Oh, How the Mighty Tumble

Thanks for all the kudos, people. My high lasted oh, til around 7 p.m. last night. That's four whole days!!

Last night was a pace workout. One mile warmup, two miles at 10K (10:30ish) or faster pace, one mile easy, two more fast miles, one mile cooldown. Something like that.

So off I tottered.

In my new shoes.

Same make, Nike Pegasus, new model. Salesperson said: "Make sure you wear these around the house before you run in them."

Bah! What do salespeople know?

Around mile 2, I could feel a blister developing. In yet another place on my foot. I got one on Sunday but ran right through it, no problem. Last night's? Was like the bottom of my foot was on fire.

But wait! That's not all!

Somewhere around mile 1, my side started hurting. I thought it was a side stitch, so I did the breathing thing and ran thru it. Eventually it dawned on me: this was so not a side stitch. This was ... like a cracked rib! Or maybe a muscle pull.

Of course, a little pain and misery are to be expected on a pace run. So, I pushed through all of it, and did this:

11:01 (warm up)
9:53 (way faster than pace!)
10:08 (ditto!)
11:50 (easy mile)
10:30 (pace)
11:33 (supposed to be pace; not)
13:48 (cooooool down)

Limped back to office. Realized this side/back/front thing was really hurting. What is this?? I can't even google it. It has no name. But it woke me up several times during the night. I used a heating pad and ice. And ibuprofen.

So, I have an emergency foot doctor appointment today for the blister, because I am so sick of blisters! And because I have this little 18-miler coming up on Saturday. Which the resident office jock just told me I'd be "stupid" to attempt.

Sigh.

I didn't run this morning. I'm supposed to do Bikram tonight, but am debating the wisdom of that move. If this is a muscle pull, I'm afraid I'll do more damage by trying to stretch it, cuz RICE, right? Right now it hurts if I breathe in or out deeply. Or at all, actually. If I lean forwards or to the right, or try to stand up, ouchie.

I'm good if I sit still.

So, your thoughts? I can't see a sports doc this week. And I really think that would be a waste of time since I'm pretty sure it's a pull.

So, try the 18 miles? Go to Bikram tonight?

Cast your vote here.

You Know How to Whistle, Don't You?*

This morning I ran the Leesburg 20k with (OK, far far behind) my good friend and highly unpaid coach Bex.

My goal for this race was to run it at marathon pace. According to Mr. McMillan, if I can run a 10k at 1:07, I should be able to run a marathon in 5:14, which is a 12:01 pace. But we all know he's insane. So instead, last night, I ran all the numbers backwards, and found that for a 5:30 marathon (my goal), my pace should be 12:36 min miles. (It's fun playing with numbers! Try it!)

It was a gorgeous fall-like day out. I got to the site at 6 a.m., a wee bit early for a 7:30 start. But no lines at the portapotty.

The course was an out-and-back thru downtown Leesburg, Virginia, (a lovely historic D.C. bedroom community surrounded by farmland which is quickly being taken over by big bad and ugly developments) and then onto the W&OD trail, which was beautiful, and shady. It was 64 degrees F, and 64 percent humidity. It doesn't get much better than that, people.

Here's what the W&OD trail looks like:




It's positively bucolic. We ran past horse farms, and a few cows.

So, here I was, planning on running 12:10 min. miles for the first half and then maybe speeding up to 11:50 min. miles the second half. Hope springs eternal!

I started out running with a girl who was going my pace—slow—but who was huffing and puffing by mile two. I knew that today I wanted to run my own race, so I said goodbye, and ran off to see what I could do.

And here's what I did:
1: 11:46
2: 12:14
3: 12:04
4: 12:12
5: 11:52
6: 10:49 (whoa)
7: 11:27
8: 11:39
9: 10:11 (more whoa)
10: 10:34 (all right!)
11: 10:11 (ditto)
12: 10:09 (excellente!)
.4: 4:28 (um, .4?? Who knew?)

Total: 2:19:41 (11:14/mile)

(By the way, does everyone but me know that a 20k is 12.4 miles, not 12.2?? Wacky metric system.)

Maybe it was the fallish weather? Or the fact that the course was slightly uphill out and slightly downhill back (except for one big mother hill at mile 7)? (Or that I'm an exceptionally talented and fast runner?) I dunno. I just know at one point I noticed a 10:11 min. mile and said to myself, Self? You are running your 5k pace after running for eight miles. At the end, I knew I could have gone farther.

I made my grande finale to find Number One Daughter and her BF and Bex and a friend, P., all waiting. (Bex had an awesome run, but I'll let her tell you about it. Let's just say she had to hang around for a good long while to see me.)

In the interest of full disclosure, I came in 20/22 in my age group.

But.

I don't care.

This race was a much-needed confidence booster. Now I know I can do this for 12.4 miles, but do I know how to do it for 26.2?

*Sure, you know. You just put your lips together and ... blow.

Thanks to You

jeff (that party-pooper!) wants us to think of things to be grateful for.

After the fearsome eight miles on the treadmill on Tuesday morning, I was truly wiped out. All day Tuesday, and all day Wednesday. Someone at work asked me on Wednesday morning what happened to me the night before? (A pleasant good morning to you, too!) Which was funny, since my torture session was Tuesday morning, not night. Apparently, I didn't look so hot.

So for once I listened to my body, skipped the track, and went home and slept. This morning I got up, and as usual, thought that my running days were over because I had skipped a workout. As in I thought: you will never run again. (Yes, Craig: Running Is Mental.)

I decided to go out nice and easy and try, try, try to just enjoy it, for God's sake, and screw the time. I ran four miles (brain to jeanne: you can't run four miles!) very s-l-o-w-l-y. It was early a.m., coolish, and a soft drizzle began.

I'd have to have been dead not to have loved being out on the trail in those conditions.

So let's roll back 'round to jeff. I remembered this morning to be thankful that I can run, walk, move, at any speed, because it makes no difference whether I'm fast or slow. I'm moving. And I'm gonna keep moving.

So there.

Then I went to Bikram tonight and wanted to upchuck.

Just so we keep things in perspective.

There Is No Such Thing as Catching Up

Let's face it. In this world, once you've fallen behind, (kinda like in a race!), you're toast.

So, where were we?

Ah, yes, I was Very Upset at not being able to do a track workout last Wednesday night. But never fear: Of course I did it anyway! (What kind of hack do you take me for??) I borrowed a watch and did it on the treadmill at work. I did the very fearsome 4x1600 with 400 recovery, and I did it like this:

10:54
10:42
10:20
10:00, 9:50, 9:31 (meaning, I kept upping the speed for the last mile).
whoo hoo!

It felt good. I seem to actually like track workouts. Who knew?

Saturday was 10.48 miles; a step-back week, through lovely Rock Creek Park. (It was supposed to be only 10 miles. Someone lied to me, which, as you know, I always appreciate.) I did it at marathon pace, which for me is around 12:10 minute miles, and sped up at the end again. A really good hard run. (For me. At that pace. For that distance.)

And Monday was spinning.

And that brings us to today, Tuesday. When eight miles was on the schedule. How do people get in eight miles before work?? HOW?? Last night the air was impossibly thick and humid. I was afraid to go back out there this morning. So, I decided to get up at 5:30, get to work and run my eight miles there on the treadmill, since my last encounter with it went so well.

See, I forgot: I hate and detest the treadmill.

It was miserable. My pace was all over the place, topped off with a 14 min mile. (In the middle though, was a lovely 10:30 min mile! Maybe more than one!) See, because I hate the treadmill so much, I try to keep going faster on it so that the horror will end sooner.

On the plus side, I realized that I really need a point to every run. Like is it a tempo? A pace run? What?? What am I trying to do here with these eight miles? I had no idea.

It was not a winning strategy on that evil machine.

There, now we're all caught up. Or rather, now I've caught all you (all one of you) up.

So far, by the way, the no TV thing is going great! As is the no reading blogs at work!

So, I have no idea what anyone is doing, and now I have to go to bed!

Stop the insanity.

(I miss Stephen Colbert. I miss him Truly, Madly, Deeply.)

Do You Ever Feel ...

... that no matter what you are doing at any particular time, you should be doing something else?

I am having trouble prioritizing, people.

It's Sunday, and there's a big fat ol' newspaper sitting on the coffee table, just begging me...

Then, I'm trying to finish up a little bit of freelance work that's due tomorrow.

Of course, there's always blogging ... but forget that, there's reading blogs, and that, my friends, is a full-time job. At which I am currently sucking.

Then, there's that phone call to the elderly 'rents that I have put off making for far too long. Not to mention phone calls to friends who have no doubt given up on my being alive. If they are still speaking to me.

E-mails to reply to. E-mails to generate.

Plus books to be read! More things to write! Training! And let's not forget actually working while I'm at work. And groceries to buy, cleaning, laundry!

I don't know how people do this. It's spinning outta control over here at whine-o-matic headquarters.

I decided this morning to see if I can go an entire week without reading non-work-related blogs while at work. (Not that I ever do that, mind you. Just sayin'...) I need to give up tv completely, which shouldn't be hard since I barely watch any as it is, so already I can't relate to any Sex in the City, or Desperate Housewives, or Idol, or Runway convos, though I do have a Colbert jones that needs feeding. (And Masterpiece Theater. But that's only on Sunday nights. Surely I get Sunday nights!)

Of course, I found time to write this brilliant post. But I should have been doing something else. Which is in fact, the story of my life.

Whoops, time to take my chill pill.

Numbers

Bob beat me to it, reporting on his ridiculously low heart rate which he took while at his desk. After coffee and after annoying phone calls.

Well, here's one number I can beat. (Come on, let me be better at something. Please.)

My heart rate, taken last Wednesday at my doctor's office (way more official!) came in at ... 42 bpm !!! (Wait ... am I even alive??) Apparently, I am alive. I mentioned (read=bragged) about this to Number One Daughter's insanely in-shape-bound-for-the-Olympics bf, and he scoffed. "Not possible," said he. His heartrate isn't that low, how could mine possibly be??

Good question. I've always had low blood pressure. And even when out of shape, a low heart rate. But 42!!!

And the fun didn't stop there.

I've also apparently grown taller. At my last doctor's appointment, approximately two years ago, I checked in at 5'8 1/2". Which was maddening, since I've always been 5'9". My whole life. I'm not ready to start shrinking yet.

But last week? I was 5'9 1/4"!!! I get to weigh more now!! I mean: I get to not have osteoporosis!!

I totally attribute my restored height to evil Bikram yoga.

And while we're on the subject of numbers: my watch died. My favorite Ironman Triathlon Timex watch, with it's ITS antiquated functions of keeping track of splits and timing and cool stuff. It's officially a goner.

Which meant, on yesterday's six-mile run, I had no idea how fast/slow I was going. So, I just made something up for my running log. Something conservative. Very conservative.

Tonight's track workout is in grave jeopardy if I don't find a way to get a watch. Which would be a dirty shame, since the "realfeel" temp will be (here's another number): 101 degrees F.

I'm very upset about missing a track workout. Very. Upset.

Cheers!

Who Moved my Capitol?

Because if the Capitol was still there, then I wouldn't have missed the part about running up and around the back of it, now would I? I wouldn't have missed .75 miles of today's awesome not-quite-16-mile run, now would I?

As I may have alluded to in my last post, I was a teensy bit worried about today's run. What with never having run more than 13 miles before, and that included a 20-minute-porta-potty layover. And there was last Saturday's 10-miler where I gave up for no apparent reason. So, I was a bit tremulous about this morning.

Until...a little vixen named a. maria suggested I think of it as three five-mile runs. As she so cogently put it: "Even you can run five miles!"

Brilliance.

So, last night I marked up the hand with where the five mile intervals were. Then I ran all the numbers and printed out some charts and graphs, showing times for 5, 10, and 15 miles and a total time of 3:12 for 16 miles. Which would be a nice 12 min./mile pace, and get me a 5:14 marathon time, after which I could die happy.

Blah, blah, long story short: I started out with my friend The Other Jen, and her friend Kim, but they were running intervals. I couldn't find my other other friends, Christy and her friend Suzanne, but they are too fast for me anyhow (yes, you are!). So, blah blah blah, I ended up running alone, but behind a guy who was holding a nice steady pace.

We ran by the Iwo Jima memorial, over the Key bridge, through Georgetown, down by the river, by the Kennedy Center, all along the National Mall, and then, oopsie ... where did everyone go? I finally said hello to my pacer, James, and told him he was pacing me, and thanks! Right by the center of the photo, above, we kinda lost the group. Hmmm...where could they be?? Oh well, onward!

To water stop 9.7 miles where there were frozen grapes. Better. Than. Sex. Frozen. Grapes.

On toward Haine's Point (we all remember Haine's point, right?):



We did a loop around the point—what a beautiful day, beautiful scenery, the river, golfers, triathletes doing the loop—I'm not sure why, but running that beautiful flat point is like going through the bowels of hell. Maybe it's just the memories. By now James and I were running together and had actually exchanged a few words ... he works on some committee that oversees homeland security. (Now I have to kill all of you, har-de-har ...)

James was fading on the point. He was slowing down, and we took a few longish walk breaks. But ... I didn't need to!! Awesomeness. I was speeding up (or was it just relative?). I hung with him til the end of the point, and he wanted to walk again and I said sayonara, cuz I guess I had used him up and was now tossing him aside like I do with so many other me ... nevermind.

Next stop was the 14th street bridge, another reminder of hell. It's mile 20 of the MCM. But this time, I actually ran up the hill to reach it, and then ran over it, and this time I ran all the way back to the Pentagon—about three miles, with no walking.

Give me the award already, and clear the podium.

So, it wasn't 15.75 miles, it was 15. And I didn't finish in 3:12, I finished in 3:29. But I could have gone longer. I didn't need all the walk breaks I took. I didn't want to quit. Not once. I even ran up a hill at mile 13 ... past other people, other male people, even.

This, this is how we're gonna run the MCM, people.

This is how we're gonna do it.

NO WAY!!!

I don't want to believe it either. Though an interview I read earlier today with Floyd Landis' mother had me thinking: "This guy needs a new mother!" She's since talked to Floyd and now says he didn't do it. But geeze, how about a mother who doesn't need to talk to her son first before declaring her allegiance?

Moving on:
Last night instead of a track workout, I did hills. Times four. A half mile hill. Up it. Four times. Which means down it four times. Little did I know at the time that you add that up and get ... four miles. Now, throw in the run to get to the evil hill and the run back, another three miles, and my 4-mile track workout somehow turned into seven miles. Rock on! My pace on the hill (which to be fair, is a wee bit shy of .5 miles) was about 5:18, a little faster than my 10K pace. (God, I love it when I talk like this.) So this will make me stronger. Right? RIGHT??? Cuz right now? I pretty much feel like limp spaghetti and, sigh, as usual, am convinced I will never run again. I barely made it to the car tonight. (See Bikram story, below.)

I sloged (sludged + jogged) back to work. The whole thing took 1 1/2 hours. It was 9:30 by the time I got back to work, where I was so tired I couldn't even take a shower. For some reason, people were still there, and still wanted to talk to me! In my condition.

Then I came home and did some writing 'til 11:30.

So I skipped this morning's 4-mile run because seven? Last night? Tonight was Bikram. I have officially switched studios from the lovely 5th-floor-walk-up-but-filled- with-intense-mirror watching-people studio in Dupont Circle (downtown D.C.) to a smelly not-so-great one nearer my office and not on the 5th floor. Tonight, the instructor warned that it would be "hotter inside because it was hotter outside." I pondered this question (among others) for the entire 90 minutes. Can't they regulate the heat? So, yeah, it's hot out. Put the thermostat on 120 and if it goes to 121, then um, turn it down.

Whatever.

At the end, my head hurt and and I was so not at peace. Drenched to the bone as usual, with a heart rate that would not cease its maddening beat. (Kinda like the "Telltale Heart.") The older gentleman next to me had been groaning and fussing throughout the entire class, which was bugging the HELL out of me. I'M TRYING TO GET TO MY PEACEFUL PLACE here, jackass. Shut up already.

So here's the other question I pondered: Why is it only men who groan during exercise class? I swear to God, I have never heard a woman groan incessantly through a 90-minute Bikram, or spinning, or anything class. And don't tell me we're not working as hard.

I have a theory, but you go first.

More news:
Saturday is a 16-mile run with DCFIT. This is the first time I have ever tried to run 16 miles. Get on your knees and pray.

I keep forgetting to announce that I have two races coming up before the Big One:
The Montgomery County Parks Half, on Sept. 24, with Finally Running Susie and her s.o. David, who have graciously accepted my invitation to stay with me in my little castle—paaartay!; and
this crazy 20K that Bex talked me into. (Why does a 20k sound worse than a half? I dunno but it does.) Actually at the moment they both sound ghastly. But I know they'll be fun. Right? RIGHT??

Please, like a bad boyfriend, just lie to me.

No Way

"Wasted Time at Work Still Costing Companies Billions in 2006," says salary.com.

Top time-wasting activity? Surfing The Internet (personal use): 52 percent.

Get back to work.

It's a Strategy

Until my running mojo comes back.

Six miles on sked for this morning. At mile three, I wanted to bail. But I was very stern with myself. No, self, I said. You can bail from running, but you are going to get six miles in this morning if I have to beat you (me?) with a stick. Just like the good dominatrix I am.

So i started walking.

And then, voila, like magic, I started running. Cuz walking? Takes too long.

For all you enquiring minds: I tried to spare you, but y'all are relentless! So, for the record: I did not poop myself during Saturday's run, in large part due to Nancy Toby's * excellent prescription: one immodium upon waking; another 20 min before running; drink water til you burst (paraphrasing here); and salt yo'self up.

Now, I just need to schedule the lobotomy that will keep me from walking when there is no need to walk. I mean, I don't mind taking a walk break when needed, but I didn't need it on Saturday.

So there ya have it. No thrills, chills, or spills. So far. This week.

Stay tuned.

*NT is not a doctor, nor does she play one on the Internet. She knows a helluva lot about nutrition and poop, though.