With new goals and a new direction comes a new blog. I hope you'll join me there!
She Runs This Life
Sunday, January 11, 2015
Saturday, January 10, 2015
Sweet relief
Today was my first and only day of running this week. Despite my best intentions, circumstances kept me off the track.
When I started running seriously in 2012, I did so in full knowledge that I had a torn ACL in my left knee. I learned to run with the understanding that I had this fundamental instability, and no matter how strong I felt, the worry of injury resulted in substantial compensation by the right side of my body. I didn't always perceive it, but I carried myself crooked, heel-striking with my right foot and forefoot-striking with my left.
It wasn't really a problem, I figured, and I got by just fine.
Last summer, my bad knee forced my hand. I tore both menisci sometime in June, fought through my leg of a half marathon relay in July, and consulted with a surgeon a few weeks later. He had me in surgery by the end of the month.
After so many years of movement compensations and crookedness, it was a mixed blessing to have this enormous reset button, in the form of knee surgery. I had no choice but to sit down and heal. I had no choice but to begin again, this time with a repaired knee. I was back at square one.
Learning to move straight, each leg working as intended, was an eye-opening experience. Rehab went well, and I was back to jogging slowly in only a few months. I hired a trainer to help keep me on track after my physical therapy ended, and she was able to pinpoint the source of some of my long-seated problems. All those movement compensations had left me with an overpowered right quad and a strong, overly-effective left hamstring. My legs were, to some degree, opposites of each other. It was no wonder that, many months after my knee had healed, I was still favoring different legs for different tasks.
(To this day, I still step down with my right foot on the curb. I should learn to get over that.)
It should come as no surprise that what begins in the legs rarely stays there. "The leg bone's connected to the hip bone," and all that. Though I've managed to mitigate and repair some of the imbalance that I carry through my legs, I've become acutely aware of the problems that have taken root in my lower back.
Specifically: My pelvis hitches up on the right. Left unaddressed, it causes a pinching pain just to the right of my lumbar spine, and the muscles in that region are so tight that it's hard to lean to the left. I discovered this situation as I trained for the marathon last year; spending so many miles on the roads brought what may have been a minor issue to the forefront. I got weekly chiropractic adjustments for months, but finally had to give up my self-admitted chiro addiction around the holidays.
It felt a little worse every day. First, the tightness. Then, the tightness became pain when moving in certain ways. Last night, I could no longer lean to the left while sitting. Finally, this morning, standing square and upright made me wince.
And so today, it was time to reevaluate my finances (and my priorities). I called my chiropractor's office a handful of times this morning - they're "By Appointment" on Saturdays, so I was gambling on when they'd be in - and I cruised my sad little spine over as soon as they gave me the go ahead.
The relief was immediate. And amazing. So I went for a run.
I'm no preacher of the miracle of chiropractic medicine. I know there are people who don't appreciate the discipline, and there are people who have visited and perceived no benefit. For this body, though, it makes all the difference in the world.
TL;DR: When you find something that works, stick with it. The body is a fickle thing, and we all need what we need in order to perform our best.
When I started running seriously in 2012, I did so in full knowledge that I had a torn ACL in my left knee. I learned to run with the understanding that I had this fundamental instability, and no matter how strong I felt, the worry of injury resulted in substantial compensation by the right side of my body. I didn't always perceive it, but I carried myself crooked, heel-striking with my right foot and forefoot-striking with my left.
It wasn't really a problem, I figured, and I got by just fine.
Last summer, my bad knee forced my hand. I tore both menisci sometime in June, fought through my leg of a half marathon relay in July, and consulted with a surgeon a few weeks later. He had me in surgery by the end of the month.
After so many years of movement compensations and crookedness, it was a mixed blessing to have this enormous reset button, in the form of knee surgery. I had no choice but to sit down and heal. I had no choice but to begin again, this time with a repaired knee. I was back at square one.
Learning to move straight, each leg working as intended, was an eye-opening experience. Rehab went well, and I was back to jogging slowly in only a few months. I hired a trainer to help keep me on track after my physical therapy ended, and she was able to pinpoint the source of some of my long-seated problems. All those movement compensations had left me with an overpowered right quad and a strong, overly-effective left hamstring. My legs were, to some degree, opposites of each other. It was no wonder that, many months after my knee had healed, I was still favoring different legs for different tasks.
(To this day, I still step down with my right foot on the curb. I should learn to get over that.)
It should come as no surprise that what begins in the legs rarely stays there. "The leg bone's connected to the hip bone," and all that. Though I've managed to mitigate and repair some of the imbalance that I carry through my legs, I've become acutely aware of the problems that have taken root in my lower back.
Specifically: My pelvis hitches up on the right. Left unaddressed, it causes a pinching pain just to the right of my lumbar spine, and the muscles in that region are so tight that it's hard to lean to the left. I discovered this situation as I trained for the marathon last year; spending so many miles on the roads brought what may have been a minor issue to the forefront. I got weekly chiropractic adjustments for months, but finally had to give up my self-admitted chiro addiction around the holidays.
It felt a little worse every day. First, the tightness. Then, the tightness became pain when moving in certain ways. Last night, I could no longer lean to the left while sitting. Finally, this morning, standing square and upright made me wince.
And so today, it was time to reevaluate my finances (and my priorities). I called my chiropractor's office a handful of times this morning - they're "By Appointment" on Saturdays, so I was gambling on when they'd be in - and I cruised my sad little spine over as soon as they gave me the go ahead.
The relief was immediate. And amazing. So I went for a run.
I'm no preacher of the miracle of chiropractic medicine. I know there are people who don't appreciate the discipline, and there are people who have visited and perceived no benefit. For this body, though, it makes all the difference in the world.
TL;DR: When you find something that works, stick with it. The body is a fickle thing, and we all need what we need in order to perform our best.
Thursday, January 8, 2015
Getting my goals off the ground
Now that I've settled back into my workout routine, as it slowly becomes my pre-marathon-training running routine, I've decided it's high time that I iron out my race schedule for the year. I had a handful of goals in mind, and with a little more experience under my belt from last year, it was fairly easy to pop some races onto my calendar.
So, Happy New Year to me, here's what's on tap for the coming months:
One week into the new year, I'm feeling good. I'm feeling ready. I've got this.
So, Happy New Year to me, here's what's on tap for the coming months:
February
5K
March
10-mile
April
Half marathon
June
10-mile
Marathon
July
Half marathon relay
October
10K
5K
10-mile
It may be evident, at a glance, that I'm extremely fond of the 10-mile distance. From the first race I ran over that distance last year, I was hooked. I found that I tapped into this beautiful, euphoric feeling after mile 6, but I was prone to crashing physically and emotionally around mile 11. Running 10-mile races was simply the most enjoyable experience with the least amount of stress. Now that I've thoroughly deconditioned, I'm curious to see if that experience repeats.
The half marathon will be special; I'll be racing in my hometown for the first time, save for an untimed 5K years ago, and I'm excited to see the city through a different lens.
June looks more daunting than it is. The 10-mile - a repeat of my favorite 10-mile from last year - occurs on a day in my marathon training schedule when I'm supposed to run 12 miles, and I'll have two weeks of taper before I take on 26.2.
October is going to pose its own unique challenge. I've signed up for an event that calls for a back-to-back 10K and 5K on Saturday, followed by a 10-mile on Sunday. After having two marathon training periods under my belt at that point, I don't anticipate it'll be physically distressing, but there are so many ways that I can play it. Do I conserve early and have lots in the tank for the 10-mile? Do I live in the moment and put in strong efforts on Saturday? We'll see....!
October is going to pose its own unique challenge. I've signed up for an event that calls for a back-to-back 10K and 5K on Saturday, followed by a 10-mile on Sunday. After having two marathon training periods under my belt at that point, I don't anticipate it'll be physically distressing, but there are so many ways that I can play it. Do I conserve early and have lots in the tank for the 10-mile? Do I live in the moment and put in strong efforts on Saturday? We'll see....!
One week into the new year, I'm feeling good. I'm feeling ready. I've got this.
Saturday, January 3, 2015
Heart rate woes
When an otherwise active person trades in their shoes for a spot on the couch, the first thing to go is aerobic fitness. And boy, does it go. It only takes a week or to for the inevitable backslide to begin, and every subsequent week makes a return to activity that much harder.
So with only a handful of miles logged since my October races, I knew January would be more work than fun.
Today marked my second run back on a program; this year's focus is Grandma's Marathon at the end of June, and my chosen training plan calls for 18 weeks of serious training. That gives me until mid-February to ensure that I have a strong enough base that I can jump directly into a four-day, 19-mile week. Last year's program was a lighter one, calling for only three days of running (with ample cross-training), so this new plan is going to be a major step up.
February 15th. My calendar is marked. The real stuff begins.
My gym has a 1/10 mile track, and I knocked out a 2-miler there on Thursday. The run felt good, very possible, so today, I stepped up to a 5K. The track was clogged with New Years Resolutioners, so I opted for the treadmill.
This is the part where I remind myself that progress isn't linear. Progress comes in fits and starts, and today was nothing like Thursday. I never quite clicked into a rhythm, and I found myself winded and walking frequently. Feeling a bit amiss, I checked my heart rate. And I checked it again, because I didn't believe it.
Within a mile, despite walk breaks, I found myself over 170bpm. Before my second mile, I was peaking at 188bpm. I wasn't setting any new speed records; on the contrary, I was shooting for my old, slow, reliable pace of last year. Today, that pace was too much. My 5K run became a 5K mostly-walk as I tried to keep my heart rate under 150.
It was humbling to spend so much time walking, but ultimately worthwhile. Instead of turning out the 36-minute 5K I was expecting from my current fitness level, performed at a moderately-hard effort, I turned out that same relative effort for the better part of 47 minutes. It's hard to be ashamed of sweating for longer than I was intending.
Running by effort is the name of the game when it comes to training. Today was a great reminder of that.
So with only a handful of miles logged since my October races, I knew January would be more work than fun.
Today marked my second run back on a program; this year's focus is Grandma's Marathon at the end of June, and my chosen training plan calls for 18 weeks of serious training. That gives me until mid-February to ensure that I have a strong enough base that I can jump directly into a four-day, 19-mile week. Last year's program was a lighter one, calling for only three days of running (with ample cross-training), so this new plan is going to be a major step up.
February 15th. My calendar is marked. The real stuff begins.
My gym has a 1/10 mile track, and I knocked out a 2-miler there on Thursday. The run felt good, very possible, so today, I stepped up to a 5K. The track was clogged with New Years Resolutioners, so I opted for the treadmill.
This is the part where I remind myself that progress isn't linear. Progress comes in fits and starts, and today was nothing like Thursday. I never quite clicked into a rhythm, and I found myself winded and walking frequently. Feeling a bit amiss, I checked my heart rate. And I checked it again, because I didn't believe it.
Within a mile, despite walk breaks, I found myself over 170bpm. Before my second mile, I was peaking at 188bpm. I wasn't setting any new speed records; on the contrary, I was shooting for my old, slow, reliable pace of last year. Today, that pace was too much. My 5K run became a 5K mostly-walk as I tried to keep my heart rate under 150.
It was humbling to spend so much time walking, but ultimately worthwhile. Instead of turning out the 36-minute 5K I was expecting from my current fitness level, performed at a moderately-hard effort, I turned out that same relative effort for the better part of 47 minutes. It's hard to be ashamed of sweating for longer than I was intending.
Running by effort is the name of the game when it comes to training. Today was a great reminder of that.
Thursday, January 1, 2015
My, it's dusty around here!
The Great Hiatus of 2013 gave way to an even Greater Hiatus, encompassing all of 2014. But while my writing lapsed, my goal setting and dedication to this path didn't.
Well, not for long, anyway. Here and there, but never for very long.
The best way for me to kick off this New Year is with a wrap-up of what everyone's missed while I was busy not writing. Major life changes (like a surprise knee surgery and marriage to the Geeky Runner) aside, my life has revolved around fitness in one way or another. I returned to school in Fall 2013 to gain a Fitness Specialist education, and in November 2013, I became an NASM Certified Personal Trainer.
The gig wasn't all it was cracked up to be, and I spent only nine months concentrating on that career path, but it brought me to bigger and better things. Most importantly, it kept me focused and on track for all the fitness goals I had in mind.
2014 was a year of running, and it was a year of racing.
You see that word up there, right under "October"? Yep. I finished a marathon. 26.2 miles.
I stop short of saying that I ran a marathon, because I did a lot of walking. A whole lot. But I completed it under the six-hour cutoff and on my own two sore, aching feet. Even as I was climbing painfully over the worst of the hills, I knew I would do it again. And even as my muscles seized after crossing the finish line and I hobbled stiltedly, whimperingly to my car, I knew I would absolutely do it again.
Looking forward to 2015, there's a lot I hope to accomplish. After the marathon, I took what I hoped would be a brief break from running. Despite having two shorter races ahead of me, I didn't really resume running. I instead discovered just how much I'd been eating when, in the absence of meaningful, consistent physical exercise, I packed on fifteen pounds. My pre-marathon 165lbs was all gone. Yikes.
I'm no believer in New Years Resolutions, but a switch flipped in me this morning when I rolled out of bed and felt that forgotten Need To Run. So I did.
The races on my schedule this year begin in February with a 5K and peak with my second marathon in June. A handful of other races decorate my calendar at this point, including a weekend in which I'll run a 5K and 10K back-to-back, followed by a 10-mile the next day. I'm excited to have a baseline on many distances, established in 2014, and to have the opportunity to improve on them this year.
So much to do. So many places to go.
Best of all, I'll be doing it all with my husband. The Geeky Runner was with me for every single race this year, waiting for me at the finish line, his own medal already around his neck. (One of these days, I'll catch him.) Our plans diverge somewhat this year; he's taking aim at some trail races, while I recently discovered that my dodgy knee has trouble with extreme terrain. So it'll be me at the finish line for him this time.
Here's to another year. Bring it on!
Well, not for long, anyway. Here and there, but never for very long.
The best way for me to kick off this New Year is with a wrap-up of what everyone's missed while I was busy not writing. Major life changes (like a surprise knee surgery and marriage to the Geeky Runner) aside, my life has revolved around fitness in one way or another. I returned to school in Fall 2013 to gain a Fitness Specialist education, and in November 2013, I became an NASM Certified Personal Trainer.
The gig wasn't all it was cracked up to be, and I spent only nine months concentrating on that career path, but it brought me to bigger and better things. Most importantly, it kept me focused and on track for all the fitness goals I had in mind.
2014 was a year of running, and it was a year of racing.
April:
10-mile
Half marathon
May:
25K
5K
June:
10-mile
July:
Half marathon relay
5K
August:
Half marathon
September:
5-mile trail
October:
Marathon
Half marathon
Half marathon
November:
5K
You see that word up there, right under "October"? Yep. I finished a marathon. 26.2 miles.
I stop short of saying that I ran a marathon, because I did a lot of walking. A whole lot. But I completed it under the six-hour cutoff and on my own two sore, aching feet. Even as I was climbing painfully over the worst of the hills, I knew I would do it again. And even as my muscles seized after crossing the finish line and I hobbled stiltedly, whimperingly to my car, I knew I would absolutely do it again.
Looking forward to 2015, there's a lot I hope to accomplish. After the marathon, I took what I hoped would be a brief break from running. Despite having two shorter races ahead of me, I didn't really resume running. I instead discovered just how much I'd been eating when, in the absence of meaningful, consistent physical exercise, I packed on fifteen pounds. My pre-marathon 165lbs was all gone. Yikes.
I'm no believer in New Years Resolutions, but a switch flipped in me this morning when I rolled out of bed and felt that forgotten Need To Run. So I did.
The races on my schedule this year begin in February with a 5K and peak with my second marathon in June. A handful of other races decorate my calendar at this point, including a weekend in which I'll run a 5K and 10K back-to-back, followed by a 10-mile the next day. I'm excited to have a baseline on many distances, established in 2014, and to have the opportunity to improve on them this year.
So much to do. So many places to go.
Best of all, I'll be doing it all with my husband. The Geeky Runner was with me for every single race this year, waiting for me at the finish line, his own medal already around his neck. (One of these days, I'll catch him.) Our plans diverge somewhat this year; he's taking aim at some trail races, while I recently discovered that my dodgy knee has trouble with extreme terrain. So it'll be me at the finish line for him this time.
Here's to another year. Bring it on!
Saturday, May 4, 2013
The Great Hiatus
Last month, I had reached my limit with calorie counting.
It wasn't the counting that I hated, exactly. It was that, no matter what I did, I was no longer losing weight. Spending months with the same number staring back from the scale was making me angry, irrationally so, and it was translating into anger with myself. There was so much blame.
I just couldn't break 173lbs.
So I did what any flighty, hyper-emotional person would do. I said Screw it! and stopped counting. And, oh, I started eating whatever I wanted.
I ate cake. I ate cookies. I drank more Mountain Dew in one week than I have in months. The scale didn't change... until, of course, it did. In a big way.
After a little over a week, the scale registered a sudden and unrelenting 180lbs. I was staggered, and not, all at the same time. I should have gained weight. I know how this works. But that much? And now what?
The results, though ugly, might have been what I needed. Right there, I had proof that my diet had been working, though perhaps not as well as I wanted it to. It was keeping the weight off, maintaining at my as-of-yet lowest weight of 173. That's worth something.
Lesson #1: After a year of being on a reduced-calorie diet, eating lots more makes a great big difference, very quickly.
The next day, it was back to calorie counting. Re-committing, trying to undo the weight I'd managed to gain in such a short time. Within days, I'd learned a second very important lesson.
Lesson #2: Weight gained quickly can come off just as quickly.
I dropped eight pounds in a week and a half. Yep, I broke through to 172. Finally.
My take-away from this experience is two-fold. Temporary weight is simply easier to lose. I'd been told this before, that an entire lifetime of obesity would make it so very much harder to drop the pounds, but I never entirely understood the reality of it. And I discovered that sometimes, a break really is the best thing for the body.
Could I have been making progress these last three weeks, instead of mucking around with pounds I didn't need to gain in the first place? Maybe. But at what cost?
For now, I've doubled down. I need to; I picked up my wedding dress on Tuesday and it's veeeeeery snug. I need to drop around ten pounds over the next few months in order to make it a reasonable fit for September. But I'm looking forward to a very delicious cake that evening, and I plan to eat my way through the honeymoon.
Sometimes, life comes first. Until then, goodbye cake. I'll see you in September!
It wasn't the counting that I hated, exactly. It was that, no matter what I did, I was no longer losing weight. Spending months with the same number staring back from the scale was making me angry, irrationally so, and it was translating into anger with myself. There was so much blame.
I just couldn't break 173lbs.
So I did what any flighty, hyper-emotional person would do. I said Screw it! and stopped counting. And, oh, I started eating whatever I wanted.
I ate cake. I ate cookies. I drank more Mountain Dew in one week than I have in months. The scale didn't change... until, of course, it did. In a big way.
After a little over a week, the scale registered a sudden and unrelenting 180lbs. I was staggered, and not, all at the same time. I should have gained weight. I know how this works. But that much? And now what?
The results, though ugly, might have been what I needed. Right there, I had proof that my diet had been working, though perhaps not as well as I wanted it to. It was keeping the weight off, maintaining at my as-of-yet lowest weight of 173. That's worth something.
Lesson #1: After a year of being on a reduced-calorie diet, eating lots more makes a great big difference, very quickly.
The next day, it was back to calorie counting. Re-committing, trying to undo the weight I'd managed to gain in such a short time. Within days, I'd learned a second very important lesson.
Lesson #2: Weight gained quickly can come off just as quickly.
I dropped eight pounds in a week and a half. Yep, I broke through to 172. Finally.
My take-away from this experience is two-fold. Temporary weight is simply easier to lose. I'd been told this before, that an entire lifetime of obesity would make it so very much harder to drop the pounds, but I never entirely understood the reality of it. And I discovered that sometimes, a break really is the best thing for the body.
Could I have been making progress these last three weeks, instead of mucking around with pounds I didn't need to gain in the first place? Maybe. But at what cost?
For now, I've doubled down. I need to; I picked up my wedding dress on Tuesday and it's veeeeeery snug. I need to drop around ten pounds over the next few months in order to make it a reasonable fit for September. But I'm looking forward to a very delicious cake that evening, and I plan to eat my way through the honeymoon.
Sometimes, life comes first. Until then, goodbye cake. I'll see you in September!
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Time flies when you're living life!
I'd like to think I have a good excuse for having been gone - and technically, I suppose I do - but it's really not so hard to pull myself out of my life to put a note here. For that, I am truly sorry.
So where have I been? Well. I'll tell you.
A few days before my last post, I met a man. A lovely man, found on a dating website, who seemed just my type. As it turned out, he was just my type, a geeky runner who had faced (and triumphed over) some of the same obstacles I have, including this fitness mountain. It clicked.
I won't keep you in suspense: We're getting married in September. (To each other!)
That's where I've been!
With that, let's get back to the running!
Progress has been spotty. My new-found social life has left me less motivated to push myself at the gym, and it was so much easier to just eat my way through the holidays. This malaise has put me in dire straits on the scale; it's still moving in the right direction, mostly, but it's been slow.
I'm currently sitting at 174. Six months, twelve pounds, for a total of 64 lbs lost. I'll take it, and gladly, but with the hope that I'll regain some of that fervor with which I lost the first fifty pounds.
Well, after the wedding. The dress was ordered last month, and a small part of me is very worried about having just wasted a tremendous amount of money on something that may end up being too big in six months. Yikes.
I faced a handful of layups from running, which were frustrating, at best. In late September, I came up with runner's knee, a particularly painful condition where the patella essentially scrapes over the end of the femur. Typically, the kneecap sits in a little groove at the end of the femur, and when the quads contract, the patella glides in that groove. When the hips aren't working right, or when the leg muscles are imbalanced, the patella deviates from that groove.
It hurts. A lot.
So I took time off, easing myself back into running a few weeks later. I got myself together for a Thanksgiving 5K and posted my best time to date, averaging less than 11:00/mile. It was a wicked hard run, I was demoralized early when it seemed to be taking an eternity to reach the turn-around. (And I was right; it wasn't an evenly-divided out-and-back. The turn-around was at the two-mile mark. Woe!)
Leading up to the holidays, I lost momentum, and was excited to get back down to business when a kitchen accident dealt me another injury. ...Okay, I dropped a whisk on my big toe. But it was a very heavy whisk, and it cracked right on my toe-knuckle. I walked with a limp for over a week.
I hopped back on the treadmill in early January, planning to buckle down and prepare for my first race of the year, a 7K on March 16. A little intermittent pain in the bad knee, but nothing horrible. I could work with this, I thought.
A week later, during a boot camp I'd signed up for, I got a little too aggressive with my movements. I leaped with the class, landed with my feet too wide, and my knee slid apart.
I didn't see a doctor, which I probably should have, but I'd been through it before. Sprained calf, sore MCL, etc etc. Iced for several days, wrapped well for a few weeks, eased back into slowly jogging three weeks after the injury.
And that, my friends, gave me just enough time to try and pull off Saturday's race. I managed to claw my way back to where I was in November, and I finished my 7K in 50:09, just nine seconds off my goal. I managed a pace of around 11:09 per mile; if not for the string of injuries, I'm confident I would have been well under 11:00/mi, but that's life.
To be honest, though, part of me is grateful for the reset. I'd been getting very caught up on speed, trying to whittle down my mile time, trying to pound faster, and I'd never really settled into the rhythm of running for endurance. This time around, I took a completely new approach, forcing myself to run slower, more often. And you know what I discovered? That I could run longer.
It should have been a "Duh" moment, but it was more of a light bulb moment. When I thought I was running slowly before, I really wasn't. I was still pushing. I wasn't finding my pace, letting my feet spin and simply carry me. This time, I'm discovering more about the beauty of running, and I'm enjoying it more.
So there we have it. My life in the past six months. The good, the bad, and the ouchy. Now that I'm back to running (and finding my rhythm), I hope to be back to blogging much more often.
Next up: A revisit of my first trail 5K, in May, and a foray into the world of 10Ks. Fingers firmly crossed!
So where have I been? Well. I'll tell you.
A few days before my last post, I met a man. A lovely man, found on a dating website, who seemed just my type. As it turned out, he was just my type, a geeky runner who had faced (and triumphed over) some of the same obstacles I have, including this fitness mountain. It clicked.
I won't keep you in suspense: We're getting married in September. (To each other!)
That's where I've been!
With that, let's get back to the running!
Progress has been spotty. My new-found social life has left me less motivated to push myself at the gym, and it was so much easier to just eat my way through the holidays. This malaise has put me in dire straits on the scale; it's still moving in the right direction, mostly, but it's been slow.
I'm currently sitting at 174. Six months, twelve pounds, for a total of 64 lbs lost. I'll take it, and gladly, but with the hope that I'll regain some of that fervor with which I lost the first fifty pounds.
Well, after the wedding. The dress was ordered last month, and a small part of me is very worried about having just wasted a tremendous amount of money on something that may end up being too big in six months. Yikes.
I faced a handful of layups from running, which were frustrating, at best. In late September, I came up with runner's knee, a particularly painful condition where the patella essentially scrapes over the end of the femur. Typically, the kneecap sits in a little groove at the end of the femur, and when the quads contract, the patella glides in that groove. When the hips aren't working right, or when the leg muscles are imbalanced, the patella deviates from that groove.
It hurts. A lot.
So I took time off, easing myself back into running a few weeks later. I got myself together for a Thanksgiving 5K and posted my best time to date, averaging less than 11:00/mile. It was a wicked hard run, I was demoralized early when it seemed to be taking an eternity to reach the turn-around. (And I was right; it wasn't an evenly-divided out-and-back. The turn-around was at the two-mile mark. Woe!)
Leading up to the holidays, I lost momentum, and was excited to get back down to business when a kitchen accident dealt me another injury. ...Okay, I dropped a whisk on my big toe. But it was a very heavy whisk, and it cracked right on my toe-knuckle. I walked with a limp for over a week.
I hopped back on the treadmill in early January, planning to buckle down and prepare for my first race of the year, a 7K on March 16. A little intermittent pain in the bad knee, but nothing horrible. I could work with this, I thought.
A week later, during a boot camp I'd signed up for, I got a little too aggressive with my movements. I leaped with the class, landed with my feet too wide, and my knee slid apart.
I didn't see a doctor, which I probably should have, but I'd been through it before. Sprained calf, sore MCL, etc etc. Iced for several days, wrapped well for a few weeks, eased back into slowly jogging three weeks after the injury.
And that, my friends, gave me just enough time to try and pull off Saturday's race. I managed to claw my way back to where I was in November, and I finished my 7K in 50:09, just nine seconds off my goal. I managed a pace of around 11:09 per mile; if not for the string of injuries, I'm confident I would have been well under 11:00/mi, but that's life.
To be honest, though, part of me is grateful for the reset. I'd been getting very caught up on speed, trying to whittle down my mile time, trying to pound faster, and I'd never really settled into the rhythm of running for endurance. This time around, I took a completely new approach, forcing myself to run slower, more often. And you know what I discovered? That I could run longer.
It should have been a "Duh" moment, but it was more of a light bulb moment. When I thought I was running slowly before, I really wasn't. I was still pushing. I wasn't finding my pace, letting my feet spin and simply carry me. This time, I'm discovering more about the beauty of running, and I'm enjoying it more.
So there we have it. My life in the past six months. The good, the bad, and the ouchy. Now that I'm back to running (and finding my rhythm), I hope to be back to blogging much more often.
Next up: A revisit of my first trail 5K, in May, and a foray into the world of 10Ks. Fingers firmly crossed!
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Major milestones
Last Sunday, I finally achieved what seemed impossible a year ago. I broke my ten-minute mile.
I rolled in at 9:51 on the treadmill. And there was much excitement!
After such a huge milestone, I had planned to take an easy week. Runs on Tuesday and Thursday, maybe, with a long run Saturday. This strategy of alternating easy and hard weeks has led to some fantastic breakthroughs over the past month.
But as is so often the case, life got in the way. A different work schedule knocked me out of commission for the week, and it was Saturday before I knew it.
A little rest is a good thing. Too much rest is a miserable thing.
I knew that coming back from a whole week off would be difficult, so why not make it as difficult as possible? This called for a long run, on empty.
As Runner's World explains here, there are sensible training reasons for running on empty, increased efficiency and higher percentage of fat burning chief among them. Forcing the body to make this leap, however, is no walk in the park for me. Frankly, it sucks.
Which is exactly what I was looking for.
I pounded out five miles on the treadmill in 1:04:48, a new PR by a scant sixteen seconds. It was exhausting and strenuous, one of those runs where I checked my progress after what seemed like an eternity and I hadn't even made it halfway. It was a character building run.
Sometimes, running is about enduring. And I endured.
Post-run, I hit the scale. My last weigh-in was a beautiful, shining 190. After months in the low-190s, it was a welcome sight. I wasn't sure where my weight would be after a stressful, athletically-careless week, so I winced when I stepped up, telling myself that if it said 192 I would be forgiving.
And it said 186.
Just like that, I'd lost 50 pounds. Not just 50... 52. I know it isn't magic, that this is hard work. The process can be devastating, and there are times when I feel lost in it all. But when I see these results, real results, I nevertheless find my success incomprehensible.
Here I am, claiming it. I've worked hard for this. I have reached - passed - the halfway point of my weight loss.
I did this.
I rolled in at 9:51 on the treadmill. And there was much excitement!
After such a huge milestone, I had planned to take an easy week. Runs on Tuesday and Thursday, maybe, with a long run Saturday. This strategy of alternating easy and hard weeks has led to some fantastic breakthroughs over the past month.
But as is so often the case, life got in the way. A different work schedule knocked me out of commission for the week, and it was Saturday before I knew it.
A little rest is a good thing. Too much rest is a miserable thing.
I knew that coming back from a whole week off would be difficult, so why not make it as difficult as possible? This called for a long run, on empty.
As Runner's World explains here, there are sensible training reasons for running on empty, increased efficiency and higher percentage of fat burning chief among them. Forcing the body to make this leap, however, is no walk in the park for me. Frankly, it sucks.
Which is exactly what I was looking for.
I pounded out five miles on the treadmill in 1:04:48, a new PR by a scant sixteen seconds. It was exhausting and strenuous, one of those runs where I checked my progress after what seemed like an eternity and I hadn't even made it halfway. It was a character building run.
Sometimes, running is about enduring. And I endured.
Post-run, I hit the scale. My last weigh-in was a beautiful, shining 190. After months in the low-190s, it was a welcome sight. I wasn't sure where my weight would be after a stressful, athletically-careless week, so I winced when I stepped up, telling myself that if it said 192 I would be forgiving.
And it said 186.
Just like that, I'd lost 50 pounds. Not just 50... 52. I know it isn't magic, that this is hard work. The process can be devastating, and there are times when I feel lost in it all. But when I see these results, real results, I nevertheless find my success incomprehensible.
Here I am, claiming it. I've worked hard for this. I have reached - passed - the halfway point of my weight loss.
I did this.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Reaping the rewards
After last weekend's do-or-die approach, I opted to cut back during the week and let my body rest up.
You're welcome, body.
One day of running, on Thursday, with nothing the rest of the week but blissful couch time. I'd hoped this little bargain would lead to a satisfying trail run over the weekend.
I wasn't disappointed.
The first part of yesterday's run was sluggish, something that's been happening more and more lately. I had a hard time committing to it from the moment I rolled out of bed, and when I began running, my body just wasn't into it. It wasn't until I'd passed a mile that things really started humming along.
Once I found that groove, though, it was smooth sailing. I didn't really clue into it until I'd reached The Loop halfway through, but I was moving fast, and it felt easier than it had before. It was surely a combination of many things: the cool breeze, the new music on my iPod, the fact that my body and mind were fresh.
At this point, I dared to hope that the end result would be an overall pace of 14:45. On trails, I tend to pull around 15:00, so if I could shave a little time here and there, I'd be satisfied.
I pushed myself on the way back in, not excessively but with 14:45 in my head. I was hunting it down. I'd set out for a sub-6 mile run, so I hoped I'd be able to hang on without my body wanting to quit after five, as it previously wanted to.
And I was running fast enough that, at one point, I could no longer scan the ground quickly enough to respond. I know the trail well enough now to remember where the rocky, rooty parts are, trying to stay aware of my surroundings. Here, I failed, and my right toe caught hard on a root. I pitched forward, my arms outstretched and ready to take the fall when my left leg swung into action. I caught myself and kept running.
It was a little bewildering, as someone who's been deeply accident-prone since childhood, to have averted disaster at the last second. My body just doesn't do things like that. I catch my toe, my brain has long enough to think "Bad thing!", my body says, "Damn, you're bad at this," and I crash to the ground.
I'd gone several strides before I processed that, no, I wasn't on the ground in the dirt with bloody elbows. Oh my god, I'm still running. If I had to name a favorite moment in my run, this was it.
As I came down the final straightaway, I fished out my phone, wanting to be ready to stop my app and see the damage.
I paced 13:29 for 5.74 miles. Really.
Clearly, the lazy week worked out.
Tonight was less storied, but no less exciting. A tempo run on the treadmill, I started running at the same speed as my last tempo run. I struggled to zone myself out, staring blankly ahead, letting my body go on autopilot. I experimented with this on the trail over the weekend and I credit that with some of the improvements I saw, so I attempted to make it work at the gym.
Last tempo run, I gradually decreased my speed as I ran out of steam. Tonight, I gradually increased the speed and made myself damn well take it.
It worked. I finished my first mile in 10:07, a PR by a landslide. I had enough in the tank to put in a good effort, after a two minute walk, and turned out another PR by finishing that second mile in 21:43.
I floundered around for the last mile, having given up on chasing records until the final five minutes, when I looked at the time and berated myself for accepting a poor effort. Cranked up the speed and finished my third in 36:05. Another PR.
All of a sudden, everything is paying off. I have this astonishing sensation that I, somehow, actually know what I'm doing. I'm getting better, I'm not getting hurt. I'm putting in my speed work, my tempo runs, my long runs outdoors and my easy runs on the treadmill. And it's working.
Next on the agenda: my first 10K. Soon. Eep.
You're welcome, body.
One day of running, on Thursday, with nothing the rest of the week but blissful couch time. I'd hoped this little bargain would lead to a satisfying trail run over the weekend.
I wasn't disappointed.
The first part of yesterday's run was sluggish, something that's been happening more and more lately. I had a hard time committing to it from the moment I rolled out of bed, and when I began running, my body just wasn't into it. It wasn't until I'd passed a mile that things really started humming along.
Once I found that groove, though, it was smooth sailing. I didn't really clue into it until I'd reached The Loop halfway through, but I was moving fast, and it felt easier than it had before. It was surely a combination of many things: the cool breeze, the new music on my iPod, the fact that my body and mind were fresh.
At this point, I dared to hope that the end result would be an overall pace of 14:45. On trails, I tend to pull around 15:00, so if I could shave a little time here and there, I'd be satisfied.
I pushed myself on the way back in, not excessively but with 14:45 in my head. I was hunting it down. I'd set out for a sub-6 mile run, so I hoped I'd be able to hang on without my body wanting to quit after five, as it previously wanted to.
And I was running fast enough that, at one point, I could no longer scan the ground quickly enough to respond. I know the trail well enough now to remember where the rocky, rooty parts are, trying to stay aware of my surroundings. Here, I failed, and my right toe caught hard on a root. I pitched forward, my arms outstretched and ready to take the fall when my left leg swung into action. I caught myself and kept running.
It was a little bewildering, as someone who's been deeply accident-prone since childhood, to have averted disaster at the last second. My body just doesn't do things like that. I catch my toe, my brain has long enough to think "Bad thing!", my body says, "Damn, you're bad at this," and I crash to the ground.
I'd gone several strides before I processed that, no, I wasn't on the ground in the dirt with bloody elbows. Oh my god, I'm still running. If I had to name a favorite moment in my run, this was it.
As I came down the final straightaway, I fished out my phone, wanting to be ready to stop my app and see the damage.
I paced 13:29 for 5.74 miles. Really.
Clearly, the lazy week worked out.
Tonight was less storied, but no less exciting. A tempo run on the treadmill, I started running at the same speed as my last tempo run. I struggled to zone myself out, staring blankly ahead, letting my body go on autopilot. I experimented with this on the trail over the weekend and I credit that with some of the improvements I saw, so I attempted to make it work at the gym.
Last tempo run, I gradually decreased my speed as I ran out of steam. Tonight, I gradually increased the speed and made myself damn well take it.
It worked. I finished my first mile in 10:07, a PR by a landslide. I had enough in the tank to put in a good effort, after a two minute walk, and turned out another PR by finishing that second mile in 21:43.
I floundered around for the last mile, having given up on chasing records until the final five minutes, when I looked at the time and berated myself for accepting a poor effort. Cranked up the speed and finished my third in 36:05. Another PR.
All of a sudden, everything is paying off. I have this astonishing sensation that I, somehow, actually know what I'm doing. I'm getting better, I'm not getting hurt. I'm putting in my speed work, my tempo runs, my long runs outdoors and my easy runs on the treadmill. And it's working.
Next on the agenda: my first 10K. Soon. Eep.
Monday, September 3, 2012
Goal: Met. Barely.
With six miles down on Saturday, I set out yesterday afternoon to see how many more I could add to the total. Would I feel good enough for another long run? Or would I split my remaining six miles into two days? The suspense! The intrigue!
I decided to try for a longer run, around five with the option of tacking on an extra mile at the end, if things were feeling good.
My knee was protesting mildly when I hit the trail. I've learned that many of my little aches will go away as my body warms up, and I was happy that this one disappeared after a mile or two.
On the whole, the run felt much better than the previous day. My body was moving with more freedom, and as I was running around the three mile mark, I had the vague impression that I was moving faster than usual. Looking at the map and my splits, I was right. I average 15min/mi on my long runs, but this time, miles three and four were 14:19 and 14:02 respectively.
That's one of the hardest parts about running at this stage, I think. My sustainable speed is still quite slow, and I don't mean that in a numbers and pacing sense. I mean it feels slow. When I move just a little faster, I click into that beautiful place where it's like gliding. But I can't maintain it for very long. The sensation leaves many of my runs feeling a little lackluster.
The more I do this, the closer I get to holding onto that feeling. And boy, is it worth it.
I wrapped the run at 5.67 miles, leaving me just short of my goal total. No problem, I thought, I'll do the rest at the gym tomorrow, maybe with a little extra.
And then, it hit.
It crept in, slowly, throughout the day. It began in my lower back, my muscles tightening slightly, and worked its way up my spine and into my shoulders. By the evening, my neck was sore, full of kinks I couldn't quite get out. I had that all-over feeling of extreme discomfort.
I tried to shake it off, thinking it was fatigue from overuse. That was the obvious solution. I parked myself on some ice packs and called it good.
Hours later, when I began shivering on the couch, unable to warm myself, I realized I was wrong. The last time I checked my temperature before finally drifting into a fitful, interrupted sleep, the display said 102.6.
There is a lesson here, and that lesson is this: When trainers and doctors say that vigorous exercise may suppress your immune response, they mean it. I opened the door with my run, and some kind of vile, heinous bug walked right in and made itself at home.
The good news is that the fever broke quickly. By the time the sun came up, I was a sweaty mess and my vital signs once again made sense. I spent most of my day alternately resting and dozing, a suitable use of my Labor Day.
And, of course, as the day went on, I was less and less satisfied with the fact that I hadn't hit my goal. A fraction of a mile stood between me and where I wanted to be today.
This evening, I caved to my own pressure and hit the gym.
Know what's weird? It was a great run. Slow, controlled. My breathing was very slow and unstressed. I'd been expecting to labor my way through a mile or so, and the ease with which I ran tonight was a huge surprise.
So. There we have it. 13.2 miles in three days. Someday, I hope these numbers will be typical and unimpressive. But for now, they're pretty awesome.
I decided to try for a longer run, around five with the option of tacking on an extra mile at the end, if things were feeling good.
My knee was protesting mildly when I hit the trail. I've learned that many of my little aches will go away as my body warms up, and I was happy that this one disappeared after a mile or two.
On the whole, the run felt much better than the previous day. My body was moving with more freedom, and as I was running around the three mile mark, I had the vague impression that I was moving faster than usual. Looking at the map and my splits, I was right. I average 15min/mi on my long runs, but this time, miles three and four were 14:19 and 14:02 respectively.
That's one of the hardest parts about running at this stage, I think. My sustainable speed is still quite slow, and I don't mean that in a numbers and pacing sense. I mean it feels slow. When I move just a little faster, I click into that beautiful place where it's like gliding. But I can't maintain it for very long. The sensation leaves many of my runs feeling a little lackluster.
The more I do this, the closer I get to holding onto that feeling. And boy, is it worth it.
I wrapped the run at 5.67 miles, leaving me just short of my goal total. No problem, I thought, I'll do the rest at the gym tomorrow, maybe with a little extra.
And then, it hit.
It crept in, slowly, throughout the day. It began in my lower back, my muscles tightening slightly, and worked its way up my spine and into my shoulders. By the evening, my neck was sore, full of kinks I couldn't quite get out. I had that all-over feeling of extreme discomfort.
I tried to shake it off, thinking it was fatigue from overuse. That was the obvious solution. I parked myself on some ice packs and called it good.
Hours later, when I began shivering on the couch, unable to warm myself, I realized I was wrong. The last time I checked my temperature before finally drifting into a fitful, interrupted sleep, the display said 102.6.
There is a lesson here, and that lesson is this: When trainers and doctors say that vigorous exercise may suppress your immune response, they mean it. I opened the door with my run, and some kind of vile, heinous bug walked right in and made itself at home.
The good news is that the fever broke quickly. By the time the sun came up, I was a sweaty mess and my vital signs once again made sense. I spent most of my day alternately resting and dozing, a suitable use of my Labor Day.
And, of course, as the day went on, I was less and less satisfied with the fact that I hadn't hit my goal. A fraction of a mile stood between me and where I wanted to be today.
This evening, I caved to my own pressure and hit the gym.
Know what's weird? It was a great run. Slow, controlled. My breathing was very slow and unstressed. I'd been expecting to labor my way through a mile or so, and the ease with which I ran tonight was a huge surprise.
So. There we have it. 13.2 miles in three days. Someday, I hope these numbers will be typical and unimpressive. But for now, they're pretty awesome.
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