I broke my promise to the doctor. I was told what to do and I said I'd do it. I have been doing it. But something snapped in me today, and now, I've become an insubordinate.
I just couldn't stand it any more. I had to run. Here was my rationale. I am seeing the doctor tomorrow. He'll either tell me it's OK to run, in which case I'm just a day ahead; or, he'll tell me it isn't OK to run, and then fuck him, I'm not going to do what he says anyway. I've been feeling too blue and I just can't go on writing about ice anymore. It's killing me!
I marched over to the treadmill, defiant, and pressed the buttons. It felt foreign to be up there. How does something become unfamiliar in only 30 days? I last ran on August 1.
I told myself I would run for 10 minutes if I could, and I went. I began slow and steady at 5 mph. I started turning pink but I was comfortable. Almost immediately I slipped into a zone that used to allude me for miles back when I was training hard. I'm running again, I thought... it isn't all gone forever... and a rush of relief poured in. My throat tightened and I felt tears of joy squeeze up. I controlled myself though so I wouldn't lose my breathing.
I went 10 minutes, and then 2 miles and then 30 minutes and then I really had to set a limit. Four miles would be it. Not only was I tired, but I didn't want to over-do it. Slowly I'd progressed my speed to 6 mph, and then 7, and by the end I was doing strides at 7.5 mph. I finished gasping for air and nauseous. Oh, just like old times!
I cooled down for 5 minutes at the end and then had to peel myself off the machine as thoughts of "maybe one more mile" crept in. Was my foot hurting? Yes, like a mother. Burning, twitching, barking - mostly on the top this time, not the arch. But I was so "high" at the end that I didn't care.
I was elated, swirling in a soupy slurry of hope, relief, and reconnection with myself. I don't know why but my inner vision clouded over for a moment or so with a montage of heroine scenes from movies like Trainspotting and that great episode of The Sopranos when Michael Imperioli overdoses. I went to the elevator and pushed the up button, music playing in my mind, The Velvet Underground with, "I don't know just where I'm going. But I'm gonna try for the kingdom if I can."
I am, you know. No matter what that doctor says to me tomorrow, I'm going to try for the kingdom. So I'll take Advil for the next two months. And ice after every run. And all day and night. And bind my entire foot up. And keep it elevated 24 hours a day.
Let the doctor tell me what he will. This drug is too good to put down. It took me 100 days to make running a habit; but apparently, it only took me 30 to realize it's definitely more than that - running is an addiction. How could something that feels so bad, feel so good? All I know is, right now, I'm in a fix.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
68: More of the Same
I totally failed to ice and elevate today. I was working off site and in meetings. It just wasn't possible.
The result is my foot's in more pain tonight that it's been in in two weeks. I was going to bike after work, but ended up seeing family for dinner instead, and was also a bit afraid to aggravate the situation.
Now I'm just sitting with it on ice for a while, feeling a little bit sorry for myself. I mean, grateful that I can walk and breathe, and that I'm otherwise healthy and happy; but this setback really is a bummer.
The result is my foot's in more pain tonight that it's been in in two weeks. I was going to bike after work, but ended up seeing family for dinner instead, and was also a bit afraid to aggravate the situation.
Now I'm just sitting with it on ice for a while, feeling a little bit sorry for myself. I mean, grateful that I can walk and breathe, and that I'm otherwise healthy and happy; but this setback really is a bummer.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
69: Still Life with Bicycle (14M)
The foreground shows a moderately worn industrial carpet. In the background, a mirror, though what it's reflecting isn't clear. The perspective is off. Manet's "Bar at the Folies-Bergere" comes to mind; but, of course, no oranges or pretty dresses.
In the middle ground there is a figure - a girl. She's dressed plainly, in typical athletic costume for the period, and she's seated on what appears to be a bicycle, though the silhouette is foreshortened and the height too high to be the kind of bicycle that's familiar.
We can see that the girl's forehead is heavily beaded with sweat. The upper half of her shirt is wet. Her body leans forward, one knee bent up, the other back, elbows out. Something must be driving that look of intensity in her eyes but it is a mystery. We scan the rest of the canvas for a clue but find nothing; hints of other figures may be represented, or are they just brushstrokes of light?
This isn't your typical still life. No fruit or flowers, no oysters, no freshly killed game. I don't see why any painter would sit down to capture a moment like this, in oils nonetheless; but one senses a journey is underway - even though the subject is clearly going nowhere.
I rode for an hour today on the stationary bike. I pushed myself as hard as I could and went 14 virtual miles while the rest of the world enjoyed the most beautiful summer day outside. This is my portrait, "Still Life with Bicycle."
In the middle ground there is a figure - a girl. She's dressed plainly, in typical athletic costume for the period, and she's seated on what appears to be a bicycle, though the silhouette is foreshortened and the height too high to be the kind of bicycle that's familiar.
We can see that the girl's forehead is heavily beaded with sweat. The upper half of her shirt is wet. Her body leans forward, one knee bent up, the other back, elbows out. Something must be driving that look of intensity in her eyes but it is a mystery. We scan the rest of the canvas for a clue but find nothing; hints of other figures may be represented, or are they just brushstrokes of light?
This isn't your typical still life. No fruit or flowers, no oysters, no freshly killed game. I don't see why any painter would sit down to capture a moment like this, in oils nonetheless; but one senses a journey is underway - even though the subject is clearly going nowhere.
I rode for an hour today on the stationary bike. I pushed myself as hard as I could and went 14 virtual miles while the rest of the world enjoyed the most beautiful summer day outside. This is my portrait, "Still Life with Bicycle."
Saturday, August 28, 2010
70: Sick of Rice
Rest, Ice, Compression and Elevation. R.I.C.E. I'm sick of it. I'm feeling so depressed. I don't want to ride the stationary bike. I don't want to swim. I just want to run.
My foot does not feel better. Honestly, it feels exactly the same as it did two weeks ago even though I have been so good. It's pretty unnerving. I was sure when the doctor said "two more weeks" that I'd be 100% better by then, but I do not feel "almost there." Maybe it's all going to come together in the next three days.
Today was the second long training run hosted by the NYRR. My bib for it came in the mail a few days ago. Of course I didn't participate.
There's only one more long run scheduled before the marathon and that's in September. I wonder if I'll be able to run by then. I'll also be missing a race tomorrow that I signed up for a month ago. That one had looked like a good one! It was a cross country event up in the Bronx. Something different. I don't even want to think about the money I've wasted on races I haven't participated in this month.
I've been so blue today, snipping at anyone who crossed me. I cleaned out parts of my apartment relentlessly - tossing things away - reorganizing shelves - assembling a pot rack I've had sitting in its box for 6 months. I moved furniture and recycled two shelves of books. I bleached the trash cans. I'm feeling helpless. Knocked down. Waiting for the bell to ring so I can get up again and start wrestling. I can not survive stuck in this corner for much longer, subsisting on rice alone.
My foot does not feel better. Honestly, it feels exactly the same as it did two weeks ago even though I have been so good. It's pretty unnerving. I was sure when the doctor said "two more weeks" that I'd be 100% better by then, but I do not feel "almost there." Maybe it's all going to come together in the next three days.
Today was the second long training run hosted by the NYRR. My bib for it came in the mail a few days ago. Of course I didn't participate.
There's only one more long run scheduled before the marathon and that's in September. I wonder if I'll be able to run by then. I'll also be missing a race tomorrow that I signed up for a month ago. That one had looked like a good one! It was a cross country event up in the Bronx. Something different. I don't even want to think about the money I've wasted on races I haven't participated in this month.
I've been so blue today, snipping at anyone who crossed me. I cleaned out parts of my apartment relentlessly - tossing things away - reorganizing shelves - assembling a pot rack I've had sitting in its box for 6 months. I moved furniture and recycled two shelves of books. I bleached the trash cans. I'm feeling helpless. Knocked down. Waiting for the bell to ring so I can get up again and start wrestling. I can not survive stuck in this corner for much longer, subsisting on rice alone.
Friday, August 27, 2010
71: The Girl With The 26.2 Tattoo
I've been in and out of a lot of airports this summer and literally everywhere I go I see people reading The Girl the the Dragon Tattoo. I used to wonder whether I was just noticing it because of its genius bright cover artwork, or if it had actually become the handbook of a generation. In June I committed myself to only reading books about running. I wanted total immersion; but I couldn't help feeling curious about this book I kept seeing everywhere.
Recently, I took a series of four flights in rapid succession and noted 6 people on one leg reading TGWTDT, 2 on the next leg, 8 on the third leg, and then a whopping 18 people reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo on my final flight home. Were they giving free copies out at the W.H. Smith? Nope. That's when you know a book is no longer just popular fiction, but a social phenomenon.
I wrapped up my latest running book (a beginner's guide, put out by Runner's World magazine) and decided to join the flock. I'm not against commercially trendy books (I mean - my biggest dream is to sell one myself!) but I do have a slightly snobbish view that such a book, while it may be very entertaining, probably doesn't do much to build character, or teach me how to be a better (more literary) writer. My time is limited. Fluff gets in the way of my priorities. Still it seemed in this case I had to make an exception.
By the time I flew to Maine last weekend, I'd cleared the dreaded first 50 (slow) pages everyone talks about and was turning them back as fast as the other florescent "card carriers" who had inspired me. My friend's husband and daughter picked me up from the airport in Portland and, after running across the airport to hug me, the little girl honed right in on my book, which was stuck in an outside pocket of my bag. "Mommy has this book!" she squealed.
My friend's husband works in publishing at a very reputable firm, arguable the most reputable, and he is their editor in chief. This is a person with probably the highest critical taste in writing that I know. Upon having been outed, I felt the need to explain my trendy choice... I rambled about the 4 flights, and how at this point I was really only reading it as a social experiment, to get into the mind of the mainstream book consumer, and... He interrupted me, smiling. He was very glad to see me reading it, actually, since it was his book. Errr... So now I feel a little bit less guilty about taking a break from reading about how I over trained for my first 6 months and probably caused my own current foot situation.
The title of this book has me thinking about how common tattoos are now, and how I often see runners out there with the number "26.2" inked permanently on their calves. There's even a facebook fan page called Marathon Tattoo! Check it out: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Marathon-Tattoo/390581032914 I can't imagine doing that! Still, if there were an occasion in my life that I'd want to commemorate on my body, forever, it would probably be this upcoming marathon; or more accurately, 26.2 as a symbol of the journey I've been on - hard work, the sacrifices, the growth. Though I seriously doubt I'd ever actually go for a real tattoo, maybe I'll sport some permanent marker on the big day and just pretend...
Recently, I took a series of four flights in rapid succession and noted 6 people on one leg reading TGWTDT, 2 on the next leg, 8 on the third leg, and then a whopping 18 people reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo on my final flight home. Were they giving free copies out at the W.H. Smith? Nope. That's when you know a book is no longer just popular fiction, but a social phenomenon.
I wrapped up my latest running book (a beginner's guide, put out by Runner's World magazine) and decided to join the flock. I'm not against commercially trendy books (I mean - my biggest dream is to sell one myself!) but I do have a slightly snobbish view that such a book, while it may be very entertaining, probably doesn't do much to build character, or teach me how to be a better (more literary) writer. My time is limited. Fluff gets in the way of my priorities. Still it seemed in this case I had to make an exception.
By the time I flew to Maine last weekend, I'd cleared the dreaded first 50 (slow) pages everyone talks about and was turning them back as fast as the other florescent "card carriers" who had inspired me. My friend's husband and daughter picked me up from the airport in Portland and, after running across the airport to hug me, the little girl honed right in on my book, which was stuck in an outside pocket of my bag. "Mommy has this book!" she squealed.
My friend's husband works in publishing at a very reputable firm, arguable the most reputable, and he is their editor in chief. This is a person with probably the highest critical taste in writing that I know. Upon having been outed, I felt the need to explain my trendy choice... I rambled about the 4 flights, and how at this point I was really only reading it as a social experiment, to get into the mind of the mainstream book consumer, and... He interrupted me, smiling. He was very glad to see me reading it, actually, since it was his book. Errr... So now I feel a little bit less guilty about taking a break from reading about how I over trained for my first 6 months and probably caused my own current foot situation.
The title of this book has me thinking about how common tattoos are now, and how I often see runners out there with the number "26.2" inked permanently on their calves. There's even a facebook fan page called Marathon Tattoo! Check it out: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Marathon-Tattoo/390581032914 I can't imagine doing that! Still, if there were an occasion in my life that I'd want to commemorate on my body, forever, it would probably be this upcoming marathon; or more accurately, 26.2 as a symbol of the journey I've been on - hard work, the sacrifices, the growth. Though I seriously doubt I'd ever actually go for a real tattoo, maybe I'll sport some permanent marker on the big day and just pretend...
Thursday, August 26, 2010
72: A Moving Standard
In addition to resting, icing and compression, I've also been on 600 mg of Ibuprofen a day for my foot, to reduce swelling. I didn't know if the Rx strength Motrin was actually doing anything until today, when I forgot to take it, and was in pain again. Not only did my arch hurt but the toe joint too, where my original injury happened.
I'm starting to tire of this story line. I am ready to be focusing again on brands of socks, and the best lubricants to prevent chafing. I'm losing motivation. Not saying I'm quitting; I'm just saying, it's getting hard to choose indoor this and stationary that over real life fun.
Tonight I was supposed to hit two social events and then get myself home by 8:30 PM to train. I had the best intentions and extricated from the first party on schedule; but the second party was just too good to leave. Friends where there, and friends of friends. Wine, cheese and homemade cookies. The conversations were flowing - a mix of philosophy and giggling; and then we took it up to the roof deck.
My friend who was hosting lives a block north of the Empire State Building and her roof deck is a well appointed space enclosed by a country style white picket fence. As we sat around a table in the perfect night air, we looked up at the humbling Empire State Building and spoke about our dreams, the nature of success, whose birthdays were coming up and how we'd celebrate. The moon hung overhead in a strange way - bright white in the clear sky, but an odd shape, like a chunk of quartz dangling from fishing wire.
When we were packing up to go home, I thought how important it is that I not feel guilty about missing a night in the gym. (Pangs had started to rise.) There are many, many disadvantages to the life I find myself living in the city, keeping the schedule I do, and chasing after a very narrow dream. When a uniquely New York night like tonight comes up, along with a chance to connect with people I really care about, there shouldn't be a pause...
I guess what I'm saying is, priorities aren't absolute. In some cases, head-stands will trump treading water; and in others, rooftop parties might trump the stationary bike. Approaching a big event I'm training for, running would normally go before anything else; but since I simply can't run, right now I get to enjoy a bit of a moving standard.
I'm starting to tire of this story line. I am ready to be focusing again on brands of socks, and the best lubricants to prevent chafing. I'm losing motivation. Not saying I'm quitting; I'm just saying, it's getting hard to choose indoor this and stationary that over real life fun.
Tonight I was supposed to hit two social events and then get myself home by 8:30 PM to train. I had the best intentions and extricated from the first party on schedule; but the second party was just too good to leave. Friends where there, and friends of friends. Wine, cheese and homemade cookies. The conversations were flowing - a mix of philosophy and giggling; and then we took it up to the roof deck.
My friend who was hosting lives a block north of the Empire State Building and her roof deck is a well appointed space enclosed by a country style white picket fence. As we sat around a table in the perfect night air, we looked up at the humbling Empire State Building and spoke about our dreams, the nature of success, whose birthdays were coming up and how we'd celebrate. The moon hung overhead in a strange way - bright white in the clear sky, but an odd shape, like a chunk of quartz dangling from fishing wire.
When we were packing up to go home, I thought how important it is that I not feel guilty about missing a night in the gym. (Pangs had started to rise.) There are many, many disadvantages to the life I find myself living in the city, keeping the schedule I do, and chasing after a very narrow dream. When a uniquely New York night like tonight comes up, along with a chance to connect with people I really care about, there shouldn't be a pause...
I guess what I'm saying is, priorities aren't absolute. In some cases, head-stands will trump treading water; and in others, rooftop parties might trump the stationary bike. Approaching a big event I'm training for, running would normally go before anything else; but since I simply can't run, right now I get to enjoy a bit of a moving standard.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
73: Bent Out of Shape
"That shirt is funny," little 5-year-old "D" said to me from the doorway. I'd just put my favorite summer top on. It's navy blue with white decoration on it. Cotton. A tunic with a Mandarin collar. Very classic. There's nothing funny about it. I bought it years ago when I was thinner and was thrilled this spring when I tried it on and found it was loose again.
"What do you mean, sweet pea?" I said, gently, expecting her to tell me that what she really meant was it was pretty. "D" adores me and wants to do whatever I am doing; but instead, she paused and crinkled her brow, trying to conjure the words.
A bit tentatively, she offered, "It's a weird shape."
"What do you mean?" I said still feeling cheerful and sure we had a little Mrs. Malaprop situation on our hands. I took her hand and we went over to the mirror together. Really, whatever could she mean?
Then I saw it. The shirt's intended boxy shape was intact from my shoulder to my elbow... but then there was a sharp interruption - the silhouette of a muffin top - obnoxiously protruding between my waist and hip. Horror!
I suppose I'd seen the offending "bump" when I'd passingly glanced at myself in the mirror just moments before "D" had entered to sound the alarm, but I'd attributed any apparent flaws to the dim light and my poor posture. It was impossible to deny it now. I turned back to her and said,"You know what? You're right. This shirt doesn't fit. I will change. You go downstairs and move the coffee table and I'll be there in a few minutes and we can do head-stands together." "D" skipped off happily, unaware of the can of plump worms she'd just opened and punted at my head.
When I was running 20 miles a week, I was burning calories like crazy. Swimming and biking just aren't the same as running, even if I put in the same amount of time. Until I can run again, I need to consciously reduce the calories I'm consuming and try not to get even more bent out of shape. I haven't gained any pounds on the scale in the last two months, but that doesn't mean my body's muscle:fat ratio hasn't changed. I guess it has. (Or maybe I was just a bit puffy today from the last few days' indulgences?)
Whatever the case, vacation is over tomorrow and that must mark a return to using food primarily as nutrition, not entertainment! No exercise today as I was in transit through heavy rainstorms that caused air traffic delay. Tomorrow...
"What do you mean, sweet pea?" I said, gently, expecting her to tell me that what she really meant was it was pretty. "D" adores me and wants to do whatever I am doing; but instead, she paused and crinkled her brow, trying to conjure the words.
A bit tentatively, she offered, "It's a weird shape."
"What do you mean?" I said still feeling cheerful and sure we had a little Mrs. Malaprop situation on our hands. I took her hand and we went over to the mirror together. Really, whatever could she mean?
Then I saw it. The shirt's intended boxy shape was intact from my shoulder to my elbow... but then there was a sharp interruption - the silhouette of a muffin top - obnoxiously protruding between my waist and hip. Horror!
I suppose I'd seen the offending "bump" when I'd passingly glanced at myself in the mirror just moments before "D" had entered to sound the alarm, but I'd attributed any apparent flaws to the dim light and my poor posture. It was impossible to deny it now. I turned back to her and said,"You know what? You're right. This shirt doesn't fit. I will change. You go downstairs and move the coffee table and I'll be there in a few minutes and we can do head-stands together." "D" skipped off happily, unaware of the can of plump worms she'd just opened and punted at my head.
When I was running 20 miles a week, I was burning calories like crazy. Swimming and biking just aren't the same as running, even if I put in the same amount of time. Until I can run again, I need to consciously reduce the calories I'm consuming and try not to get even more bent out of shape. I haven't gained any pounds on the scale in the last two months, but that doesn't mean my body's muscle:fat ratio hasn't changed. I guess it has. (Or maybe I was just a bit puffy today from the last few days' indulgences?)
Whatever the case, vacation is over tomorrow and that must mark a return to using food primarily as nutrition, not entertainment! No exercise today as I was in transit through heavy rainstorms that caused air traffic delay. Tomorrow...
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
74: In For Repairs
This body really needed a tune up. Maine's the perfect repair shop. Sunshine followed by snuggling under soft striped towels. Thoughtful conversation. Mini golf and the arcade. Reading. Cuddling. Old fashioned candy. Writing. Endless lunch. Swimming. Chocolate cake and peppermint stick ice cream. Curly hair and no makeup. Potato chips and onion rings. Soft clothes. Lemonade. And 10 hours of sleep a night to the muted sound of crickets and waves in harmony. Yeah, that's the recipe right there. That's what gets my wheels aligned again.
I was sore today from my one-hour tread in the water yesterday. I used upper body muscles in my arms, shoulders and back that (apparently!) I've never used before. Didn't stop me from going out there again in the cold water today, and spazing out for 40 minutes.
I'd have stayed longer but my presence was requested for head-stand lessons. I've got my priorities and, as things go, head stands are pretty much tops. I'll be back on the bike tomorrow evening if all goes as planned. And in one week, maybe, if I'm lucky, back on my feet.
I was sore today from my one-hour tread in the water yesterday. I used upper body muscles in my arms, shoulders and back that (apparently!) I've never used before. Didn't stop me from going out there again in the cold water today, and spazing out for 40 minutes.
I'd have stayed longer but my presence was requested for head-stand lessons. I've got my priorities and, as things go, head stands are pretty much tops. I'll be back on the bike tomorrow evening if all goes as planned. And in one week, maybe, if I'm lucky, back on my feet.
Monday, August 23, 2010
75: Fighting Sebago Lake
I'm in Maine, beautiful Maine, visiting friends who rent a place here every August. This is maybe my 4th or 5th summer having been invited. Usually I say yes without skipping a beat; but this year I had to check my calendar for races and give a warning, "I'll be running 42 miles that week; you up for chasing me with the car and handing me water?"
When we set the date of my arrival, I'd had visions of the kids making signs for me, "KEEP RUNNING, MICHELLE!" Maybe I'd run past the Dairy Barn and they'd hand off a free rocky road cone. Or I'd dip into the Lobster Pound to use the facilities. I wasn't sure if I'd run on the road, or find a trail; but it was going to be an adventure.
Since I'm grounded, and we don't have a stationary bike here, I came up committed to at least an hour of swimming a day in Sebago Lake. It's a huge body of water, beautiful and clean. Sail boats float by and the occasional recreational motor boat, but I'd be safe staying close enough to the shore. I'm generally uncomfortable in water where I can't see the bottom, but I decided I'd suspend that whole story in my head about monsters grabbing my legs and pulling me under and act my age.
Maine's tricky. Most of the time summer days are sunny and beautiful, low humidity, and just enough of a breeze to make you feel you might actually be in heaven. And then sometimes, Maine's moody. Today's one of those days. Rainy in the morning, windy all day through, and cold.
I'm here with 7 children under age 10 and 8 adults, one special needs. My friend's the ringleader and fortunately, she's rugged. "Everyone's going in the water today!" she announced at breakfast. Swimming laps would be out as the waves were too high but I said I was going to tread water "actively" for one hour. I don't think a single person believed me!
We all went down together and made our way in. It was a lot colder than even I expected. The adults lasted 10 minutes and the kids about 12; all but one who stayed out with me for another 10 minutes until even he said, "I'm cold!" I tread water, beat the water, ran in the water, kicked and punched and swallowed my body weight for a full 60 minutes. By the time I came in, only one adult and one child were still watching me from the beach... I thanked them for staying.
I'm hoping it warms up tomorrow so I can do some proper laps but, if not, I'll do the same routine again! I also won't be surprised if I have sore muscles in some strange places tonight. There was nothing uniform about my workout today. If I had to characterize it, I'd say it was a kind-of crazy elliptical leg and arm freak-out - more like boxing than swimming, really. I'm glad most of it was happening under water because don't think I missed the adults on the shore trying to take pictures of me! See you on the sidelines on November 7th, people! Hope you've got your lenses in focus because I'll be flying by!
When we set the date of my arrival, I'd had visions of the kids making signs for me, "KEEP RUNNING, MICHELLE!" Maybe I'd run past the Dairy Barn and they'd hand off a free rocky road cone. Or I'd dip into the Lobster Pound to use the facilities. I wasn't sure if I'd run on the road, or find a trail; but it was going to be an adventure.
Since I'm grounded, and we don't have a stationary bike here, I came up committed to at least an hour of swimming a day in Sebago Lake. It's a huge body of water, beautiful and clean. Sail boats float by and the occasional recreational motor boat, but I'd be safe staying close enough to the shore. I'm generally uncomfortable in water where I can't see the bottom, but I decided I'd suspend that whole story in my head about monsters grabbing my legs and pulling me under and act my age.
Maine's tricky. Most of the time summer days are sunny and beautiful, low humidity, and just enough of a breeze to make you feel you might actually be in heaven. And then sometimes, Maine's moody. Today's one of those days. Rainy in the morning, windy all day through, and cold.
I'm here with 7 children under age 10 and 8 adults, one special needs. My friend's the ringleader and fortunately, she's rugged. "Everyone's going in the water today!" she announced at breakfast. Swimming laps would be out as the waves were too high but I said I was going to tread water "actively" for one hour. I don't think a single person believed me!
We all went down together and made our way in. It was a lot colder than even I expected. The adults lasted 10 minutes and the kids about 12; all but one who stayed out with me for another 10 minutes until even he said, "I'm cold!" I tread water, beat the water, ran in the water, kicked and punched and swallowed my body weight for a full 60 minutes. By the time I came in, only one adult and one child were still watching me from the beach... I thanked them for staying.
I'm hoping it warms up tomorrow so I can do some proper laps but, if not, I'll do the same routine again! I also won't be surprised if I have sore muscles in some strange places tonight. There was nothing uniform about my workout today. If I had to characterize it, I'd say it was a kind-of crazy elliptical leg and arm freak-out - more like boxing than swimming, really. I'm glad most of it was happening under water because don't think I missed the adults on the shore trying to take pictures of me! See you on the sidelines on November 7th, people! Hope you've got your lenses in focus because I'll be flying by!
Sunday, August 22, 2010
76: 7.5M Bike Ride and Glowing
There are three things I love about biking.
The first is freedom from having to carry myself around. When I'm on a bike, most of me is just propped up on a stool, attempting to stay out of the way, letting my legs do all the work. That's a relief from the predicament running puts you in - keep the legs and arms moving, and balance all the baggage that's strapped down above the waist. Ugh, complicated.
The second is the relative safety I feel on the bike. I'm not going to fall into a pothole, or twist my ankle coming down on a slippery leaf. Birds can't poop on my head. Nobody's gonna mug me. The bottle holder is right there, ready for me any time I need a drink. And when I'm done, I'm not someplace far away from home, still left to navigate my sweaty body through harshly air conditioned subway cars or the blazing hot sun.
The third is the quality of sweating I do on that bike. It's really remarkable. I can't think of another activity where it seems every single pore gets in on the action. Elbows, back, fingers, knees, feet. It's phenomenal! After 20 minutes I'm pretty much a sieve. I especially love looking down at my arms when I'm biking because they get this shimmery look, almost as if I had a fine body glitter on; they're positively glowing! That's got to be good for me.
I rose early this morning to get a 7.5 mile bike ride in before leaving for the airport. I didn't mind because the quality of my sleep last night was so good! I haven't slept that well in over a month. One really can't underestimate the power of a good night's sleep, and the role exercise can play in helping you to get there.
The first is freedom from having to carry myself around. When I'm on a bike, most of me is just propped up on a stool, attempting to stay out of the way, letting my legs do all the work. That's a relief from the predicament running puts you in - keep the legs and arms moving, and balance all the baggage that's strapped down above the waist. Ugh, complicated.
The second is the relative safety I feel on the bike. I'm not going to fall into a pothole, or twist my ankle coming down on a slippery leaf. Birds can't poop on my head. Nobody's gonna mug me. The bottle holder is right there, ready for me any time I need a drink. And when I'm done, I'm not someplace far away from home, still left to navigate my sweaty body through harshly air conditioned subway cars or the blazing hot sun.
The third is the quality of sweating I do on that bike. It's really remarkable. I can't think of another activity where it seems every single pore gets in on the action. Elbows, back, fingers, knees, feet. It's phenomenal! After 20 minutes I'm pretty much a sieve. I especially love looking down at my arms when I'm biking because they get this shimmery look, almost as if I had a fine body glitter on; they're positively glowing! That's got to be good for me.
I rose early this morning to get a 7.5 mile bike ride in before leaving for the airport. I didn't mind because the quality of my sleep last night was so good! I haven't slept that well in over a month. One really can't underestimate the power of a good night's sleep, and the role exercise can play in helping you to get there.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
77: 15 Mile Bike Ride
I had a great workout day today! I went down to the gym with the intention of biking for a full hour. I've never biked that long, so I wasn't sure I could do it, but I did. It was incredibly hard. I went 15 miles in all, biking at level 3, and at an average speed of 15 mph.
When I got off the bike, my legs were like jelly. The trainer told me to do some squats but I could not. Instead, I just hung over my legs, did deep knee bends and stretched. Then I showered and jumped in the pool for 15 minutes of laps, a little "running" in the water (not touching the ground) and some resistance exercises.
For the first time in a while I pushed myself to the point of exhaustion. I think I might actually sleep well tonight; bye bye insomnia! Looks like I'm dating your enemy again.
When I got off the bike, my legs were like jelly. The trainer told me to do some squats but I could not. Instead, I just hung over my legs, did deep knee bends and stretched. Then I showered and jumped in the pool for 15 minutes of laps, a little "running" in the water (not touching the ground) and some resistance exercises.
For the first time in a while I pushed myself to the point of exhaustion. I think I might actually sleep well tonight; bye bye insomnia! Looks like I'm dating your enemy again.
Friday, August 20, 2010
78: Deuteronomy
I went to Temple tonight. I do from time to time and today marked the anniversary of my dad's death so I picked my mom up, took her to David Chen where we split our usual shrimp with broccoli and walnuts, giggled when the waiter remarked at our leftovers, "You two eat like bird!" and then we went to Temple. I like the routine. It makes me feel connected to my mom and she is in traif heaven at David Chen.
The older I get, the more I like the Temple I grew up going to. It's changed over the years and so have I. Somehow, we've met in the middle. Now they actually talk about Judaism, and I have stopped being so annoyed that the place is filled with people who think they're living generous lives but, for the most part, aren't. Maybe they're doing the best they can.
There was a small crowd tonight. It's summer. Kids are just back from sleep away camp. Families are on vacation. I kind of like it when there are only 20 people in the room with my Rabbi and me. He's the same guy who performed my Bat Mitzvah in 1984. Even if I have another Rabbi one day, I'm sure I'll always think of him and wonder, "What would Douglas say?" (WWDS).
As you know, I'm not a deeply religious person, but I think my given religion takes an interesting approach to answering questions, and a humane view about people. I've been wondering what my religion would say about this little hiccup I'm facing on my running journey. How would Judaism handle a story where, just shy of the finish line, the protagonist drops out? Tonight I found some insight.
The Jewish Torah and calendar are in their last month right now, Deuteronomy; and funnily enough, just such a situation arises. Moses (protagonist) up and dies. He's pretty much been the focus of the action for a while; readers would be attached. So, here's the rub. The Torah states that Moses actually wrote the Torah - that it was dictated to him by G-d himself. Ut-oh! Logic check! He wrote about his own death, and events thereafter?
The Talmud (scholars' anecdotes around the Torah) proposes two explanations for this conflict. Either A) someone else (Joshua) wrote the last part, or B) G-d dictated the last part to Moses before he died, "and Moses wrote [the words] down in tears." Holy Tragedy! Can you imagine writing down the story of your own demise? [Why, yes that feels a bit familiar...]
So, I'm thinking, let me take a cue from Moses. If it turns out I can't actually run the marathon, and I still want to finish my story, maybe I'll invite in a guest blogger. Someone perhaps like my friend Mariah who runs, got into the marathon, and even has her own blog. She could cover the story and close the loop for me. Or, I could hope for the other resolution, that I get some divine inspiration... and the end of the story just comes to me in a flash! I already imagine what the run on November 7th might be like; maybe that's nearly as good as running it in earnest. All I need is a little bit of light from above and there you go, I'm on to the afterword.
Is there such a thing as free will? Or has the end of my story been preordained? I am going to do everything I can to stay in the game right now, hoping that I will be a runner who reports on the day of the marathon; but if it doesn't happen just the way I want it to, well then, maybe it just wasn't inscribed to be.
The older I get, the more I like the Temple I grew up going to. It's changed over the years and so have I. Somehow, we've met in the middle. Now they actually talk about Judaism, and I have stopped being so annoyed that the place is filled with people who think they're living generous lives but, for the most part, aren't. Maybe they're doing the best they can.
There was a small crowd tonight. It's summer. Kids are just back from sleep away camp. Families are on vacation. I kind of like it when there are only 20 people in the room with my Rabbi and me. He's the same guy who performed my Bat Mitzvah in 1984. Even if I have another Rabbi one day, I'm sure I'll always think of him and wonder, "What would Douglas say?" (WWDS).
As you know, I'm not a deeply religious person, but I think my given religion takes an interesting approach to answering questions, and a humane view about people. I've been wondering what my religion would say about this little hiccup I'm facing on my running journey. How would Judaism handle a story where, just shy of the finish line, the protagonist drops out? Tonight I found some insight.
The Jewish Torah and calendar are in their last month right now, Deuteronomy; and funnily enough, just such a situation arises. Moses (protagonist) up and dies. He's pretty much been the focus of the action for a while; readers would be attached. So, here's the rub. The Torah states that Moses actually wrote the Torah - that it was dictated to him by G-d himself. Ut-oh! Logic check! He wrote about his own death, and events thereafter?
The Talmud (scholars' anecdotes around the Torah) proposes two explanations for this conflict. Either A) someone else (Joshua) wrote the last part, or B) G-d dictated the last part to Moses before he died, "and Moses wrote [the words] down in tears." Holy Tragedy! Can you imagine writing down the story of your own demise? [Why, yes that feels a bit familiar...]
So, I'm thinking, let me take a cue from Moses. If it turns out I can't actually run the marathon, and I still want to finish my story, maybe I'll invite in a guest blogger. Someone perhaps like my friend Mariah who runs, got into the marathon, and even has her own blog. She could cover the story and close the loop for me. Or, I could hope for the other resolution, that I get some divine inspiration... and the end of the story just comes to me in a flash! I already imagine what the run on November 7th might be like; maybe that's nearly as good as running it in earnest. All I need is a little bit of light from above and there you go, I'm on to the afterword.
Is there such a thing as free will? Or has the end of my story been preordained? I am going to do everything I can to stay in the game right now, hoping that I will be a runner who reports on the day of the marathon; but if it doesn't happen just the way I want it to, well then, maybe it just wasn't inscribed to be.
79: The 7 Stages of Grief
Shock and Denial:
July... when I kept running. This couldn't be happening to me? I'm not even a real runner. Must keep going.
Pain and Guilt:
Ouch. Yes it is happening. And I did this to myself. I can't even blame anyone, or seek retribution. I might not run the marathon. After all this. Why didn't I ice after ever run, refrain from horsing around, and preserve myself for my one and only focus, running? I suck.
Anger:
Wait a minute? I am doing what everybody else does when they train for the marathon. How come I'm the schmuck who gets sidelined? Why me? Unfair! FML.
Bargaining:
Doctor #1 said stay off it. I did for a while but then I decided I'd better find a doctor with a different strategy. Doctor #2 said stay off it and go to physical therapy. No improvement, so I decided I'd better see a doctor with a different strategy. Doctor #3 said stay off it - no really - and don't try to bargain with me or you're never gonna get better, chicky. Bargaining over.
Depression and Sorrow:
Feeling punched in the stomach. Feeling grave disappointment. Feeling loss of the one thing I've been consistently working towards for the past year. What will I do now? What will happen? Will I be able to train again in September? I'm traveling half of September, and almost all of October, and then it's show time. Should my family buy plane tickets to come see me on November 7th or should I just accept the facts? It's over.
Testing and Reconstruction:
I can swim and I can run. I can do those two things like a mad woman, and fight to maintain my fitness level - maybe even build it in some ways. I could hold it together until I can run again; and then what I've done with the bike and pool will be my gateway to the next challenge, triathlons. Or I could just focus on writing, and turning this story into something salable. Or I could throw myself into work. They'd certainly like that and there's no shortage of interesting projects that could carry me through every weekend for the next 12 months... I could put running out of my mind entirely, like it never happened, and find something else to make my focus.
Acceptance:
In all the time I've been doing it, I've never felt so separate from running as I do today. It was just an activity, a phase, a way to pass time. It meant something of course while I was doing it, and I've learned so much along the way, and I'm genuinely sad that it isn't a part of my life at this moment; but, will I fill my time with other meaningful activities? Yes. Running never defined me. If it had, I'd be less of myself today, without it. Instead, I feel full and content, and proud of how far I have come. It added. It may still add when I get back at it; but who I am at my core is separate, and safe. I never became someone else ("a runner") I just ran.
July... when I kept running. This couldn't be happening to me? I'm not even a real runner. Must keep going.
Pain and Guilt:
Ouch. Yes it is happening. And I did this to myself. I can't even blame anyone, or seek retribution. I might not run the marathon. After all this. Why didn't I ice after ever run, refrain from horsing around, and preserve myself for my one and only focus, running? I suck.
Anger:
Wait a minute? I am doing what everybody else does when they train for the marathon. How come I'm the schmuck who gets sidelined? Why me? Unfair! FML.
Bargaining:
Doctor #1 said stay off it. I did for a while but then I decided I'd better find a doctor with a different strategy. Doctor #2 said stay off it and go to physical therapy. No improvement, so I decided I'd better see a doctor with a different strategy. Doctor #3 said stay off it - no really - and don't try to bargain with me or you're never gonna get better, chicky. Bargaining over.
Depression and Sorrow:
Feeling punched in the stomach. Feeling grave disappointment. Feeling loss of the one thing I've been consistently working towards for the past year. What will I do now? What will happen? Will I be able to train again in September? I'm traveling half of September, and almost all of October, and then it's show time. Should my family buy plane tickets to come see me on November 7th or should I just accept the facts? It's over.
Testing and Reconstruction:
I can swim and I can run. I can do those two things like a mad woman, and fight to maintain my fitness level - maybe even build it in some ways. I could hold it together until I can run again; and then what I've done with the bike and pool will be my gateway to the next challenge, triathlons. Or I could just focus on writing, and turning this story into something salable. Or I could throw myself into work. They'd certainly like that and there's no shortage of interesting projects that could carry me through every weekend for the next 12 months... I could put running out of my mind entirely, like it never happened, and find something else to make my focus.
Acceptance:
In all the time I've been doing it, I've never felt so separate from running as I do today. It was just an activity, a phase, a way to pass time. It meant something of course while I was doing it, and I've learned so much along the way, and I'm genuinely sad that it isn't a part of my life at this moment; but, will I fill my time with other meaningful activities? Yes. Running never defined me. If it had, I'd be less of myself today, without it. Instead, I feel full and content, and proud of how far I have come. It added. It may still add when I get back at it; but who I am at my core is separate, and safe. I never became someone else ("a runner") I just ran.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
80: Cloud Illusions
There's good news and bad news. First the good news. The doctor said I'll be able to run the marathon. The bad news is - he won't let me run for another two weeks, and then "we'll see."
I complained that if I lose two more weeks of training, I don't know how I'll be ready to run the marathon. He said, "Listen, I rehabilitate Ultra athletes. I know what I'm doing. You can't run on this foot. But you will run the marathon."
I said that was precisely the point. I am not an Ultra runner. I'm a novice who has been working very hard, but I don't have a base built up that I can just take what will amount to two months off, and then go run 26.2 miles. I don't think I'm exaggerating about this. There's a fine line between being enthusiastic and positive - and being deluded.
He told me not to worry. I am worried. This is not the news I was hoping for, or frankly expecting to get. After my appointment I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. I have prescription strength Motrin to take for 21 days to accelerate the reduction of the inflammation and I'm to keep wrapping and icing the foot. That's all I can do for now.
I'm mad. I'm frustrated. I'm sad. I feel my dream drifting away on a cloud of disappointment. I can only hope that this cloud has another side, one with rows and flows of angel hair... and that maybe, I really don't know clouds at all.
I complained that if I lose two more weeks of training, I don't know how I'll be ready to run the marathon. He said, "Listen, I rehabilitate Ultra athletes. I know what I'm doing. You can't run on this foot. But you will run the marathon."
I said that was precisely the point. I am not an Ultra runner. I'm a novice who has been working very hard, but I don't have a base built up that I can just take what will amount to two months off, and then go run 26.2 miles. I don't think I'm exaggerating about this. There's a fine line between being enthusiastic and positive - and being deluded.
He told me not to worry. I am worried. This is not the news I was hoping for, or frankly expecting to get. After my appointment I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. I have prescription strength Motrin to take for 21 days to accelerate the reduction of the inflammation and I'm to keep wrapping and icing the foot. That's all I can do for now.
I'm mad. I'm frustrated. I'm sad. I feel my dream drifting away on a cloud of disappointment. I can only hope that this cloud has another side, one with rows and flows of angel hair... and that maybe, I really don't know clouds at all.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
81: Limbo Tuesday
I had an ultrasound yesterday at the Hospital for Special Surgery, with Dr. Adler, the best guy for the job. Dr. Adler told me he didn't think I had anything catastrophic going on that he could see, just a bunch of smaller problems that have compounded.
Tomorrow I will go back to Dr. Positano and hear his plan for rehabilitating me. I've been compliant. No running or biking. I'm icing. I'm wearing a compression bandage. I've got sensible shoes. Now the doctor will tell me if there's a realistic plan that can get me into shape in time to run the marathon.
I'm really nervous. Nervous if he says no - and how I'll cope with that - and nervous if he says yes - and the MASSIVE amount of work I have ahead of me. I can't over-train, or I'll get injured again; and I can't under-train, or I'll never make it. How does a newbie like me know the difference?
Thankfully, tonight is the last night of "not knowing" whether I will or won't get the green light to run again. I've been up all night with insomnia for days now due to the stress this has been causing me. I've always been prone to insomnia. Actually, running's the only thing that's ever really helped me manage it. So right now, with stress, plus no-running, I'm really suffering. I'm about to hit the wall. I hope by tomorrow night the only thing I'll be hitting is the hay...
Tomorrow I will go back to Dr. Positano and hear his plan for rehabilitating me. I've been compliant. No running or biking. I'm icing. I'm wearing a compression bandage. I've got sensible shoes. Now the doctor will tell me if there's a realistic plan that can get me into shape in time to run the marathon.
I'm really nervous. Nervous if he says no - and how I'll cope with that - and nervous if he says yes - and the MASSIVE amount of work I have ahead of me. I can't over-train, or I'll get injured again; and I can't under-train, or I'll never make it. How does a newbie like me know the difference?
Thankfully, tonight is the last night of "not knowing" whether I will or won't get the green light to run again. I've been up all night with insomnia for days now due to the stress this has been causing me. I've always been prone to insomnia. Actually, running's the only thing that's ever really helped me manage it. So right now, with stress, plus no-running, I'm really suffering. I'm about to hit the wall. I hope by tomorrow night the only thing I'll be hitting is the hay...
Monday, August 16, 2010
82: Der Schuh zum Wohlfühlen
My new Finn Comfort shoes finally arrived today care of Zappos and they're right out of the hippie manual. I mean, if hippies could afford them.
I've never seen shoes quite like this. They've got self-moulding foot beds, and a wide chassis, if you can call the middle of a shoe a chassis. No expense has been spared, and each expense has been billed back to me; these shoes are the Mercedes of Birkenstocks. I'm actually a little bit embarrassed to walk out of the house in them.
I'm not embarrassed because they're expensive, I'm embarrassed because they are downright geriatric. Or "weird" as my mother would say. In fairness, when I first tried the style on at a shoe store near my office, the actress Carol Kane (best known for her role as Simka Dahblitz-Gravas, wife of Latke, on the TV show Taxi) was there trying on a similar pair. Maybe that should have been a red flag!
I'm not sure I'm ready to be batchable with Carol Kane. On any measure.
The thing is, I have to admit, these shoes are darn comfortable. When I put them on, my feet feel like they've slid into two oven mitts lined with German butter. I need to wear them for now, because of the foot, so I will. After that, I'll let you know whether I'm returning to high heels or starting down the slippery slope to the wide width world of the well heeled alter cocker.
I've never seen shoes quite like this. They've got self-moulding foot beds, and a wide chassis, if you can call the middle of a shoe a chassis. No expense has been spared, and each expense has been billed back to me; these shoes are the Mercedes of Birkenstocks. I'm actually a little bit embarrassed to walk out of the house in them.
I'm not embarrassed because they're expensive, I'm embarrassed because they are downright geriatric. Or "weird" as my mother would say. In fairness, when I first tried the style on at a shoe store near my office, the actress Carol Kane (best known for her role as Simka Dahblitz-Gravas, wife of Latke, on the TV show Taxi) was there trying on a similar pair. Maybe that should have been a red flag!
I'm not sure I'm ready to be batchable with Carol Kane. On any measure.
The thing is, I have to admit, these shoes are darn comfortable. When I put them on, my feet feel like they've slid into two oven mitts lined with German butter. I need to wear them for now, because of the foot, so I will. After that, I'll let you know whether I'm returning to high heels or starting down the slippery slope to the wide width world of the well heeled alter cocker.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
83: eBay and My Broken Heart
Running has made me address some issues from my past. My motivation to run is multi-layered, of course, but here's one dirty little fold that flapped out at me this past week.
As background, I want a fancy running watch. I've looked at the cheap ones, and the medium priced ones, and only an expensive one will do; and they're mad expensive, like $375 for a piece of plastic with GPS. I'm a "watch" person. I value gears and craftsmanship. It's very hard for me to get my head around spending more than $20 on anything plastic, even if it could lift me up and fly me to the finish line at the marathon.
Since I don't want to outlay cash for said plastic timepiece, I decided to fund raise by selling off some of the label-whore trash I have lying around my apartment. Most of it comes from a time in my life when I was less self-realized, or when I was engaged to "J" who liked to decorate me as if a trophy. Every business trip he took without me, every gambling expedition with the guys, yielded some new trinket.
When we split, I returned the flawless diamond engagement ring, and over 80 engagement and wedding gifts from family and friends. I wanted to do the right thing and give us both a chance to move on and get it right; but I'm also hyper sentimental so I kept all the small meaningful gifts, wrapped them up carefully, and put them in boxes at my mother's house. I also kept the shoes and handbags he'd given me because, well, they were used, and what was he going to do with them? Give them to his sister? He told me later he wished I'd done more shopping in our relationship, bought more, spent more. You can see how that would be a bit of a problem for someone like me who is happiest in flip flops and a sundress.
I won't get into how sad and drawn out the collapse of the union was. I started it, terrified I was the only one who saw there might be a problem; and then he finished it, shortly after he started running again.
J had been a runner in H.S. and, having grown up attending private school in the city, felt like the streets of NYC were his second home. We'd been going to the gym in the morning, and playing tennis twice a week, but J started to go out running instead in the afternoon. I didn't have any interest in joining him. He made me go a few times on the weekend around the Reservoir but it was a hot mess. He'd get frustrated that I wasn't fast, and I'd throw up somewhere along the way. Eventually, he stopped asking me to come and I was relieved.
J's runs started taking longer and longer. He'd walk in the door a few hours after leaving and I'd say in my most condescending voice, "Where were you!? Do you know how long you've been gone?" He'd silently look away. J wasn't much of a talker. I started to suspect he wasn't off running, but rather visiting a friend, or breaking confidence in some other way. It had already been established at that point that he wasn't trustworthy. I even hated the way he looked in his mugger-style grey running cap and lavender fleece; they began to represent my two biggest fears about him.
When I met J, he'd been a workout fiend. His arms and chest were so big he had to wear custom shirts. I was never into big muscles, so this was lost on me. After we got engaged, we both gained at least 10 lbs; everybody kept taking us out to celebrate; we drank expensive wine and ate a lot of cheese. We worked out to try to mitigate the conditions, but it was a struggle.
Then one fall day J started running again and it seemed to begin to restore his self-confidence. The sit-up bench came out of storage and landed in the middle of our bedroom. There were dumbbells on the dining room table. We were becoming like lonely strangers sharing an intensely enmeshed life; and I began to feel like J's long runs were the other woman.
When I took up running last fall, I wasn't consciously thinking about tracking that "other woman" down and smashing her proverbial head in, but I did find a form of catharsis, and compassion for J, along the way. I hadn't been expecting that, and I hadn't realized how much I still had bottled up inside me. "Men who run" had been a very threatening combination to me. I categorically avoided them until I felt like I couldn't any more. Turns out, I still like men who run, just not that one in particular I gave it a shot with a number of years ago.
So, last weekend I bravely pulled out a few meaningless gifts from J that I thought I was ready to part with, choosing MY life as a runner, my need for a watch, over vapid physical representations of a love that was never fully realized. I put the brown Ferragamo bag up for auction first. I hated everything that bag stood for: a gambling trip to Aruba gone wrong. When the first bid came in on eBay, a wave of deep sadness came over me... and then joy! An era over... new things to propel me forward! I have translated a gift that was intended to make me happy but didn't, into something that really will make me happy, and represents my own liberation from a short-sighted view of myself.
J's running was "the other woman" in a lot of ways; but not in a bad way, if that makes sense; I needed that other woman to help me help him see the truth of our situation. Anyway, I'm shipping the bag off to some lady in Canada tomorrow and I can only hope that the Universe keeps bringing me people who teach me about myself, and care about me, and support my journey forward.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
84: Free Swim
I went swimming today in the pool in my building - freestyle for about 30 minutes of laps. I played with my breathing, every 6 strokes for the first 5 minutes, then every 4, and eventually every 3, alternating sides. I played with my head placement, tucking my chin under, which made me go faster. I adjusted my kicking to a liquid motion, moving my legs the way one would if there were fins attached. I never got bored.
I love that when I'm swimming, I don't get over-heated, or irritated by my own sweat, and that the sun isn't burning my skin as I go. Chlorine exposure and ingestion are definite downsides, but totally tolerable. I grew up spending my summers in an HTH-shocked pool so my tolerance for chlorine is pretty high. And anyway, the level of chlorine is actually pretty low. I wonder if they're using something else.
Mostly, I feel lucky that I have this free pool at my disposal in my building. It may not be big, but it's well maintained and unpopular, so I can get a lane whenever I want (unlike the treadmills which were always occupied). For now, this is a real saving grace. (Puns intended, as always.)
I love that when I'm swimming, I don't get over-heated, or irritated by my own sweat, and that the sun isn't burning my skin as I go. Chlorine exposure and ingestion are definite downsides, but totally tolerable. I grew up spending my summers in an HTH-shocked pool so my tolerance for chlorine is pretty high. And anyway, the level of chlorine is actually pretty low. I wonder if they're using something else.
Mostly, I feel lucky that I have this free pool at my disposal in my building. It may not be big, but it's well maintained and unpopular, so I can get a lane whenever I want (unlike the treadmills which were always occupied). For now, this is a real saving grace. (Puns intended, as always.)
Friday, August 13, 2010
85: Cold Turkey
As I sit to write this I have my right foot resting on top of a giant frozen turkey, with a bag of frozen peaches draped over the top. Bored of regular ice bags that drip, I'm trying to get creative and use other frozen things at my disposal. Plus, the turkey is nice and round, and smooth, so it's pleasant to position my foot on.
I've had this turkey since Thanksgiving. I got it free for having purchased over $100 worth of beer at the local grocery store when I was having a party, and never got around to roasting it. Now I've sworn off eating dead feathered creatures; so I figured, if the bird has had to die in vain, the least I can do is use it for something important like the treatment of my bum foot.
Anyway, I've been dutifully icing every few hours for 20 minutes at a time, exactly as I was told to. I've built up a tolerance to it so it doesn't really burn any more. I could probably even go 30-40 minutes without feeling uncomfortable. I'm a pro at this rehab thing. I'm wearing my compression bandage. I'm out of heels. You'd think I might be on the mend; but, no.
This afternoon, I was walking down the sidewalk and, out of nowhere, my foot got a sharp pain in its usual place. So disappointing. It came on for no reason. I was simply walking gently, in a straight line, on a flat surface, in sneakers with a wide toe-box and an extra line of cushioning, and bam - shooting pain that escalated.
I'll continue to ice, and be careful, and I will not run, though I find myself thinking about running several times a day. I even went up to the New York Road Runners today to pick up my bib for the Bronx Half Marathon, which I will not be running on Sunday. I know this will sound terribly sentimental, but I couldn't bear the thought of just leaving my bib behind to be thrown out. That's my unique number that was assigned to me! I'd really been looking forward to this half marathon, seeing parts of the Bronx I've never been to, and testing my fitness level verus May.
This journey is not going as I might have hoped at the moment. I always said, my #1 priority was avoiding injury. But, on the bright side, I am still writing, and still learning new things about myself and the world. I mean, 9 months ago, I never imagined I'd feel so sentimental about a race bib, or be spending a Friday night at home icing my foot with this turkey! Alright - that's all for now. I gotta go pop this thawing bird back into the freezer before it makes a poultry puddle on my wooden floor.
I've had this turkey since Thanksgiving. I got it free for having purchased over $100 worth of beer at the local grocery store when I was having a party, and never got around to roasting it. Now I've sworn off eating dead feathered creatures; so I figured, if the bird has had to die in vain, the least I can do is use it for something important like the treatment of my bum foot.
Anyway, I've been dutifully icing every few hours for 20 minutes at a time, exactly as I was told to. I've built up a tolerance to it so it doesn't really burn any more. I could probably even go 30-40 minutes without feeling uncomfortable. I'm a pro at this rehab thing. I'm wearing my compression bandage. I'm out of heels. You'd think I might be on the mend; but, no.
This afternoon, I was walking down the sidewalk and, out of nowhere, my foot got a sharp pain in its usual place. So disappointing. It came on for no reason. I was simply walking gently, in a straight line, on a flat surface, in sneakers with a wide toe-box and an extra line of cushioning, and bam - shooting pain that escalated.
I'll continue to ice, and be careful, and I will not run, though I find myself thinking about running several times a day. I even went up to the New York Road Runners today to pick up my bib for the Bronx Half Marathon, which I will not be running on Sunday. I know this will sound terribly sentimental, but I couldn't bear the thought of just leaving my bib behind to be thrown out. That's my unique number that was assigned to me! I'd really been looking forward to this half marathon, seeing parts of the Bronx I've never been to, and testing my fitness level verus May.
This journey is not going as I might have hoped at the moment. I always said, my #1 priority was avoiding injury. But, on the bright side, I am still writing, and still learning new things about myself and the world. I mean, 9 months ago, I never imagined I'd feel so sentimental about a race bib, or be spending a Friday night at home icing my foot with this turkey! Alright - that's all for now. I gotta go pop this thawing bird back into the freezer before it makes a poultry puddle on my wooden floor.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
86: Disturbia
If you've been reading along here for a while, you might already know that my favorite song to run to is Rihanna's "Disturbia." It draws out emotions in me I don't otherwise have access to. It makes me run faster, and cry, and push harder, all at the same time. Even when I'm just passing the 72nd Street transverse during a training run, it has this effect.
The words and Rihanna's passion get at something genuine that lives inside me, and is very vulnerable, sometimes angry, and maybe a little unconventionally sexy. I play it once or twice when I need to get grounded during a run; darkness gets voiced, and I can then advance to The Blackeyed Peas.
I had the excellent fortune tonight to have been given first row seats to see my muse perform at Madison Square Garden. Plain and simple, Rihanna killed it. She's a 22-year-old hit machine! 20,000 people stood mesmerized for two hours.
Production value was on par with the typical tour, but nothing more. There were video screens, props, and dancers. It was only during "Disturbia" that they pulled out the stops. I think I gasped a little bit as the music came up and I saw what they were going to do. They brought out 30' tall live transformers, with legs and arms that taunted Rihanna in the shadow of an eerie, moving, nighttime background. Transformers creep the crap out of me. More than almost anything. I nearly had to walk out of "Avatar."
I've always assumed my own interpretation of "Disturbia's" lyrics was a bit more gruesome and twisted than it's meant to be, that I was mishearing the words, or over-dramatizing the chorus. Tonight I learned not. I will always think of Rihanna's live performance now when I am running and need to check in with myself and get to my gritty core. And I can picture transformers chasing after me for 26.2 miles, if I'm lucky enough to make it to the marathon, and need a little incentive to keep going.
The words and Rihanna's passion get at something genuine that lives inside me, and is very vulnerable, sometimes angry, and maybe a little unconventionally sexy. I play it once or twice when I need to get grounded during a run; darkness gets voiced, and I can then advance to The Blackeyed Peas.
I had the excellent fortune tonight to have been given first row seats to see my muse perform at Madison Square Garden. Plain and simple, Rihanna killed it. She's a 22-year-old hit machine! 20,000 people stood mesmerized for two hours.
Production value was on par with the typical tour, but nothing more. There were video screens, props, and dancers. It was only during "Disturbia" that they pulled out the stops. I think I gasped a little bit as the music came up and I saw what they were going to do. They brought out 30' tall live transformers, with legs and arms that taunted Rihanna in the shadow of an eerie, moving, nighttime background. Transformers creep the crap out of me. More than almost anything. I nearly had to walk out of "Avatar."
I've always assumed my own interpretation of "Disturbia's" lyrics was a bit more gruesome and twisted than it's meant to be, that I was mishearing the words, or over-dramatizing the chorus. Tonight I learned not. I will always think of Rihanna's live performance now when I am running and need to check in with myself and get to my gritty core. And I can picture transformers chasing after me for 26.2 miles, if I'm lucky enough to make it to the marathon, and need a little incentive to keep going.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
87: Impatient Patient
Reluctantly, I went for a third opinion today on my foot. I saw Rock Positano, of the Hospital for Special Surgery. My runner friend recommended him highly, and another friend who works in the sports rehabilitation division of HSS seconded the strategy. Also, because I'm already a patient with this group, they'd have access to my X-rays from throughout the year.
Listen, I'm bumbling around, taking advice from people who mean well, and letting my ambition and optimism guide me; but I can also admit that my gut's been feeling like something major is wrong here, pretty much from the minute my foot started hurting. I haven't been satisfied by the answers my doctors and even the physical therapist have been giving me. The information I was getting was confusing and conflicting, and didn't really jive with the way my pain comes and goes. But I was doing my best, trying not to be too neurotic, and trying to defer to the "experts" I've encountered.
The reason to see Rock today was his reputation. He's on the board of the hospital, is known for good work, and treats athletic and non-athletic celebrities who are very demanding (Paul Giamatti's orthotics were on the counter waiting for pickup when I went to pay my bill). You might think it's silly to favor a doctor because he sees high profile clients; but having worked in the Hollywood milieu myself for a while, I can tell you, it's really agents and managers who are finding doctors like this for their clients and they are doing a ton of research to find the very best - their 10% depends on it! So if I trust a doctor with celebrity clientele, it's not that I trust celebrities... it's that I trust their greedy handlers.
Dr. Positano was able to fit me this afternoon and I spent the requisite first hour filing out more paperwork than I've ever filled out for any doctor in my life. Not so much medical information, but liability waivers. Clearly, this guy's been sued before! (No doubt by one of his litigious celebrity clients!) I joked as I handed the clipboard, thick with signed, initialed and dated "Patient Contracts," back to the receptionist, "I feel like I just closed on a house!" She smiled in a way that said, "We have the right to protect ourselves." In short, the paperwork said, Dr. Positano doesn't guarantee the quality of his work, or the outcome of recommended treatments, and he does not accept any form of insurance so don't even think about asking them to submit a stick of paper to anyone. I can't think of any other above-board American business where you have to sign away all your rights before you get any service, and basically pay cash!
When I finally met with Positano, he was extremely approachable, and calm. He took a half-glance at the MRI report I'd brought in and told me the facility where I'd had my MRI done is notably the worst facility in the city, and the report was incomprehensible - meaningless. He said he was going to have to send me for another one. He examined my foot, looked at my X-rays, asked a few questions, and then told me I needed an ultra-sound test. I've got bad swelling around the joint, and it probably is a torn capsule, but that wouldn't show on an MRI, and certainly not on the [piece of crap] MRI I'd gotten. But really, he didn't know what was going on; there wasn't enough information yet. It wasn't clear.
That's right. It isn't clear. That was the first time anybody in this process had told the truth. I began to feel like I could trust this doctor.
I'm now scheduled for an ultra-sound on Monday. Dr. Positano insisted I have it done with one particular doctor. I tried to push back - it's an ultra-sound, can't anyone do it? I wanted to have it done sooner, so I'd get results sooner, and be able to start rehabilitation sooner... He got very stern with me and said, "Are you going to do what I tell you to do? Hm? ...Tell me! I am sending you to a doctor who does a good job, and finds information that I need to make a plan for you. I like the way he does his reports. I don't want you to go to anyone else. Are you going to do what I say?"
He wasn't so much raising his voice as making intense eye contact. I felt about 7 years old. I had been trying to control the situation. I need to let him do his job.
I said yes, I would do exactly what he told me to do. "Are you going to?" he repeated and I was surprised. Maybe I hadn't sounded so convincing. Was I actually prepared to do what he told me to do? Or am I so convince that I always know what's best for me? Was I, even then, still considering going to my marathon training class that night? I realized in an instant that I had better change my tune and fast, because this doctor was offering to help me; and he knows what he's doing. He has the reputation he does because he's helped much more important athletes with much more complicated issues. I have every reason to trust him. Whatever is wrong, he is going to find out. I took a deep breath and I said, "Yes, I will do exactly what you tell me to." I think I sounded more convincing that time. He nodded and left the room.
Before he went, the doctor had wrapped my foot tightly in compression gauze. I'm to keep it like that all day and only take it off when I get into bed. I'm to ice it as often as possible, for 15-20 minutes at a time, on the top and bottom. No running at all. No biking at all. Swimming is OK if I promise not to push off the side. And I need better shoes - the expensive, ugly kind. (I ordered a pair of Finn sandals later when I got back to my office because he said I shouldn't even wear my sneakers with orthotics and I don't have anything flat to wear except ballet flats and flip flops, which have no support) And here was the kicker, I have to stop physical therapy for now; the doctor said what I've been doing may have been doing more damage than good. When we have more information, we'll determine whether physical therapy can help.
At some point during the visit, I asked Dr. Positano if I was going to be able to run the marathon and, it's the strangest thing, you know, I don't remember his answer.
Listen, I'm bumbling around, taking advice from people who mean well, and letting my ambition and optimism guide me; but I can also admit that my gut's been feeling like something major is wrong here, pretty much from the minute my foot started hurting. I haven't been satisfied by the answers my doctors and even the physical therapist have been giving me. The information I was getting was confusing and conflicting, and didn't really jive with the way my pain comes and goes. But I was doing my best, trying not to be too neurotic, and trying to defer to the "experts" I've encountered.
The reason to see Rock today was his reputation. He's on the board of the hospital, is known for good work, and treats athletic and non-athletic celebrities who are very demanding (Paul Giamatti's orthotics were on the counter waiting for pickup when I went to pay my bill). You might think it's silly to favor a doctor because he sees high profile clients; but having worked in the Hollywood milieu myself for a while, I can tell you, it's really agents and managers who are finding doctors like this for their clients and they are doing a ton of research to find the very best - their 10% depends on it! So if I trust a doctor with celebrity clientele, it's not that I trust celebrities... it's that I trust their greedy handlers.
Dr. Positano was able to fit me this afternoon and I spent the requisite first hour filing out more paperwork than I've ever filled out for any doctor in my life. Not so much medical information, but liability waivers. Clearly, this guy's been sued before! (No doubt by one of his litigious celebrity clients!) I joked as I handed the clipboard, thick with signed, initialed and dated "Patient Contracts," back to the receptionist, "I feel like I just closed on a house!" She smiled in a way that said, "We have the right to protect ourselves." In short, the paperwork said, Dr. Positano doesn't guarantee the quality of his work, or the outcome of recommended treatments, and he does not accept any form of insurance so don't even think about asking them to submit a stick of paper to anyone. I can't think of any other above-board American business where you have to sign away all your rights before you get any service, and basically pay cash!
When I finally met with Positano, he was extremely approachable, and calm. He took a half-glance at the MRI report I'd brought in and told me the facility where I'd had my MRI done is notably the worst facility in the city, and the report was incomprehensible - meaningless. He said he was going to have to send me for another one. He examined my foot, looked at my X-rays, asked a few questions, and then told me I needed an ultra-sound test. I've got bad swelling around the joint, and it probably is a torn capsule, but that wouldn't show on an MRI, and certainly not on the [piece of crap] MRI I'd gotten. But really, he didn't know what was going on; there wasn't enough information yet. It wasn't clear.
That's right. It isn't clear. That was the first time anybody in this process had told the truth. I began to feel like I could trust this doctor.
I'm now scheduled for an ultra-sound on Monday. Dr. Positano insisted I have it done with one particular doctor. I tried to push back - it's an ultra-sound, can't anyone do it? I wanted to have it done sooner, so I'd get results sooner, and be able to start rehabilitation sooner... He got very stern with me and said, "Are you going to do what I tell you to do? Hm? ...Tell me! I am sending you to a doctor who does a good job, and finds information that I need to make a plan for you. I like the way he does his reports. I don't want you to go to anyone else. Are you going to do what I say?"
He wasn't so much raising his voice as making intense eye contact. I felt about 7 years old. I had been trying to control the situation. I need to let him do his job.
I said yes, I would do exactly what he told me to do. "Are you going to?" he repeated and I was surprised. Maybe I hadn't sounded so convincing. Was I actually prepared to do what he told me to do? Or am I so convince that I always know what's best for me? Was I, even then, still considering going to my marathon training class that night? I realized in an instant that I had better change my tune and fast, because this doctor was offering to help me; and he knows what he's doing. He has the reputation he does because he's helped much more important athletes with much more complicated issues. I have every reason to trust him. Whatever is wrong, he is going to find out. I took a deep breath and I said, "Yes, I will do exactly what you tell me to." I think I sounded more convincing that time. He nodded and left the room.
Before he went, the doctor had wrapped my foot tightly in compression gauze. I'm to keep it like that all day and only take it off when I get into bed. I'm to ice it as often as possible, for 15-20 minutes at a time, on the top and bottom. No running at all. No biking at all. Swimming is OK if I promise not to push off the side. And I need better shoes - the expensive, ugly kind. (I ordered a pair of Finn sandals later when I got back to my office because he said I shouldn't even wear my sneakers with orthotics and I don't have anything flat to wear except ballet flats and flip flops, which have no support) And here was the kicker, I have to stop physical therapy for now; the doctor said what I've been doing may have been doing more damage than good. When we have more information, we'll determine whether physical therapy can help.
At some point during the visit, I asked Dr. Positano if I was going to be able to run the marathon and, it's the strangest thing, you know, I don't remember his answer.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
88: Kicking & Screaming
I got another opinion on my MRI today. The news was a little different. My orthopedist said he thought that I should just keep icing it, taking Advil, and that I could start running again and see how it went. He said I couldn't really make it worse by running, I'd just be slowing the recovery, which might actually be favorable to losing ground with running. He also said he could give me shots of cortisone for the inflammation, and lubricants, for the joint, but that since I have a very high sensitivity to steroids, I'd have to get clearance from another doctor first. What a hassle...
I hung up and immediately plunged my foot into a bag of ice under my desk. I've decided I'm going to keep my foot on ice until November 7th. And if I make it to the start line of the marathon, I might run in an ice boot with a roller skate embedded in the base. Nobody will notice. People are focused on their own experience, right?
I'm going to call another podiatrist for a third opinion. I feel like the ortho was a bit nonchalant with his diagnosis. I mean, I don't want to hurt myself more! I did try running through it, and that's how I got to today. So, we'll see; maybe someone else will have another idea. Why not? In the meanwhile, I'm planning to try to run tomorrow with my marathon class, so tonight, I took to the pool and bike.
Thanks very much to my friend Amanda who enlightened me about swim caps! So nice of her to have set me straight. For those who might be interested in the difference between latex and silicone caps, latex is for racing, and you put conditioner on your hair first, under the cap, to prevent breakage. Silicone on the other hand is for everyday, and you don't use conditioner with silicone... ever. OOPS! I tried the new silicone cap again tonight - the one that kept popping of my head before - this time without conditioner - and it was perfect. Thanks, Mandy-belle!
I swam 20 laps using a buoy between my legs to start, just as I'd done the last time. The whole time I was swimming I was debating whether to pull the buoy out; if I'm going to be running tomorrow, I might as well use my legs today...
So, I took off doing a really vigorous crawl and it felt so great! That full body motion brought me back to what it was like to have a tantrum as a little girl. (Oh... I was good at those!) Just, pounding the water with my fists and feet, letting it all out. What an awesome relief! Also, a great workout. Eventually I had to alternate between craw, breast stroke, back stroke (traditional and survival), and butterfly. I added under water turns. And I started screaming.
Yes, screaming. I started to get exhausted around 20 minutes in and naturally began making a noise under water as I exhaled. "Ahhhhh!" Kind of a mild complaint. Eventually, I pumped up the volume and thought about everything I'm mad about right now and it was incredibly cathartic! I did wonder vaguely whether the lifeguard, or the man in the lane next to me (who got out around this time and left the pool!) could hear me; but I really didn't care. "Ahhhh!" "Ahhhhh!" "Ahhh!" Good stuff.
After the pool I rinsed off, put my beach dress on over my bathing suit, and went barefoot to the stationary bike and rode, just like that, dripping wet. My mind was as blank as it's ever been. This might be my version of the "clear head" runners report achieving, that continues to allude me. Maybe I just need to have a proper tantrum once in a while, and that's the only way I'm going to get my tiny little bit of peace.
I hung up and immediately plunged my foot into a bag of ice under my desk. I've decided I'm going to keep my foot on ice until November 7th. And if I make it to the start line of the marathon, I might run in an ice boot with a roller skate embedded in the base. Nobody will notice. People are focused on their own experience, right?
I'm going to call another podiatrist for a third opinion. I feel like the ortho was a bit nonchalant with his diagnosis. I mean, I don't want to hurt myself more! I did try running through it, and that's how I got to today. So, we'll see; maybe someone else will have another idea. Why not? In the meanwhile, I'm planning to try to run tomorrow with my marathon class, so tonight, I took to the pool and bike.
Thanks very much to my friend Amanda who enlightened me about swim caps! So nice of her to have set me straight. For those who might be interested in the difference between latex and silicone caps, latex is for racing, and you put conditioner on your hair first, under the cap, to prevent breakage. Silicone on the other hand is for everyday, and you don't use conditioner with silicone... ever. OOPS! I tried the new silicone cap again tonight - the one that kept popping of my head before - this time without conditioner - and it was perfect. Thanks, Mandy-belle!
I swam 20 laps using a buoy between my legs to start, just as I'd done the last time. The whole time I was swimming I was debating whether to pull the buoy out; if I'm going to be running tomorrow, I might as well use my legs today...
So, I took off doing a really vigorous crawl and it felt so great! That full body motion brought me back to what it was like to have a tantrum as a little girl. (Oh... I was good at those!) Just, pounding the water with my fists and feet, letting it all out. What an awesome relief! Also, a great workout. Eventually I had to alternate between craw, breast stroke, back stroke (traditional and survival), and butterfly. I added under water turns. And I started screaming.
Yes, screaming. I started to get exhausted around 20 minutes in and naturally began making a noise under water as I exhaled. "Ahhhhh!" Kind of a mild complaint. Eventually, I pumped up the volume and thought about everything I'm mad about right now and it was incredibly cathartic! I did wonder vaguely whether the lifeguard, or the man in the lane next to me (who got out around this time and left the pool!) could hear me; but I really didn't care. "Ahhhh!" "Ahhhhh!" "Ahhh!" Good stuff.
After the pool I rinsed off, put my beach dress on over my bathing suit, and went barefoot to the stationary bike and rode, just like that, dripping wet. My mind was as blank as it's ever been. This might be my version of the "clear head" runners report achieving, that continues to allude me. Maybe I just need to have a proper tantrum once in a while, and that's the only way I'm going to get my tiny little bit of peace.
Monday, August 9, 2010
89: MRI Results
I got the results of my MRI today. My podiatrist called to discuss them. He sounded confused when we talked and told me I needed to go for a second opinion. I pointed out that he had been my second opinion. Then he said he felt dizzy and had to go.
He called back a while later to apologize, and told me he's actually seriously ill, and that he really thought I should get a second opinion. I asked him to fax the report to me. He did, and I sent it on to my orthopedist for his opinion. I also had the report faxed to my physical therapist.
I'm not 100% sure what the next steps are. I do know, however, that I did not tear the capsule. That in and of itself is good news, but knowing my ortho's diagnosis was wrong is a bit disconcerting. So now, it seems, I've got myraid other things wrong in there that are probably more serious and longstanding, and I don't quite understand what my next steps are. Rehab may take a very long time. The podiatrist said I will not be recovered in time to run the marathon, and that he doesn't advise I plan on a career as a runner. I"m not able to accept this yet. I might choose not to accept it.
I cried a little bit at my desk at work. This is not the way I thought my story was going to end. I suddenly feel old and damaged. And defeated. I know, I have to snap out of this mood. I need a plan. And fast. I don't know if I should drop out of the NYRR training program I'm in and try to get some of my money back. Maybe.
I'm hoping to get more information tomorrow from the orthopedist. For now, I was told to ice as often as I can- at least 5x a day, and start taking anti-inflammatory medication. I can swim. Biking is more risky. And I have to stop wearing any kind of high heeled, narrow toed dress shoe, which is really almost more of a problem than anything else!
He called back a while later to apologize, and told me he's actually seriously ill, and that he really thought I should get a second opinion. I asked him to fax the report to me. He did, and I sent it on to my orthopedist for his opinion. I also had the report faxed to my physical therapist.
I'm not 100% sure what the next steps are. I do know, however, that I did not tear the capsule. That in and of itself is good news, but knowing my ortho's diagnosis was wrong is a bit disconcerting. So now, it seems, I've got myraid other things wrong in there that are probably more serious and longstanding, and I don't quite understand what my next steps are. Rehab may take a very long time. The podiatrist said I will not be recovered in time to run the marathon, and that he doesn't advise I plan on a career as a runner. I"m not able to accept this yet. I might choose not to accept it.
I cried a little bit at my desk at work. This is not the way I thought my story was going to end. I suddenly feel old and damaged. And defeated. I know, I have to snap out of this mood. I need a plan. And fast. I don't know if I should drop out of the NYRR training program I'm in and try to get some of my money back. Maybe.
I'm hoping to get more information tomorrow from the orthopedist. For now, I was told to ice as often as I can- at least 5x a day, and start taking anti-inflammatory medication. I can swim. Biking is more risky. And I have to stop wearing any kind of high heeled, narrow toed dress shoe, which is really almost more of a problem than anything else!
Sunday, August 8, 2010
90: 7M Bike Ride
I biked 7 indoor miles today in 30 minutes. I would have gone longer but the gym closed on me. Shame to have been biking inside on a beautiful day like today but I don't own a bike. I have fantasies about riding up in Westchester and Rockland Counties in the fall. I wonder if I should though. I don't want to risk another injury before the marathon!
My foot is in pain again, so I’ve got ice on it. I was hoping for the green light to run tomorrow but now I’m not so confident. This really sucks.
My foot is in pain again, so I’ve got ice on it. I was hoping for the green light to run tomorrow but now I’m not so confident. This really sucks.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
91: Predominantly Ornamental (10M Bike, 900 Ft Swim)
It's a gorgeous day out today but since I don't own a bicycle, I had to do my biking workout inside. Sad. I went 10 miles on the dot in 41 minutes, at level 3. That's 3 minutes faster than I've ever biked 10 miles in the past. I love progress.
I was able to read the whole time, nearly finishing a book I'm loving. Today's a day all about crossing things off my list so I was grateful for the opportunity to multi-task and advance two things at once. I'm going to turn that last page tonight if it kills me... and can't wait to pick my next book!
After biking I went to the pool, even though I was told not to. The key reason I was told I shouldn't swim was that I'd be risking using my foot. Well, the trainer at the gym showed me a buoy shaped especially to fit between your legs, so that you can swim without kicking. Fabulous!
My arms are my weakest part so I decided to just go 20 laps, which amounts to 900 feet, or .16 miles! Wow - just when you were thinking I might impress you! I've got a long way to go with swimming, baby. My form's fine, but I realized today how much I rely on my legs for power. I've always been a good kicker. My arms are predominantly "ornamental" though. I'm kind of like a dinosaur. Strong legs, tough skin, big head, open mouth, delicate little hands. Good for surviving on land. Not so good in the sea. You can't be unbalanced like that if you want to progress at an endurance sport. I'd have stayed longer today but I had to get back upstairs to shower and head out. Another time.
I tried out my new bathing suit today and it makes me feel like I'm in 4th grade again, when Speedo racing suits were in fashion. I've chosen a racer back by TYR that's as flattering as anything that goes up to your neck and is open in the back would ever be on me! Black with some electric blue wiggly lines. My goggles fit nicely, and have a spit back so they secure around my ponytail; the only thing is, when I tried them on in the store, fabulous Mary from Jackrabbit (who I just noticed today is featured on the store's TV ad!) didn't have me look in the mirror and I must say, they are NOT flattering. I've got a slightly disabled look when I put them on. Clear plastic is not really my color. Anyway, I'm confident they aren't the first thing anyone's going to notice when I'm in my pool gear! They're fine for now.
The silicone swim cap Mary directed me to is too small. I rinsed it out and will try to exchange it the next time I'm near the store. I guess Mary didn't notice my big dinosaur head when she selected the small. The thing literally popped up off at one point while I was in the pool!
I have to say, I've been really diligent about doing my PT exercises and icing, and at this moment, my foot feels better than it has in a month. Truly. I'm going to wait for the official go-ahead (hopefully Monday night, just in time to get my MRI results) but I predict I'll be running at Tuesday's speed work session. At least I hope so. If they tell me I still need another week of rest I will believe them and comply, but at this moment, I'm very encouraged that I will eventually get all better, and I won't have to drop out of training for the marathon.
I was able to read the whole time, nearly finishing a book I'm loving. Today's a day all about crossing things off my list so I was grateful for the opportunity to multi-task and advance two things at once. I'm going to turn that last page tonight if it kills me... and can't wait to pick my next book!
After biking I went to the pool, even though I was told not to. The key reason I was told I shouldn't swim was that I'd be risking using my foot. Well, the trainer at the gym showed me a buoy shaped especially to fit between your legs, so that you can swim without kicking. Fabulous!
My arms are my weakest part so I decided to just go 20 laps, which amounts to 900 feet, or .16 miles! Wow - just when you were thinking I might impress you! I've got a long way to go with swimming, baby. My form's fine, but I realized today how much I rely on my legs for power. I've always been a good kicker. My arms are predominantly "ornamental" though. I'm kind of like a dinosaur. Strong legs, tough skin, big head, open mouth, delicate little hands. Good for surviving on land. Not so good in the sea. You can't be unbalanced like that if you want to progress at an endurance sport. I'd have stayed longer today but I had to get back upstairs to shower and head out. Another time.
I tried out my new bathing suit today and it makes me feel like I'm in 4th grade again, when Speedo racing suits were in fashion. I've chosen a racer back by TYR that's as flattering as anything that goes up to your neck and is open in the back would ever be on me! Black with some electric blue wiggly lines. My goggles fit nicely, and have a spit back so they secure around my ponytail; the only thing is, when I tried them on in the store, fabulous Mary from Jackrabbit (who I just noticed today is featured on the store's TV ad!) didn't have me look in the mirror and I must say, they are NOT flattering. I've got a slightly disabled look when I put them on. Clear plastic is not really my color. Anyway, I'm confident they aren't the first thing anyone's going to notice when I'm in my pool gear! They're fine for now.
The silicone swim cap Mary directed me to is too small. I rinsed it out and will try to exchange it the next time I'm near the store. I guess Mary didn't notice my big dinosaur head when she selected the small. The thing literally popped up off at one point while I was in the pool!
I have to say, I've been really diligent about doing my PT exercises and icing, and at this moment, my foot feels better than it has in a month. Truly. I'm going to wait for the official go-ahead (hopefully Monday night, just in time to get my MRI results) but I predict I'll be running at Tuesday's speed work session. At least I hope so. If they tell me I still need another week of rest I will believe them and comply, but at this moment, I'm very encouraged that I will eventually get all better, and I won't have to drop out of training for the marathon.
Friday, August 6, 2010
92: That Was Fast! (That's What She Said.)
So happy to say my one-day Blue Print Cleanse is over! I know what you're thinking... That was fast!
I'd planned on going three days but the boobs at BPC only sent me one day's worth of juice, and then were bitches about finding a solution to getting me the rest of the supply. Look, if I'm going to pay over $12 for a bottle of lemonade, I expect some service with that. I told them to give me my money back and forget the rest of the days.
The good news is, I actually feel more positive benefits with this level 2, one-day cleanse than I have in the past with three days of level 1. I manifested a massive rash on my chest and neck in the afternoon (toxins and allergens pouring out), then a mild fever and a cracking headache an hour or so later. Right now, my skin has a fine layer of bumps all over it and my teeth have a strange film covering them.
Great news, right! ...well, obviously something is happening! And that's what I wanted out of this. And the side effects, while unpleasant, aren't nearly as bad as they've been in the past. So, I'm going to consider this effort a complete success.
I'd planned on going three days but the boobs at BPC only sent me one day's worth of juice, and then were bitches about finding a solution to getting me the rest of the supply. Look, if I'm going to pay over $12 for a bottle of lemonade, I expect some service with that. I told them to give me my money back and forget the rest of the days.
The good news is, I actually feel more positive benefits with this level 2, one-day cleanse than I have in the past with three days of level 1. I manifested a massive rash on my chest and neck in the afternoon (toxins and allergens pouring out), then a mild fever and a cracking headache an hour or so later. Right now, my skin has a fine layer of bumps all over it and my teeth have a strange film covering them.
Great news, right! ...well, obviously something is happening! And that's what I wanted out of this. And the side effects, while unpleasant, aren't nearly as bad as they've been in the past. So, I'm going to consider this effort a complete success.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
93: The Fainting Diet
For months I've been wanting to do a proper cleanse, or a juice fast, but I've been too ravenous from all the running to consider it. Since I'm forbidden to run until at least Tuesday of next week though now, I figured this would be the perfect time to squeeze a detox program in. I've done the Blue Print Cleanse in the past - level one, the Renovation level. This time I'm opting for level two, the Foundation cleanse, since I'm so healthy already. I hope I don't regret that decision!
When I did Blue Print a year ago, it was during the work week and I made no effort to hide my funky bottles of beet juice, mystery green stuff and lemonade. Within a day, I was noticeably "not well" at the office. I had a fever. I was foggy. My boss started telling everyone I was on a new diet called "The Fainting Diet." By day three I had pimples all over.
They say those side effects are the toxins leaving your body, and that's proof that the fast is working. You're supposed to feel clean afterwards. I've never feel clean or amazing after a fast. Usually, my intestines stop working and I have a horrible stomach ache for days while things get back in gear. And I've never actually lost weight from a cleanse. I always wonder if that's because I had so many toxins to clear out, and I didn't really get them all, so I don't end up feeling totally saved.
This time I'm going to start the cleanse on a Friday and continue over the weekend, when I can be low key. I won't be able to eat when I go out to dinner, or drink at the party I'm hitting on Saturday night; but at least I'll be saving some money! Good thing too because the cost of the juices is obscene. I told my doctor friend Michael once how much it costs per bottle and he flat out told me I was crazy, and that it should be called the Stupid Diet. (And I think the price has actually gone up since then!)
OK, so why do it? I have read a lot about cleanses and how/why they work, and I must say, I do buy into the idea that the human body benefits from being shocked in different directions. You drive your car very, very fast (over 120 mph) every once in a while on an open road to burn out all the impurities in the engine that could coat or clog up the fuel lines, right? Well if you don't, you really should. (Did I just impress you with my car talk?) And I believe the body is the same way. We need to change our conditions, and create extreme circumstances, to prompt certain functions, and to strengthen the way the body is meant to function.
I many not feel "good" after I've done a cleanse, but I feel noble, and healthy, and disciplined. And I believe that this is something one should do (probably more often than I do) to stabilize digestion, release toxins, and cast off any encrusted seeds of disease which may be lodged deep down in the system. If I have to be uncomfortable for a few days now to potentially prevent illness down the line, well then that's worth it to me.
Now I can hardly wait for the morning to come... Let the fainting begin!
When I did Blue Print a year ago, it was during the work week and I made no effort to hide my funky bottles of beet juice, mystery green stuff and lemonade. Within a day, I was noticeably "not well" at the office. I had a fever. I was foggy. My boss started telling everyone I was on a new diet called "The Fainting Diet." By day three I had pimples all over.
They say those side effects are the toxins leaving your body, and that's proof that the fast is working. You're supposed to feel clean afterwards. I've never feel clean or amazing after a fast. Usually, my intestines stop working and I have a horrible stomach ache for days while things get back in gear. And I've never actually lost weight from a cleanse. I always wonder if that's because I had so many toxins to clear out, and I didn't really get them all, so I don't end up feeling totally saved.
This time I'm going to start the cleanse on a Friday and continue over the weekend, when I can be low key. I won't be able to eat when I go out to dinner, or drink at the party I'm hitting on Saturday night; but at least I'll be saving some money! Good thing too because the cost of the juices is obscene. I told my doctor friend Michael once how much it costs per bottle and he flat out told me I was crazy, and that it should be called the Stupid Diet. (And I think the price has actually gone up since then!)
OK, so why do it? I have read a lot about cleanses and how/why they work, and I must say, I do buy into the idea that the human body benefits from being shocked in different directions. You drive your car very, very fast (over 120 mph) every once in a while on an open road to burn out all the impurities in the engine that could coat or clog up the fuel lines, right? Well if you don't, you really should. (Did I just impress you with my car talk?) And I believe the body is the same way. We need to change our conditions, and create extreme circumstances, to prompt certain functions, and to strengthen the way the body is meant to function.
I many not feel "good" after I've done a cleanse, but I feel noble, and healthy, and disciplined. And I believe that this is something one should do (probably more often than I do) to stabilize digestion, release toxins, and cast off any encrusted seeds of disease which may be lodged deep down in the system. If I have to be uncomfortable for a few days now to potentially prevent illness down the line, well then that's worth it to me.
Now I can hardly wait for the morning to come... Let the fainting begin!
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
94: Dudes and Duct Tape
I went up to my first marathon training lecture at the NY Road Runners this evening. I can't run, but I figured I'd show up for the lesson, see how things were being grouped, and check out the boy:girl ratio. I got my priorities, yo!
While the ratio wasn't great, maybe 1:6 (which is still pretty good for NYC), the guys were almost all cute and the girls were almost all not. I sat down in the auditorium, purposely leaving a space for someone to sit next to me if they wanted. Within minutes, the cutest guy in the room - dark skin, big nose, baseball cap, dark hair and a beard - moved into my row, past me, and sat down a seat away. Sweet! Jewish? Muslim? Ring? Couldn't see.
We smiled and said hi, and then I stuck my head in my book, and he read the sheet we'd been given when we walked in - something about blood flow. The lecture was brief but good. We learned about aerobic and anaerobic breathing. We learned about classifications for runners. And Shelly, the leader, told us that today we (well, not I, but all the other poor suckers) were going to run down to the East River, and across the Queensborough Bridge and back, in 88 degree weather, with 60% humidity. She warned everyone we'd have to go 2-by-2 over the bridge and in spots because the sidewalk was so narrow, and she wanted us to take it slow.
My heart raced. The Queensborough Bridge! I felt real fear just thinking about being in a pack of pretty able-bodied looking runners, trying to keep up, running across a major public road during rush hour. The Queensborough Bridge is part of the marathon course and it is very steep in parts! How exciting that we'd be running over hallowed ground... ground I probably wouldn't see again until the marathon itself! Wait, I had to remind myself, I'm not running today.
I felt this strange combination of fear, excitement and sadness. I want my foot to be OK! Now! Maybe all this is happening to me so that I will really appreciate it when I can run again. So that I will work my ass off when I'm able, and not slack, and feel privileged if November 7th comes and I'm in fact able to go for the big goal.
When the lecture was over, bearded neighbor man asked me if I knew if we could leave our stuff in the room while we ran and I said we could. I wondered if he thought it odd that I was wearing a skirt and running shoes... I offered up an answer, just in case, saying I wasn't going to be running because of my injury, and that I'd just had an MRI today, and was hoping I'd be back on track soon. He asked what happened and I told him about the fateful barefoot soccer game on the grass...
"Duct tape," he said.
"Excuse me?" I really hadn't understood what he'd said. Actually, I thought he said, "Fuck it."
"Duct tape," he repeated. "Just duct tape the foot."
I smiled inside and out because that's something my father would have said. "Yeah, duct tape and some Popsicle sticks. That's all I need!" I replied with a laugh. "Why do men always think duct tape is the answer to all of life's problems? Might be kind of hard for me to jam a duct taped foot into my high heeled shoe! ...Well, I hope to see you next week!" and then I got up and left thinking about my father, and wondering if that was some kind of sign.
You know me - or maybe you don't know me - I get signs. All the time. I run into people against all odds. I get freaky specific fortune cookies. Psychics look me in the eye and always say the same thing about my energy. I'm not psychic myself but there's definitely something about me that's a little different, or maybe just more realized than the average person. Have me hold a hand over yours some time and you'll see what I mean. An ex-boyfriend used to call me the heat factory. I can feel it when I'm in the presence of imbued objects.
Anyway, I don't do anything with it but as I get older, I do try to at least recognize the signs and try to heed the messages. With regard to romance, I just went to a psychic in New Orleans and he got really specific on me. He said my husband was coming, and that he would look the opposite of me - dark skin, dark hair, tall, and that he'd have a cleft chin.
I don't know if my new friend from running class has a cleft chin under that beard, but there was something about him that made me pay attention. I guess I'll find out what it all means in time. Perhaps it's just my dad looking down on me through him, sending a message - laugh this foot injury off. It's "my way" of getting you off the hook from running during an August heat wave in Manhattan. I love you and my little girl shouldn't have to suffer.
If that's what this is, then, thank you Dad; and if you see any good dudes with cleft chins around, could you please point me in the right direction?
While the ratio wasn't great, maybe 1:6 (which is still pretty good for NYC), the guys were almost all cute and the girls were almost all not. I sat down in the auditorium, purposely leaving a space for someone to sit next to me if they wanted. Within minutes, the cutest guy in the room - dark skin, big nose, baseball cap, dark hair and a beard - moved into my row, past me, and sat down a seat away. Sweet! Jewish? Muslim? Ring? Couldn't see.
We smiled and said hi, and then I stuck my head in my book, and he read the sheet we'd been given when we walked in - something about blood flow. The lecture was brief but good. We learned about aerobic and anaerobic breathing. We learned about classifications for runners. And Shelly, the leader, told us that today we (well, not I, but all the other poor suckers) were going to run down to the East River, and across the Queensborough Bridge and back, in 88 degree weather, with 60% humidity. She warned everyone we'd have to go 2-by-2 over the bridge and in spots because the sidewalk was so narrow, and she wanted us to take it slow.
My heart raced. The Queensborough Bridge! I felt real fear just thinking about being in a pack of pretty able-bodied looking runners, trying to keep up, running across a major public road during rush hour. The Queensborough Bridge is part of the marathon course and it is very steep in parts! How exciting that we'd be running over hallowed ground... ground I probably wouldn't see again until the marathon itself! Wait, I had to remind myself, I'm not running today.
I felt this strange combination of fear, excitement and sadness. I want my foot to be OK! Now! Maybe all this is happening to me so that I will really appreciate it when I can run again. So that I will work my ass off when I'm able, and not slack, and feel privileged if November 7th comes and I'm in fact able to go for the big goal.
When the lecture was over, bearded neighbor man asked me if I knew if we could leave our stuff in the room while we ran and I said we could. I wondered if he thought it odd that I was wearing a skirt and running shoes... I offered up an answer, just in case, saying I wasn't going to be running because of my injury, and that I'd just had an MRI today, and was hoping I'd be back on track soon. He asked what happened and I told him about the fateful barefoot soccer game on the grass...
"Duct tape," he said.
"Excuse me?" I really hadn't understood what he'd said. Actually, I thought he said, "Fuck it."
"Duct tape," he repeated. "Just duct tape the foot."
I smiled inside and out because that's something my father would have said. "Yeah, duct tape and some Popsicle sticks. That's all I need!" I replied with a laugh. "Why do men always think duct tape is the answer to all of life's problems? Might be kind of hard for me to jam a duct taped foot into my high heeled shoe! ...Well, I hope to see you next week!" and then I got up and left thinking about my father, and wondering if that was some kind of sign.
You know me - or maybe you don't know me - I get signs. All the time. I run into people against all odds. I get freaky specific fortune cookies. Psychics look me in the eye and always say the same thing about my energy. I'm not psychic myself but there's definitely something about me that's a little different, or maybe just more realized than the average person. Have me hold a hand over yours some time and you'll see what I mean. An ex-boyfriend used to call me the heat factory. I can feel it when I'm in the presence of imbued objects.
Anyway, I don't do anything with it but as I get older, I do try to at least recognize the signs and try to heed the messages. With regard to romance, I just went to a psychic in New Orleans and he got really specific on me. He said my husband was coming, and that he would look the opposite of me - dark skin, dark hair, tall, and that he'd have a cleft chin.
I don't know if my new friend from running class has a cleft chin under that beard, but there was something about him that made me pay attention. I guess I'll find out what it all means in time. Perhaps it's just my dad looking down on me through him, sending a message - laugh this foot injury off. It's "my way" of getting you off the hook from running during an August heat wave in Manhattan. I love you and my little girl shouldn't have to suffer.
If that's what this is, then, thank you Dad; and if you see any good dudes with cleft chins around, could you please point me in the right direction?
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
95: Powered By Dim Sum (PBDS)
There's the old adage, you wouldn't want to be in any club that would have you. Well, I might just be that shallow.
On Sunday when I was standing in my corral waiting to be waved on to the start line for the marathon training run, I stood behind a man who was wearing what I thought was just a funny tank top. It was red and said in bright yellow letters across the back, "Powered By Dim Sum." Funny, I thought! That man has a sense of humor! He was Asian, and I imagined his coming up with the idea for that shirt and ordering it through some custom lettering business online.
Feeling friendly, I pulled my ear buds out and tapped the man. He didn't turn around at first. The corrals are always packed so he probably just assumed I was a random person bumping into him as I stretched. I tapped him again, eager to soothe my pre-run nerves with a little conversation. I'd failed to find my friend Sarah in the mob scene and really missed our pre-run pep talk; I was desperate for a distraction! Finally he turned around.
"I like your shirt! So cute!" For a minute he just looked at me and didn't reply, like maybe he didn't speak English? But then he did. He said that was the name of his running club, that they were an official club, with points standings. "Wow! That's so cool," I said, "What's the prerequisite for joining? Do you have to be Chinese-American?" I have no idea where that came from. Sometimes I'm a dolt.
"No," he said, "You don't have to be Asian. You just have to love to eat, and like dim sum. We have some White people."
"Oh, I love to eat!" I squealed, "and I love dim sum! Can I be in your club?" I still wasn't quite registering that this was a real club, probably with meetings, and dues, and whatever else you do with a club. In the case of running clubs, I know your time gets factored into the club's overall timings and that's how your standing gets established. Because of this, I can't imagine anyone wanting me in their club! I'm always in the bottom 50% of runners.
"Yes," he said, "You can apply to be in the club. We take new people," then the volunteer moved us to the start line and he had to turn around. He called, "You can Google it," over his shoulder and I watch Mr. Powered By Dim Sum run out in front of me until I couldn't see him any more. No doubt his pace was inspired by the promise of little juicy buns and deep fried chicken's feet just steps across the finish line.
The next day, out of curiosity, I looked at the NY Road Runners website to see if the guy had been telling me a tall tale. Was Powered By Dim Sum a recognized running club? And, in fact, it is! It even has its own code, PBDS. I told my friend Clare at work about this and she was as amused. We share a love for dim sum and keep saying we're going to go to Chinatown one weekend and indulge together. We pulled up the club's facebook page and Yahoo! group page and surveyed.... Should I apply? We decided I should...
Today I got a nice note back from the group's administrator. It said, "Anyway, if you're interested in joining the club, below is the usual blurb I send out to new potential members. You can join or not join, no pressure." Wow! That was awfully easy... Then down in the blurb he warned me not to get too personal with my application. "If this sounds interesting to you then can you write a short bio about yourself so I can use it to introduce you to the group. Nothing too serious, keep it light. Write stuff like what your previous and future running goals are and why you love dim sum."
They saw me coming - already warning me to "keep it light!" Maybe this group isn't for me... I thought about it. Do I really want to go out for dim sum right after I run, anyway? I kind of like going to Le Pain Quotidian. I'm more French than I am Asian if we are going to get geographic. Also, would this involve my schlepping down to Chinatown or could we just go to Shun Lee Cafe West Side?
I haven't replied yet. Sure, I found a club that would have me, but do I want them? Am I really powered by dim sum?
I've always been one to make my own rules. In H.S. I started clubs I thought the school was missing: the French club and the radio club. In college I helped design a class we named, "Media as Educator and Obfuscator," because there wasn't anything like it in the curriculum. I've basically written the rules in my career, as well; I don't know anybody who has taken the path I have to get where I am today. Why then wouldn't it be the same for me with running? Maybe, I will start my own club for people who want to give themselves a year to train for the marathon. From zero to 26.2 in 12.
Sure, I love dim sum; but to be honest, these days I'm probably powered more by coffee and Gatorade than roast pork buns and chicken balls. I probably won't join; but I won't lie, it is awfully nice to be wanted. So, thank you to PBDS for the generous invitation. I'll think of you the next time I'm dim summing down on Mott.
On Sunday when I was standing in my corral waiting to be waved on to the start line for the marathon training run, I stood behind a man who was wearing what I thought was just a funny tank top. It was red and said in bright yellow letters across the back, "Powered By Dim Sum." Funny, I thought! That man has a sense of humor! He was Asian, and I imagined his coming up with the idea for that shirt and ordering it through some custom lettering business online.
Feeling friendly, I pulled my ear buds out and tapped the man. He didn't turn around at first. The corrals are always packed so he probably just assumed I was a random person bumping into him as I stretched. I tapped him again, eager to soothe my pre-run nerves with a little conversation. I'd failed to find my friend Sarah in the mob scene and really missed our pre-run pep talk; I was desperate for a distraction! Finally he turned around.
"I like your shirt! So cute!" For a minute he just looked at me and didn't reply, like maybe he didn't speak English? But then he did. He said that was the name of his running club, that they were an official club, with points standings. "Wow! That's so cool," I said, "What's the prerequisite for joining? Do you have to be Chinese-American?" I have no idea where that came from. Sometimes I'm a dolt.
"No," he said, "You don't have to be Asian. You just have to love to eat, and like dim sum. We have some White people."
"Oh, I love to eat!" I squealed, "and I love dim sum! Can I be in your club?" I still wasn't quite registering that this was a real club, probably with meetings, and dues, and whatever else you do with a club. In the case of running clubs, I know your time gets factored into the club's overall timings and that's how your standing gets established. Because of this, I can't imagine anyone wanting me in their club! I'm always in the bottom 50% of runners.
"Yes," he said, "You can apply to be in the club. We take new people," then the volunteer moved us to the start line and he had to turn around. He called, "You can Google it," over his shoulder and I watch Mr. Powered By Dim Sum run out in front of me until I couldn't see him any more. No doubt his pace was inspired by the promise of little juicy buns and deep fried chicken's feet just steps across the finish line.
The next day, out of curiosity, I looked at the NY Road Runners website to see if the guy had been telling me a tall tale. Was Powered By Dim Sum a recognized running club? And, in fact, it is! It even has its own code, PBDS. I told my friend Clare at work about this and she was as amused. We share a love for dim sum and keep saying we're going to go to Chinatown one weekend and indulge together. We pulled up the club's facebook page and Yahoo! group page and surveyed.... Should I apply? We decided I should...
Today I got a nice note back from the group's administrator. It said, "Anyway, if you're interested in joining the club, below is the usual blurb I send out to new potential members. You can join or not join, no pressure." Wow! That was awfully easy... Then down in the blurb he warned me not to get too personal with my application. "If this sounds interesting to you then can you write a short bio about yourself so I can use it to introduce you to the group. Nothing too serious, keep it light. Write stuff like what your previous and future running goals are and why you love dim sum."
They saw me coming - already warning me to "keep it light!" Maybe this group isn't for me... I thought about it. Do I really want to go out for dim sum right after I run, anyway? I kind of like going to Le Pain Quotidian. I'm more French than I am Asian if we are going to get geographic. Also, would this involve my schlepping down to Chinatown or could we just go to Shun Lee Cafe West Side?
I haven't replied yet. Sure, I found a club that would have me, but do I want them? Am I really powered by dim sum?
I've always been one to make my own rules. In H.S. I started clubs I thought the school was missing: the French club and the radio club. In college I helped design a class we named, "Media as Educator and Obfuscator," because there wasn't anything like it in the curriculum. I've basically written the rules in my career, as well; I don't know anybody who has taken the path I have to get where I am today. Why then wouldn't it be the same for me with running? Maybe, I will start my own club for people who want to give themselves a year to train for the marathon. From zero to 26.2 in 12.
Sure, I love dim sum; but to be honest, these days I'm probably powered more by coffee and Gatorade than roast pork buns and chicken balls. I probably won't join; but I won't lie, it is awfully nice to be wanted. So, thank you to PBDS for the generous invitation. I'll think of you the next time I'm dim summing down on Mott.
Monday, August 2, 2010
96: High-Class Problems
Yesterday was the last straw. I knew I couldn't keep on keeping on without professional help in the form of physical therapy; and to get physical therapy, you need a doctor's note. So, orders of the day today were to 1) see the podiatrist, 2) get the Rx, and 3) find a physical therapist that could start seeing me immediately. Tall order, maybe, but I'm extra effective on Mondays...
At 7:30 AM I started calling physical therapy joints within one block of my apartment, preparing in advance, assuming the doctor would send me to one. I liked the idea of being near my apartment, so I could go on my way to work - preferably finding one attached to a deluxe gym, so I could work out and shower there afterwards using their delightful, free products. Of the 8 PT outfits I called, 5 took my insurance, and none had any opening for even an initial intake meeting until Friday. Friday! Not good enough.
I abandoned the search for a PT and shifted gears, setting up the podiatrist appointment for noon. Don't ask me how. It took a little negotiating, a lot of holding, and maybe a little bit of luck. Anyway, check!
The podiatrist (my darling Harriet the Spy) wiggled my foot around pretty minimally, looked at my sneakers, and had me describe what had happened. He had a lot of ideas and not one of them was, "Just keep running on it; it'll clear up on its own." Apparently, my instincts were bad.
So, the best case scenario is that I tore the capsule on July 3rd, and it never fully healed, and the pain I'm having is caused by inflammation and strain in the tendons which are compensating for the parts I'm favoring and avoiding using. The cure for that would be total rest, ice, PT and total rest and total rest. BUGGER! No running. At all. No swimming either, unless I vow not to use my legs, but biking would be fine.
The worst case scenario is that by running on an injured capsule, tendon, or plate, I have caused a stress fracture, which would mean putting my foot in a boot and definitely no marathon at all, no way, no how, not this year. Not happening. For some reason I didn't cry when he said that. I guess, the gravity of it all made me realize how grateful I was that we weren't talking about something like cancer, or the need for surgery. It's just a marathon. An injured toes is a pretty high-class problem in the scheme of life.
So, since we don't know exactly what's going on in there, we need an MRI to find out. I've scheduled that for Wednesday. Funny thing is, the podiatrist told me that insurance wouldn't have covered the cost of an MRI a month ago. So, once again, everything unfolds in some semblance of perfect timing.
After my exam was over, the podiatrist had his PT treat my foot on the spot with electro shock therapy, and sound wave therapy, and a footbath. He told me the new $125 sneakers I ordered online might not be the best for me, and where to go to get fitted for something new instead. He also told me my old sneakers aren't done yet - they're only half done. He's a good man that Harriet the Spy!
After the podiatrist visit, I raced back to the office and cancelled my backordered sneakers, which hadn't shipped yet! Then I called every Equinox in the city and checked their PT avails. Nothing. Determined, I next pulled up google maps and found an unglamorous PT office in the building literally across the street from my office. They had someone named Sammy who could see me at 4:30 today, and they had early hours, and late hours, and took my insurance. Done!
Sammy said the same things my podiatrist said, but he laid it on pretty thick about not running. Actually, he begged. He said, "Why is it always the runners who say they'll lay off but then they don't? They just love it so much?" I said I hate to run, and he looked mildly reassured. I promised I would not run for one full week. So, I'll go to my running classes Tues and Wed nights, but I won't run. I'll just listen. And watch. And ask about how to get a refund, in case it comes to that.
Then Sammy gave me the exact same sound wave and electro shock therapy treatments the podiatrist's PT had, 3 hours earlier, less the footbath. I worried that having them 2x in a day might be bad but Sammy said that's how professional athletes recover so quickly. They get them 2x a day. I inquired about renting the equipment and giving myself the treatments all day long under my desk. (I kind of like how it feels when it's zapping!) Sammy didn't like that question.
So, right now I feel like I'm on the right track and soon to have answers. I accomplished all my goals today, and more. With two PT sessions in one afternoon, I'm experiencing what it's like to be a professional athlete today! Only, where's my contract?
At 7:30 AM I started calling physical therapy joints within one block of my apartment, preparing in advance, assuming the doctor would send me to one. I liked the idea of being near my apartment, so I could go on my way to work - preferably finding one attached to a deluxe gym, so I could work out and shower there afterwards using their delightful, free products. Of the 8 PT outfits I called, 5 took my insurance, and none had any opening for even an initial intake meeting until Friday. Friday! Not good enough.
I abandoned the search for a PT and shifted gears, setting up the podiatrist appointment for noon. Don't ask me how. It took a little negotiating, a lot of holding, and maybe a little bit of luck. Anyway, check!
The podiatrist (my darling Harriet the Spy) wiggled my foot around pretty minimally, looked at my sneakers, and had me describe what had happened. He had a lot of ideas and not one of them was, "Just keep running on it; it'll clear up on its own." Apparently, my instincts were bad.
So, the best case scenario is that I tore the capsule on July 3rd, and it never fully healed, and the pain I'm having is caused by inflammation and strain in the tendons which are compensating for the parts I'm favoring and avoiding using. The cure for that would be total rest, ice, PT and total rest and total rest. BUGGER! No running. At all. No swimming either, unless I vow not to use my legs, but biking would be fine.
The worst case scenario is that by running on an injured capsule, tendon, or plate, I have caused a stress fracture, which would mean putting my foot in a boot and definitely no marathon at all, no way, no how, not this year. Not happening. For some reason I didn't cry when he said that. I guess, the gravity of it all made me realize how grateful I was that we weren't talking about something like cancer, or the need for surgery. It's just a marathon. An injured toes is a pretty high-class problem in the scheme of life.
So, since we don't know exactly what's going on in there, we need an MRI to find out. I've scheduled that for Wednesday. Funny thing is, the podiatrist told me that insurance wouldn't have covered the cost of an MRI a month ago. So, once again, everything unfolds in some semblance of perfect timing.
After my exam was over, the podiatrist had his PT treat my foot on the spot with electro shock therapy, and sound wave therapy, and a footbath. He told me the new $125 sneakers I ordered online might not be the best for me, and where to go to get fitted for something new instead. He also told me my old sneakers aren't done yet - they're only half done. He's a good man that Harriet the Spy!
After the podiatrist visit, I raced back to the office and cancelled my backordered sneakers, which hadn't shipped yet! Then I called every Equinox in the city and checked their PT avails. Nothing. Determined, I next pulled up google maps and found an unglamorous PT office in the building literally across the street from my office. They had someone named Sammy who could see me at 4:30 today, and they had early hours, and late hours, and took my insurance. Done!
Sammy said the same things my podiatrist said, but he laid it on pretty thick about not running. Actually, he begged. He said, "Why is it always the runners who say they'll lay off but then they don't? They just love it so much?" I said I hate to run, and he looked mildly reassured. I promised I would not run for one full week. So, I'll go to my running classes Tues and Wed nights, but I won't run. I'll just listen. And watch. And ask about how to get a refund, in case it comes to that.
Then Sammy gave me the exact same sound wave and electro shock therapy treatments the podiatrist's PT had, 3 hours earlier, less the footbath. I worried that having them 2x in a day might be bad but Sammy said that's how professional athletes recover so quickly. They get them 2x a day. I inquired about renting the equipment and giving myself the treatments all day long under my desk. (I kind of like how it feels when it's zapping!) Sammy didn't like that question.
So, right now I feel like I'm on the right track and soon to have answers. I accomplished all my goals today, and more. With two PT sessions in one afternoon, I'm experiencing what it's like to be a professional athlete today! Only, where's my contract?
Sunday, August 1, 2010
97: 8 Miles, Salt, Tears
Really bad experience today. I went out to the first of three ING Marathon Training Runs to be held before the big day. The course is set up like a race course, with fluid stations and emergency crews, but it isn't timed. You can go as far as you want, though the suggestion is between 6-20 miles.
Twice a minute for the first 5 miles I seriously considered quitting. But then I'd zone in on my body and realize, nothing was really in such terrible shape that I had to quit, I was just violently uninterested in moving forward on the same damn path I've been running on over and over again for the last 9 months. Yup, there's the weird cat. Yup, the Stretching Bridge. Hello, Magical Tree. Here's the hill I walk. What? No Gatorade? I'm dying here!
My music's tired. My outfit was my best race outfit but it's now got something scratchy on the inside. I lathered my feet up with Vaseline but a blister formed on my left foot, anyway, just like old times. I tried consuming a gel at mile 5, but I felt no burst of energy. My sneakers were loose - the new ones I bought are back ordered for another week - so I had to run in my old ones which I noticed are getting bald in places. I left my Nike+ gadget at work, so I couldn't even check my pace. I wore a Swatch so I'd at least know the time without having to pull the iPod out of my shorts constantly. A Swatch. Really, I need to buy a watch. I did have a Polar one that came with my heart monitor but when I went to put it on this morning the battery had died. It's cumbersome and the button's hard to push, so I'm ready to be done with that anyway. Sigh...
The only saving grace until mile 5 was fantasies of turning my story - this story - in to a movie. A book would be the logical next step but I'm not logical. I want to skip right to the fun part, the theatrical part.
The plot and scene are set. The characters are cast. The sound track has been selected. Today I planned the pacing and chronology. I've been struggling with that because nobody would go see this movie if they knew from the beginning that I didn't make it to the marathon. So, obviously, I have to make it to the start line, at least. The thing anyone (even I!) would pay $12 to find out would be what was actually going on in my life during this year, not just my little diary entries on line, and what's the marathon itself like - what do I see along the way? Who does what to get me through it? Do I eventually cross the finish line, and in what condition? Of course, the movie will be promoted with signature medals... and sponsored fundraising runs before screenings... and people will order customized T-shirts with their own name on it, Kevin Hates to Run, that simultaneously promote running, and the movie. My movie starts a running revolution. Not that I've thought much about it or anything.
So today was productive at least briefly. Miles 5-6 were a mixed bag. On one hand, running got easy as it does for me at this juncture... Mile 1 can be borderline fun and I think, "I can do this!" Miles 2 and 3 are torture and I want to quit. Mile 4 could go either way, depending on what's ahead. But by mile 5, I don't feel my legs much any more. I just go. Today though, I faced trouble. My foot hurt so much that I was limping as I crossed the 6 mile mark. There was a medical station with a tent. Two doctors saw me coming and approached.
I told them about the injury and what was happening, and they said the pain was likely because the injury hasn't actually healed, and the rest of my foot is compensating. I need a special orthotic, physical therapy, and ice and anti-inflammatory meds. Now. Or it isn't going to get better. Oh, and the ice treatment is to last 15 minutes, 5 x a day, for the first 24 hours. Then alternate ice and heat. I guess that's why my 2 minute ice applications haven't been helping!
I pulled off the running course and sat on a bench by a pond. Mad at the world. Mad at myself for playing soccer barefoot when I should have been protecting my feet. Mad that there wasn't another person to be mad at. Mad at my doctor who didn't give me better care. Utterly defeated.
I think I started crying when I was talking to the doctors but by the time I was seated I was fully bawling. My face and arms were covered with salt, which melted into my eyes and burned. My hands were swollen. I held onto a banana one of the doctors had given me. Fucking bananas!
A woman in running clothes, with a dog, came by and asked me if I was OK. "NO!" I burst out! I told her everything. She remained totally calm and sympathetic, and said she understood, and that this was normal, and that I needed to stop running immediately, get physical therapy. She also said I wouldn't fall behind, that 15 weeks is plenty of time to train, even with 2 weeks off, especially if I've already run 2 half marathons. I nodded but didn't believe her.
She immediately honed in on my training in Central Park. She said anything over an hour, I need to be running someplace else, to prevent boredom. She suggested taking the A train up to the George Washington Bridge and running along the Jersey coastline, looking at Manhattan. Or hauling over to the East Side Drive and running there, or along the Hudson, though that's so crowded it's annoying. I thought to myself, I could drive to the country and find a woodsy path to get murdered on and then I wouldn't have to worry about any of this.
Just when we were done talking the woman's unleashed dog returned to us from the pond where it had been cooling off, and it shook, as dogs do. I got covered with muddy water! I smiled and pet the eager, wet dog. "And get a dog," she added, when she saw my laughter and instantly restored mood. I thanked her for the pep talk and she went.
A few minutes later, I noticed, my foot did not hurt at all! So, I got up and returned to the course and ran 2 more miles. The staff along the side lines must have thought I was already on my third loop of the Park. They cheered, rang cow bells, and beamed with pride. I took it in even though I didn't deserve it. By the end of mile 8, my foot was burning and hurting again. I was close to my apartment so I dropped out. I told myself 8 was better than nothing. Better than 6 and better than 4. In fact, I exceeded my Training Peaks online mileage goal for the week by one mile! I over-delivered. So, why doesn't it feel good?
I cried again in the street on my way back to my place. I want to be able to do this. I want the pain to go away, so all I have to do is work on my mind. It was so "easy" before this injury. I didn't realize this was going to be a big deal. Why did I have to play that stupid "World Cup" soccer reenactment in Martha's Vineyard?
When I got home, I drank some coconut water, ate lunch and took a shower. I haven't iced yet. My list of things do today is long. Even though I was done with running by 9AM, somehow, half the day is gone already. I guess I can comfort myself knowing most people in NYC are just rolling out of bed and contemplating brunch at this moment. Later today I am going to pay a visit to a friend who is having her 90th birthday today. Now, that puts things into a little perspective, doesn't it.
Twice a minute for the first 5 miles I seriously considered quitting. But then I'd zone in on my body and realize, nothing was really in such terrible shape that I had to quit, I was just violently uninterested in moving forward on the same damn path I've been running on over and over again for the last 9 months. Yup, there's the weird cat. Yup, the Stretching Bridge. Hello, Magical Tree. Here's the hill I walk. What? No Gatorade? I'm dying here!
My music's tired. My outfit was my best race outfit but it's now got something scratchy on the inside. I lathered my feet up with Vaseline but a blister formed on my left foot, anyway, just like old times. I tried consuming a gel at mile 5, but I felt no burst of energy. My sneakers were loose - the new ones I bought are back ordered for another week - so I had to run in my old ones which I noticed are getting bald in places. I left my Nike+ gadget at work, so I couldn't even check my pace. I wore a Swatch so I'd at least know the time without having to pull the iPod out of my shorts constantly. A Swatch. Really, I need to buy a watch. I did have a Polar one that came with my heart monitor but when I went to put it on this morning the battery had died. It's cumbersome and the button's hard to push, so I'm ready to be done with that anyway. Sigh...
The only saving grace until mile 5 was fantasies of turning my story - this story - in to a movie. A book would be the logical next step but I'm not logical. I want to skip right to the fun part, the theatrical part.
The plot and scene are set. The characters are cast. The sound track has been selected. Today I planned the pacing and chronology. I've been struggling with that because nobody would go see this movie if they knew from the beginning that I didn't make it to the marathon. So, obviously, I have to make it to the start line, at least. The thing anyone (even I!) would pay $12 to find out would be what was actually going on in my life during this year, not just my little diary entries on line, and what's the marathon itself like - what do I see along the way? Who does what to get me through it? Do I eventually cross the finish line, and in what condition? Of course, the movie will be promoted with signature medals... and sponsored fundraising runs before screenings... and people will order customized T-shirts with their own name on it, Kevin Hates to Run, that simultaneously promote running, and the movie. My movie starts a running revolution. Not that I've thought much about it or anything.
So today was productive at least briefly. Miles 5-6 were a mixed bag. On one hand, running got easy as it does for me at this juncture... Mile 1 can be borderline fun and I think, "I can do this!" Miles 2 and 3 are torture and I want to quit. Mile 4 could go either way, depending on what's ahead. But by mile 5, I don't feel my legs much any more. I just go. Today though, I faced trouble. My foot hurt so much that I was limping as I crossed the 6 mile mark. There was a medical station with a tent. Two doctors saw me coming and approached.
I told them about the injury and what was happening, and they said the pain was likely because the injury hasn't actually healed, and the rest of my foot is compensating. I need a special orthotic, physical therapy, and ice and anti-inflammatory meds. Now. Or it isn't going to get better. Oh, and the ice treatment is to last 15 minutes, 5 x a day, for the first 24 hours. Then alternate ice and heat. I guess that's why my 2 minute ice applications haven't been helping!
I pulled off the running course and sat on a bench by a pond. Mad at the world. Mad at myself for playing soccer barefoot when I should have been protecting my feet. Mad that there wasn't another person to be mad at. Mad at my doctor who didn't give me better care. Utterly defeated.
I think I started crying when I was talking to the doctors but by the time I was seated I was fully bawling. My face and arms were covered with salt, which melted into my eyes and burned. My hands were swollen. I held onto a banana one of the doctors had given me. Fucking bananas!
A woman in running clothes, with a dog, came by and asked me if I was OK. "NO!" I burst out! I told her everything. She remained totally calm and sympathetic, and said she understood, and that this was normal, and that I needed to stop running immediately, get physical therapy. She also said I wouldn't fall behind, that 15 weeks is plenty of time to train, even with 2 weeks off, especially if I've already run 2 half marathons. I nodded but didn't believe her.
She immediately honed in on my training in Central Park. She said anything over an hour, I need to be running someplace else, to prevent boredom. She suggested taking the A train up to the George Washington Bridge and running along the Jersey coastline, looking at Manhattan. Or hauling over to the East Side Drive and running there, or along the Hudson, though that's so crowded it's annoying. I thought to myself, I could drive to the country and find a woodsy path to get murdered on and then I wouldn't have to worry about any of this.
Just when we were done talking the woman's unleashed dog returned to us from the pond where it had been cooling off, and it shook, as dogs do. I got covered with muddy water! I smiled and pet the eager, wet dog. "And get a dog," she added, when she saw my laughter and instantly restored mood. I thanked her for the pep talk and she went.
A few minutes later, I noticed, my foot did not hurt at all! So, I got up and returned to the course and ran 2 more miles. The staff along the side lines must have thought I was already on my third loop of the Park. They cheered, rang cow bells, and beamed with pride. I took it in even though I didn't deserve it. By the end of mile 8, my foot was burning and hurting again. I was close to my apartment so I dropped out. I told myself 8 was better than nothing. Better than 6 and better than 4. In fact, I exceeded my Training Peaks online mileage goal for the week by one mile! I over-delivered. So, why doesn't it feel good?
I cried again in the street on my way back to my place. I want to be able to do this. I want the pain to go away, so all I have to do is work on my mind. It was so "easy" before this injury. I didn't realize this was going to be a big deal. Why did I have to play that stupid "World Cup" soccer reenactment in Martha's Vineyard?
When I got home, I drank some coconut water, ate lunch and took a shower. I haven't iced yet. My list of things do today is long. Even though I was done with running by 9AM, somehow, half the day is gone already. I guess I can comfort myself knowing most people in NYC are just rolling out of bed and contemplating brunch at this moment. Later today I am going to pay a visit to a friend who is having her 90th birthday today. Now, that puts things into a little perspective, doesn't it.
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