December 21st, 2013
Dear Diary,
Why is it that when I'm injured people seem to be running by my house way more than usual? There must be some kind of running flash mob that is intended to last throughout the duration of my injury. I counted 10 runners within a half-hour time period this morning. People running together, laughing and talking, runners on their own listening to music, one group of runners who were clearly doing a speed workout, zipping by my house in a line, taunting me. Would it be totally inappropriate to put a sign on my lawn saying "Injured Runner. Please run by slowly and try to look like you're not enjoying yourself one bit"?
December 23rd, 2013
Dear Sweet Diary,
I went for a run, I went for a run!! Yes, it was on a zero-gravity treadmill, with 75% of my body weight, 3x 2 minute intervals for a grand total of 6 minutes of jogging, with my great PT there keeping me from upping the speed and distance like I wanted to. But I'll take it. It felt great. I could have been zipped into those crazy tight spandex, running on air forever. I wonder if this is how good people who are 75% of my body weight feel when they run? Hmm...since I'm not going to be losing more than 30 pounds any time soon, I guess I'll just stick to the zero gravity treadmill.
January 2nd, 2014
Dear, Dear Diary,
Well, it is really cold out today and the sidewalks are very icy, so I guess I should be glad that I can't run outside today. I mean, who wants to bundle up in fleece-lined running pants, 2 layers of long underwear, wind jacket, neck warmer, hat and gloves, all just to go for a slippery, cold run...followed by a hot shower, tired muscles, a warm latte, and an eagerness to hit the road again the next day? I do, darn it, I DO!!! Sob, sob.
January 13, 2014
Dear Diary,
I saw an orthopedic nurse practitioner today, she was great. I'm going to call her Dr. Awesome. Dr. Awesome took a look at my x-ray from November and noticed something not quite right with my last vertebrae. She felt like it was slipped forward and up a bit. She ordered some more tests in the next couple of weeks. It was so nice to feel like someone is really looking at the whole picture, truly listening to my weird-o symptoms and desperation to understand what is going on with my back. Why I can run on the treadmill and feel good, but if I run even a block outside I get searing pain in my back. I'm feeling grateful for Dr. Awesome, and hopeful for getting some answers soon.
January 17, 2014
Dear Diary,
You went running today, didn't you? I can tell by your little joie de vivre, the extra spring in your step. I bet you ran 10 miles, I bet you did the North St- Horn of the Moon Rd loop just as the sun was coming up. That's my favorite run, you jerk. How could you, diary?
January 20th, 2014
Dear Diary,
Checking in for a medical procedure is so funny to me sometimes. I always try to be cheerful and polite despite totally dreading what I'm about to do. Why don't we as patients just tell it like it is when we check in for a particular procedure?
Checking in for a mammogram, for example, "Hi! You know those compressors in garbage trucks, the things that squish the garbage back in the truck, as it crunches and groans into a tight little space? Yeah, I'm here for that procedure. For my breasts. Super, thanks!"
Checking in for a dynamic x-ray: "I'm here to be put into totally awkward positions, basically balancing on my big toe while leaning to the side with my arms way out in front of me like an accomplished yoga instructor, only the opposite. Then they'll ask me to hold that pose while I hold my breath for like a minute. Yup, checking in for that. Great!"
Checking in for an MRI: "How's it going? Yeah, I'm about to be put flat on my back in a tiny enclosed space with giant earphones on so I am not so bothered by the jackhammering and alarm sounds around me for the next half-hour. Only the headphones don't work that well so I just get to imagine I'm stuck in a closet during a fire alarm while the wall I'm leaning against is being jackhammered. Thank you very much, I will now slip right into that hospital gown!"
Though I will say I am so very grateful this technology exists, I think it is very cool and I'm so curious what the x-ray and MRI will say about my body. And, I'm even more curious about the nuclear bone scan I will have in a couple weeks. It will take 5-6 hours?! Hmmm…wonder how I should check in for that?
We are two sisters living on separate sides of the country. One of the things that connects us, beside our love of hot beverages, is fitness. We love to run and strength train, and share the benefits of exercise with others. From the sisters who created Illume Fitness, we bring you Illuminated Runners: musings on running, cross fit, strength training, family, travel, life, and some serious dorkiness in there, too. "The spirit illuminates everything."
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Guest Post on Mama Says
Please check out my guest post on the Mama Says blog, which gives my long-winded comeback to strangers who say how unfortunate I am to have three boys. Click here: Drinking it Up With Three Boys
Saturday, December 7, 2013
Pirate Cracker
I'll peak out from the depths of my injury-induced blues to say a quick "hi" to you, my blog readers. I'm not going to sugar-coat it, I've been really disappointed/grumpy/downright rude and unpleasant about my back. It is not getting better, I haven't run in more than 5 weeks, and I would give anything for a magic ball to know when I'll be pain free and running again.
Of course, despite all the whining I've been doing to my husband (sorry sweetie!), I do know it will get better and I do know there are silver-linings to this pause in my training. For example, I have read 3 books in the past 5 weeks. That is more than I read all year. I've also taken up knitting again, and have finished 5 hats and am just about to bind off on my 6th. (Yes, family, you know what you'll be getting for Christmas). And I've been cooking up new and different foods, and I've even followed a few recipes (gasp!). I just made homemade coconut milk tonight. It was insanely delicious, I could have guzzled the whole jar right there. Here's the recipe, because if you think you don't like coconut milk, this could be a game-changer for you.
Despite the silver linings, I do miss running terribly. I miss stepping outside in the quiet, crisp, dark morning, and meeting up with friends as we chat the miles away. I miss the rhythm that became so familiar to my body, and the satisfying feeling of tired leg muscles. I miss my favorite running routes so much that I sometimes run them in my head as I'm trying to fall asleep- the dirt roads, rolling hills and maple trees become old friends. And I miss feeling strong, feeling like I take care of my body and we understand each other. Now my back pain feels like such a mystery, I don't know exactly how it happened and I don't know how to let it heal. I don't know when it will heal and when I'll be running again. When I asked my physical therapist about signing up for an April half-marathon, she gave me a sympathetic smile and suggested not to sign up yet. I desperately wanted to shout profanities at her, but I saved that for the car ride home, by myself.
I'm not going to paste a smile on my face and say that I'm anything other than disappointed. But, I will recognize the silver linings as they come along. I'll leave you with a recent one: My three year old is such a handful right now; this child is so exhausting and marches to the beat of his own drum like no one's business, but he does constantly remind me of all that is good. When my back was spasming on Thanksgiving day (it was all those dishes!), and I was lying on the couch, he came up to me and said, "I'm the doctor and I'll make your back better." He then "wrote me a list," gave me a new nose (he put it on my face, which was nice), then proceeded to jump on me, pressing down on my shoulder with both hands (it didn't hurt, incidentally). My mom was nearby and she nearly shot out of her chair, wondering what the heck kind of a doctor he was. She asked him such, and he answered, "I'm a pirate cracker." Obviously. I knew just what he meant, and I realized that maybe I've taken him to one too many of my chiropractor appointments.
Of course, despite all the whining I've been doing to my husband (sorry sweetie!), I do know it will get better and I do know there are silver-linings to this pause in my training. For example, I have read 3 books in the past 5 weeks. That is more than I read all year. I've also taken up knitting again, and have finished 5 hats and am just about to bind off on my 6th. (Yes, family, you know what you'll be getting for Christmas). And I've been cooking up new and different foods, and I've even followed a few recipes (gasp!). I just made homemade coconut milk tonight. It was insanely delicious, I could have guzzled the whole jar right there. Here's the recipe, because if you think you don't like coconut milk, this could be a game-changer for you.
Despite the silver linings, I do miss running terribly. I miss stepping outside in the quiet, crisp, dark morning, and meeting up with friends as we chat the miles away. I miss the rhythm that became so familiar to my body, and the satisfying feeling of tired leg muscles. I miss my favorite running routes so much that I sometimes run them in my head as I'm trying to fall asleep- the dirt roads, rolling hills and maple trees become old friends. And I miss feeling strong, feeling like I take care of my body and we understand each other. Now my back pain feels like such a mystery, I don't know exactly how it happened and I don't know how to let it heal. I don't know when it will heal and when I'll be running again. When I asked my physical therapist about signing up for an April half-marathon, she gave me a sympathetic smile and suggested not to sign up yet. I desperately wanted to shout profanities at her, but I saved that for the car ride home, by myself.
I'm not going to paste a smile on my face and say that I'm anything other than disappointed. But, I will recognize the silver linings as they come along. I'll leave you with a recent one: My three year old is such a handful right now; this child is so exhausting and marches to the beat of his own drum like no one's business, but he does constantly remind me of all that is good. When my back was spasming on Thanksgiving day (it was all those dishes!), and I was lying on the couch, he came up to me and said, "I'm the doctor and I'll make your back better." He then "wrote me a list," gave me a new nose (he put it on my face, which was nice), then proceeded to jump on me, pressing down on my shoulder with both hands (it didn't hurt, incidentally). My mom was nearby and she nearly shot out of her chair, wondering what the heck kind of a doctor he was. She asked him such, and he answered, "I'm a pirate cracker." Obviously. I knew just what he meant, and I realized that maybe I've taken him to one too many of my chiropractor appointments.
My very own "pirate cracker," getting ready for a day's work.
Monday, November 4, 2013
A Body in Motion, a Different Motion
A body in motion stays in motion, unless it slams into a brick wall. Which is pretty much what it felt like when I hurt my back (see my post about it). After a handful of doctor's appointments and tests, it was determined that I have a bulging disc at the bottom of my spine, causing a pinched nerve and subsequent sciatica. For the past two weeks, I have been resting and trying to determine the best route to recovery. As well as obsessing about when I can start training again.
The physical therapist and doctor I have seen agreed that I will need around 6 weeks of limited activity and physical therapy before I can really start training again, and I will need to make sure I can run pain-free before I train hard again. I'm sure you can gather that this is hugely disappointing for me.
Intellectually, I know what I need to do. I know the stretches I should work on, and I know what activities are best for me. Physically, my body seems to understand it's limitations, and if I over-do something in the slightest, I certainly feel it. Emotionally, I'd like to make like my 3 year old and throw myself to the ground and flail my arms and legs and scream at the top of my lungs. Because even though my body slammed into the metaphorical brick wall a couple weeks ago, emotionally I still feel like I'm in motion. The rhythms of my long runs from weeks ago are still singing in me, the steady beat of my feet on the ground, the scattering of my thoughts and the saliency of my presence, just being there, in the moment, on the road, blissfully in motion. The challenge for me now is stepping away from that sense of peace I get from running, and finding a new rhythm, a new routine for the next month and a half or (gasp) more.
But, how do I find that sense of peace? What is it that will fulfill me the way running does? Here is a summary of the activities I can do, and my admittedly weak attempts at embracing them:
Yoga: I know, I KNOW! Yoga is good for me, I get it. I want to be walking around all loose and relaxed, telling people to "Namaste." But let me put it to you this way: have you ever tried to set up a tent, and you clip in the poles and then try to get the end of the pole in it's little sleeve, and the pole just won't bend? Like, you're trying to bend a piece of steel into this little pocket, and you're like WTF! And the tent flies up and away from you, resisting to that tiny bend it needs to take. Yeah, that tent pole is my body. Me doing yoga is like trying to bend steel. I'm sure it will be glorious when I get there, but it's gonna' be a bitch to set up that tent.
Swimming: I love the thought of swimming, I really do. The fluidity and gentleness of it, the ease of motion, the way you can hear your heart beating. But let's face it, getting into a bathing suit in my "off shaving season" is never pleasant, and the water is never as warm as I want it to be, and there is nothing graceful about me swimming. When I was training for a triathlon a few years ago, I went to a swim training group at a local gym, led by a coach who is also a successful triathlete. It was crowded, and we had to share lanes. I was with a nice woman who must have been 30 years my elder, who proceeded to lap me at least 3 times during the 8 minute warm-up. We were WARMING UP for pete's sake, and I got passed. 3 times. The coach pulled me aside after the warm-up, and very sweetly suggested I head to the farthest lane, you know, for the painfully slow swimmers (I was the only one in that lane), and he gave me ideas on how to "pare down", i.e. totally skip, the workout.
Walking: Okay, this one I can do. This morning I got up early, bundled up for the 16 degree weather, and then I did something a little crazy for me. I snuck earphones under my hat and listened to music as I walked! (Thanks to the inspiration from my friend at Running With Music). "This is not so bad," I thought, as I cruised along with a little skip in my step. Jack Johnson, Ben Harper, and Ingrid Michaelson all sang to me as I walked along the Montpelier streets, passing dimly lit houses where I knew people were just getting up to start their day. I tried not to look too longingly at the runners going by, their determined looks, headlamps and shiny tights all taunting me. Instead, the music put me in a trance, and I let the miles tick by. Suddenly I realized I must have been gone a long time, and I imagined my husband at home trying to get the boys ready for school, wondering where I was. I hurried the last several blocks home, sure I had been gone an hour. Of course I didn't think about looking at my phone to check the time, and when I stepped inside our warm, quiet home, my family was just getting up. I had been gone only 23 minutes.
I have some work to do over the next several weeks. If you happen to see me doing my best to bend at a yoga class, be kind. If you see me splashing madly in the pool and barely moving forward, don't worry, I'm okay. And, if you see me walking in the early morning, and you hear me singing Ingrid Michaelson at the top of my lungs, just please go ahead and give me the "thumb's up." I'm just getting used to a different motion.
P.S. You know those triathlons I was training for? This is me getting out of the water at one. Notice there is no one around me? Yeah, that's because I was the last one out of the water.
The physical therapist and doctor I have seen agreed that I will need around 6 weeks of limited activity and physical therapy before I can really start training again, and I will need to make sure I can run pain-free before I train hard again. I'm sure you can gather that this is hugely disappointing for me.
Intellectually, I know what I need to do. I know the stretches I should work on, and I know what activities are best for me. Physically, my body seems to understand it's limitations, and if I over-do something in the slightest, I certainly feel it. Emotionally, I'd like to make like my 3 year old and throw myself to the ground and flail my arms and legs and scream at the top of my lungs. Because even though my body slammed into the metaphorical brick wall a couple weeks ago, emotionally I still feel like I'm in motion. The rhythms of my long runs from weeks ago are still singing in me, the steady beat of my feet on the ground, the scattering of my thoughts and the saliency of my presence, just being there, in the moment, on the road, blissfully in motion. The challenge for me now is stepping away from that sense of peace I get from running, and finding a new rhythm, a new routine for the next month and a half or (gasp) more.
But, how do I find that sense of peace? What is it that will fulfill me the way running does? Here is a summary of the activities I can do, and my admittedly weak attempts at embracing them:
Yoga: I know, I KNOW! Yoga is good for me, I get it. I want to be walking around all loose and relaxed, telling people to "Namaste." But let me put it to you this way: have you ever tried to set up a tent, and you clip in the poles and then try to get the end of the pole in it's little sleeve, and the pole just won't bend? Like, you're trying to bend a piece of steel into this little pocket, and you're like WTF! And the tent flies up and away from you, resisting to that tiny bend it needs to take. Yeah, that tent pole is my body. Me doing yoga is like trying to bend steel. I'm sure it will be glorious when I get there, but it's gonna' be a bitch to set up that tent.
Swimming: I love the thought of swimming, I really do. The fluidity and gentleness of it, the ease of motion, the way you can hear your heart beating. But let's face it, getting into a bathing suit in my "off shaving season" is never pleasant, and the water is never as warm as I want it to be, and there is nothing graceful about me swimming. When I was training for a triathlon a few years ago, I went to a swim training group at a local gym, led by a coach who is also a successful triathlete. It was crowded, and we had to share lanes. I was with a nice woman who must have been 30 years my elder, who proceeded to lap me at least 3 times during the 8 minute warm-up. We were WARMING UP for pete's sake, and I got passed. 3 times. The coach pulled me aside after the warm-up, and very sweetly suggested I head to the farthest lane, you know, for the painfully slow swimmers (I was the only one in that lane), and he gave me ideas on how to "pare down", i.e. totally skip, the workout.
Walking: Okay, this one I can do. This morning I got up early, bundled up for the 16 degree weather, and then I did something a little crazy for me. I snuck earphones under my hat and listened to music as I walked! (Thanks to the inspiration from my friend at Running With Music). "This is not so bad," I thought, as I cruised along with a little skip in my step. Jack Johnson, Ben Harper, and Ingrid Michaelson all sang to me as I walked along the Montpelier streets, passing dimly lit houses where I knew people were just getting up to start their day. I tried not to look too longingly at the runners going by, their determined looks, headlamps and shiny tights all taunting me. Instead, the music put me in a trance, and I let the miles tick by. Suddenly I realized I must have been gone a long time, and I imagined my husband at home trying to get the boys ready for school, wondering where I was. I hurried the last several blocks home, sure I had been gone an hour. Of course I didn't think about looking at my phone to check the time, and when I stepped inside our warm, quiet home, my family was just getting up. I had been gone only 23 minutes.
I have some work to do over the next several weeks. If you happen to see me doing my best to bend at a yoga class, be kind. If you see me splashing madly in the pool and barely moving forward, don't worry, I'm okay. And, if you see me walking in the early morning, and you hear me singing Ingrid Michaelson at the top of my lungs, just please go ahead and give me the "thumb's up." I'm just getting used to a different motion.
P.S. You know those triathlons I was training for? This is me getting out of the water at one. Notice there is no one around me? Yeah, that's because I was the last one out of the water.
Monday, October 21, 2013
A Serious Slice of Humble Pie
"You gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, and know when to run."
Ah, Kenny Rogers, you sing it so true. When I signed up for the Green Stride Half Marathon in Newburyport, MA a few months ago, I looked forward to training for a PR. I was primed and ready, having come off of some nice summer races and feeling like I was getting into a running groove. I began training towards a time range of 1:34-1:37, which I felt was realistic and achievable. Never in my wildest "worst case scenarios" did I imagine what would actually happen- I would get my first DNF (did not finish).
So, how does a primed and ready runner go from awesome races and great training runs to a DNF? Let's just say there were some red flags (skipping cross-training, doing a bit too much speed work, hurting my back, to name a few...), which I virtually ignored. I kept plugging along with my training, because I was LOVING running! I was on a roll, enjoying the cooler mornings and beautiful fall weather we were having, meeting up with running friends I hadn't seen all summer, and enjoying the endurance I had built up so that going for a 10 mile run felt like a piece of cake.
When, 2.5 weeks before the race my back suddenly spasmed while I was cooking dinner, I tried not to panic. I had never had back pain before, so I took it easy, went to the chiropractor, got a massage, saw a PT, and stayed on top of it, or so I thought. (On a side note, with all the attention to my back, this was quickly becoming the world's most expensive race). When race weekend rolled around, I was fresh off a little stomach bug (yet another red flag), and my back and hamstrings were tight and achey. But I wasn't ready to "fold 'em." I had planned this race weekend as a get-together with two good friends who live in MA, and we were going to live it up at a hotel, kid-free. And by living it up, I mean we went out to dinner, got gelato, and were in bed by 9:00 pm. It was so great to see these dear friends, though, and there was no way I would have bailed on the race, because that would mean missing out on our weekend. Not running the race did not even enter my mind.
Race morning comes around. While waiting in the giant port-potty line (PSA: do not ever, ever get behind me in any line. I always pick the slowest one. Always.), I was starting to become aware of some tight muscles. I stretched a bit, but could not shake the sense I had that the slightest movement, even a little sneeze, would send my back into spasms. I decided to ignore this feeling, because really, what could I do at this point? It was race day, the sun was shining, blue skies above, beautiful autumn colors all around. It was a good day to run.
I lined up with my friends. We gave each other hugs, said good luck, and reminded ourselves how lucky we were to run and how we just wanted to enjoy this day. The starting horn blew and we were off. The first mile we went out a little fast- 6:53. I felt great though. We tried to dial it back a bit, and the next mile we were closer to our goal range - 7:10. I was happy and still feeling good. The third mile had some little hills and we were at 7:20. The next mile we came in at 7:17, and I was still feeling surprisingly great. Phew, I thought to myself. I'm going to do this! I made a plan to try to pick up the pace at mile 7 and try for some negative splits.
There was a water stop just after the mile 4 marker, so literally moments after deciding to try to speed up in a few miles, I reached out for a cup, took a big swig, and when I went to toss the cup to the ground, my back suddenly seized up. I jerked back a bit from the pain, and when I did that my left hamstring seized up. Crap! I did not know what to do. I looked around in a panic, fully expecting a random spectator to tell me what to do. That didn't happen, and I watched as my friend ran on ahead, unaware of my gimping behind her, as she was fully expecting me to be at her side soon. I thought about calling out to her, but I didn't want to break her stride and I thought with great hope that I could just shake this out and catch right back up.
No such luck. I was hampered by two things- if I lengthened my left leg out to my normal stride, I felt searing pain down to my heel. So I had to shorten my stride. Second, if I took deep breaths, I got jabbing pain in my back, so I had to take little breaths. Mile 5 I came in at 7:40. Ugh, but I still wasn't ready to fold 'em. Mile 6 came in at 7:53, and I was really struggling at that pace. Ok, I'll dial it back. At around mile 6.5, I was at an 8:30 pace, and I had a horrible sinking feeling when I realized what I needed to do. I was only hurting myself more by continuing to run. People zoomed past me, and I started to feel like I had become a spectator, watching all the racers running by. They were all going to finish but me.
I passed a sign taped to a tree that said "pain is temporary, pride is forever." I thought of all the other races I had done where I had struggled. I've raced a lot, so there were many. Those races were physically hard, emotionally challenging, and yes, sometimes heartbreaking. In those races, I had to let go of a time I wanted mid-race, or shift my goal to "just finish." But every time, I finished the race. I had never stopped running. I always ran through the pain, ran through the disappointment, just kept running. But this time was different. When I saw the mile 7 marker, I hit "stop" on my watch, and hobbled over to the side of the road. This was the race where I needed to swallow my pride, this pain was not temporary. I stopped running and stood there on the side of the road, not sure what I was supposed to do next. What happens after you fold em'?
The next 45 minutes was a huge low for me. I ended up getting a ride back to the finish from one of the race directors, who was so sweet as he tried to reassure me that I'd be racing again soon while I sat quietly in his truck, wishing I was still running. He delivered me to the finish just in time to see my friends run in. It was great to get to cheer them on, and I was so proud of them, knowing how hard they had worked for this race. As I watched them come in, though, I was surprised when I felt not a twinge of guilt or remorse, but actually I was proud of myself, too. I was listening to my body. The pain I felt in my back and leg was unlike any injury I had experienced before. It was time for me to stop and listen to what my body needed. It was time to fold 'em and walk away.
Tomorrow I have a doctor's appointment that I hope will help me get on the path to recovery. I haven't let go of my PR goal yet, I'm just going to shelve it for now. I'm going to take this opportunity to reflect on how I got this injury and how I can avoid injuries in the future.
As for the rest of the race day, shortly after the race it was time to say goodbye to my friends. They were supportive of my decision to drop out of the race and encouraged me to rest and recover. They have both dealt with major injuries and know how hard but necessary it can be to take a break from training. We hugged goodbye and decided next year we're going to a spa instead.
Ah, Kenny Rogers, you sing it so true. When I signed up for the Green Stride Half Marathon in Newburyport, MA a few months ago, I looked forward to training for a PR. I was primed and ready, having come off of some nice summer races and feeling like I was getting into a running groove. I began training towards a time range of 1:34-1:37, which I felt was realistic and achievable. Never in my wildest "worst case scenarios" did I imagine what would actually happen- I would get my first DNF (did not finish).
So, how does a primed and ready runner go from awesome races and great training runs to a DNF? Let's just say there were some red flags (skipping cross-training, doing a bit too much speed work, hurting my back, to name a few...), which I virtually ignored. I kept plugging along with my training, because I was LOVING running! I was on a roll, enjoying the cooler mornings and beautiful fall weather we were having, meeting up with running friends I hadn't seen all summer, and enjoying the endurance I had built up so that going for a 10 mile run felt like a piece of cake.
When, 2.5 weeks before the race my back suddenly spasmed while I was cooking dinner, I tried not to panic. I had never had back pain before, so I took it easy, went to the chiropractor, got a massage, saw a PT, and stayed on top of it, or so I thought. (On a side note, with all the attention to my back, this was quickly becoming the world's most expensive race). When race weekend rolled around, I was fresh off a little stomach bug (yet another red flag), and my back and hamstrings were tight and achey. But I wasn't ready to "fold 'em." I had planned this race weekend as a get-together with two good friends who live in MA, and we were going to live it up at a hotel, kid-free. And by living it up, I mean we went out to dinner, got gelato, and were in bed by 9:00 pm. It was so great to see these dear friends, though, and there was no way I would have bailed on the race, because that would mean missing out on our weekend. Not running the race did not even enter my mind.
Race morning comes around. While waiting in the giant port-potty line (PSA: do not ever, ever get behind me in any line. I always pick the slowest one. Always.), I was starting to become aware of some tight muscles. I stretched a bit, but could not shake the sense I had that the slightest movement, even a little sneeze, would send my back into spasms. I decided to ignore this feeling, because really, what could I do at this point? It was race day, the sun was shining, blue skies above, beautiful autumn colors all around. It was a good day to run.
I lined up with my friends. We gave each other hugs, said good luck, and reminded ourselves how lucky we were to run and how we just wanted to enjoy this day. The starting horn blew and we were off. The first mile we went out a little fast- 6:53. I felt great though. We tried to dial it back a bit, and the next mile we were closer to our goal range - 7:10. I was happy and still feeling good. The third mile had some little hills and we were at 7:20. The next mile we came in at 7:17, and I was still feeling surprisingly great. Phew, I thought to myself. I'm going to do this! I made a plan to try to pick up the pace at mile 7 and try for some negative splits.
There was a water stop just after the mile 4 marker, so literally moments after deciding to try to speed up in a few miles, I reached out for a cup, took a big swig, and when I went to toss the cup to the ground, my back suddenly seized up. I jerked back a bit from the pain, and when I did that my left hamstring seized up. Crap! I did not know what to do. I looked around in a panic, fully expecting a random spectator to tell me what to do. That didn't happen, and I watched as my friend ran on ahead, unaware of my gimping behind her, as she was fully expecting me to be at her side soon. I thought about calling out to her, but I didn't want to break her stride and I thought with great hope that I could just shake this out and catch right back up.
No such luck. I was hampered by two things- if I lengthened my left leg out to my normal stride, I felt searing pain down to my heel. So I had to shorten my stride. Second, if I took deep breaths, I got jabbing pain in my back, so I had to take little breaths. Mile 5 I came in at 7:40. Ugh, but I still wasn't ready to fold 'em. Mile 6 came in at 7:53, and I was really struggling at that pace. Ok, I'll dial it back. At around mile 6.5, I was at an 8:30 pace, and I had a horrible sinking feeling when I realized what I needed to do. I was only hurting myself more by continuing to run. People zoomed past me, and I started to feel like I had become a spectator, watching all the racers running by. They were all going to finish but me.
I passed a sign taped to a tree that said "pain is temporary, pride is forever." I thought of all the other races I had done where I had struggled. I've raced a lot, so there were many. Those races were physically hard, emotionally challenging, and yes, sometimes heartbreaking. In those races, I had to let go of a time I wanted mid-race, or shift my goal to "just finish." But every time, I finished the race. I had never stopped running. I always ran through the pain, ran through the disappointment, just kept running. But this time was different. When I saw the mile 7 marker, I hit "stop" on my watch, and hobbled over to the side of the road. This was the race where I needed to swallow my pride, this pain was not temporary. I stopped running and stood there on the side of the road, not sure what I was supposed to do next. What happens after you fold em'?
The next 45 minutes was a huge low for me. I ended up getting a ride back to the finish from one of the race directors, who was so sweet as he tried to reassure me that I'd be racing again soon while I sat quietly in his truck, wishing I was still running. He delivered me to the finish just in time to see my friends run in. It was great to get to cheer them on, and I was so proud of them, knowing how hard they had worked for this race. As I watched them come in, though, I was surprised when I felt not a twinge of guilt or remorse, but actually I was proud of myself, too. I was listening to my body. The pain I felt in my back and leg was unlike any injury I had experienced before. It was time for me to stop and listen to what my body needed. It was time to fold 'em and walk away.
Tomorrow I have a doctor's appointment that I hope will help me get on the path to recovery. I haven't let go of my PR goal yet, I'm just going to shelve it for now. I'm going to take this opportunity to reflect on how I got this injury and how I can avoid injuries in the future.
As for the rest of the race day, shortly after the race it was time to say goodbye to my friends. They were supportive of my decision to drop out of the race and encouraged me to rest and recover. They have both dealt with major injuries and know how hard but necessary it can be to take a break from training. We hugged goodbye and decided next year we're going to a spa instead.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Heart Music
Each September I get a poem stuck in my head, for
the whole month. It's Gary Snyder's For All, and it's beautiful. I don't
have it completely memorized, but the first line goes on repeat in my head,
"Ah, to be alive on a mid September morn." I hear this line when I
zip up my boys' sweatshirts before heading out into the sandbox, I hear it when
I'm lacing up my sneakers for a run, or when dry leaves are crunching
underfoot.
September has always been my favorite month.
Growing up in New Hampshire, I had an inherent appreciation for the crisp
weather, brilliantly colored leaves, a new school year, and the ever-faint
smell of winter in the air. And now, as a runner, I appreciate September all
the more. We have yet to worry about running in single digit temperatures
(usually), it's too early for the dangerous layer of ice on the ground making
me feel like I'm running on banana peels, and yet the heat of the summer has
passed, as well as the sucking mud, hail and generally inconsistent conditions
of the spring. All in all, September makes for perfect running here in Vermont.
And, I have had some pretty great runs lately.
Monday morning I got up at 5:00 in order to get a
13 miler in. I had missed my long run over the weekend and wanted to make up
for it before the week really got going. The following are some notes of
interest on the run, and why it's good to be “alive on a mid-September morn.”
The first 45 minutes of the run were in the
darkness, my headlamp guiding my way. Also, the first 2.5 miles were straight
up a hill. There is something nice about running a hill in the dark, I just had
to keep moving with no vision of what was ahead. Just as I crested the hill, my
calves and lungs on fire, I saw a little pinprick of light in the distance-
moving towards me. I realized it was someone else's headlamp, and by the speed
at which it was heading my way, I figured it must be a biker. As we passed each
other I could only see the light of their headlamp, no face, but out of the
darkness I heard a cheerful "good morning," as he biked by.
Just by that greeting I know he felt it was good to be alive, too.
The next shadowy figure I saw in the road ahead
turned out to be one of the approximately 2 dozen deer I saw that morning. I
really have never seen so many deer within a 2 hour time period in my life.
Later, after scaring the first few pairs off and sending them hurtling into the
woods, I decided to take a new approach and try some deer whisperer techniques.
The technique went like this: I stopped running just as 2 deer were staring me
down (yes, deer in headlights pose), I turned my head away and became as still
as possible. When I turned back a moment later, I realized it worked! The deer
slowly walked into the woods, they were all like, “it’s okay, she’s cool.” I
felt pretty darn proud of myself, thinking I should probably write a book about
being one with wild animals.
A little later,
I came upon yet another pair of deer and I tried my deer whisperer technique
again. It didn’t work. As they bounded away, pell-mell into the meadow I wanted
to shout, “Ladies! Come on, it’s me. I’m cool. Your cousins were all chill with
me. I’m practically one of you!!!” Alas, I better come up with a new book to
write.
Much of my run
led me along dirt roads in East Montpelier, past farms, meadows, and stands of
trees that were just starting to show their oranges and yellows. Beautiful. My
other wildlife encounters included a snake (I didn’t stop to check the species,
“hell-no” to that), a mink (what a rare sighting!), and a flock of wild
turkeys. Turkeys fly, if you’re wondering. I saw it with my own eyes.
Around mile 10,
I ran past a farm and literally just as I made out the license plate on the car
in the driveway and read the words “MOOOO” on it, one of the cows about 20 feet
away came out with the loudest “MOOOO” ever. It was the strangest synchronism
of events best appreciated when you are on mile 10 of a 13 mile run. And, it’s
6:30 in the morning and it’s good to be alive.
I’ll leave you
with the full Gary Snyder poem, and I hope you all can find time to go for a
long run, walk or hike this fall, and hear your own “heart music.”
For All
by Gary Snyder
Ah to be
alive
on a mid-September
morn
fording a
stream
barefoot, pants rolled
up,
holding boots, pack
on,
sunshine, ice in the shallows,
northern rockies.
Rustle and shimmer of icy creek waters
stones turn underfoot, small and hard as
toes
cold nose
dripping
singing
inside
creek music, heart
music,
smell of sun on gravel.
I pledge allegiance
I pledge allegiance to the
soil
of Turtle Island,
and to the beings who thereon
dwell
one
ecosystem
in diversity
under the sun
With joyful interpenetration for all.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Being Brave
Yes, I know I haven't written in a while. I've been in whirlwind back to school mode with my boys. One starting second grade (at a new school), one in kindergarten, and the littlest guy going to "daycare school" 2 days a week. This morning I packed 3 lunches, in my sweaty running clothes, before I showered and ate breakfast. Slipping into this new schedule is like pulling on a pair of skinny jeans, a little rough going on, but I know once I'm in them I'll feel pretty darn good.
This change in season always puts me in a kind of contemplative space, almost like a new year, I begin thinking about what I want to accomplish, and what I want for my family as we practice this new routine. We live across the street from a middle school, and two blocks away from an elementary school. So, each morning this time of year as I'm sipping my coffee, making lunches and stretching out from an early morning run, I watch children go by on their way to school. I watch parents holding their young child's hand, or I see a group of tweens clumped together loudly making their way along the sidewalk. Their faces each tell a story of a new school year, a fresh start, new goals, new friends, different teachers, the beginning of a comeback, or the beginning of a time to redefine themselves. I love this season, the air is brimming with potential.
But here's the thing about all these children and young adults heading off to school. They have to be so brave. All of them. Oh, just thinking about those wide-eyed kindergartners going to school for the first day, I get teary-eyed. This year when I saw a family walking by on their way to the elementary school, with both parents and big brother guiding the little brother to his first day of kindergarten, I had to strap myself to the chair lest I run out and shout some dorky, blubbering words of encouragement. "You are so brave! You can do it! You are going to rock it, little guy!" I didn't, but I wanted to. And I wanted to shout that to the middle schoolers, heading into the building that houses the most awkward phase of human life. So brave, each and every one of them.
Being brave is about keeping the forward momentum, even when you're heading into the unknown. (Which we all are doing every day, right?) To me it is also about trying something even when you think you can not do it, standing up for someone even when it is hard, going against the flow, believing in the good in the world, honoring people's differences, and, yes, being brave sometimes means taking a left hand turn in Montpelier construction traffic. We have to do it, people!
With my husband's enthusiastic approval, I will refrain from handing out "brave" stickers to all the children going by my house. But I will tell my own boys how brave they are. I will listen to their stories of making new friends, learning new things and making new mistakes, with great awe. You are so brave, I will say. And I will let that bravery settle in my mind when I am thinking about my own goals, whether it be a time I really want to get in a race, finishing that essay I've been working on for a year, or connecting with someone I've been too shy to reach out to. And I will do my best with that left hand turn. Please try not to honk at me, people. I'm trying to be brave.
This change in season always puts me in a kind of contemplative space, almost like a new year, I begin thinking about what I want to accomplish, and what I want for my family as we practice this new routine. We live across the street from a middle school, and two blocks away from an elementary school. So, each morning this time of year as I'm sipping my coffee, making lunches and stretching out from an early morning run, I watch children go by on their way to school. I watch parents holding their young child's hand, or I see a group of tweens clumped together loudly making their way along the sidewalk. Their faces each tell a story of a new school year, a fresh start, new goals, new friends, different teachers, the beginning of a comeback, or the beginning of a time to redefine themselves. I love this season, the air is brimming with potential.
But here's the thing about all these children and young adults heading off to school. They have to be so brave. All of them. Oh, just thinking about those wide-eyed kindergartners going to school for the first day, I get teary-eyed. This year when I saw a family walking by on their way to the elementary school, with both parents and big brother guiding the little brother to his first day of kindergarten, I had to strap myself to the chair lest I run out and shout some dorky, blubbering words of encouragement. "You are so brave! You can do it! You are going to rock it, little guy!" I didn't, but I wanted to. And I wanted to shout that to the middle schoolers, heading into the building that houses the most awkward phase of human life. So brave, each and every one of them.
Being brave is about keeping the forward momentum, even when you're heading into the unknown. (Which we all are doing every day, right?) To me it is also about trying something even when you think you can not do it, standing up for someone even when it is hard, going against the flow, believing in the good in the world, honoring people's differences, and, yes, being brave sometimes means taking a left hand turn in Montpelier construction traffic. We have to do it, people!
With my husband's enthusiastic approval, I will refrain from handing out "brave" stickers to all the children going by my house. But I will tell my own boys how brave they are. I will listen to their stories of making new friends, learning new things and making new mistakes, with great awe. You are so brave, I will say. And I will let that bravery settle in my mind when I am thinking about my own goals, whether it be a time I really want to get in a race, finishing that essay I've been working on for a year, or connecting with someone I've been too shy to reach out to. And I will do my best with that left hand turn. Please try not to honk at me, people. I'm trying to be brave.
My brave boys on their first day of school.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)