away and spend another $130 to try something else (my insurance has a really nice $100 deductible whenever you start a new medicine, and when you renew your insurance every year. It’s shitty, yeah, but what can you do? If I don’t have insurance, I get kicked out of school – it’s required for all students here!).

Errrrrgh. Arrrrrgh. Insert pirate noise here – it just sucks, and it’s frustrating, and it’s not a distraction I need this week. Or next week, really, when I start taking my major graduate exams that sort of determine whether or not I get a PhD (but no big deal, right?). ARRRRRRGH.

Okay, I feel better now, at least in my brain. My ass… well, that’s a different story.

Sorry. But you were warned. 🙂

Probably my shortest post ever!

Not much to do with running here. Well, maybe: my visit with my doctor yesterday was quite fruitful. I’m finally moving onto oral medication, but I’m a bit nervous about the timing since it’s the oral version of something that as a topical medicine bothered me very much and was generally quite disruptive. That I’m starting it a week and change out from a marathon isn’t… pleasing exactly, but my doctor thinks I’ll handle it just fine. I hope she’s right! 🙂

And this is a bit of a throwaway thought, but why does my doctor have to have the most unfair knack of working with hot internists? I can’t quite get over how difficult it is to talk about my poop with a straight face with a very, very, very good-looking guy. It’s really hard to not be embarrassed when you hear the words “my stool is usually bla bla bla but now it’s bla bla bla” (and that’s the very toned-down version) coming out of your mouth but all you’re thinking is “wow, you have got AMAZING eyes. and hands. and that smile!….”

Ahem. Anyway… nothing else to see here. 🙂

10 days out.

This is going to be a short post, because I have to scoot off to start dinner – which will be pumpkin soup, because dang it got cold quick. I guess having a cold front plus the western edge of a superstorm will do that to you. Sandy mostly left us here in central VA alone; we got steady rain and winds for most of yesterday and last night, and less so today, so I’m grateful that the two gallons of water I bought just in case will have to be used at a later time. My thoughts do go out to the people in NY and NJ, though, who were not so lucky. (I’ve had to stop looking at pictures of the damage; they’ve started making me quite sad.)

Okay then!

1) 10 days out from the marathon: yes, it’s taper time. I’ve been incredibly busy with school work, so I’m not going as crazy as I could be, which may or may not be a bad thing. I’ve only spent a couple of hours reading race recaps from years prior, instead of ten or twelve hours, like I thought I might be. However, check back with me in a week, and I might report that I am, in fact, climbing my walls.

2) I had my last long run this past Saturday. I know I’m a sick person when I casually tell someone, “oh, I only ran 12 this morning”. I feel like an asshole saying it, but I guess I’ve gotten to the point in my running when a 10-miler is now something to train faster for, and not just to finish. One year ago, I would not have seen that coming. Pursuant to that, my now-very-short-runs of 3 and 4 miles are more annoying than anything, since I get going and then have to stop, but I know I’ll remember that thought and laugh somewhere around mile 22, if my brain is still engaged at all by then.

3) One possible way for me to avoid climbing my walls next week is riding my bike. Still unnamed, she is, though for some reason I can’t get the name Matilda out of my head; we went on a long ride out in the country on Sunday, with a group of people I didn’t know save for one person (the kind soul who sold me my bike, who invited me to this ride). Normally that would be a situation that induces extreme anxiety in me, to the point where I’ll often just come up with some lame excuse and bail, but I sucked it up and went, and had a total blast spending seven hours rolling around foliage-covered apple orchards and horse farms and mountains with 30 like-minded souls. We stopped often, and for long periods of time; lunch was an absurd affair, with at least four bottles of wine, three cheese boards, two pies, and several six-packs of PBR and gallons of apple cider. These people know how to throw down, I tell you. They ride again in May, which I’m very much looking forward to.

4) The Virginia Film Festival is this weekend, which is something I always enjoy. I’ll let you know if anything truly awesome is shown that everyone should go see, like, now.

5) Cold-weather running. For some reason – mostly because I could, I think, having been stuck in the house for most of the past 2-ish days after officials said “DO NOT GO ANYWHERE” and I was happy to comply – I decided it was sane and normal to run outside in 40-degree weather this morning. In shorts and a long-sleeve shirt (and gloves – oh, I bought these fantastic waterproof lightweight gloves and boy, have they already come in handy! Ba-dum chhhh), when the other 10 people who were also crazy enough to be running outside were wearing pants and jackets. I kept telling myself it was because I need to start acclimating to colder temperatures, which is true, but when I couldn’t feel my knees for the first 2 miles I started wondering what was wrong with me. But, it was a great run; there was a spring in my step the entire time, and I felt strong and light, even though it was, um, really cold and oh, there was a nice 10mph headwind for most of the way.

6) Yep, 10 days. Shit’s gettin’ real. Which reminds me – I go to see my butt doctor tomorrow, which is good because we have some talking to do. Nothing horrible, but I’m not where I’d like to be in terms of feeling 100% digestively healthy, and by God I’ve waited three months for this appointment so we are going to have a nice chat.

But yeah. 10 days. That is all.

A post of many firsts. Also, 60 days out. Ack!

I like things in numbered lists. This post will be no exception, since it will cover a lot and will almost certainly make no sense if I even attempt to make it coherent. Wheee!

1) Last week: during my short-ish weekday runs I was feeling kinda ehhhh. Tuesday’s run was a nice 4-miler, during which I ran over a bridge and had this wonderful sense of nostalgic deja-vu wash over me. It was a bright morning, but there were impossibly large, billowing white clouds in the sky, some of which were tinted gray on the bottom – harbingers of the absurd amounts of rain we got last week that had, at the time, mercifully abated enough for me to catch an outdoor jaunt – and the way the wind was blowing combined with those things and the fact that I was running over a bridge instantly transported me back to St Petersburg. (The one in Russia, not in Florida.) In that moment I realized that ten years ago at this very time, I’d just arrived there for an academic-year stay, and I can so clearly remember the impressions that I had in the first few weeks I was there. Last Tuesday was a near-exact replica, sky- and wind-wise, of many a September day I had in St Petersburg, walking around, wondering how a sky could be so wide and full of color and clouds, going over the same bridge four or five times a day because it was really the only place to stop and just watch life move for a while. (St Pete is a city full of bridges, since they connect the various islands that compose the city proper. The bridges are somewhat iconic, and even the small ones didn’t fail to impress me.) I’ve gotten emotional while running before – sometimes merely because the pain in my whatever-it-is-that-niggles-that-day is almost too much – but this hit me like nothing I’ve ever run with before. I had to swallow a hard lump in my throat real fast, mostly because a gentleman passing by me said hello to me and I was not going to leave him hello-hanging, but also partly because it got me thinking about how much my life has changed in the last ten years, since that seminal year in Russia. So much that didn’t turn out how I thought it would, for both better and worse. So much that I never, ever expected would be true – and, of course, one thing I keep coming back to is this whole idea of running a marathon. I’d have laughed you stupid if you’d stopped me on one of those bridges and said to me, So hey, ten years from now you’re going to be about two months away from running 26.2 miles. But you know what? It’s true, and it’s not entirely laughable.

2) But it does sort of totally freak me out that the marathon countdown on the race’s homepage says 60 days. Two months to the day, exactly. WHATTHEFUH. I mean, I know time passes quickly and all, but it seems impossible that I will probably blink and that counter will say 30 days. And then 20. And then 10. And then I might start leaking from my pores all of the ridiculous excitement and nervousness I have.

3) Of course, a good deal of that nervousness is me constantly doubting that I can actually do this thing. When I have bad runs, I have every doubt that I will be able to recover and have a good run the next time out, even though that’s almost always exactly what happens. Wednesday and Thursday of last week are textbook examples of this. Because I am doing horribly at keeping to my training plan as written down – purely in the sense of doing week 9 during week 10 instead of week 9, for example, and switching around pace runs and easy runs according to the weather or my mood that day; the mileage is all there, not to worry – I switched weeks 9 and 10 and ran week 10 last week to run week 9 this week, so that I could do a half-marathon very close to where most of my family in North Carolina lives so they could come out and see me. That meant jumping up to an 8-mile pace run after only two 7-mile runs in the preceding two weeks, which did not please me, but on I went.

Well.

It didn’t go so well, and I ended up slowing down and jogging out for a lot more of the run than I’d wanted to, and finished not terribly far off my target pace, but far enough for me to be mad at myself. And then the doubts started creeping in, especially because the long run for the week was scheduled at 17 miles, and I’m at the point now where most of the long runs are at the point of running them the longest I’ll have ever run in my life. 17 miles was that – the most I’d done prior to that was 15, the weekend before. (I know, I know: 2 more miles seems ridiculous to worry about when the mileage is already that high, but (warning: profound statement coming!) 17 is really close to 18, and 18 is just unfathomable, right?)

So, I made a deal with myself: if, come Thursday, it was raining as much as the weather folks said it would be, then I would shelve my regular 4-mile run and take it inside to do a 4-mile pace run. The running gods must have heard my vow, since Thursday morning brought about a serious gullywasher that actually threatened some flash flooding. Okay then! I thought. Pace run it is. 

And thus it was. I decided to really push myself and run a (to me) torturously fast 4-miler, but I was helped by the fact that I arrived at the gym late due to circumstances completely beyond my control, related to the rain, and had to do the same amount of working out and showering in much less time than I usually have. The first thing of my routine that I can fix is how long I run for, so it was a happy coincidence that I was in a somewhat self-punitive mood. And you know what? I thought I was going to puke, but when I was done, I felt fantastic. Damn endorphins… they get me every time. Ultimately, I was feeling pretty good about the weekend’s 17-miler by the time I left the gym, entertaining approximately zero thoughts that it would a) suck or b) be impossible.

4) I carried those thoughts into Saturday morning when my alarm went off at the ridiculous hour of 2:45am. Even then, I was looking forward to the challenge, somewhat (maybe totally) because I had a breakfast date afterwards for all-you-can-eat pancakes at the peach orchard near where I had that spectacular 12-mile-run bonk last month. Also because my route, which I had broken down into loops to make it more mentally manageable, in pieces rather than in one giant 17-mile behemoth, took me past a Dunkin’ Donuts three times and actually into it twice (it’s open 24 hours, and I figured that if they wouldn’t give me free water, they’d at least be willing to accept 50 cents for some ice). I ended up leaving late due to mapping issues, but once I got out – holy cow. Holy COW. It was gorgeous. Only a mite humid, but the sky was clear and the stars were still out, since the sun wasn’t due to rise for another 90 minutes at that point. I was soon glad I had my headlamp, since the first loop was along several very dark roads, some of which were so dark I had problems seeing in front of me where my feet were landing, which was a bit disconcerting, especially since I’m clumsy enough to have fallen off of sidewalks before. On this first loop I ran into the same three people twice throughout – coming and going – which was amusing, but also encouraging, because the first few miles of a run always suck hard for me and I have to remind myself that they do, eventually, get much better. Having people to wave to gives a little pick-me-up that takes my mind off of the suck, so that was fun.

But the highlight of the first loop was definitely the sunrise. Somehow I planned it totally by accident so that I was looping back to come into town at the top of a hill and running on a long downslope for about a half-mile right about the time the colors were starting to peak over the horizon. In these parts, the horizon is made of mountains, and there was still a bit of lingering mist over them as the pre-dawn purples and blues gave way to the reds and oranges, and my heart caught in my throat as I was making my way down the hill and looking over to the skyline. There’s a lot I may not like too much about where I live, but God damn (sorry) if the sunrise in the mountains isn’t one of the things I will miss so hard when I finally move away from here. And not just any mountains – they call them the Blue Ridge mountains because they actually do look blue, and when they’re bathed in a misted end-of-summer-peeking-into-fall twilight, they’re just freaking gorgeous. I actually stopped and said, out loud, “Holy shit, that’s beautiful”, and of course had no idea that there was someone in an adjacent parking lot who heard me and made a noise at me like I was crazy. I didn’t care; I meant the words. It really was something.

And that got me going for the rest of the long run. Finish Loop 1, stop at the house for some water, carry on. The sun rose and then was osbcured by fog and clouds, which didn’t burn off until I was actually turning for home for the last time to finish my run and cool down, so not only was it not as awfully humid as it has been, but it was also not sunny, which pretty much ensured awesome running conditions. I eased into Loop 2, and before I knew it was making my first stop at Dunkin’ Donuts. Onward to Loop 3, and another stop at DD. Begin Loop 4, when it hit me that I’d been out for a really, really long time and was wondering when I would be done because damn, 17 miles is really, really far. I still had my headlamp on – it was acting as a great sweatband, which is the sole reason I didn’t take it off even though I knew it looked stupid – and not only was it not dark at all but it was also getting to be time for the football tailgaters to be in full swing, so I knew it was almost time to finish up. A mile from home, I got that stupid perk in my stride that says run faster, you’re almost home, so I did. The usual sore parts of me were sore and whining hey, can we go home and get stretched out now?, but I was so happy that I didn’t care that they were nagging at me, and by the time I made that turn for home I was booking it. And grinning like an idiot. Because it meant two things: one, that 18 miles was just one more mile than what I was doing and that, in the grand scheme of things, is nothing, and two, 20 miles later on isn’t even that much farther than 18, and that suddenly seemed totally possible, which meant that the full marathon distance also suddenly seemed possible. For the first time in my training, it occurred to me: Hey dumbass, you’re actually going to DO THIS, and it is ACTUALLY POSSIBLE.

What a fucking feeling.

(Sorry for the cursing. Sort of. Not really. I was stoked. I’m GETTING stoked just writing about it…)

And then I was done and at home and walking it off and laughing like a fool. And then I stretched, rinsed off, and went to inhale peach-topped pancakes and catch up with a dear friend. And it was all fantastic.

5) I said this was a post with firsts, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t note (WARNING: GROSS NASTY THINGS COMING) that the 17-miler was not only my first run at that distance but also my first run in which I finally, FINALLY, got the runners’ shits. I’ve heard time and time again of people being out for long runs and being seized suddenly with the urge to poop, not to mention actually pooping themselves in the middle of these runs. Given my wonderful track record with all things digestive, I figured it was just a matter of time before I joined the club, especially also given the number of times I’ve farted on long runs and wondered whether or not it was merely a fart. I know it sounds ridiculous to actually want this to happen to me, but it’s somewhat logical: I’d rather it happen to me on a long run for the first time, instead of during the marathon, so I know how to deal with it should it happen during the marathon itself. Also, I’ve never puked on a run or even after a run, and I feel like I’m missing out on countless other milestones that make you a “real” runner.

Happily, the 17-miler did not disappoint me: 8 miles in, I was hit with the most inconceivably strong urge to fart that I’ve ever had in my life. I mean like all-hands-on-deck-situation-critical-evacuate-NOW-to-protect-loss-of-life-and-property strong. I gave a test toot, and immediately realized that this was no farting situation. Oh no, this was, in fact, It. I started laughing; I’d just left my house, and was now nowhere near a toilet. So then began the game of just how long can I hold this? I might add that Dunkin’ Donuts has a toilet, which I certainly could have used, but I wanted to tempt fate and see if I could make it all the way to 17 without pooping myself.  (I know this is not healthy. I know that if this happens again I will not be so lucky next time. Shhhh.)

You’ll be happy to know (if, dear God, you’re still actually reading this) that even though that turd indeed made a good and compelling case for its immediate dismissal from my bowels, my will triumphed, and I made it back to my house unscathed. (Unscatted?) However – and come on, you HAD to see this coming – as soon as I opened the door to my house and walked in, my brain shut off and my body screamed “GET TO THE TOILET RIGHT NOW OR THERE WILL BE SERIOUS CONSEQUENCES”. How does my ass know I’m home every single time? Amazing thing, the human body is. This time I did not ignore it, and all was well with the world.  And I had a virtual notch in my belt as a runner – the only one that I really want, so I’m content to stop notching there.

okay, GROSS NASTY THINGS ARE OVER. Come back… please?

6) Okay, this is my last first thing and last bit of this post. This Saturday brings several firsts with it: first half-marathon outside of Virginia, first half-marathon in North Carolina, first race ever where I know nothing about the course other than the route map available online. I’ve never seen any of these roads or even been to where the race is, which is totally new to me and a little uncomfortable, but to the point where I see it as pushing myself outside my comfort zone and enjoying the simple experience of running someplace new. This is also the first time anyone in my immediate blood-related family will have seen me run a race, which I’m really excited about, not least because my nephew and nieces will be there with signs (so my sister threatens :)). I don’t think they know how much it helps to have support at any level, be it in the form of a note saying “way to go!” or a high-five at the end of a run; they think I’m crazy, and by and large they’re right, but it’s going to be pretty great having them there to support and love me anyway.

Except, maybe, if I fart on them.

Post-race report will come when it’s said and done! I hope you can enjoy the cooler weather this week as I will. 😀

Around Richmond in 80 days

– well, sort of. I mean, I’ll be running around Richmond in 80 days, which is what stands between me and the marathon. It seems like only yesterday that I posted about there being 119 days left… where did the time go?

It’s still a daunting thought, these 26.2 miles of mine in November. I think that’s because I’ve not been entirely happy with my running lately, but in thinking about why I wasn’t happy, I realized a few things:

1) One reason was the bonking on my 12-mile run I spoke of in my last post. Totally preventable, and I have a 14-mile run this weekend wherein bonking will not occur because I know how to make it not happen now.

2) Another reason is the humidity. I still run at 5am when it’s still 98% humidity outside. Granted, this week it’s been a blessed 65 degrees with that, but it’s still really hard to breathe and move even at that temperature with that much moisture in the air. I’ve been really, really slow on my easy runs at 5am, and have not been terribly pleased about that, but I have a suspicion that once I switch schedules next week to doing my easy runs at 10am when the humidity is lower, I will have better results. (can you tell I cannot wait for October mornings?)

I will miss my 5am gym crew, though. There’s a group of middle-aged men who lift with me whom I’ve sort of gotten to know – as much as one can through gym banter – and as odd as this sounds, I’ll miss their weird little routines and gossiping and workout quirks (one guy gets on the stationary bike and breathes so hard I feel like he’s going to hyperventilate until he starts yelling at himself to keep himself going. It used to be distracting, but now it’s just funny. And no, he’s never actually hyperventilated!)

3) Last time I trained for a race, my knees were giving me issues. This time, it’s all tendons and muscles, no joints; angry tendon isn’t being too angry, and seems to be responding well to lots of ice and rest and even some compression. But my HAMSTRINGS, Jesus, you’d think I’d never stretched them a day in my life, which is not true. But, see, this is fixable, because I make the classic mistake of not working out my legs when I lift – my excuse was always “I need core and upper body strength, not work that will make my legs even more sore for running tomorrow”. This is patently not true; strengthening the hammies and the glutes does wonders for preventing injury and helping you run stronger, so really, I should be doing that as I increase my mileage further. It occurred to me only yesterday (HELLO WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF THINKING PEOPLE) that I could easily work in some leg work on the days before my rest days, so starting tomorrow I am going to work in some squats and see where that takes me. I’ll do the same on Sunday when I cross-train, which might look funny when I take a break from fantasy football drafting to pop out  a set or two, but I figure no one will be watching anyway. Right? Right. (Unless I now have a peeping-Tom stalker or something, in which case, God help him. Or her.)

Anyway, all of this was a really roundabout way of saying that I was feeling crappy about my running until something lovely happened this morning. I had a 7-mile pace run, which I was dreading, because a) I hate pace runs because b) they mean running on the treadmill since I am crapola at pacing myself outside because I get distracted by shiny pretty nature or by passing traffic, and c) a 7-mile pace run? Are you kidding? I don’t want to run that fast for that long. Ugh! But, one does not get anywhere in marathon training by slacking off on the program, so on to the treadmill I hopped, compromising with myself: I’ll run the first 1.5 miles at just-below-pace, then 5 miles on pace, then the last 1.5 miles at just-above-pace. Since the treadmill I was on has a time limit of 60 minutes, that meant that I would have to restart it at the 5.5-mile mark, when I was getting ready to bump up to the above-pace running.

About twenty minutes into my run, a woman who I had seen doing situps and/or stretches in another corner of the gym came over to the treadmills and hopped on the one two away from me. She walked for a bit, and started running when I was at thirty minutes. I’m not sure if she was matching my pace or not – nor did I much care, because I’m never racing anyone but myself – but she kept with me for about 35 minutes, when I had to restart my own treadmill and keep going. By the time she stopped, I was at the above-pace part and finding it more difficult to breathe, etc. etc. – I had hit that 4-mile mini-runner’s-high earlier in the run and had been feeling really good, until mile 6 when I started wondering what on earth Hal Higdon was thinking telling me to run 7 of these miles at this pace – and I had also completely sweated through my shirt (ew) and had gone through about 20 paper towels’ worth of sweat and was feeling a little gross and self-conscious about that. She walked some more, and then got my attention: I sort of flicked an ear in her direction, because I was curious as to what on earth she was going to say to me. I was expecting something like you’ve got the TV when I leave, right?  since the last person out is supposed to turn it off.

But no. What she said was this, more or less paraphrased: “I wasn’t even going to get on the treadmill but I saw you running and decided to go. And I said I was going to run as long as you but I can’t go that far- and you were REALLY running for most of that! Thank you for being here to keep me going.” And of course because my brain was running-mush at that point I couldn’t think of anything else but “hey, I have a half-mile left OH thank you! Haha, I have to run in here because I’m doing a pace run blablabla…” and I’m sure I babbled on about something or other while trying to catch my breath but it didn’t occur to me until later that she went out of her way to say something really awesome to me, and I’m not sure I expressed my thanks adequately, because that really did pick me up for the short rest of my run and, really, the rest of this day. So, even though she’ll never read this, thank you, random awesome gym lady, and keep running. I know it’s a cliche, but it gets easier, I promise.

So that was the awesome thing. I kicked that 7-mile-pace-run’s ass, and have once again shown myself that I am capable of doing what I set out to do, and that I need to do better at squishing the whiny part of me that tells me I can’t.

BOOYAH.

In health-stuff news, I had a bunch of blood tests and urine tests done on Monday to try and maybe figure out why I’m so hungry and thirsty and peeing all the time, and everything came back normal, which is good I guess, but I still wonder if there’s anything sinister behind all that. It occurs to me that it could just be the very simple fact that I’m now running nearly 30 miles per week – a number that will only increase – when I topped out at about 20-22 miles per week in the spring and early summer, and that my body just needs more water and more food and to get rid of waste materials more often with an increased intake in both. But I feel like that’s just too easy. 🙂

Speaking of which, sort of, this came across my Twitter feed earlier and I love it, because it’s so me right now: “Sore ankles, blisters on every inch of my feet, creaky knees, insatiable hunger & always tired; marathon training- no regrets” – from the wonderful Alyssa over at njrunnergirl.com. My blisters have blisters, I want to eat everything all the time, parts of me I didn’t even know could be sore are sore, I fall asleep in the shower somethimes, but – BUT – I am loving every second of this ride. Even when the running feels crappy, deep down, I still love it.

Must be nuts. 😀