14 Miles, Sore Calf, & H.I.P.

Saturday's 14 miles was not fun. It wasn't even hard, because hard doesn't come close to describing it. It was gruesome. Have I ever run 14 miles before? Really? You lie.

I've been breaking in some new shoes. Saucony's Triumph 5 (the same kind of car I want!) because the kid at the running store told me they don't make my beloved New Balance 1023s anymore, so to try these, 2-week money-back guarantee if I only wore them on the treadmill. Which I did, for two 5-mile sessions.

So I thought I was good to go.

Although I have noticed my achilles has been sort of sore.

And yeah, my calves have been kind of tight.

But who pays attention to that crap? C'mon. If I paid attention everytime something hurt, I'd never get out of bed! HTFU already.

So off I went in my pretty new Sauc's. Our coach decided at the last minute to send us 7 miles north, into the wilds of Maryland, instead of South, into the civilization of D.C.

We were running along the Rock Creek Hiker-Biker Trail, a part of Rock Creek Park I had never seen before. A beautiful paved trail that runs right through the middle of a woods, alongside a stream. Birds were singing, the skies were blue, there was an ululating symphony of frogs (no really, there was). Temps were in the 60s, and would be 70F before we stopped.

All was right with the world.

So my calf hurt. And I ignored it. What, was I gonna go home without even trying??? Not likely. I started running with two other girls. And we went up hills and down hills. Past woodland creatures and human creatures. It was all good. Until mile 5 when I stopped. Because ouch. It hurt. Like for reals. Like an am-I-gonna-make-it? kinda hurt.

My running buddies were great, stopping with me. I cursed myself for not bringing my customary $10 for a cab...until I realized—no cabs in the woods. I have never (knock wood) not finished a training run. Ever. So I wasn't too eager for today to be my first.

I stopped, stretched, massaged, gritted my teeth, examined my options— a loooooooong 5-mile-walk-or-run back, or run onward 2 miles to the turnaround. Of course, it was ONWARD!

By now my will (which was weak to begin with) was pretty much shot. I was hanging on, helped by healthy doses of stretching, massaging, and lots of moaning. (Always a pleasure to run with me!) I made it to 7 miles and then? I had to run back.

Time to HTFU, again.

It took 3:06. A blistering 13-minute-mile pace.

Take that Miss Fancypants Speed Development!!

My poor running mates. They were such good sports. I can only hope that I'd be as kind confronted with a gimpy running mate.

So here it is Monday.

My calf is still sore, but I'm pretty sure (after much consultation with Dr. Google) that I didn't tear anything. I've been massaging it like mad. But what to do with Tuesday night's speed session (that would be TOMORROW night), Internet People?! Do I go? Or no go? And what to do with Saturday's 14-miler??

And more importantly, what to do about those $@!$ shoes?

Back to the shoe store? Run/no run?

(You really have to wonder how I get dressed by myself in the morning. Well, the answer is: I don't. Number One Daughter consults. Daily. It's frightening.)

I've got the National half coming on March 21. I really really wanted to kick Danielle's ass! Or Ray's. (Hi Danielle & Ray! Just kidding! Ha ha!)

Sigh.

In other news:

1. Call has been made to upstairs landlord about possibly DRAINING THE LAKE that's inside his apartment; and


b) I SIGNED UP FOR D.C. TRI'S HALF-IRONMAN PROGRAM (henceforth known as HIP) WHEEEEEEEEEE!

(Thanks Neal, and the rest of you. You know who you are.)

Although I have no desire, and I will not, under any circumstances, actually enter, or even pretend to enter, or remotely consider entering, a half-ironman.

Ta-da.

I'm Not Myself Lately

Warning: I'm going to whine. So if you're not up to YET MORE OF THAT, please move right along.

For the rest of you, an update:

Maybe it's from being sick for a week, or from missing a week of workouts, or from being too sick and tired to go to the grocery store. Or maybe I'm just old. Maybe it's that I felt particularly under-appreciated this week. And sometimes? I just felt freakin' stupid. (And you know what Eleanor Roosevelt said about that. So then I felt bad about feeling inferior!)

I don't know. I don't feel like myself.

This has probably been my longest break from working out since I started, what, three years ago? I ran 10 miles last Saturday, then went to spin class on Thursday, and that's been it. Physically, I'm pretty much cured from my bronchitis, so I went back to work Monday. But I feel sick in my psyche—or my soul, if you're so inclined.

I don't feel like an athlete. I don't feel like working out anymore. What I feel like is giving up, rolling over, curling up and reading, and acting my age.

Which is kind of a problem when you're starting to train for a tri, and have a half-mary in four weeks.

I'm hoping this is just a phase—but just in case, it's scaring me enough to have FINALLY forced me to make an appointment with my girly-girl doc.

In the meantime, for you new readerS who don't know me and don't realize how entertaining I can, on occasion, be, I invite you to take a gander at this and this and this. And this was kinda fun.

Oh, ok, there was this (still looking, btw).

And of course, who could forget this? (Not I. Not ever.)

Maybe y'all can vote for your favorites.

Or maybe I should just HTFU, as Rainmaker would likely remind me. ☮