October 17- Race for the Cure

There are a lot of reasons I run at night. First there’s the Lowcountry heat and humidity that can still be brutal even at 11:00 at night in the summer. Then there’s the fact that I’m really self-conscious about my body still. I did just recently drop below the 200 pound mark, but running? C’mon- nobody wants to see me thundering down the greenway scaring wildlife and small children. Oh, yeah, and then there’s the fact that I detest mornings. “Hate” is too mild a word, and “not a morning person” does not even begin to cover it. I get up just in time to grab the nearest set of work clothes and stagger in on time. Mostly. So then why on earth did I get up at O’dark-thirty on a Saturday to go run? Because of the many women I know both family and friends who have beat breast cancer. In fact, I credit them as a collective group for getting me running in the first place.

A little history, when I was growing up here in Charleston two of my best friends lived down the street. Sue Ann and Karen became like sisters to me, and our mothers became best friends. Over thirty years ago my “other mom” Chris defied all odds by surviving breast cancer. Since then teachers, friends, colleagues all have fought the hard, messy, debilitating, defeminizing fight with courage, fear, humor, and a patience that I hope I never have to experience, for truly, I do not know if I would be strong enough and I pray I never have to find out.

In 2011 I walked in my first Susan G Komen Race for the Cure. It was a powerful experience to say the least. I was one of thousands of people-who got up on a Saturday morning to walk (or run) to remember, to celebrate, and to remind ourselves that the fight against breast cancer is far from over. It was one of the most diverse and representative groups I have ever seen in Charleston- all ages, genders, races. As I walked along side my own mom I had the thought that if these resilient women in their pink shirts and hats can undergo and not just survive, but reclaim their lives, then I should at least be able to get up off the couch and run in their honor.

However, running has not come easily for me. Since 2011 my goal each year has been to just complete the race a little faster. I’ve saved my numbers from each event, and have them hanging on a cork board near my bed where I can see them and be reminded. So this year, 2014, I am proud to say that I trimmed 13 minutes off my last time. I’m not jogging at the speed I’d like to be yet. In truth, I can only jog about half a 5K at this point. But I will continue to improve, and continue my own fight for a healthier me, and in doing so honor these women.

On those nights when I’m running on the greenway I have a little help keeping my motivation up because I always start my route the same way. As I leave my house I turn to the right and I take a good look at the house two doors down- a place I know well. It’s the house of my “other family”, and the home of one of the bravest women I know.

Race Standings

Bib Number 893

Gender Place 704 of 1491

Age Place 137 of 582 (F 41-50)

Gender F

Age 42  Elapsed 00:50:20

September 16-Rain

It’s mid September here in the Lowcountry, which means it’s time for the summer 4:00 showers to turn into nastier weeks of torrential downpours. The little storm cloud with lightning symbols are the only thing you see on the ten day forecast, and a day with only a 40% chance of rain is going to be the driest. The good news that comes with this are some slightly cooler temperatures, especially in the evening. It’s also getting dark earlier, which means I can run slightly earlier and still feel like I’m hiding.

This afternoon it stormed, which is to be expected, and that tapered into a moderate rain. I had visions of Fudo Myo-o and Alecto engaged in a serious chess match, the Monk meditating, and St. Sebastian sitting in my armchair reading a book. Still, I decided that I needed to go out and run. Without them. I imagined getting a raised eyebrow from Sebastian almost like a question, but waving him off as I grabbed my old running shoes, put my phone in a Ziplock baggie and headed out.

The rain itself was fairly light but steady, and actually felt cold. I found myself walking faster than usual for my warm up, and breaking into a jog at the two minute mark. I also found myself wondering if I really think this running thing is a good idea. I know running is hard on my joints. I have a history of knee issues and at no time in my life has anyone said to me, “You know, running, now that would be a great exercise for you.” In fact, the opposite has more often been the case. Well-meaning friends who encourage me to take care of my aging body in other ways. The orthopedist 7 years and thirty pounds ago who told me I was too heavy to run back then, and what business did I have thinking I could play rugby anyway? Even a certain part of my own psyche wonders if I’m cut out for running. Why did I think this was a good idea?

For all kinds of reasons. Some of my favorite middle-age heroines in books make running part of their routine. My belief that being able to run a 5k is something that a fit person is capable of, and I’m ready to be fit again. Thinking about the women close to me who have beat breast cancer. If they can do that, then I can run the Komen 5K in their honor. And now The Zombie Run with one of my closest friends. We’re going to take it on together shrugging off the lethargy of our jobs, our lives, and our diets, and trading it in for a small taste of the rush we used to get skating through the streets of Charleston late at night.

My shins hurt, the right one more than the left one. My ankles are bothering me. My knee is behaving, for now. Another dear friend, a PTA (who probably also thinks that just about anything other than running would be a good idea, but knows me to be stubborn and chooses her battles with me wisely) has suggested this stuff called KT-Tape for my shins. It may be magic, I’m not sure, but it does seem to be helping some. After a while, they don’t hurt so much. This is the time the side stich starts.

My feet got soaked within the first 5 minutes. Puddles will do that to you. It was still warm enough outside for me to be sweating, and I could taste the difference between my own sweat running down my face and the raindrops that landed and followed the same path. I’ve gained the confidence, at least when no one can see me, of running in just my compression shorts and a t-shirt. By now, my whole body is soaked, and I can feel the synthetic fabric of my shirt clinging to me. That’s when I came to an interesting realization. My shirt fits better. My body is starting to morph back into the shape that I want it to be. I started thinking about what I’ll look like when that does happen, and thinking about what I’ll have to do to get there.

Suddenly I feel stronger. My free-form run involves more running and less walking. The atmosphere is misty, the only light that of streetlights and porch lights casting odd shadows on the path. The greenway itself is a narrow strip now flanked by ditches overflowing with water. I could have kayaked large chunks of my trail tonight. In the light I catch sight of my breath as I exhale. I find it odd that I can see my breath in September, but think about what I’m casting out with the carbon dioxide. I’m casting out the seeds of my own doubt, my damaging negativity, the tendency to define myself based on my past poor choices. The rain seeping into my pores becomes transformation, possibility, and positivity. My shirt is clinging in the right places.

The last time I checked my time I was moving at a 17.36/ mile pace over three miles. Tonight, 15.43/ mile over 3.38 miles. Bring on the rain.

September 4- The Late Night Runner Has a Posse

So I loaded up my posse in the truck tonight and headed out to North Charleston’s Riverfront Park. Built on a section of the old Charleston Navy Base this park is a not entirely hidden gem of North Chuck. This was my third time running this park. After all, there are only so many times in a row I can traverse the Greenway.

I should have known something was up with my imaginary friends when Fudo Myo-o offered to ride in the back, as did Alecto- who normally prefers roof rack skiing. OK, I can handle a peaceful drive with St. Sebastian and the Monk in the cab with me. We parked the truck a bit away from the park itself near Storehouse Row. The whole place has the feel of a decrepit dystopia. The promised economic development of the area has been spotty at best, but this will lead to some really great run sites as my endurance improves. I started to stretch and open the evening’s run program on my phone. That’s when I saw Fudo Myo-o and Alecto unloading my mountain bike from the truck. I hesitated to even ask, but how could I not?

                “So, what’s the story with the bike?”

                “Alecto thought it might make you run faster if you had something to chase.” Alecto nodded agreeably. When the fury of constant anger is agreeable…

                “You’ve added a rear fender to my bike. Why?”

                “I need a place to sit.”

                “So let me get this straight, you’re going to ride on the back fender and hang on to Alecto while she pedals, and I’m going to chase after you?” I don’t remember this being in any write up of my training schedule.

                “Nope. I’m going to be sitting turned around backwards facing you. I won’t fall off. I’m the Immovable One.”

                “And this will motivate me how? Are you planning to dangle a carrot from a stick?”

                “A carrot wouldn’t motivate you.” He was right about that.

                “Unless there was a vat of Ranch dressing to dip it in.” Alecto added, swapping high-fives with Fudo Myo-o. Great. The Fury is displaying a sense of humor. St. Sebastian said nothing and gave his calm martyr look, the Monk just looked serene. “OK, let’s get this show on the road.”

                I let the biking duo take the lead. At first, they contented themselves with riding circles around me while I did what should have been a five minute warm up walk. At about two minutes Fudo Myo-o whips out a bullhorn (who knows what else he has hidden in that cloak) and booms, “This is FM radio; the FM standing for Fudo Myo-o of course…” I won’t repeat was I was thinking at this point, as it was not terribly polite. “Let’s get started with our running segment with this cheerful upbeat music!”

                “I’m supposed to walk for five minutes first.”

                “Alecto, what is that word that rhymes with ‘walk’?”

                “Is it WUS, F.M.?”

                “Yep, that was the word I was thinking of, now let’s get running!”

So I did what seemed to be the easiest thing at the time, and I started jogging. I was not going into an all out sprint at this point and I ran for a good two minutes. I know this doesn’t seem like much, but for me three minutes at a stretch is about my limit at this point. FM noticed me lagging.

                “That’s OK, go ahead and catch your breath for a minute, and we’ll start running again. I figure you can hear me better while you’re walking, so I’ll take this time to share a word from our sponsors.”

We have sponsors?

                “Oh wait, that’s right, we don’t have any sponsors because no one would want to sponsor anyone who MOVES THIS SLOW.”

                Who gave this guy a bull horn? After about a minute I started jogging again. At least he was playing some decent music which ironically, is from the same playlist that I used when I first started running. Back then I found it more than mildly annoying. Tonight I found it oddly motivating. What gives? After a little over two minutes I slowed back down to a walk. I kept a brisk pace until it was time for the first set of knee lifts, which precede each round of interval training which tonight was a minute jogging followed by a minute walking. I got through the first few sets with no issue, except for the “cheering section” in front of me.

I tried to tune out the running commentary and instead focused on the music, which I was actually enjoying. There are lots of different surfaces to run over- boardwalks, concrete, hard pack trails, rubberized pathways, and thick lush turf. There are also various architectural elements and statues to enjoy, as well as varied lighting which has a tendency to alter the way things appear. I particularly enjoy the contrast of the concrete and steel with the Live oaks dripping Spanish Moss. I was trying to think about relevant metaphors when I was ripped out of my pleasant reverie by, “Move it 42! It’s time for the running portion of this run. I’m calling you your age instead of your weight which is much longer to say and is 4.71 times as much…”

 And here I was thinking I was doing well for having broken 200 pounds. Shows you what I know. But, it was time for the running portion. That involves thirty seconds of fast running (for me at least) followed by a minute of walking. I took off after the furiously pedaling Alecto. I really put a lot into that segment, not knowing how I was going to fare with the fifteen minute “free form run” that follows.  The idea is to run as much of that segment as you can. Even during my last walk my legs felt heavy, I had a cramp in my ribs, I was out of breath, and could tell it was definitely time to replace my shoes. Even though I was being circled by a Buddhist deity and a Fury on a bicycle humming the Jaws theme and coming ever closer to running into me I kept walking. I decided I would walk the first four minutes, and then see what I could accomplish. As I shifted into a jog the Monk came up next to me.

                “Run in the grass.”

                “Excuse me?”

                “Run in the grass, especially where the sprinklers have been on. Just run back and forth in the grass for a while.”

So I did. And soon, it was just the Monk, St. S, and I jogging along peacefully. Still, my legs felt so heavy. I was starting to look down. Then the monk spoke to me again. This was the most I had ever heard him say. “When you run keep your eyes focused about 100 feet ahead, keep your head level, your shoulders relaxed, and your back straight.”

Sebastian chimed in, “I’ll let you in on a tip. How I got through the firing squad that should have killed me was by acknowledging the pain. That, and faith. I actually focused on how it felt, and then allowed my mind to release that. I was in tune with everything around me, my body, the environment, God- I know that one’s a little tough for you, but you can roll with the other two, right? What you are feeling is temporary. It will pass.”

So we ran and walked through the grass, but I was able to do more. All the while the cycling duo was on the more durable surfaces balancing on handlebars and trying silly stunts. It was quite amusing, actually. With five minutes of my workout to go I started back to the truck, and I jogged the last three of those. Yep, at the end of the workout. Three minutes. Go me.

Once I stopped I checked the timer and GPS. 50 minutes, three miles. Three miles! That’s almost a 5K! I’m glad there was no one around to see me jumping up and down. Sure, it’s about a 17 minute mile which I’m sure power walkers could easily cover, but it felt like a big achievement to me. Fudo Myo-o was smug. “See, our motivation technique worked.” I did not grace him with a response.

We loaded back up in the truck, and once I was in the cab with the Monk and Sebastian I thanked them both. I would eventually thank Alecto and Fudo Myo-o as well, but that would take more time. We were almost back home when I heard a pounding from the back, and a chant of, “Fourth Meal, Fourth Meal, Fourth Meal!” I was admittedly feeling a little peckish, and quite thirsty, so I promptly undid all the good I had just done by a trip through the Taco Bell drive through.

Hey, progress, not perfection, right?

A special “Thank you” to my friend Diane.  See, you didn’t even need the bull horn and bicycle, and we can still laugh about it.

 

August 27- A Saint, a Monk, and an out of shape blogger go walking down a moonlit path…Stop me if you’ve heard this one…

After last week’s anger-laden post you would have expected me (ok I would have expected me- after all, I don’t know what your expectations are) to hit the ground running Thursday morning in the gym and get back into the swing of things right and healthy and true. That would make for a highly motivational post. Guess what? This is not going to be that post.

Last Thursday I had weight training courtesy of The Universe. “Doing OK with the weight you have?” says The Universe. “Nope, you’re not lifting enough.” THUD “Have some more.”

So, instead of the gym, I opted for the same self-defeating behaviors that got me on last Wednesday’s rant in the first place. Not my finest moments. But you don’t read my blog for my own self-pity. So instead, I’ll tell you about my walk tonight.

You noticed I used the word “walk” because that is exactly what it was. It ended up being 4.64 miles of nothing but a walk in the moonlight at none too great a speed, but it was more than I was capable of doing the day before so we will put it in the “dubious improvement” category. I walked tonight with the intention of clearing my mind, but apparently my mind didn’t get the memo, because it kept right on thinking.

I had two recently acquired talismans in my pocket, and in addition to the cool night air, bright stars, and typically marshy sounds and smells I thought about both of them hanging out together. They were an unusual, yet quite harmonious duo.

As a card-carrying agnostic born to Catholic parents I’ve managed to maintain a dubious skepticism about many major Christian tenants while clinging desperately to the little that has stuck in both my head and my heart. This brings me to Saints. I love the Saints. What an awesome concept to have the patron-saint-of-what-ever-cause-you-hold-dear on hand to whisper an intercession on your behalf to the Great Almighty. Think of Saints as lobbyists without the accompanying scourge of politics. Now such a lofty post obviously doesn’t come without a price, and the price for many saints is martyrdom. (Its either that or miracles or both.) But here’s the thing about Saints and what makes them special- they’re cool with the whole martyrdom thing. They’re willing to face all manner of ghastly ends and do it cheerfully because they have the faith and knowledge that what they are standing up for is true and just. As a child I didn’t get that, and thought Saints were just smug about their assured place in heaven, but now I have a different understanding.

Hank Schlau, who makes the most wonderful saint statues and pewter medals sums up a wonderful rationale for accepting saints into our lives. He says, “…their lives illuminate some positive alternatives to accepted patterns of thought and action. That is, their stories can help illustrate the best instincts in us- lightheartedness in the face of peril, helping the downtrodden, (and) generosity offered without anticipation of acknowledgement-that can get buried in the dominant messages of all cultures.”

The other nifty thing about Saints is there are a whole bunch of them, and certainly a patron for just about any cause, malady, or profession. Which brings us to my Saint-du-jour, St. Sebastian, Patron Saint of Athletes. Sebastian was a Christian and a pacifist but joined the Roman army in 283. He was promoted to the Praetorian Guard- a very elite position while at the same time miraculously curing, converting, and baptizing other soldiers and civilians. This was a big no-no. He was eventually betrayed and sentenced to death by firing squad, which at the time involved bows and arrows. Sebastian is often depicted bound to a stake and pierced with arrows. However, he didn’t die. Nope, between his own stubbornness, his wife nursing him back to health, and some divine intervention he lived. Imagine the Emperor’s surprise when this guy who he thought was dead comes walking back up to give him a hard time about his pagan worshiping policies. In what I’ve read it even said that the Emperor briefly considered converting himself, but instead decided on again sentencing Sebastian to death and making sure his minions carried out his orders fully the second time.

So who was hanging out in my pocket with good ol’ Sebastian? An unexpected and very meaningful gift from Hank, a medal representing one of the “Marathon Monks” of Mt. Hiei. The greatest achievement for these Buddhist monks from the Tendai tradition is to complete a 1000 day spiritual pilgrimage over seven years for the sole (soul?) purpose of achieving spiritual enlightenment. Only 46 men have successfully completed this task since 1885. In each year of the challenge these men run 30-40km every day for 100 consecutive days. That’s 18 to 24 miles every day. No rest days, no fancy running togs- in fact the monks run in straw sandals, an all-white outfit, and a straw hat toting books with directions, candles, and food for offerings at temples along the way. Speaking of eating, these monks subsist on almost an entirely plant-based diet. You want protein? Got tofu. Oh, and don’t for a minute think they’re slacking when they’re not running. Nope these guys study calligraphy and meditation and help with the general running of the temple when they’re not actively running. By the time they’re approaching the seventh year of their challenge they run 84 km (52 miles) for a hundred days, then taper back to the 30-40km a day for another hundred days. The deity Fudo-Myo-o is very important to these monks, and through doing the research for this blog I’ve got to say he resonates with me a bit too.  

Fudo- Myo-o is one scary looking but extremely popular deity. His name literally translates to, “The Immovable Wisdom King.” On the website http://www.japanese-buddhism.com it is said, “He converts anger into compassion and cuts the ties of negative feelings and demons to liberate us from suffering through self-control… He also battles evil with his immovable faith and his compassion.” Hmm. After my previous weeks’ anger the thought of turning some of that into compassion has some appeal… But just some of it…

So now who do I have going running with me? I’ve got Alecto the Greek fury, I’ve got St. Sebastian, I’ve got a monk who smiles knowingly and will ignore the memo about not wearing white after Labor Day, and I’ve got his friend Fudo- Myo-o. It’s quite a cast of characters. Fortunately, they seem to get along well enough. They push me to do what I can, to make good decisions, to increase both in time and intensity, but they stay with me when I’m out of breath, when I’m cramping, when I’m craving a Dr. Pepper, when I start feeling weak. Except for Fudo- Myo-o. He just turns up the music and invites me to run a little more.

Until next run…

 

In that I am citing information that is new to me I’m going to go all term-paper on you and cite my sources. However, since this is not for a grade or any further publication instead of APA, MLA, or any other recognized sourcing you’re getting AMR’s citing:

For awesome Saint Statues and Medals (with some Monks on the side) please visit

In The Company of Saints- https://www.etsy.com/shop/InTheCompanyOfSaints?ref=l2-shopheader-name

For additional info about St. S- Saints Preserve Us by Sean Kelly and Rosemary Rogers

For additional info about the Monks of Mt. Hiei:

http://www.howtobefit.com/tendai-marathon-monks.htm

http://www.japanese-buddhism.com/fudo-myo-o.html

August 20- Fury

Tonight I finally got angry. I railed against my impossible seeming and physically demanding schedule of the next week, the makers of Tecate beer, and swim suit manufacturers who believe that “plus size” women don’t actually swim and instead merely lounge about at the beach favoring garish floral ensembles. I fumed about the injustice of cheese having oh-so-many more calories than celery sticks. I glowered at the scale and its unchanging numbers.

I put on my darkest running clothes and became incensed that the laundry had not done itself and my gray running shirt was to disgusting to contemplate putting next to my skin. I would have rather just gone without, counting on my compression bra to suffice, but I need to lose the equivalent weight of a large bag of dog food before that’s happening. And then I realized what I was actually doing. All that lashing out? That was keeping me from focusing on where the true problem lay- with me.

When I started this fitness quest to recover the person I lost beneath the fast food and lethargy I made some pretty radical but entirely sustainable changes. Pairing a gym workout with a “run” was not uncommon, in fact, twice a week it was my norm. My diet improved, the weight started coming off. My body shape started changing. I got stronger. Then I became more complacent.

My eating habits backslid. The number and intensity of gym workouts decreased. Even my running stagnated. Happy hour turned into happy evenings- and occurred far too frequently. My choice of company became questionable. Without recognizing it as it happened, the slovenly me that sneaks into Walmart in the middle of the night for the value sized sugar sweetened cereal and larger size of pants was back and hanging out on the sofa with a big bowl of Lucky Charms.

The anger I felt before hit a new level- fury as I realized I am the only maker of my problems, and the only solution. I became Alecto, Greek Fury of constant anger. There was no visible moon and I intentionally chose the darkest section of trail available to me. I did not merely walk my five minute warm up, I stalked down the road, seething bitterness and sweat from every pore. It was not a far stretch to imagine serpentine hair and blood dripping from my eyes. Then I started to run.

And I ran. I didn’t jog. I didn’t shuffle. I ran. And I did it for a longer distance and time than I’ve managed so far. I gulped for air which seemed to be a commodity unavailable to me. My breath came in gasps. With every right foot fall I felt as if I were being kicked in the shin, every left step was the uncomfortable pop and hesitation in my knee. I slowed to a walk believing I would never again catch my breath. But I did, after about two minutes. The next eighteen minutes were comprised of walk/run drills and knee lifts that even my training program refers to as “hilarious looking.” I pushed through the darkness, both literal and figurative until I found myself further down the greenway than I had gone before.

By the time I got to the 15 minute “free form run” (read: mostly walked segment) that followed air that felt like it was coming from a blast furnace when I started felt cool- to the point it actually concerned me until I remembered the whole sweating thing is the bodies cooling mechanism.

I ran tonight with more heart, soul, guts, speed, and yes, anger than I have since I started. As long as I don’t allow it to become caustic I believe I will be well served by carrying that Fury with me. She is forging me into someone stronger, and into the self I hope to regain.

 

 

August 18

“Hiding in bed under the covers does not make you run faster.” Or at least that’s what I tried to tell myself this evening at 9:30 when I was all nicely tucked into bed with the lights out. And frankly, it was still 88 degrees out there, I was feeling tired, I had eaten a big supper, and I even set my alarm to get up early in the morning so I could run before work. Even I knew that last statement was folly. Me? Get out of bed in the morning to go exercise? On what planet does this happen? Then the thunder started, and the lightning, and the rain, and I thought to myself, “Whoops, can’t go now, it’s storming.”

Twenty minutes later the rain had stopped and the temperature was down to 80. So self, what’s your excuse now? Being unable to find a good one I hauled myself out of bed and got dressed for my run.

Since I was bothering to run, I decided I would make it count, and moved forward with the intensity of my workout. This was the first time I had changed up my workout since the end of July and those 5Ks in October are not going to run themselves, so I needed to get a move on. On my 5 minute warm up walk I noticed it felt surprisingly comfortable and not excessively humid. I believe this means in actuality that I am losing all sense of perspective. On my first jogging segment I ran for a longer period of time than ever before- and felt pretty good doing it.  The rain left the air smelling clean even past the dumpsters, and I had what I chose to consider a fabulous if not slightly scary light show with all the lightning about. I did feel perfectly safe though, as I was no where near the tallest thing around.  Seriously though, when am I ever?

My more interesting run was due in part though to a change in soundtrack.  Remember that 14.56 I spent last week?  Well I have integrated a good part of that into my new playlist for running.  Before, I was listening to carefully sanitized versions of pop songs redone by 2nd rate artists that no one has ever heard of, all carefully timed to play at exactly 128 beats per minute.  In addition to being so saccharine and perky that my inner-cynic frequently wanted to rip the earbuds from my ears and scream, each track was extended to play between four and six minutes which is much longer than its radio edit.  Longer, in this case, was not better as most of the additional “content” was a repeat of already vapid choruses and bass lines that all have this “chukka-chuckka-chuckka” kind of sound.

Now, I have music that in part is as agonizing as I feel. I have songs about attempting to sell your soul to the devil, and not fetching a single decent offer( Kongos-Come with me Now), I have songs about love running out (One Republic- Love Runs Out, nope no pun intended there), a great song about a lousy relationship (Halestorm- I miss the Misery) which basically embodies my relationship with exercise. “One less problem without you” is my understated mantra for my excess weight. (Iggy Azalea-Problem ) and Freak Like Me… (More Halestorm) well have you ever seen me run?  There’s a reason I run at night in the dark with no one around.  Dear readers, let me assure you- it’s not pretty.  Most importantly though I have songs I feel I can run to.  I’m not quite “Titanium” yet, and instead of “Counting Stars” I’m more frequently seeing stars, but I’m getting closer.

BTW, in case you were wondering, the cats are still nor helpful.  In fact, Frederick insisted on being either on my lap or on the keyboard after I was done running, so this post is being released a little late.

August 11- Homecoming

The mere fact that I’m writing this post should tell you that I did actually manage to go out for this evening’s run, but it certainly wasn’t easy. I could wax poetic (Read: fill these next few paragraphs with complete BS) about how I dug deep into myself and looked for what would intrinsically motivate me to continue to run, but I’ve always been pretty straight up in this blog and there’s no need for me to change now. Nope. Three things got me out the door tonight: a new pair of compression shorts, $14.56 worth of ITunes purchases to spice up my playlist, and knowing that my next big extrinsic motivation will only come after I hit another health milestone. I won’t get there by sitting on the couch.

Yep. Sheer petty materialism got me out the door tonight. Typically I run 3 nights a week, but after last Monday I decided to take the rest of the week off so tonight was my first night back. I decided to redo the workout I failed so miserably last week. It was 78 degrees and even though it wasn’t raining at that particular moment after about five minutes of walking I was as soaked as I was Saturday after being caught outside in a downpour. It was both warmer and more humid than it had been in DC, but in a way it was oddly comforting. I took a slightly different route on the greenway tonight, turning back behind my own subdivision. I walked when I was to walk, jogged when I was to jog, sucked wind when I was told to run, but ran anyway. I did my ridiculous looking knee lifts, but the feeling I felt the most was one of peace. No, there’s no pithy punchline to follow. Sorry.

My particular section of greenway this evening was mostly unlit, save for the moonlight. Much of it was under tree canopy, and I was glad that some nice light limestone-rich dirt had been laid down on the trail. Due to all the rain the smell was that of clean wet foliage. It’s a smell that brings comfort- it’s the smell of being out in the woods alone at night. When the trail grew brighter I knew I was approaching the creek and the marsh. That sight and smell has always been an indicator of home. And those were the things I felt: home, comfort, peace. And by the time I was half way through my work out I felt a tingling in my right leg, knee pain, and a side stich, but these are all things to be expected.

Most importantly though I am doing exactly what I need to be doing where I need to be doing it. I am running to slowly regain a part of me that I had let go of and replaced with apathy, lethargy, and size 14 pants. I am making the most of my gym membership so I can once again do the things I enjoy doing most without worrying about my knees hitting my gut on my bike or not being able to see the footholds while rock climbing. I want to once again feel the vitality that comes with strength, endurance, and good health. And I do feel it. It comes in fleeting moments when my muscles are tired after a workout, but I feel strangely happy. It comes when I tighten my belt one notch more than usual. It comes when I add another plate to the weights I’m lifting. And it’s not easy. If I ever need a reminder of that I just need to read last week’s post. But it’s worthwhile- one pair of compression shorts and a couple of new tracks at a time.

By the way, the cats are still not helpful.

Echo doesn’t care for ice packs

 

August 4- Hitting the wall

Washitonian Center Lake

“Hitting The Wall” is defined by Segen’s Medical dictionary as, “The depletion of glycogen stores in the liver and muscles, which manifests itself by abrupt fatigue and loss of energy.” The Medical Dictionary for the Health Professions and Nursing defines it as, “A term athletes use to describe an abrupt decline in the ability to maintain the desired intensity of endurance exercise performance; associated with accumulation of blood lactate and depletion of liver and muscle glycogen reserves.”

I’ve heard the term used by serious runners and athletes far above my performance level. And yet tonight I sit here, typing in the dark, and use it myself. My wall doesn’t involve glycogen. It doesn’t involve excessive lactate, micro- tears in my muscles, or an imbalance of electrolytes. Instead, it involves the reality that my 42 year old body has presented me.  This does not bode well for content or quick wit, and after my attempted Monday work out my gentle self-deprecation has taken a much darker turn. Succinctly put, this will not be a warm fuzzy post.

And that’s a shame, because Monday’s workout took place at the Washitonian center in Gaithersburg, Maryland. The Washitonian is this fabulous complex of hotels, office buildings, an 18 screen movie theater, gym, shopping center and eateries. It is designed to be enjoyed on foot, and at its center is a man-made lake with a .8 mile trail surrounding it. Uncle Tony and I spend a lot of our time together here.  We shop, we eat, we go to movies. We take a walk, or in his case a roll, around outside.  We feed the fish and the ducks. We look for the hidden statues- every time it’s a new discovery for him.  This time we even rode the carousel.

At 10:00 I started my workout around the lake, 5 minutes of a brisk walk. I was already considering what I would write about. Reflections 1 and 2 were starting to form- the first about how nice it was to be in a place with such incredible racial and cultural diversity, the second was wondering about a potential correlation between obesity and the prevalence of sweet tea. In DC and Maryland I can just order “iced tea” and that’s what I get, not this syrupy substance that many people in the southern states seem to have a deep fondness of.

My brisk walk wasn’t feeling very brisk. My left knee was catching and popping. (This happens sometimes, especially to me. My knee has a history of issues dating back to 1986. I have been determined to ignore it this time.) My five minutes were up. Time to shift gears into a five minute walk/ jog. Every part of my body felt heavy. The past four days of restaurant meals were coming back to laugh at me. I didn’t know how much weight I had gained on this trip, but it felt like 20 pounds. There was a lot more walking than jogging. After that came interval drills. One minute running, followed by one minute of walking with the little voice in my phone telling me when to stop and start. Normally the first minute is a cake walk for me. I didn’t make it. I lasted 45 seconds before the burning pain in my muscles and the inability of my lungs to process air convinced my brain to slow me to a walk. After a minute walk, I tried again, and started stumbling after 20 seconds. So I walked. And as I walked I became filled with an impressive amount of self-loathing. My head dropped. I started looking at the ground instead of my surroundings. The cheery voice in my headset would encourage, “now RUN!” I extended a mental middle finger in her direction. It was all I could do to even start a second lap of walking around the lake, but I did.

When I finished trudging that miserable second lap my muscles were quivering, my knees looked like grapefruit, and I was in pain. I pride myself on being able to push through physical discomfort, and I failed miserably. I questioned the wisdom of this whole fitness thing.  Maybe I’m too far gone to get where I want to be.

And then, to top it all off, the car wouldn’t start. I was grateful to AAA even if I did have to wait 90 minutes.

So where am I now? Behind on my gym work outs, no intention of running tonight and in truth, I’m more likely to go to sleep than anything else right now. I say this not to garner your sympathy or pity, which would frankly just make me feel even weaker. I’ve been stuck in the same spot in my training for two weeks now. I was really hoping to break through the wall. Instead, it feels like the wall is crushing me.

However, I have a feeling you will hear from me again next week. This blog has made me feel nothing if not accountable. That, and I can’t stop training for my two 5K’s scheduled for October. Just have to figure out how to get over this wall.

August 2- Special Edition from Washington D.C.

Usually I only subject you, fair readers, to one post a week.  However, since I’m both traveling and “running” I will share my new and exciting observations with you.   Running in a new place has all sorts of challenges, including the first- where to go.

 My aunt’s apartment is a few blocks from American University. I decided to run in the opposite direction, because there are a lot of fit and healthy people in this part of D.C.  I didn’t want to get smoked by some co-ed on a leisurely jog while I’m doing my high speed one minute runs.  Let’s face it.  My high speed is the same as most runner’s cool-down pace.

Next question was uphill or downhill. I chose to start heading uphill, so that by the time I was coming back I would have an easier go to things.  That put me on Tunlaw St. which was all well and good, but right as I was ending my warm up, the street changed, and I was headed downhill.  How long can one downhill last?  I do have to admit, running downhill for the appropriate amount of time was easy, fast, and dare I say almost exhilarating.   D.C. does have some narrow sidewalks compared to the ones in Charleston and they have a very unique feature.  They are smooth and level.  No odd pieces sticking up in random places, easy transitions into crosswalks where smiling drivers stop, make eye contact, smile, and motion you through. I looked mostly off to my right at cute and extremely expensive little homes and apartment buildings.  In the grass strips next to the sidewalks there were wildflowers growing.  This is awesome!  I’m flying like the wind! 

Before I knew it, it was time to go back.  So I crossed the street and looked up.  By “up” I really mean uphill, which I will kindly refer to as difficult, tedious, and I can definitely say painful.  The thought bubble above my head at the time was far more profane than this “G” rated post will allow.  It was somewhat surreal and entirely appropriate jogging (and walking) past the huge Russian Embassy Compound with its Very Tall Scary Looking Walls topped with coils of razor wire and surveillance cameras. 

I did get two blocks of downhill to jog to end the session.  I really did feel pretty good about my workout.  The doorman opened the lobby door for me and I crossed the polished granite floors to the elevators past a cluster of blue-hairs who seem to be indigenous to this building. (I don’t believe a single Gen Xer lives anywhere in this 14 story monstrosity.  We couldn’t afford the regime fees.  I digress.)  “That person looks exhausted.” There was motioning in my direction.  Exhausted?  Gender neutral reference?  Heck, for the first time since I’ve started working out this summer I actually felt pretty darn good.  The temperature was mild, humidity was negligible.  Really makes me wonder what I look like the rest of the time…  

Stay tuned for Monday night’s edition where I will be taking on the lake trail at the Washitonian in Rockville, MD.

 

July 28 Never going to make ANW

It’s late Monday night, and you all know what that means…

More musings on my late night run

This evening while I was waiting for the temperature to drop down out of the upper 80’s ( it never did) I watched American Ninja Warrior with Mom. It’s one of her favorite summer shows. As I started on this week’s training I thought, “This would at least be more interesting if I was doing something o…ther than running the same patch of greenway every time.” So I decided to liven things up a little bit after the dreaded intervals. Yep. I broke into an elementary school playground. But it wasn’t just any playground- it became the Never-Gonna-Be-An-American-Ninja-Warrior training ground. Lets hear the commentary,

“Well Matt, our next contestant is getting ready to start the course. Is she in costume, and if so what is it?”

“No Akbar, I think she’s just a lousy dresser, but who cares if all her fluorescent colors clash, let’s see how she handles this first obstacle. She clears the 4′ chain link fence fairly easily- but wait, her headphone cord has gotten tangled in the fence. That’s costing her valuable time. She’s off to the climbing caterpillar. That obstacle is no challenge for her, she makes it look like a six year old could do it.”

“Matt, it’s designed for a six year old.”

“Oh. Well she’s breezing through the wall flower stones. These are similar to the dancing stones, except they don’t move, making that challenge well, not challenging.
Will she have enough grip strength for the climbing wall?”

“I should hope so, in that she hasn’t really had to grip anything thus far. And she’s over the top of the 8′ wall. Now for the last obstacle”

“Is it the warp wall?”

“Not on this budget. We’re just going to have her run up the slide backwards. Close enough.”

******************************************************************
We will not recount how I did have to take two runs at the chain link fence to get back out.

Stay tuned for a special edition of next weeks running reflections brought to you from Rockville MD. Have shoes, will travel.