The other day I was driving down the road that leads to my parent's house in Roswell and I saw Poodle Man. I almost didn't recognize him since he wasn't with Poodle but was with Indeterminable Breed of Dog(for short I will call him Tan Dog). Admirably, Tan Dog was leashed. So different from the Poodle days... Poodle Man waved and I noted that he was even slower than he use to be but there he was, still out there putting on foot in front of the other.
Seeing him reminded me of that blog post I wrote nearly four years ago and when I got home I reread it. And there it was: six minutes and fifty-nine seconds. A one mile personal best. . .
Fast forward nearly four years later: The past six months have in particular been a bit torturous for me. I've been trapped in the real life "valley of darkness" as Steph and I say--referring to the low point one always experiences in any long endurance event. You know you will have your turn there and you have to get yourself through it. And if you've ever been with me in a race and seen me in throes of the valley of darkness then you know I like to be left alone.
But this turn in the real life valley of darkness has just been too long. It has been riddled with injury after injury (ITBS, ankle tendonitis), sickness (pluerisy, bronchitis, asthma and a MRSA infection under my eye), a do not start (Mystery Mountain Marathon), a shameful do not finish (the Atlanta Marathon at mile 17) and just some personal minutiae that individually isn't so terrible but poo piled up on poo? Well, the stench will near cripple you.
So yeah, I've been pitiful and feeling sorry for myself and haven't been writing because I personally don't appreciate listening to those type of people much less being one of them. I have long said that I think one of the best traits a person can have is the ability to laugh at themselves. But I found, quite unhappily, that I was no longer able to laugh at myself and well, I didn't want anyone to know. Besides, why write about what I myself didn't want to read?
I have been told that I'm kind of funny. And really, next to being called skinny, I think that is the best compliment ever. I love being funny and making people laugh. I mean, really, what's better than spreading joy? But all that stacked up poo? It has eaten away at me and I have definitely lost my sense of humor. I found I could no longer fake it. It was too hard to pretend the light, the funny and the witty when I absolutely haven't been feeling it. So I quit blogging.
But I have really, really missed blogging. I compose blog posts in my head all day long yet for some reason can never bring myself to actually write them. Scared that stinky poo would find itself in and I would, possibly, reveal too much (not sure I believe that). Maybe I've been scared that I've lost "it" or, worse, that I never had "it" and really, after all, I am not that interesting or even all that funny (little more likely). I suppose it doesn't matter what the precise reason was why I wasn't, couldn't blog I just know that I wasn't up for facing any more poo when I was already down. I just couldn't be the Bob Mould of blogging. (No offense to Mr. Mould. I am a huge fan. Just not so much into the dark writing myself these days.)
I have decided though; fuck it. I don't care if it sucks. I am not going to care if I am not funny, not witty, not interesting because I am still here. I am still, like Poodle Man, putting one foot in front of the other. So, I might be a little less bright, a little slower but you know what? Even my crappy 5k a month ago (en costume, no less)was at a six fifty EIGHT average pace and that is still better than I was 4 years ago. And well, I know it ain't much but it is just enough to inspire me to keep on keeping on with it all.
Showing posts with label poor pathetic me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poor pathetic me. Show all posts
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Puffed Up and Pouty Like a Swollen Creek
I can't talk about Fight Club yet. I am sour on things; bratty and really don't have a lot nice to say. Everything is off, out of place and just plain not copacetic in my little corner of the universe. Yes, I am hiding--throwing sticks and tossing stones and just not ready to come out. Maybe when it is sunny here again I will.
I do feel guilty for neglecting the blog. I haven't written because I am so negative lately. I can hardly stand to be around myself; much less spend time, thought, and words giving it a name, labeling and cataloging it here for you. I can't even find humor at it--at myself and well, that almost never happens. The yuckiness that I feel lately is thick and chewy and I want nothing to do with it and trust me, neither do you.
Yesterday though, when the sun peaked out a tiny bit, I did go for a little run in the morning and while not fantastic it was okay because it didn't hurt, I could breathe and of course, I was getting to run. But I didn't feel great and it was totally disgusting down by the river where I ran: sewer smell, gray and red mud slicks, twisted and broken trees, mushy gravel and occasionally, an impassable flood pool. All that on a mostly paved path.
In the afternoon I was feeling even better and really wanted to get another workout in. But Tuesdays Beau has his theater class . Typically, while Beau is in class, Carmella and I go shopping or go down by the river and she rides her bike and I run along side her. However, having seen the condition of the trail that morning and knowing Carmella's sensibilities I knew that wasn't going to work out. And because of the general lack of resources, as discussed in the previous post, shopping was out too.
So I convinced Carmella to go on a hike.
I convinced her by telling her we didn't have to run and that we could bring Lola.
Beau's theater class is in the historic section of Roswell and right near the old mill.
The mill area has been completely transformed in the last 10 or so years. When I was younger I thought of the area as a bit sketchy but now I am not even sure if I can afford to breathe the air over there it is so fancy and cute in it's pretentious small town quaint. (Hmm, that sounded a bit snarky. See, I told you I am not nice lately.)
I have heard that there are hiking trails over there and I have been wanting to check them out as I am always looking for new places with new sights to put the miles in. I have no idea how long they have been there but as far as I know they were not there when I lived over in that area during grad school. (I lived a block over on the street with all the churches. A huge 2 bedroom for $500 a month with hardwood floors that I had all to my little lonesome. It was cheap and wonderful and that is where I lived when I very first started running. Ah, nostalgia. . . )
At any rate, for those who have not been there and are also in need of a new place to run it looks like there are quite a few trails and they go all the way down to the cliffs at Allenbrook . How long the trails are I don't know-- the maps I saw didn't say but I am really really bad at reading maps. You go and figure it out and report back to me.
The trails are a little technical, probably most like the ones at Sope Creek. I don't know if you can mountain bike on the mill trails or not. I did not see signs saying one way or the other and I did not see any mountain bikers or really anyone else on the trails.
I brought my camera and we took pictures along the way.
This is the waterfall at Vickery Creek.
I am not totally clear on the names since I saw that it was called Big Creek in a few places. All I know is that I use to hang out a lot down at the waterfall off Sloan Street in high school and we called it Vickery Creek and we could walk straight across the top. And sometimes, never me, people jumped off the waterfall.
This is how it looked yesterday. I was kind of scared just to stand near it. Betting no one is jumping off it or walking across the falls this week.
There are mill ruins all over. Most people hate kudzu but one of the things I love about the landscape of the South is seeing the battles between the vines and the architecture. It is a war in slow motion.
Even though she made me promise we didn't have to run. She ran most of the time. Seriously. She is so silly. Running? It is what kids do. That walking crap is for old people.
I have never seen so many mushrooms in the area as I have this summer/fall. In fact, I have been wanting to make cut outs of Smurfs and put them under the mushrooms on the trails I run on. I think people would like that.
In my not so scientific study of local trails in the area and mushroom life the ones at the Lieta trail are the most interesting: bright pink, red or the spotted variety. At Kennesaw Mountain and at the mill trails all I've seen are the brown and white kinds and toadstools.
We walked down Sloan Street to check out the Founder's Cemetery.
I could stand it only long enough to take few pictures. I got chewed to pieces by mosquitoes if I didn't keep moving. I can't believe how bad the mosquitoes are and here it is mid fall.Aren't they usually gone by now? It it terrible. My legs look like I have the pox!
Do you see it? In this picture?
The ray of light? The sun? It is what I am hoping for these days. Trying not to read too much into it that I saw it, however briefly, in a cemetery. However, it is October so I suppose that makes sense. . . somehow.
Maybe?
Friday, November 14, 2008
Down for the Count
Of two.
Who?
Me.
Wednesday my Kindzia streak of consistently working out everyday for at least 30 minutes since 12/31/07 ended.
That's right. I caught Beau's stomach bug.
Holy moly. It was awful. I haven't been that sick in well, since last December when I had pneumonia or whatever the hell that month long chest rot I had then was. Really, though, this time was much worse than not being able to breathe. I just laid in my bed for 2 days and writhed in pain. I will spare you the ugly details since I can assume that you have probably at least once in your life succumbed to the perils of a stomach bug.
And I do feel lucky because my kids are older. Nothing. I mean nothing is worse than having a stomach bug and having to care for a toddler. Baby, not great. Preschooler, still not good. Kindergartner and second grader? Still not fun but with the older ones there is considerably less laundry as they are proficient in getting to the toilet to upsie or you, know, downsie. And babies, well, most of them are breastfed or still mostly bottle fed and well, a stomach bug on a liquid diet? Really how is that any different than everyday? But the toddler. They are mobile. And diapers? They leak. Oh God. It is everywhere.
So yeah, that was my silver lining. I don't have a toddler. Oh, and I also got lucky in that only one of my kids was sick when I was. Right, the easy one. Well sort of. No, not really in this case.
Sigh.
Carmella.
Bless the sweet pea's heart. She thinks just being human is creepy. So she is sort of a pathetic patient because she is so freaked out by the very idea of bodily functions so it is so much worse when they actually happen to her. Beau, on the otherhand, is sort of in awe about. He is like, whatever. I threw up. Can I go play at my friend's house now?
With Carmella there is hyperventaliating. Crying. Pacing. Writhing. Yeah, like two of me. We were in competition for who was more pathetic. And since she is seven who do you think won? Right. Like I've said before. She is always the better person. I was most pathetic.
-----------------------Oh, and Ryan would like me to mention "how awesome he is."
And by "awesome" I think he is referring to that he didn't come within 20 feet of me or Carmella without at least first spraying down the air with Lysol--which I can assure you did nothing for my nausea. He made Carmella sleep with me in the Hazmat room--aka, our bedroom.
Okay, he did do lots of laundry but that was only because I told him he couldn't go hunting unless he did. Oh, and he did take and pick up Beau from school.
So yes, that was pretty awesome. But. I think he just knew that there was the potential that I might survive this little bug and there would certainly be hell to pay then.
And I will say that mostly, in my opinion, it was pretty awesome that he didn't get said bug because that would have meant I would have been the one doing all the laundry and taking/picking up Beau to/from school and that would have meant I would have had to drag my half dead self out of bed. Which I promise you, wasn't going to happen.----------------------------------------
So for 2 days Carmella and I have laid in bed moaning, not eating or drinking and pretty much just about dying.
Today though.
I deemed us well.
I based this on the lack of vomiting for over 24 hours, no fever and that we both managed to eat something other than a saltine last night for dinner without dry heaving.
So, I sent Carmella to school, along with Beau. I planned to run.After copious amount of laundry and decontaminating happened, of course.
She came back home at 9 am.
She has been fine since she came home so I think she was just freaked out about the possibility of getting ill at school. She said her tummy hurt. I, of course, didn't believe her. We are well I told her. But she had already been to that damn school nurse so I had to take her home. They all ganged up on me, what could I do?
Well, I'll tell you.
I went by her teacher's room and got lots of work for her to do. My thinking was that Carmella rather enjoyed her lay-in-bed- watch-TV-and-color-puppy-pictures-and-vomit-vacation. I mean, she did make puppy pictures for at least 14 of her closest BFF's. Who makes stuff for their friend's when they are sick? I'll tell you who, fakers!
So, I was a little merciless making her do math homework, social studies, reading, art project and even write a story. But she had writer's block and still hasn't finished the story. She also does not appreciate at all the fabulous Face Book suggestions received either. I think they have further crippled her creativity. So "The Talking Crayon Box" remains an unfinished masterpiece as of this blog post writing. Sorry, guys. Thanks for trying.
Finally though the rain brought, my hero, Ryan, home and I was able to get much jonesed for run in.
I should mention now that my running of late has been going better. Taking a week off seemed to be just the ticket. Though, since the weekend-- when the stomach bug first showed up on my radar-- I have felt a bit off. Even still I managed 10 miles close to marathon pace on Monday. On Tuesday I wasn't feeling myself but hit the gym for my "how far can I go in an hour" treadmill run.
After a sad first mile at an 8:20 pace I cranked it out and got it done with 8.26 miles for the hour. And that was with taking a one minute walk break after the first 4 mile mark (which I hit in 29:20 something) because I was certain I was going to lose my breakfast and decided I was going to quit. But I rallied and decided I could finish out the hour. And I did. Overall average pace for the entire workout was 7:16 pace. An hour and half after the treadmill workout I had to take the kids to tennis. It was nice out and I was bored so I did an easy 4.5 miles. I think the average pace for that was 8:20 something pace. All and all not a bad day. Well, until I got the upsies. And the downsies. And the fever. And the body aches. And the chills. And two days where I thought for sure it was the end of me. And for part of the time I kind of hoped it was.
So, yeah, well that brings us to today. Friday. The day I willed myself well. I should have known my tummy was still a bit shaky but I ignored it and forged ahead with my coffee and Uncle Sam's--aka, NOT.A.GOOD.IDEA. Lunch was hard to get down too--brown rice, Lima beans and tomatoes. I don't know what I was thinking. But still I thought: I. Am. Better.
You, know, ignoring all those gurgling and quarters dropped down a pipe sound my digestive system was making.
I was fine.
So I went out for my run. Left Ryan with Carmella and told him to get Beau.
Yeah! Outside! Fresh air! My ipod! Me!
Ever the optimist I thought I maybe could do my 16 miler I was suppose to do on Thursday. I brought a Gu and $2, just in case. No water though or Gatorade. What? Why would I do that? That would be smart.
Ryan asked me how far? How long?
I said, I don't know. At least an hour, maybe two or more. . . hopefully.
About a mile in I was ready to turn back. My body was not right!
But I make no decisions in that first mile (or while running up a hill for that matter)--just my little rule.
I reasoned, well it has been 2 days. . . maybe I am just running too fast.
So I slowed down, my tummy threatening to rebel. As I reached the first of my 3 miles of uphills I considered walking but just tucked head and got through it, oh so painfully slow.
It started to rain and I worried about my new beautiful shoes and thought I should just do 6 miles. But then I thought about the 2 days I have languished in bed, dying and decided I needed to at least do ten miles to stay on track. So at the 3 mile I turned off to head into my 10 mile loop. And the tummy stayed there, on the vomit line but never crossed. I never felt great but it never got worse. At the 6 mile I was thirsty and licked my lips. Salt. Ugh. Gross. My spit was thick. Disgusting. Nothing was good. But with less than 4 miles to go I just plugged along and finished. Average pace was 8:42. Not terrible but 30 seconds slower per mile for the same run that I did on Monday and felt way less arduous. Really, in my mind, today should have been faster considering the 2 days of bed rest I had.
Do you count sick days as rest days?
I do. But maybe I shouldn't?
And so now I believe Carmella and guess that maybe she wasn't faking when she said her tummy still hurt. And maybe I even feel slightly guilty about that . . .
Sigh, I just want us all to be healthy!
Oh, one last thing. Since everyone thinks Beau is so funny here is the latest Beau drama, for your entertainment:
He has been an absolute pill the last week and a half at school, well and at home too. Mostly for his usual: talking too much, insubordination, being "wiggly" (seriously, that is what they call it). So I guess yesterday his teacher had had it and told him today he was being moved next to her at a desk by himself. Just so you know in the classroom they sit 5 kindergartners to a table. There are 15 kids in his class, 2 teachers. No one, but the teachers sit at desks. But in the older grades, they all sit at desks. Beau knows this.
The teacher however--for whatever reason-- did not at all inform me of this move. Beau did.
He enthusiastically informed me of it.
As in he had no clue this was a bad thing.
He was proud about it even.
This morning Beau came downstairs for breakfast and very excitedly told me that he was getting "his own desk" today. Next to the teachers, he informed me; nodding, smiling, brown eyes wide. All explaining why he jumped out of bed and got dressed lickety split for school. He had something to look forward to!
Carmella, having had the same two teachers for kindergarten and me, having had to sit at my own desk by the teachers when I was in kindergarten, knew exactly what this meant and that it was not good.
Carmella began by cataloging for Beau all the naughty children that had had to sit at the solo desk in kindergarten, many of who-- she furthered-- were still quite naughty in second grade. The desk, she told Beau, was bad news for him.
Beau tried to argue how he no longer had to share a table, emphasizing again, that he, Beau. Was getting his own desk. Next to the teachers even. You know, near the front of the class.
We tried, in vain to tell him this was not good. It meant he was naughty.
Beau wasn't listening, he was too excited for his new desk, his new position--you know, the one next to the teachers.
So I shot an email off the lead teacher explaining that Beau wasn't getting that the solo desk was punishment.
And this afternoon she shot one back to me that she tried making the solo desk "unpleasant as possible" for him by telling him stuff like his desk "had no table captain".
Okay.
You know.
Beau may not always have all the sails of his ship flying but, come on. Everyone knows at a table of one you are always the captain.
She also told him his desk didn't have a number.
Now this would have devastated Carmella but Beau?
Any table that he is at is number one in his mind.
Numbers? What are those?
She also told him that he couldn't line up until she told him he could. Which I am sure this was the most frustrating part for him but I think kindergartners don't get to do anything without being told to do it. So really, how is that different?
So when he came home from school today I asked him if he was sad at his desk by himself. And he told me emphatically No! It was great! And best of all he didn't have to sit next to, I will call her Betty but that is not her name, anymore. Apparently Beau really doesn't like Betty. He has mentioned before that she is not his favorite but I didn't really pay attention. Apparently, she picks her nose and has bad breath. Which is weird the nose picking would bother Beau since he is a staunch nose picker himself but I think when it comes to girls he operates on a bit of a double standard.
So that was my day and what I learned today is this: I can't will myself better, Carmella doesn't lie--ever. And Beau? You just can't take that kid down. Unlike his Mama, he isn't going down for any count--ever.
Okay, Cat. I promise. Your post is coming. I am having title trouble.
Who?
Me.
Wednesday my Kindzia streak of consistently working out everyday for at least 30 minutes since 12/31/07 ended.
That's right. I caught Beau's stomach bug.
Holy moly. It was awful. I haven't been that sick in well, since last December when I had pneumonia or whatever the hell that month long chest rot I had then was. Really, though, this time was much worse than not being able to breathe. I just laid in my bed for 2 days and writhed in pain. I will spare you the ugly details since I can assume that you have probably at least once in your life succumbed to the perils of a stomach bug.
And I do feel lucky because my kids are older. Nothing. I mean nothing is worse than having a stomach bug and having to care for a toddler. Baby, not great. Preschooler, still not good. Kindergartner and second grader? Still not fun but with the older ones there is considerably less laundry as they are proficient in getting to the toilet to upsie or you, know, downsie. And babies, well, most of them are breastfed or still mostly bottle fed and well, a stomach bug on a liquid diet? Really how is that any different than everyday? But the toddler. They are mobile. And diapers? They leak. Oh God. It is everywhere.
So yeah, that was my silver lining. I don't have a toddler. Oh, and I also got lucky in that only one of my kids was sick when I was. Right, the easy one. Well sort of. No, not really in this case.
Sigh.
Carmella.
Bless the sweet pea's heart. She thinks just being human is creepy. So she is sort of a pathetic patient because she is so freaked out by the very idea of bodily functions so it is so much worse when they actually happen to her. Beau, on the otherhand, is sort of in awe about. He is like, whatever. I threw up. Can I go play at my friend's house now?
With Carmella there is hyperventaliating. Crying. Pacing. Writhing. Yeah, like two of me. We were in competition for who was more pathetic. And since she is seven who do you think won? Right. Like I've said before. She is always the better person. I was most pathetic.
-----------------------Oh, and Ryan would like me to mention "how awesome he is."
And by "awesome" I think he is referring to that he didn't come within 20 feet of me or Carmella without at least first spraying down the air with Lysol--which I can assure you did nothing for my nausea. He made Carmella sleep with me in the Hazmat room--aka, our bedroom.
Okay, he did do lots of laundry but that was only because I told him he couldn't go hunting unless he did. Oh, and he did take and pick up Beau from school.
So yes, that was pretty awesome. But. I think he just knew that there was the potential that I might survive this little bug and there would certainly be hell to pay then.
And I will say that mostly, in my opinion, it was pretty awesome that he didn't get said bug because that would have meant I would have been the one doing all the laundry and taking/picking up Beau to/from school and that would have meant I would have had to drag my half dead self out of bed. Which I promise you, wasn't going to happen.----------------------------------------
So for 2 days Carmella and I have laid in bed moaning, not eating or drinking and pretty much just about dying.
Today though.
I deemed us well.
I based this on the lack of vomiting for over 24 hours, no fever and that we both managed to eat something other than a saltine last night for dinner without dry heaving.
So, I sent Carmella to school, along with Beau. I planned to run.After copious amount of laundry and decontaminating happened, of course.
She came back home at 9 am.
She has been fine since she came home so I think she was just freaked out about the possibility of getting ill at school. She said her tummy hurt. I, of course, didn't believe her. We are well I told her. But she had already been to that damn school nurse so I had to take her home. They all ganged up on me, what could I do?
Well, I'll tell you.
I went by her teacher's room and got lots of work for her to do. My thinking was that Carmella rather enjoyed her lay-in-bed- watch-TV-and-color-puppy-pictures-and-vomit-vacation. I mean, she did make puppy pictures for at least 14 of her closest BFF's. Who makes stuff for their friend's when they are sick? I'll tell you who, fakers!
So, I was a little merciless making her do math homework, social studies, reading, art project and even write a story. But she had writer's block and still hasn't finished the story. She also does not appreciate at all the fabulous Face Book suggestions received either. I think they have further crippled her creativity. So "The Talking Crayon Box" remains an unfinished masterpiece as of this blog post writing. Sorry, guys. Thanks for trying.
Finally though the rain brought, my hero, Ryan, home and I was able to get much jonesed for run in.
I should mention now that my running of late has been going better. Taking a week off seemed to be just the ticket. Though, since the weekend-- when the stomach bug first showed up on my radar-- I have felt a bit off. Even still I managed 10 miles close to marathon pace on Monday. On Tuesday I wasn't feeling myself but hit the gym for my "how far can I go in an hour" treadmill run.
After a sad first mile at an 8:20 pace I cranked it out and got it done with 8.26 miles for the hour. And that was with taking a one minute walk break after the first 4 mile mark (which I hit in 29:20 something) because I was certain I was going to lose my breakfast and decided I was going to quit. But I rallied and decided I could finish out the hour. And I did. Overall average pace for the entire workout was 7:16 pace. An hour and half after the treadmill workout I had to take the kids to tennis. It was nice out and I was bored so I did an easy 4.5 miles. I think the average pace for that was 8:20 something pace. All and all not a bad day. Well, until I got the upsies. And the downsies. And the fever. And the body aches. And the chills. And two days where I thought for sure it was the end of me. And for part of the time I kind of hoped it was.
So, yeah, well that brings us to today. Friday. The day I willed myself well. I should have known my tummy was still a bit shaky but I ignored it and forged ahead with my coffee and Uncle Sam's--aka, NOT.A.GOOD.IDEA. Lunch was hard to get down too--brown rice, Lima beans and tomatoes. I don't know what I was thinking. But still I thought: I. Am. Better.
You, know, ignoring all those gurgling and quarters dropped down a pipe sound my digestive system was making.
I was fine.
So I went out for my run. Left Ryan with Carmella and told him to get Beau.
Yeah! Outside! Fresh air! My ipod! Me!
Ever the optimist I thought I maybe could do my 16 miler I was suppose to do on Thursday. I brought a Gu and $2, just in case. No water though or Gatorade. What? Why would I do that? That would be smart.
Ryan asked me how far? How long?
I said, I don't know. At least an hour, maybe two or more. . . hopefully.
About a mile in I was ready to turn back. My body was not right!
But I make no decisions in that first mile (or while running up a hill for that matter)--just my little rule.
I reasoned, well it has been 2 days. . . maybe I am just running too fast.
So I slowed down, my tummy threatening to rebel. As I reached the first of my 3 miles of uphills I considered walking but just tucked head and got through it, oh so painfully slow.
It started to rain and I worried about my new beautiful shoes and thought I should just do 6 miles. But then I thought about the 2 days I have languished in bed, dying and decided I needed to at least do ten miles to stay on track. So at the 3 mile I turned off to head into my 10 mile loop. And the tummy stayed there, on the vomit line but never crossed. I never felt great but it never got worse. At the 6 mile I was thirsty and licked my lips. Salt. Ugh. Gross. My spit was thick. Disgusting. Nothing was good. But with less than 4 miles to go I just plugged along and finished. Average pace was 8:42. Not terrible but 30 seconds slower per mile for the same run that I did on Monday and felt way less arduous. Really, in my mind, today should have been faster considering the 2 days of bed rest I had.
Do you count sick days as rest days?
I do. But maybe I shouldn't?
And so now I believe Carmella and guess that maybe she wasn't faking when she said her tummy still hurt. And maybe I even feel slightly guilty about that . . .
Sigh, I just want us all to be healthy!
Oh, one last thing. Since everyone thinks Beau is so funny here is the latest Beau drama, for your entertainment:
He has been an absolute pill the last week and a half at school, well and at home too. Mostly for his usual: talking too much, insubordination, being "wiggly" (seriously, that is what they call it). So I guess yesterday his teacher had had it and told him today he was being moved next to her at a desk by himself. Just so you know in the classroom they sit 5 kindergartners to a table. There are 15 kids in his class, 2 teachers. No one, but the teachers sit at desks. But in the older grades, they all sit at desks. Beau knows this.
The teacher however--for whatever reason-- did not at all inform me of this move. Beau did.
He enthusiastically informed me of it.
As in he had no clue this was a bad thing.
He was proud about it even.
This morning Beau came downstairs for breakfast and very excitedly told me that he was getting "his own desk" today. Next to the teachers, he informed me; nodding, smiling, brown eyes wide. All explaining why he jumped out of bed and got dressed lickety split for school. He had something to look forward to!
Carmella, having had the same two teachers for kindergarten and me, having had to sit at my own desk by the teachers when I was in kindergarten, knew exactly what this meant and that it was not good.
Carmella began by cataloging for Beau all the naughty children that had had to sit at the solo desk in kindergarten, many of who-- she furthered-- were still quite naughty in second grade. The desk, she told Beau, was bad news for him.
Beau tried to argue how he no longer had to share a table, emphasizing again, that he, Beau. Was getting his own desk. Next to the teachers even. You know, near the front of the class.
We tried, in vain to tell him this was not good. It meant he was naughty.
Beau wasn't listening, he was too excited for his new desk, his new position--you know, the one next to the teachers.
So I shot an email off the lead teacher explaining that Beau wasn't getting that the solo desk was punishment.
And this afternoon she shot one back to me that she tried making the solo desk "unpleasant as possible" for him by telling him stuff like his desk "had no table captain".
Okay.
You know.
Beau may not always have all the sails of his ship flying but, come on. Everyone knows at a table of one you are always the captain.
She also told him his desk didn't have a number.
Now this would have devastated Carmella but Beau?
Any table that he is at is number one in his mind.
Numbers? What are those?
She also told him that he couldn't line up until she told him he could. Which I am sure this was the most frustrating part for him but I think kindergartners don't get to do anything without being told to do it. So really, how is that different?
So when he came home from school today I asked him if he was sad at his desk by himself. And he told me emphatically No! It was great! And best of all he didn't have to sit next to, I will call her Betty but that is not her name, anymore. Apparently Beau really doesn't like Betty. He has mentioned before that she is not his favorite but I didn't really pay attention. Apparently, she picks her nose and has bad breath. Which is weird the nose picking would bother Beau since he is a staunch nose picker himself but I think when it comes to girls he operates on a bit of a double standard.
So that was my day and what I learned today is this: I can't will myself better, Carmella doesn't lie--ever. And Beau? You just can't take that kid down. Unlike his Mama, he isn't going down for any count--ever.
Okay, Cat. I promise. Your post is coming. I am having title trouble.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Stay Tuned !
Oh no!
Why is Nat in the back of a police car?
Why is Nat wearing this silly hat?
Who cares, but boy doesn't she look smart in glasses?
Hi there dear readers that I love!
I have had a busy and crawzeey weekend and promise to write up my boring blog posts about it as soon as I get a chance. Right now I need to crawl my way out from under the mountain of laundry that has a accumulated from neglect and have to go teach an art lesson on Charles Schulz to Beau's class this morning.
But till then I leave you this picture:
Sigh.
If only my Aunt Boo was Obama's running mate this whole deciding who to vote for would not at all be a problem. Seriously. Obama needs Boo on his team. Heck, I think McCain could use her too.
Wait a minute.
What am I thinking?
Boo for President!
I hope they have a write in option on the ballot.
Why is Nat in the back of a police car?
Why is Nat wearing this silly hat?
Who cares, but boy doesn't she look smart in glasses?
Hi there dear readers that I love!
I have had a busy and crawzeey weekend and promise to write up my boring blog posts about it as soon as I get a chance. Right now I need to crawl my way out from under the mountain of laundry that has a accumulated from neglect and have to go teach an art lesson on Charles Schulz to Beau's class this morning.
But till then I leave you this picture:
Sigh.
If only my Aunt Boo was Obama's running mate this whole deciding who to vote for would not at all be a problem. Seriously. Obama needs Boo on his team. Heck, I think McCain could use her too.
Wait a minute.
What am I thinking?
Boo for President!
I hope they have a write in option on the ballot.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Walk of Pain ( I mean, shame)
I'm done.
I HATE triathlons!
I'm out.
When does the "fun" start?
I quit.
That was my thought process on Sunday as I miserably and painfully trudged through the 13.1 mile "run" portion of the South Carolina Half Iron man. My worst ever run a reality.
I texted Ryan after finishing: Horrible-worst race of my life. Never again!
But now with a few days distance-- but mostly because I can now walk without shooting pain from my feet and think I have not suffered permanent injury-- I can talk about the race in a better light.
Make no mistake.
I am utterly devastated by my performance. I absolutely want a do-over but sadly that isn't going to happen anytime soon because as soon as my feet are better I am going to dive head first into marathon training and pray and keep my fingers crossed that I get to have good race sometime this fall.
My silver lining is that you gotta have a bad race to really appreciate the great ones. Right?
And me? In retrospect. I think I've had more good races than bad. I just don't race enough so when that bad one comes along it is a bit harder to mentally get over it.
And if I don't have a good race then I am done racing. Maybe it just isn't something I do well and while not always the brightest Crayola in the pack I am smart enough to not keep up the motions of the Sisyphean stone.
Whatever. I so totally not smart.
Remember: Moth to a flame.
Damn me for writing this crap down. Ink is so freaking permanent and it always stains.
Okay, so here are the basics:
1.2 mile swim: 35 minutes 48 seconds. 1:40 per 100yds
T1: 2:26
56 mile bike: 3:07:43 17.9 mph
T2: 2:20
13.1 mile run: 2:22
Final time: 6:10:14
As the physical pain from the race fades I am able to get back to the fact that until the run I was having a PREFECT race. And yes, I knew it during the race too. And I was VERY, very happy about it.
This was only my second triathlon ever. My first a women's only sprint over a year ago.
But oh boy.The run. Did it ever disappoint.
You know. The only part of the race that mattered to me and where I really had expectations--expectations that I trained hard for, have experience in and expected without a shadow of doubt to meet them--was so awful I don't know if I will ever be able to get past it. It was by far, hands down the absolute worst, most painful and frustrating run of my entire life. The experience has left me seriously questioning my abilities as a runner. And because of that I am having a hard time getting past my disappointment. I am just embarrassed and sad about it.
Having said that I will now move on to bore you to tears with all the tiny details of a "race report." Read on, or move on to another blog where the blogger is a successful and happy triathlete. Me? I'm bitter and bitchy and a total Debbie Downer.
The weekend began Saturday where I completely lost my shit because one of my tires was flat.
Yes.
The one that I changed.
I insisted on having new tubes put on both wheels. I wanted to take it to a "professional" but Ryan took offense and insisted he could do it. You would have thought I told him he didn't have a penis or asked him to hand over his man card the way he was so adamant about him changing it. I wondered out loud if it was going to bother him that it would be his name that I cursed out loud on the course if I got a flat and he said he wouldn't mind a single bit since he wouldn't be there to hear it.
After new tubes and packing up Ryan and the kids dropped me at Steph and Doug's. Ryan warned Doug about how awesome I am on a car ride and told him to not let me have any water. We made the 3+ hour boring ride to Greenwood, SC and as it was Steph who had to pee first so we didn't have to stop because of me. Just saying.
Upon arriving in Greenwood we went first to packet pick up. I was really sad to be given a purple swim cap. I really think purple is just such an unfortunate color but what can you do--all the girls were purple (well except the really fast ones. Must work on being really fast so I will not have to don the purple. Lots of work to do.).
We scoped out the transition area and the swim.
Steph and I poked our toes in the water.
It felt about 80 degrees to me but magically by that evening the water cooled to 73 degrees to make it wetsuit legal. Didn't matter for me since I had no wetsuit.
Then we went to check out the transition area and figure out where our racks would be. I was smack in the middle. Doug and Steph were near the swim finish. Steph was just happy to be near the johnny on the spots.
I practiced running from the swim finish to my bike rack and then to the bike/run start from my rack. I really think that made a HUGE difference in my transition performance. Not. Though I did not have any problem remembering where my bike was--it being one of the onlies without aerobars and all.
After Steph made Doug drive the run course so she could know where all the johnny on the spots were we went straight to Outback Steak's for dinner. Steak and sweet potatoes and, of course, beer.
After dinner we checked into our hotel. The Clarion.
Clean. Nice and not so quiet. I was very aware of what everyone was doing all nice. Apparently everyone else needed to get and pee a million times too.
I got in bed at 8 pm and read but I don't think I really fell asleep until after 9 and then, of course, I woke up and pee'd every hour until 4 am when I got up to get dressed.
I forced down a whole wheat bagel with some peanut butter and ate a small bowl of dry Uncle Sam's cereal. Then I drank lots of water and a cup of coffee. After stretching for a bit it was time to go. I met Steph and Doug in the lobby and we drove to race site. I took my picture in the car on the way there. See how smart I was to bring a headlamp? See how happy I look?
What an idiot.
I don't know why I thought we would be early but we weren't. At all. We got there just before 6 am (when transition opened) and had to park what seemed like a million miles away from transition. Kevin, a fellow blogger, happened to park right next to us. Be sure to check out his blog for more race pictures. I am coming in right before him on the bike.
I went to work right away setting up my transition. I was all business (read sarcasm). I was the second one there on my rack so I had the opportunity to ask the poor guy next me lots of questions. He was really nice and patiently and politely answered them. There was a girl trying to meditate near me and I saw her try to muffle a laugh a few times at some of my, I am certain, very intelligent questions.
Wow! Look how much stuff I have.
There was lots to do: body marking, getting chip, pee (a lot), and worst of all get weighed! It was awful. I weighed 8 lbs more than I had the week before when I was at the doctor for a check up. Talk about carbo loading! Needless to say I could have done without knowing that. Immediately I felt way fat in my spandex, cause, well, I was. Ugh. Reality is a beotch.
I spent the rest of the time obsessing about my fatness and trying to burn some of it off by chatting with fellow triathletes, zipping around transition and dancing to the blaring techno music.
Finally at 7:20 it was time for us to make our way to the swim. I took this picture right before walking over there. Goggles. Pretty, I know. Just wait for the next one for what I look like after I take the goggles off. . .
Walking over to the swim I thought about all the other things that might be more fun than a half iron man; backpacking for 3 days without toilet paper, toothpicks under the fingernails, a week in a Peruvian prison, a 50 mile trail run in an ice storm . . .
I got to watch everyone finish struggling into their wetsuits and counted the 20 or so of us that were braving it without one. I tried to listen to what the director was saying but I couldn't hear anything--I think I had my purple swim cap pulled too tightly over my ears. But some guy managing the swim explained the course for me and I am so glad he did because I totally would have been swimming in the wrong direction. I am sure I would have figured it out.
The first group to go was all the professionals and then I had to wait for 3 or 4 other groups to go. All us purple caps were told to get in the water. We had to walk down some stone steps and then jump off the wall into the water. Then we had to tread water for what seemed like 5 minutes. I am sure it wasn't really that long and I didn't care anyway since I was thrilled that I didn't have to touch the creepy lake bottom. Already off to a good start! I wasn't cold at all either--another bonus and I was totally ready to swim. Yay swimming.
The foghorn went and we all started swimming. I purposely reigned it in since even in the pool I have a tendency to go a little crazy on that first 100. Well before I reached the first buoy I was well in front of the main pack and definitely behind the super speedsters. I was in a nice little empty pocket by myself. After I made the turn at the first buoy I caught up with the stragglers from the wave that had gone 4 minutes before ours. I never felt particularly crowded but I definitely made an effort to avoid the swimmers doing breast stroke. Nothing like a leg jab to the flank to ruin a good swim.
After awhile I didn't see any purple caps but only bright blue and light blue and then white caps. I did see one guy with a snorkel and I had to lift my head up and make sure that is what I really saw. Yep, guy with snorkel and swim mask. I didn't know that was allowed! Gave me a good laugh and was glad there were other non hard core athletes out there too.
I picked it up in the final 500 and was elated to be done. Time had flown by and upon exiting I heard someone say "Wow! And she doesn't even have a wetsuit." I certainly wasn't the first or fastest girl by any means but I think I was probably the first purple cap girl out of the water sans wetsuit. It ain't much but after how the run went down I'll take whatever compliment I can get.
I ran to my rack and I took this picture. Brace yourself, it is a little scary.
Ahhh!!!
I put my helmet on first and then socks and bike shoes (no flying mount or dismount for me), glasses and gloves, grabbed my peanut butter crackers and ran out of transition. I waited until they told me I could get on my bike and then I was off.
And then I got passed. A lot. By everyone. Only one girl passed me in the first 5 or so miles but after the ten mile point lots of girls passed me. And then people kept right on passing me until around 45 or so miles and then at the end I did start passing people that had passed me--but not many and that was only because they slowed down. I was very even paced the whole time.
It was really, really depressing to get passed so much but there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. No one believes me but I saw 2 different people snicker at my bike. Now, I don't know for a fact they were laughing at my bike but they looked at my bike and then me and then chuckled. So I am pretty sure it was either the bike or my fatness. So I was a little sad on the bike. It was lonely. 56 miles is a long way with no one to chat with and no music. So I ate a lot of snacks for entertainment: 2 packages of peanut butter crackers, 3 gu's, HEED and water. Lots of water.
Luckily the bike was for the most part uneventful but also, unfortunately, quite boring. I kinda was holding my breath the whole time and was just saying please don't get a flat, please don't wreck over and over again. It was by far the easiest 56 mile course I have ridden as far as elevation goes. I never once had to get out of the saddle. The road itself was quite bumpy but so long as I didn't get a flat I didn't care.
The only thing that perpetually annoyed me--besides just getting passed by everyone--was having someone pass and then whip right in front of me and put me in a draft zone; thus forcing me to drop back and go slower to avoid getting a penalty. Then they would decide to eat a snack and would slow down. So of course I would pass them knowing that in a few minutes they would pass me again. Why in the world would you not wait until after your snack to pass someone? I just found it very obnoxious. Not to mention there were several times it happened when the penalty lady was going by so I had to be very vigilant and drop back. Last thing I needed was a 4 minute penalty for drafting when I was already getting my ass handed to me.
I did pick up the pace a tiny bit at the end because I was so excited to be done. I was feeling good and was eager to get off the bike and run. Not that I necessarily was dying to run but I knew that I would be that much closer to being done. Which was what I really wanted.
Here is the picture I took right before heading out for the run. I think this might be the last time I smiled all day.
I ran out transition with so much optimism. I reminded myself I could run no faster than an 8:30 pace until mile 3--as I had practiced in my mini triathlons I've done for the past 5 Fridays--and then I could continue to pick up the pace. I felt pretty good for the first quarter mile and then I hit the tiniest of uphills. My calves immediately locked up and I slowed it down to 9:30 miles. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath and vowed to keep running through it. It hurt so bad! A minute later I was walking. I just absolutely cannot run when my calves are locked. I was so, so mad! But I decided I would stop to pee as I did kinda have to go. I figured that would get my heart rate down and I would feel more comfortable and could maybe better run. I knew time wise I would good.
So after a bit of the walk/run shuffle a potty appeared and I ducked in. I came out and gingerly started to run. I was into the second mile and out on the stretch of the course that was in the blazing sun. It was hot but not really all that bad. My calves were starting to relax and I tried to run and find my pace. I thought I was doing pretty good and then I looked down: 6:56. Damn it! Didn't feel like that so I reeled it in and I checked again still in the low 7's. I realized then that I wasn't feeling either of my feet. So weird. My calves started hurting and I had this crazy shooting pain in my hip. So I started walking. Everything below the waist just hurt.
By mile 3 I was ready to quit. Doug passed me at this point and I told him as much. He said "whatever" not at all believing me. I continued to struggle with my numb feet and did the run/walk shuffle. And believe me, I wasn't the only one. There were more people shuffling that actually running. And I saw so many people pass me in compression socks that I started jonesing big time for mine. I don't think they would have made a difference but at the time maybe.
In the fourth mile I stopped and took off my shoes. I wanted to check my feet. I still could not feel them at all and it was totally freaking me out. The feeling in the right was starting to come back but the left one I could not even feel my fingers touching it. Everything below the ankle on the left side was completely numb. (Right side just the toes.)It felt from the ankle down like I had a wooden block for a foot. And well, that is a little scary when you actually still have a foot there and not a wooden block.
Everyone around me, despite their apparent discomfort, were so amazingly encouraging. Keep going forward. You can do it! You look great! Keep it up! I wanted to smack them all.
What the hell is wrong with these people, I thought. Clearly they look as miserable as me, some even more so--especially the ones that I passed puking or limping worse than I was-- but they were all so much more determined. I just wanted to quit. I started trying to form a plan on how you quit.
By mile 5 my feet were still numb and Steph caught up to me. She was the biggest ball of joy you have every seen. I started to tell her all my maladies and she exchanged with me about her GI issues. I told her I was going to quit but she didn't believe me either. She left me when I stopped yet again to take off my shoe and look at my foot.
So puzzling. I could move it but not feel it. I kept trying to run but it was so awkward and uncomfortable and really made my hip and other leg hurt. I guess from the awkward stride. You really do need to feel your feet to run I think.
By the end of the 6th mile the feeling was back in both my feet and it was like little knifes were stabbing me and sending electric shocks up my leg. I have never ever, in the 6 marathons I have run, 11 half marathons, and countless 10k's and long training runs ever experienced anything like it. There were a few times it was so painful I started to cry. Then I would walk and chide myself and curse that I was having such a terrible run. I was so, so angry because I had trained so hard and so specifically to be able to run well. It was really the focus of my training. It was like having studied hard for a test and you get wrong all the material you studied and right the stuff you'd never even seen before. Really, really pissed me off.
I hated every second of the run. I so very very much wanted to quit. At every aid station I looked for medical personal but saw none. I just felt completely abandoned on the course. I kept up with the forward progression but I walked most of every single mile. I don't think managed to run at all for more than 3-5 minutes at a time. I could never get a rhythm, I couldn't divorce myself from the pain and all I could do was obsess and worry that I was doing permanent damage.
I honestly have no idea how I made it 13.1 miles but I did. I ran across the finish line and went directly to the medical tent. But they made me get on the scale first. Oh the insults never ended. Guess what? I had lost half a pound. They all seemed so proud of me. But I pointed out to them that I was swollen:my fingers looked like sausages in casings. My legs had no muscular definition and I knew my feet were badly swollen. That gained me entrance into the tent and I went straight to a cot in front of a fan and laid down.
They kept asking me what was wrong but all I could say was my feet hurt. Some very kind and brave lady took my shoes off and commented that my feet were very swollen and put ice on them for me. Ah, happiness. . .
I don't know how long I laid there but after my feet were cold and numb I put my shoes on and left the tent. I found Steph and Doug and then told anyone who would listen how that was by far the most miserable experience of my life.
And you know what? It still is. That run was just horrible. But the knots in my arches are almost completely gone and I can stand on my feet without pain. Yesterday I ran and there was some tenderness in the arches and on the outside of my foot but no numbness and today they feel pretty good. So while I am sad about my race I am very happy I made it through it without serious injury and can now move onto marathon training.
I don't know what marathon to do. My plan had been Chickamuaga as a training race and then Rocket City in mid December as my "A" race but that seems far off and quite honestly I don't know if I want to spend the money to travel and then have a bad race. I think Chickamuaga might be too soon for me to pull out a good race. So then I think about doing the Atlanta full instead of the half on Thanksgiving. But oh boy, that last 10k uphill is just setting myself up for a bad race I think. Suggestions? Just give it up???
At the very least I am officially signed up for the Silver Comet half marathon at the end of the month. I typically have a good race at the Silver Comet races so I am cautiously optimistic. . .
Lastly, congrats to all my friends that did South Carolina. I am so proud of all of you and I again apologize for being such a whiner.
I HATE triathlons!
I'm out.
When does the "fun" start?
I quit.
That was my thought process on Sunday as I miserably and painfully trudged through the 13.1 mile "run" portion of the South Carolina Half Iron man. My worst ever run a reality.
I texted Ryan after finishing: Horrible-worst race of my life. Never again!
But now with a few days distance-- but mostly because I can now walk without shooting pain from my feet and think I have not suffered permanent injury-- I can talk about the race in a better light.
Make no mistake.
I am utterly devastated by my performance. I absolutely want a do-over but sadly that isn't going to happen anytime soon because as soon as my feet are better I am going to dive head first into marathon training and pray and keep my fingers crossed that I get to have good race sometime this fall.
My silver lining is that you gotta have a bad race to really appreciate the great ones. Right?
And me? In retrospect. I think I've had more good races than bad. I just don't race enough so when that bad one comes along it is a bit harder to mentally get over it.
And if I don't have a good race then I am done racing. Maybe it just isn't something I do well and while not always the brightest Crayola in the pack I am smart enough to not keep up the motions of the Sisyphean stone.
Whatever. I so totally not smart.
Remember: Moth to a flame.
Damn me for writing this crap down. Ink is so freaking permanent and it always stains.
Okay, so here are the basics:
1.2 mile swim: 35 minutes 48 seconds. 1:40 per 100yds
T1: 2:26
56 mile bike: 3:07:43 17.9 mph
T2: 2:20
13.1 mile run: 2:22
Final time: 6:10:14
As the physical pain from the race fades I am able to get back to the fact that until the run I was having a PREFECT race. And yes, I knew it during the race too. And I was VERY, very happy about it.
This was only my second triathlon ever. My first a women's only sprint over a year ago.
But oh boy.The run. Did it ever disappoint.
You know. The only part of the race that mattered to me and where I really had expectations--expectations that I trained hard for, have experience in and expected without a shadow of doubt to meet them--was so awful I don't know if I will ever be able to get past it. It was by far, hands down the absolute worst, most painful and frustrating run of my entire life. The experience has left me seriously questioning my abilities as a runner. And because of that I am having a hard time getting past my disappointment. I am just embarrassed and sad about it.
Having said that I will now move on to bore you to tears with all the tiny details of a "race report." Read on, or move on to another blog where the blogger is a successful and happy triathlete. Me? I'm bitter and bitchy and a total Debbie Downer.
The weekend began Saturday where I completely lost my shit because one of my tires was flat.
Yes.
The one that I changed.
I insisted on having new tubes put on both wheels. I wanted to take it to a "professional" but Ryan took offense and insisted he could do it. You would have thought I told him he didn't have a penis or asked him to hand over his man card the way he was so adamant about him changing it. I wondered out loud if it was going to bother him that it would be his name that I cursed out loud on the course if I got a flat and he said he wouldn't mind a single bit since he wouldn't be there to hear it.
After new tubes and packing up Ryan and the kids dropped me at Steph and Doug's. Ryan warned Doug about how awesome I am on a car ride and told him to not let me have any water. We made the 3+ hour boring ride to Greenwood, SC and as it was Steph who had to pee first so we didn't have to stop because of me. Just saying.
Upon arriving in Greenwood we went first to packet pick up. I was really sad to be given a purple swim cap. I really think purple is just such an unfortunate color but what can you do--all the girls were purple (well except the really fast ones. Must work on being really fast so I will not have to don the purple. Lots of work to do.).
We scoped out the transition area and the swim.
Steph and I poked our toes in the water.
It felt about 80 degrees to me but magically by that evening the water cooled to 73 degrees to make it wetsuit legal. Didn't matter for me since I had no wetsuit.Then we went to check out the transition area and figure out where our racks would be. I was smack in the middle. Doug and Steph were near the swim finish. Steph was just happy to be near the johnny on the spots.
I practiced running from the swim finish to my bike rack and then to the bike/run start from my rack. I really think that made a HUGE difference in my transition performance. Not. Though I did not have any problem remembering where my bike was--it being one of the onlies without aerobars and all.
After Steph made Doug drive the run course so she could know where all the johnny on the spots were we went straight to Outback Steak's for dinner. Steak and sweet potatoes and, of course, beer.
After dinner we checked into our hotel. The Clarion.
Clean. Nice and not so quiet. I was very aware of what everyone was doing all nice. Apparently everyone else needed to get and pee a million times too.I got in bed at 8 pm and read but I don't think I really fell asleep until after 9 and then, of course, I woke up and pee'd every hour until 4 am when I got up to get dressed.
I forced down a whole wheat bagel with some peanut butter and ate a small bowl of dry Uncle Sam's cereal. Then I drank lots of water and a cup of coffee. After stretching for a bit it was time to go. I met Steph and Doug in the lobby and we drove to race site. I took my picture in the car on the way there. See how smart I was to bring a headlamp? See how happy I look?
What an idiot.
I don't know why I thought we would be early but we weren't. At all. We got there just before 6 am (when transition opened) and had to park what seemed like a million miles away from transition. Kevin, a fellow blogger, happened to park right next to us. Be sure to check out his blog for more race pictures. I am coming in right before him on the bike.
I went to work right away setting up my transition. I was all business (read sarcasm). I was the second one there on my rack so I had the opportunity to ask the poor guy next me lots of questions. He was really nice and patiently and politely answered them. There was a girl trying to meditate near me and I saw her try to muffle a laugh a few times at some of my, I am certain, very intelligent questions.
Wow! Look how much stuff I have.
There was lots to do: body marking, getting chip, pee (a lot), and worst of all get weighed! It was awful. I weighed 8 lbs more than I had the week before when I was at the doctor for a check up. Talk about carbo loading! Needless to say I could have done without knowing that. Immediately I felt way fat in my spandex, cause, well, I was. Ugh. Reality is a beotch.
I spent the rest of the time obsessing about my fatness and trying to burn some of it off by chatting with fellow triathletes, zipping around transition and dancing to the blaring techno music.
Finally at 7:20 it was time for us to make our way to the swim. I took this picture right before walking over there. Goggles. Pretty, I know. Just wait for the next one for what I look like after I take the goggles off. . .
Walking over to the swim I thought about all the other things that might be more fun than a half iron man; backpacking for 3 days without toilet paper, toothpicks under the fingernails, a week in a Peruvian prison, a 50 mile trail run in an ice storm . . .
I got to watch everyone finish struggling into their wetsuits and counted the 20 or so of us that were braving it without one. I tried to listen to what the director was saying but I couldn't hear anything--I think I had my purple swim cap pulled too tightly over my ears. But some guy managing the swim explained the course for me and I am so glad he did because I totally would have been swimming in the wrong direction. I am sure I would have figured it out.
The first group to go was all the professionals and then I had to wait for 3 or 4 other groups to go. All us purple caps were told to get in the water. We had to walk down some stone steps and then jump off the wall into the water. Then we had to tread water for what seemed like 5 minutes. I am sure it wasn't really that long and I didn't care anyway since I was thrilled that I didn't have to touch the creepy lake bottom. Already off to a good start! I wasn't cold at all either--another bonus and I was totally ready to swim. Yay swimming.
The foghorn went and we all started swimming. I purposely reigned it in since even in the pool I have a tendency to go a little crazy on that first 100. Well before I reached the first buoy I was well in front of the main pack and definitely behind the super speedsters. I was in a nice little empty pocket by myself. After I made the turn at the first buoy I caught up with the stragglers from the wave that had gone 4 minutes before ours. I never felt particularly crowded but I definitely made an effort to avoid the swimmers doing breast stroke. Nothing like a leg jab to the flank to ruin a good swim.
After awhile I didn't see any purple caps but only bright blue and light blue and then white caps. I did see one guy with a snorkel and I had to lift my head up and make sure that is what I really saw. Yep, guy with snorkel and swim mask. I didn't know that was allowed! Gave me a good laugh and was glad there were other non hard core athletes out there too.
I picked it up in the final 500 and was elated to be done. Time had flown by and upon exiting I heard someone say "Wow! And she doesn't even have a wetsuit." I certainly wasn't the first or fastest girl by any means but I think I was probably the first purple cap girl out of the water sans wetsuit. It ain't much but after how the run went down I'll take whatever compliment I can get.
I ran to my rack and I took this picture. Brace yourself, it is a little scary.
Ahhh!!!
I put my helmet on first and then socks and bike shoes (no flying mount or dismount for me), glasses and gloves, grabbed my peanut butter crackers and ran out of transition. I waited until they told me I could get on my bike and then I was off.
And then I got passed. A lot. By everyone. Only one girl passed me in the first 5 or so miles but after the ten mile point lots of girls passed me. And then people kept right on passing me until around 45 or so miles and then at the end I did start passing people that had passed me--but not many and that was only because they slowed down. I was very even paced the whole time.
It was really, really depressing to get passed so much but there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. No one believes me but I saw 2 different people snicker at my bike. Now, I don't know for a fact they were laughing at my bike but they looked at my bike and then me and then chuckled. So I am pretty sure it was either the bike or my fatness. So I was a little sad on the bike. It was lonely. 56 miles is a long way with no one to chat with and no music. So I ate a lot of snacks for entertainment: 2 packages of peanut butter crackers, 3 gu's, HEED and water. Lots of water.
Luckily the bike was for the most part uneventful but also, unfortunately, quite boring. I kinda was holding my breath the whole time and was just saying please don't get a flat, please don't wreck over and over again. It was by far the easiest 56 mile course I have ridden as far as elevation goes. I never once had to get out of the saddle. The road itself was quite bumpy but so long as I didn't get a flat I didn't care.
The only thing that perpetually annoyed me--besides just getting passed by everyone--was having someone pass and then whip right in front of me and put me in a draft zone; thus forcing me to drop back and go slower to avoid getting a penalty. Then they would decide to eat a snack and would slow down. So of course I would pass them knowing that in a few minutes they would pass me again. Why in the world would you not wait until after your snack to pass someone? I just found it very obnoxious. Not to mention there were several times it happened when the penalty lady was going by so I had to be very vigilant and drop back. Last thing I needed was a 4 minute penalty for drafting when I was already getting my ass handed to me.
I did pick up the pace a tiny bit at the end because I was so excited to be done. I was feeling good and was eager to get off the bike and run. Not that I necessarily was dying to run but I knew that I would be that much closer to being done. Which was what I really wanted.
Here is the picture I took right before heading out for the run. I think this might be the last time I smiled all day.
I ran out transition with so much optimism. I reminded myself I could run no faster than an 8:30 pace until mile 3--as I had practiced in my mini triathlons I've done for the past 5 Fridays--and then I could continue to pick up the pace. I felt pretty good for the first quarter mile and then I hit the tiniest of uphills. My calves immediately locked up and I slowed it down to 9:30 miles. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath and vowed to keep running through it. It hurt so bad! A minute later I was walking. I just absolutely cannot run when my calves are locked. I was so, so mad! But I decided I would stop to pee as I did kinda have to go. I figured that would get my heart rate down and I would feel more comfortable and could maybe better run. I knew time wise I would good.
So after a bit of the walk/run shuffle a potty appeared and I ducked in. I came out and gingerly started to run. I was into the second mile and out on the stretch of the course that was in the blazing sun. It was hot but not really all that bad. My calves were starting to relax and I tried to run and find my pace. I thought I was doing pretty good and then I looked down: 6:56. Damn it! Didn't feel like that so I reeled it in and I checked again still in the low 7's. I realized then that I wasn't feeling either of my feet. So weird. My calves started hurting and I had this crazy shooting pain in my hip. So I started walking. Everything below the waist just hurt.
By mile 3 I was ready to quit. Doug passed me at this point and I told him as much. He said "whatever" not at all believing me. I continued to struggle with my numb feet and did the run/walk shuffle. And believe me, I wasn't the only one. There were more people shuffling that actually running. And I saw so many people pass me in compression socks that I started jonesing big time for mine. I don't think they would have made a difference but at the time maybe.
In the fourth mile I stopped and took off my shoes. I wanted to check my feet. I still could not feel them at all and it was totally freaking me out. The feeling in the right was starting to come back but the left one I could not even feel my fingers touching it. Everything below the ankle on the left side was completely numb. (Right side just the toes.)It felt from the ankle down like I had a wooden block for a foot. And well, that is a little scary when you actually still have a foot there and not a wooden block.
Everyone around me, despite their apparent discomfort, were so amazingly encouraging. Keep going forward. You can do it! You look great! Keep it up! I wanted to smack them all.
What the hell is wrong with these people, I thought. Clearly they look as miserable as me, some even more so--especially the ones that I passed puking or limping worse than I was-- but they were all so much more determined. I just wanted to quit. I started trying to form a plan on how you quit.
By mile 5 my feet were still numb and Steph caught up to me. She was the biggest ball of joy you have every seen. I started to tell her all my maladies and she exchanged with me about her GI issues. I told her I was going to quit but she didn't believe me either. She left me when I stopped yet again to take off my shoe and look at my foot.
So puzzling. I could move it but not feel it. I kept trying to run but it was so awkward and uncomfortable and really made my hip and other leg hurt. I guess from the awkward stride. You really do need to feel your feet to run I think.
By the end of the 6th mile the feeling was back in both my feet and it was like little knifes were stabbing me and sending electric shocks up my leg. I have never ever, in the 6 marathons I have run, 11 half marathons, and countless 10k's and long training runs ever experienced anything like it. There were a few times it was so painful I started to cry. Then I would walk and chide myself and curse that I was having such a terrible run. I was so, so angry because I had trained so hard and so specifically to be able to run well. It was really the focus of my training. It was like having studied hard for a test and you get wrong all the material you studied and right the stuff you'd never even seen before. Really, really pissed me off.
I hated every second of the run. I so very very much wanted to quit. At every aid station I looked for medical personal but saw none. I just felt completely abandoned on the course. I kept up with the forward progression but I walked most of every single mile. I don't think managed to run at all for more than 3-5 minutes at a time. I could never get a rhythm, I couldn't divorce myself from the pain and all I could do was obsess and worry that I was doing permanent damage.
I honestly have no idea how I made it 13.1 miles but I did. I ran across the finish line and went directly to the medical tent. But they made me get on the scale first. Oh the insults never ended. Guess what? I had lost half a pound. They all seemed so proud of me. But I pointed out to them that I was swollen:my fingers looked like sausages in casings. My legs had no muscular definition and I knew my feet were badly swollen. That gained me entrance into the tent and I went straight to a cot in front of a fan and laid down.
They kept asking me what was wrong but all I could say was my feet hurt. Some very kind and brave lady took my shoes off and commented that my feet were very swollen and put ice on them for me. Ah, happiness. . .
I don't know how long I laid there but after my feet were cold and numb I put my shoes on and left the tent. I found Steph and Doug and then told anyone who would listen how that was by far the most miserable experience of my life.
And you know what? It still is. That run was just horrible. But the knots in my arches are almost completely gone and I can stand on my feet without pain. Yesterday I ran and there was some tenderness in the arches and on the outside of my foot but no numbness and today they feel pretty good. So while I am sad about my race I am very happy I made it through it without serious injury and can now move onto marathon training.
I don't know what marathon to do. My plan had been Chickamuaga as a training race and then Rocket City in mid December as my "A" race but that seems far off and quite honestly I don't know if I want to spend the money to travel and then have a bad race. I think Chickamuaga might be too soon for me to pull out a good race. So then I think about doing the Atlanta full instead of the half on Thanksgiving. But oh boy, that last 10k uphill is just setting myself up for a bad race I think. Suggestions? Just give it up???
At the very least I am officially signed up for the Silver Comet half marathon at the end of the month. I typically have a good race at the Silver Comet races so I am cautiously optimistic. . .
Lastly, congrats to all my friends that did South Carolina. I am so proud of all of you and I again apologize for being such a whiner.
Monday, September 15, 2008
I have a cold
I know that is lame.
But I woke up with a runny nose this morning. I rode my bike and was annoyed by my nose that is now more faucet than nose. And you know. This is just the beginning of my fall allergies. Just in time for my race. Fabulous.
Big, giant sigh. Isn't that how it always seems to go though?
And, I know I had a sinus infection this time last year for a fact because my sister got married and I remember being sick the week before her wedding. I think she got married on the 29th of September. So I should have known better than to sign up for a race in September. There is a reason I don't usually do any races until the end of October. Fall allergies.
At least I still have 13 days to still train with my new handicap. As if just sucking in general wasn't enough of one.
Yay me!
I'll post something else when I am done feeling sorry for my poor pathetic self.
But I woke up with a runny nose this morning. I rode my bike and was annoyed by my nose that is now more faucet than nose. And you know. This is just the beginning of my fall allergies. Just in time for my race. Fabulous.
Big, giant sigh. Isn't that how it always seems to go though?
And, I know I had a sinus infection this time last year for a fact because my sister got married and I remember being sick the week before her wedding. I think she got married on the 29th of September. So I should have known better than to sign up for a race in September. There is a reason I don't usually do any races until the end of October. Fall allergies.
At least I still have 13 days to still train with my new handicap. As if just sucking in general wasn't enough of one.
Yay me!
I'll post something else when I am done feeling sorry for my poor pathetic self.
Friday, August 22, 2008
The Anchor and The Moth
Are one in the same.
I am always the moth but lately, this week, I am also the anchor.
And this isn't some obscure attempt at metaphor. I mean it literally. I am a weight that sinks.
To be sure, I am not an anchor in the sense that "holds it all together" but rather one that holds things back, weighs things down. Specifically, one that sinks swiftly to the bottom of a lake and gets stuck in some logs or some of that mysterious bottom of the lake creepy debris.
This always happens and I've known it was coming. I've been on a streak of good training pretty much since my disastrous last marathon in the spring. Training that for the most part has been pain free.
And yes, I admit that mostly that is due to the fact that I was running around 40-45 mpw instead of 50-60 mpw. My body rewarded me with things like being able to get out of bed in the morning and walk-- just like everyone else-- down the stairs; forward, not sideways and gripping the railing for support. A railing, it should be noted, that needs to be screwed a little tighter on the wall after enduring my weight for the past 3 years I've been running marathons. It is just a disaster waiting to happen. Ryan, get on that for me. You know, when you get back from the beach.
And I have responded to my body feeling good by doing what I always do: piling on the miles, little recovery, getting lazy about stretching, not going to yoga, not icing the calves, not being vigilant about ice baths, drinking too many post run celebratory beers or wine instead of re-hydrating with water, forgetting to eat enough-- you know all the same stuff I did last year that led to the most miserable winter training ever and calf injury that still haunts me.
It is doubtful that I am going to change. Like a moth to a flame I am committed to doing the same thing over and over again. I know that doesn't make me sound too smart but what can I say? I like to train. I don't like to rest and do all that good for your body crap. So I don't.
And because of that I will probably continue to have days like I did Wednesday.
Wednesday was the day where I was the anchor. I held people back, I struggled and let myself down. It was humbling and now has me quite worried about this upcoming half ironman.
So worried that I had a nightmare about the race last night. I dreamed that it was race day and I was setting up. Steph wouldn't set up next to me and told me to go to this other rack. I was surrounded by what looked like really out of shape old men. It was then that I realized I had forgotten all my nutrition. I didn't even have water. I told Steph about it. In real life Steph goes on every ride with enough Gu and electrolytes for 4 people. But in my dream she had nothing to share. She couldn't even spare a single Gu. The guy next to me on the rack though had an extra Gu and offered it to me. I ate it right there. Then I went off to scrounge for more food, water and Gatorade. While one my search the race started.
I gave up my search and ran to the water's edge. The last wave had just gone out. I dove in the water which started out as a pool but then changed to a lake. A very dark lake. I was trying to pass people but I couldn't. So I started to do the butterfly. I butterflied over all the swimmers and finished the race in my goal time.
One guy, after the swim, tried to get me disqualified argueing that doing the butterfly in a triathlon was "illegal".
I raced around transition trying to find my bike but it was gone. And then I woke up.
This dream is the direct result of a conversation I had had yesterday with Steph. She pretty much told me my planned 600 calories for the HIM was ridiculously low. She thinks I need close to 2000. I just don't know I am going to consume that much. Clearly, my subconscious is very worried about.
And as I mentioned the dream is also related to Wednesday's disastrous ride. I met Steph and Doug and also called Neal to join us for a ride through Roswell. Steph said brick. I said yay, though said I would be very slow since I was certain my legs would be tired from my hard 21 mile run the day before. Steph said that was fine since her speed is slow.
Sandbagger.
We all met and I was thinking we were going to ride 30 miles top and run 3 or 4 miles. I figured this was doable since a few weeks ago the day after running 21 miles I rode 43 miles in Roswell. Wasn't fast and wasn't easy but I hung.
But Steph said she had to work, unlike the rest of us schmucks, on Thursday. She wanted to ride 40 and run 6 miles. I figured well, okay. Why not.
Well, let me tell you why not. Because the day/night before even though I took an ice bath I did not eat very much and I drink maybe a little too much wine and not nearly enough water. Anyone who has every run 21 miles in 85 degree heat will tell you that water? Might be a good idea. But I figure if Jesus turned water into the wine then wine must be better for you than water.
This is not so my friends. Not so at all. At least not after a long run.
The ride was hard for me the whole time but I did have this period where I was feeling strong and I wanted to mix it up. So we rode some extra hills and as it turned out, extra miles.
I began to pay for my exuberance dearly when we got down by the river--the easy part of the ride. Steph and I got stuck on a turn by some traffic and the guys got ahead of us. I knew I wasn't going to catch them but figured Steph and I would hang together. But then Steph blew past me. Let's go Natalie!!! She yelled.
I was DYING of thirst and was just sucking on my water bottle and trying to catch her. I also realized at this point that we probably still had an hour or so to go. I decided to go ahead and have the ONE gel I brought. My plan though-- yeah, I did have one, not a good one but I had one--had been just the Gatorade and water I brought. I don't know why I thought that would be enough for a 40 mile ride and 3 mile ride but that is what I thought.
I felt defeated having that gel and anyone who has ever done any endurance stuff knows that once the wheels come off it is almost impossible to put them back on. Too little too late.
I had my gel and sucked down the water. And hoped for some magic to happen. Steph wasn't that far ahead of me and I saw where she met up with the guys. Luckily they got stuck at the light and it changed right as I got there and we all went through it together.
I thought, whew back with the group! I am good.
But then they dropped the hammer and apparently it hit me on my foot because I looked up and they were way, way ahead. I pedaled pedaled pedaled and my quads hated hated hated me. Then my calves started saying knot knot knot.
Who's there? I asked.
Cramp, biyatch.
Garmin said I was doing 21 mph in my desperate attempt to catch back up to the group and get in the good graces of the draft but the cramps in my calves said back off or get locked out.
I backed it down and figured I was on my own. But nicely they had waited for me before we did the climb up Eves Rd. Gotta admit. I kinda wish they had dropped me.
Neal, took pity on me and blew smoke up my ass about how strong I was and how much improvement I'd made and how he liked my pace better than Doug's pace. I told him I was much more comfortable with the ridicule most people dish out to me. His kindness made me feel he was being facetious. People, I explained, just aren't that nice to me. And then I went on the complain how hard the bike was for me. Neal is a nice guy and I appreciate his encouragement very much but yeah, I know I suck. Eventually, maybe, I will get better. If not? Well, I'll just keep running.
So I made it through the ride by the grace of Neal's tire. Draft draft draft and I don't mean beer. I wish though.
I will say by the last 5 miles everyone was pretty beaten down. It was a head tucked, no talking ride by the end. We ended with 47 miles at a 16.5 mph pace. Neal bailed out on the run. Steph was still maintaining her 6 miles and I was in for 3. Doug was just quiet but came along.
It was probably close to 90 degrees as it was well after noon. The first mile came off terrible as usual. I was burdened by tummy cramps. They came and went. Steph was behind me the whole way yelling "Too fast! Slow down! 10 minute miles!" And I would try but I just can't nail that pace. So I would forge ahead and then be halted by the cramps and chills that often accompany such tummy distress. Then they would disappear and I would run on, pass Steph and Doug again. Rinse, repeat, run on. Finally I was in the last mile and knew the faster I ran the sooner I was done and could have some water. This little 5k run that took me 28 minutes felt infinitely worse than any single point during my 21 mile run the day before that I ran almost a minute faster per mile. And yes, it does make me feel a tiny bit better than both Steph and Doug called it done at the 5k too.
The rest of the day I was a total waste of a human being. I even made the kids do their homework with me on the couch. And it was only after they called me lazy did I get up and fold a little laundry, clean a bathroom, make some dinner and then resume my horizontal position on the couch. I can't recall ever feeling that wiped out after any race or any training day. Just ridiculous.
However, while laying prone on the couch I planned my next day's workout. A 10 mile run. Easy pace, no watch, I thought. But 10 miles? I could do that everyday.
Apparently not though.
I woke up not wanting to run, bike or swim. I think when they dropped the hammer down at the river I dropped my mojo. All I wanted to do was just wanted to lay on the couch. But I hate sloth. It eats me up inside. I hate not sticking to my plans.
I talked myself down to just 6 easy miles. The 6 easy miles then became just a walk. A walk, I said. It will be okay. Everybody needs an easy day. You don't have to run 50 miles this week if you don't want to. It'll be okay.
So I went for a walk and it was nice out. Little warm but less humid and there was breeze. The effects of Hurricane Fay I guess.
So I rallied and headed out for a 6 mile run. But then I started to feel pretty okay and turned off on my 10 mile route. Then I realized I was a bit thirsty at 4 miles. Still dehydrated I guess.
So I stopped and had some water at Walgreens. The air conditioning? Awesome. The water? Cold and refreshing. I couldn't get enough of it. And this was water fountain water. When is that ever good? Again, very dehydrated.
I stepped outside of Walgreens and was immediately overwhelmed by the desire to not run. But I had to get home. Again, I tired to rally with just 6 miles. No. And I turned on heel and headed back the 4 miles I had just run.
At least this will be easier I thought-- it being mostly 4 miles down hill. Yet some how I found myself walking. I was dying for a glass of orange juice. Orange juice was all I could think of. What is this walking about I asked myself? You can't walk down a hill.Who does that?
Run.
No.
Nothing hurts, so there is no reason not to run. Run.
No.
But if you run you can lay back on the couch and drink your orange juice sooner than if you just walk.
Okay.
So I ran home. But I didn't like it.
And yesterday, while I laid on the couch and drank my orange juice, I thought tomorrow I will just run 6 miles and swim 2000 yds. Just put the distance in, don't worry about the pace. Saturday will be your big training day.
Today I woke up feeling much better. But I bailed on my swim. Just couldn't do it. I did run though. 7 miles on the Leita Trail. The weather was just too pleasant to pass up a day of running. And I have been less slothlike today so I have a tiny bit of optimism for tomorrow's 50 mile bike 6 mile run brick. And hopefully I wont have to be the anchor tomorrow. But yes, I will still be the moth to the flame. I am always the moth.
I am always the moth but lately, this week, I am also the anchor.
And this isn't some obscure attempt at metaphor. I mean it literally. I am a weight that sinks.
To be sure, I am not an anchor in the sense that "holds it all together" but rather one that holds things back, weighs things down. Specifically, one that sinks swiftly to the bottom of a lake and gets stuck in some logs or some of that mysterious bottom of the lake creepy debris.
This always happens and I've known it was coming. I've been on a streak of good training pretty much since my disastrous last marathon in the spring. Training that for the most part has been pain free.
And yes, I admit that mostly that is due to the fact that I was running around 40-45 mpw instead of 50-60 mpw. My body rewarded me with things like being able to get out of bed in the morning and walk-- just like everyone else-- down the stairs; forward, not sideways and gripping the railing for support. A railing, it should be noted, that needs to be screwed a little tighter on the wall after enduring my weight for the past 3 years I've been running marathons. It is just a disaster waiting to happen. Ryan, get on that for me. You know, when you get back from the beach.
And I have responded to my body feeling good by doing what I always do: piling on the miles, little recovery, getting lazy about stretching, not going to yoga, not icing the calves, not being vigilant about ice baths, drinking too many post run celebratory beers or wine instead of re-hydrating with water, forgetting to eat enough-- you know all the same stuff I did last year that led to the most miserable winter training ever and calf injury that still haunts me.
It is doubtful that I am going to change. Like a moth to a flame I am committed to doing the same thing over and over again. I know that doesn't make me sound too smart but what can I say? I like to train. I don't like to rest and do all that good for your body crap. So I don't.
And because of that I will probably continue to have days like I did Wednesday.
Wednesday was the day where I was the anchor. I held people back, I struggled and let myself down. It was humbling and now has me quite worried about this upcoming half ironman.
So worried that I had a nightmare about the race last night. I dreamed that it was race day and I was setting up. Steph wouldn't set up next to me and told me to go to this other rack. I was surrounded by what looked like really out of shape old men. It was then that I realized I had forgotten all my nutrition. I didn't even have water. I told Steph about it. In real life Steph goes on every ride with enough Gu and electrolytes for 4 people. But in my dream she had nothing to share. She couldn't even spare a single Gu. The guy next to me on the rack though had an extra Gu and offered it to me. I ate it right there. Then I went off to scrounge for more food, water and Gatorade. While one my search the race started.
I gave up my search and ran to the water's edge. The last wave had just gone out. I dove in the water which started out as a pool but then changed to a lake. A very dark lake. I was trying to pass people but I couldn't. So I started to do the butterfly. I butterflied over all the swimmers and finished the race in my goal time.
One guy, after the swim, tried to get me disqualified argueing that doing the butterfly in a triathlon was "illegal".
I raced around transition trying to find my bike but it was gone. And then I woke up.
This dream is the direct result of a conversation I had had yesterday with Steph. She pretty much told me my planned 600 calories for the HIM was ridiculously low. She thinks I need close to 2000. I just don't know I am going to consume that much. Clearly, my subconscious is very worried about.
And as I mentioned the dream is also related to Wednesday's disastrous ride. I met Steph and Doug and also called Neal to join us for a ride through Roswell. Steph said brick. I said yay, though said I would be very slow since I was certain my legs would be tired from my hard 21 mile run the day before. Steph said that was fine since her speed is slow.
Sandbagger.
We all met and I was thinking we were going to ride 30 miles top and run 3 or 4 miles. I figured this was doable since a few weeks ago the day after running 21 miles I rode 43 miles in Roswell. Wasn't fast and wasn't easy but I hung.
But Steph said she had to work, unlike the rest of us schmucks, on Thursday. She wanted to ride 40 and run 6 miles. I figured well, okay. Why not.
Well, let me tell you why not. Because the day/night before even though I took an ice bath I did not eat very much and I drink maybe a little too much wine and not nearly enough water. Anyone who has every run 21 miles in 85 degree heat will tell you that water? Might be a good idea. But I figure if Jesus turned water into the wine then wine must be better for you than water.
This is not so my friends. Not so at all. At least not after a long run.
The ride was hard for me the whole time but I did have this period where I was feeling strong and I wanted to mix it up. So we rode some extra hills and as it turned out, extra miles.
I began to pay for my exuberance dearly when we got down by the river--the easy part of the ride. Steph and I got stuck on a turn by some traffic and the guys got ahead of us. I knew I wasn't going to catch them but figured Steph and I would hang together. But then Steph blew past me. Let's go Natalie!!! She yelled.
I was DYING of thirst and was just sucking on my water bottle and trying to catch her. I also realized at this point that we probably still had an hour or so to go. I decided to go ahead and have the ONE gel I brought. My plan though-- yeah, I did have one, not a good one but I had one--had been just the Gatorade and water I brought. I don't know why I thought that would be enough for a 40 mile ride and 3 mile ride but that is what I thought.
I felt defeated having that gel and anyone who has ever done any endurance stuff knows that once the wheels come off it is almost impossible to put them back on. Too little too late.
I had my gel and sucked down the water. And hoped for some magic to happen. Steph wasn't that far ahead of me and I saw where she met up with the guys. Luckily they got stuck at the light and it changed right as I got there and we all went through it together.
I thought, whew back with the group! I am good.
But then they dropped the hammer and apparently it hit me on my foot because I looked up and they were way, way ahead. I pedaled pedaled pedaled and my quads hated hated hated me. Then my calves started saying knot knot knot.
Who's there? I asked.
Cramp, biyatch.
Garmin said I was doing 21 mph in my desperate attempt to catch back up to the group and get in the good graces of the draft but the cramps in my calves said back off or get locked out.
I backed it down and figured I was on my own. But nicely they had waited for me before we did the climb up Eves Rd. Gotta admit. I kinda wish they had dropped me.
Neal, took pity on me and blew smoke up my ass about how strong I was and how much improvement I'd made and how he liked my pace better than Doug's pace. I told him I was much more comfortable with the ridicule most people dish out to me. His kindness made me feel he was being facetious. People, I explained, just aren't that nice to me. And then I went on the complain how hard the bike was for me. Neal is a nice guy and I appreciate his encouragement very much but yeah, I know I suck. Eventually, maybe, I will get better. If not? Well, I'll just keep running.
So I made it through the ride by the grace of Neal's tire. Draft draft draft and I don't mean beer. I wish though.
I will say by the last 5 miles everyone was pretty beaten down. It was a head tucked, no talking ride by the end. We ended with 47 miles at a 16.5 mph pace. Neal bailed out on the run. Steph was still maintaining her 6 miles and I was in for 3. Doug was just quiet but came along.
It was probably close to 90 degrees as it was well after noon. The first mile came off terrible as usual. I was burdened by tummy cramps. They came and went. Steph was behind me the whole way yelling "Too fast! Slow down! 10 minute miles!" And I would try but I just can't nail that pace. So I would forge ahead and then be halted by the cramps and chills that often accompany such tummy distress. Then they would disappear and I would run on, pass Steph and Doug again. Rinse, repeat, run on. Finally I was in the last mile and knew the faster I ran the sooner I was done and could have some water. This little 5k run that took me 28 minutes felt infinitely worse than any single point during my 21 mile run the day before that I ran almost a minute faster per mile. And yes, it does make me feel a tiny bit better than both Steph and Doug called it done at the 5k too.
The rest of the day I was a total waste of a human being. I even made the kids do their homework with me on the couch. And it was only after they called me lazy did I get up and fold a little laundry, clean a bathroom, make some dinner and then resume my horizontal position on the couch. I can't recall ever feeling that wiped out after any race or any training day. Just ridiculous.
However, while laying prone on the couch I planned my next day's workout. A 10 mile run. Easy pace, no watch, I thought. But 10 miles? I could do that everyday.
Apparently not though.
I woke up not wanting to run, bike or swim. I think when they dropped the hammer down at the river I dropped my mojo. All I wanted to do was just wanted to lay on the couch. But I hate sloth. It eats me up inside. I hate not sticking to my plans.
I talked myself down to just 6 easy miles. The 6 easy miles then became just a walk. A walk, I said. It will be okay. Everybody needs an easy day. You don't have to run 50 miles this week if you don't want to. It'll be okay.
So I went for a walk and it was nice out. Little warm but less humid and there was breeze. The effects of Hurricane Fay I guess.
So I rallied and headed out for a 6 mile run. But then I started to feel pretty okay and turned off on my 10 mile route. Then I realized I was a bit thirsty at 4 miles. Still dehydrated I guess.
So I stopped and had some water at Walgreens. The air conditioning? Awesome. The water? Cold and refreshing. I couldn't get enough of it. And this was water fountain water. When is that ever good? Again, very dehydrated.
I stepped outside of Walgreens and was immediately overwhelmed by the desire to not run. But I had to get home. Again, I tired to rally with just 6 miles. No. And I turned on heel and headed back the 4 miles I had just run.
At least this will be easier I thought-- it being mostly 4 miles down hill. Yet some how I found myself walking. I was dying for a glass of orange juice. Orange juice was all I could think of. What is this walking about I asked myself? You can't walk down a hill.Who does that?
Run.
No.
Nothing hurts, so there is no reason not to run. Run.
No.
But if you run you can lay back on the couch and drink your orange juice sooner than if you just walk.
Okay.
So I ran home. But I didn't like it.
And yesterday, while I laid on the couch and drank my orange juice, I thought tomorrow I will just run 6 miles and swim 2000 yds. Just put the distance in, don't worry about the pace. Saturday will be your big training day.
Today I woke up feeling much better. But I bailed on my swim. Just couldn't do it. I did run though. 7 miles on the Leita Trail. The weather was just too pleasant to pass up a day of running. And I have been less slothlike today so I have a tiny bit of optimism for tomorrow's 50 mile bike 6 mile run brick. And hopefully I wont have to be the anchor tomorrow. But yes, I will still be the moth to the flame. I am always the moth.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Derailed
I completely lose my focus in the taper. The cut back of the taper is a challenge for me because it messes with my ingrained running habit. I like to run between 40-50 miles a week. I don't like to run much over 65 miles in a week because the running becomes forced. At the same time I don't really like to go below 35 miles. I will accept a week of as low as 30 miles so long as I am doing lots of other stuff like cycling or swimming. Anything less than 30 miles a week is just uncomfortable for me as I have pretty much been a 30 miles a week runner since I started running 9 years ago.
But since I am balancing recovery, training and taper to gear up and perform well at Country Music Marathon next weekend I am trying to not worry so much about my numbers. I know I really have nothing to gain as far as fitness but do risk the potential of injury if I push too hard. My plan has been to balance the running with cycling and swimming. It is, or rather was, a good plan.
The problem?
Well, my bike exploded yesterday.
The other day I found it laying in the garage. One of the kids must have knocked it over. I checked it over--not really sure what I was looking for since my bike knowledge is negligible at best. I do know that my derailleur was already bent. James, the bike shop guy, asked me a while back if I had crashed or fallen. For the record I have never crashed or fallen (yet)--well, at least not on this particular bike. But the bike was once Lala's and when she clipped in she fell. A lot.
I explained all that to James and he said it would eventually need to be replaced but was fine for now.
And it has been fine.
Well, until yesterday.
I noticed immediately that it wasn't shifting great. I thought the chain might be misaligned. I even stopped and looked it over; poked at the chain, looked at the derailleur, touched the sprockets, got my hands a little dirty. . . But knowing all that I know about bikes I really couldn't see anything to adjust or that looked off. Just to be safe though I figured I would stick to the surrounding neighborhoods rather than hit the open road and risk running in to trouble in heavy traffic.
This proved a very wise decision on my part. I didn't really have trouble until I hit my first significant uphill--about 5 miles in. I was downshifting and all the sudden I heard cracks and popping and pings and knew that it couldn't be good. The plastic shield (I guess that is what is) had shattered and some metal rings had popped off and were scattered all down the hill. I had to call Lala to come get me.
So . . . does anyone know how long and how much this is going to cost me to fix?
I am thinking the bike might be out until after the marathon. Sigh. Figures. Just when the weather was finally getting nice (read warm) enough to bike (read too hot to run). . .
Thursday, April 17, 2008
If not through laughter and irony then what?
I always say that I think one of the most admirable traits a person can have is the ability to laugh at themselves. But today when I received a forwarded email with the subject line "JobMarket2009" from Meme I had a feeling that I would no longer be able to count myself as one with the ability to find humor in all situations--especially considering how well my own job search is going.
Uhm, NOT!
However, I am happy to report that my sense of humor still prevails and that I need to share the laughter with those that might find themselves in a similar predicament:
And this is particularly apropos for us since we do, after all, own a landscaping company.
Oh the irony!
I should mention that Carmella asked me this morning if I was worried that I might never find a job. I admitted to her, "a little." She said that she never worries. And I told her that is how it is suppose to be-- that you are not allowed to worry about stuff until you are an adult.
Oh, and for the record, the kids-- I think-- are more desperate for me to get a job than I am. They are dying to stay at the after school programs. Everyday they have suggestions for me at places I could work and things I could do: Publix, Library, Gas Station, Artist, Chef, Dog Walker etc. Though Beau is pushing for the "boring job that makes lots of money."
Okay, carry on all you happily employed peoples.
Uhm, NOT!
However, I am happy to report that my sense of humor still prevails and that I need to share the laughter with those that might find themselves in a similar predicament:
And this is particularly apropos for us since we do, after all, own a landscaping company.
Oh the irony!
I should mention that Carmella asked me this morning if I was worried that I might never find a job. I admitted to her, "a little." She said that she never worries. And I told her that is how it is suppose to be-- that you are not allowed to worry about stuff until you are an adult.
Oh, and for the record, the kids-- I think-- are more desperate for me to get a job than I am. They are dying to stay at the after school programs. Everyday they have suggestions for me at places I could work and things I could do: Publix, Library, Gas Station, Artist, Chef, Dog Walker etc. Though Beau is pushing for the "boring job that makes lots of money."
Okay, carry on all you happily employed peoples.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
#785 and the Metaphor of the 22nd Mile
I am dim and not feeling very clever these days. Things are not so bright over here and I feel like I am perpetually stuck in the 22nd mile of a marathon. Maybe it isn't the 22nd mile for you or maybe you have been so lucky in life to never experience the self doubt, fatigue, hopelessness and frustration that happens when you hit a hard spot. Really, I envy you but I also hate you (but not really). Me though? I am not so lucky.
Anyway, that is why posting has been light of late. I've been down. In a rough patch but I am thinking of it as my 22nd mile and I always get through that no matter how much I just want to quit or sit on the sidewalk and cry. So I will get through this too.
Not searching for pity here and I am not trying to be all secretive. But the gist of it is that I am currently looking for a job. Again, maybe you are lucky and never had to look for job but it has never proved a fun challenge for me. The uncertainty, the what ifs and the future is somewhat frightening. I feel quite overwhelmed by life right now. I hope, I really do, but I just don't know if it is all going to work out. So it is, the 22nd mile of the marathon.
I'm dealing but not always so positive these days. Ironically my friend Fishstick commented while I was lamenting my current situation that I am always "so upbeat and positive." Of course I felt flattered because right at that second I felt anything but positive. But I thanked her and explained that I was relieved that is what she saw as that is how I want to come across. I know no one wants to hang out with a self-wallower and people just don't like being around negative people. People want to be around people that make them feel good. And me? I don't like to be alone. I want to be the one people want to hang out with. I want to be the one that makes people laugh and brings them up. And most of the time it is so easy to be that person. But these days, admittedly, I am having a hard time with my commitment to the positive and happy. I'm trying though.
Okay enough of that!
Moving on to the finish line and, hopefully, success! Roll it out: Com'on number 785! THAT is my number for the GA ING marathon. I am bib number 785. And for those that like to race day stalk click here.
My current plan is to go out with the 3:30 pace group--or try to since last year I was unable to line up with them. But if that happens again I promise to not try and chase them down from the 6 hour pace group as that didn't work out so good last year.
I am not hopeful about a 3:30 but I figure it is a reasonable goal to shoot for since I ran 3:37 at Chickamuaga. My main goal is to just do better than last year which is 3:44. And anything under 3:37 will be considered a successful race.
The taper is going as the taper goes: I feel fat and lazy and antsy.
Here is last week's breakdown:
Sunday: 22 miles. I don't know about time but it was a really strong run. Probably one of my strongest long runs.
Monday: Here was where I was really naughty and did a recovery run on the Leita. It was just 4 miles but it did a number on my lower leg muscles.
Tuesday: I took it easy and hit the Greenway for just 12 miles on my bike. I finished in under 45 minutes.
Wednesday: I met Steph and she was naughty and let me run too fast at the Leita. Again it was just 4 miles and my legs were none too happy. I swam for 30 minutes afterwards.
Thursday: 5 miles on the treadmill practicing paces from a sprint to recovery.
Friday: 10 miles with last 6 hopefully at marathon pace. Felt right.
Saturday: 6 miles easy at a recovery pace and then Steph and I were naughty again. We rode 30 miles on our bikes around Roswell. But it was totally worth it because it was so much fun.
Totals:
Running; 51 miles
Cycling: 42 miles
Swimming: 1 mile
And the taper continues:
Sunday: Since it was Easter and Ryan was out of town in the morning I was hard put to get my workout in because the gym nursery was closed and I only had a short window before church. So I after the kids hunted eggs and had breakfast I drug them up to Carmella's school armed with toys, a jump rope and a soccer ball. I instructed them to play on the field while I ran for 30 minutes around the track. You'd think this would have been easy but darn kids kept complaining about hands being cold and wanting to go play on the playground. I relented them on the play ground since they were only out of my sight for half of the track and I gave Beau my socks for his hands and ran sockless. Not ideal but I got it done! I have no idea how many laps since I lost track after the sock hand off. Guessing at least 3 miles but no way was it more than 4.
Monday: 30 minute continuous swim.
Tuesday: 10 miles easy
Wednesday: 6 miles easy
Thursday: Plan is 6 miles with pick-ups.
Friday: Is 3-4 miles on the treadmill with 2 miles at marathon pace. 30 minute swim maybe. I swam way too fast on Monday (was being bit of show off) and now my lat is sore. Dumb ass.
Saturday: Swim or walk for 30 minutes with some strides for good measure thrown in.
Sunday: Marathon!
Okay, now I've got questions:
Half or Full?
What is your number?
What are you wearing?
When are you going to the Expo?
Are you being a rule breaker and wearing your ipod?
Time? Goals?
What are you doing after?
And one last thing . . . I already know what Monday will be like (thanks Baraboo!)
Anyway, that is why posting has been light of late. I've been down. In a rough patch but I am thinking of it as my 22nd mile and I always get through that no matter how much I just want to quit or sit on the sidewalk and cry. So I will get through this too.
Not searching for pity here and I am not trying to be all secretive. But the gist of it is that I am currently looking for a job. Again, maybe you are lucky and never had to look for job but it has never proved a fun challenge for me. The uncertainty, the what ifs and the future is somewhat frightening. I feel quite overwhelmed by life right now. I hope, I really do, but I just don't know if it is all going to work out. So it is, the 22nd mile of the marathon.
I'm dealing but not always so positive these days. Ironically my friend Fishstick commented while I was lamenting my current situation that I am always "so upbeat and positive." Of course I felt flattered because right at that second I felt anything but positive. But I thanked her and explained that I was relieved that is what she saw as that is how I want to come across. I know no one wants to hang out with a self-wallower and people just don't like being around negative people. People want to be around people that make them feel good. And me? I don't like to be alone. I want to be the one people want to hang out with. I want to be the one that makes people laugh and brings them up. And most of the time it is so easy to be that person. But these days, admittedly, I am having a hard time with my commitment to the positive and happy. I'm trying though.
Okay enough of that!
Moving on to the finish line and, hopefully, success! Roll it out: Com'on number 785! THAT is my number for the GA ING marathon. I am bib number 785. And for those that like to race day stalk click here.
My current plan is to go out with the 3:30 pace group--or try to since last year I was unable to line up with them. But if that happens again I promise to not try and chase them down from the 6 hour pace group as that didn't work out so good last year.
I am not hopeful about a 3:30 but I figure it is a reasonable goal to shoot for since I ran 3:37 at Chickamuaga. My main goal is to just do better than last year which is 3:44. And anything under 3:37 will be considered a successful race.
The taper is going as the taper goes: I feel fat and lazy and antsy.
Here is last week's breakdown:
Sunday: 22 miles. I don't know about time but it was a really strong run. Probably one of my strongest long runs.
Monday: Here was where I was really naughty and did a recovery run on the Leita. It was just 4 miles but it did a number on my lower leg muscles.
Tuesday: I took it easy and hit the Greenway for just 12 miles on my bike. I finished in under 45 minutes.
Wednesday: I met Steph and she was naughty and let me run too fast at the Leita. Again it was just 4 miles and my legs were none too happy. I swam for 30 minutes afterwards.
Thursday: 5 miles on the treadmill practicing paces from a sprint to recovery.
Friday: 10 miles with last 6 hopefully at marathon pace. Felt right.
Saturday: 6 miles easy at a recovery pace and then Steph and I were naughty again. We rode 30 miles on our bikes around Roswell. But it was totally worth it because it was so much fun.
Totals:
Running; 51 miles
Cycling: 42 miles
Swimming: 1 mile
And the taper continues:
Sunday: Since it was Easter and Ryan was out of town in the morning I was hard put to get my workout in because the gym nursery was closed and I only had a short window before church. So I after the kids hunted eggs and had breakfast I drug them up to Carmella's school armed with toys, a jump rope and a soccer ball. I instructed them to play on the field while I ran for 30 minutes around the track. You'd think this would have been easy but darn kids kept complaining about hands being cold and wanting to go play on the playground. I relented them on the play ground since they were only out of my sight for half of the track and I gave Beau my socks for his hands and ran sockless. Not ideal but I got it done! I have no idea how many laps since I lost track after the sock hand off. Guessing at least 3 miles but no way was it more than 4.
Monday: 30 minute continuous swim.
Tuesday: 10 miles easy
Wednesday: 6 miles easy
Thursday: Plan is 6 miles with pick-ups.
Friday: Is 3-4 miles on the treadmill with 2 miles at marathon pace. 30 minute swim maybe. I swam way too fast on Monday (was being bit of show off) and now my lat is sore. Dumb ass.
Saturday: Swim or walk for 30 minutes with some strides for good measure thrown in.
Sunday: Marathon!
Okay, now I've got questions:
Half or Full?
What is your number?
What are you wearing?
When are you going to the Expo?
Are you being a rule breaker and wearing your ipod?
Time? Goals?
What are you doing after?
And one last thing . . . I already know what Monday will be like (thanks Baraboo!)
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Slowly, but surely, it is all coming together . . .
Recall that last week we had terrible storms-- a tornado--blow through here. Lots of trees came down and the area is still a mess. There has been lots of clean up going on.
I just got back from dropping Carmella at school. On the way back to our house I hear this from the backseat:
Beau: Ohhhh . . . .Now I get it!
Me: What's that?
Beau: Trees fall down. And that's how you get wood sticks! Did you know that Mommy?
Me: What!? Wood? Comes from trees? I did not know that! This is totally new information for me.
Beau: See, (points to tree, explaining) that's where wood comes from. Now you know.
Me: Thanks Beau!
I love it when Beau explains stuff to me.
Wish me luck. Sucking it up for the long run today. Head cold seems better today but could just be the calm before all snot breaks loose.
I felt like tail yesterday, so we'll see. Did get a decent swim in but then laid on my behind the rest of the day. (Trying to tone down the curse words. Steph gave them up for lent and I hate for her to have to read them and then have to do a bunch a hail Marys because of me. Or whatever it is you have to do.)
I just got back from dropping Carmella at school. On the way back to our house I hear this from the backseat:
Beau: Ohhhh . . . .Now I get it!
Me: What's that?
Beau: Trees fall down. And that's how you get wood sticks! Did you know that Mommy?
Me: What!? Wood? Comes from trees? I did not know that! This is totally new information for me.
Beau: See, (points to tree, explaining) that's where wood comes from. Now you know.
Me: Thanks Beau!
I love it when Beau explains stuff to me.
Wish me luck. Sucking it up for the long run today. Head cold seems better today but could just be the calm before all snot breaks loose.
I felt like tail yesterday, so we'll see. Did get a decent swim in but then laid on my behind the rest of the day. (Trying to tone down the curse words. Steph gave them up for lent and I hate for her to have to read them and then have to do a bunch a hail Marys because of me. Or whatever it is you have to do.)
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Heal Thyself
Look at me! Wheee! I'm all metaphysical. Believe and it will be. What a positive force in the universe am I.
Shalom.
Or is it Namaste?
Whatever.
Clearly, the Christmas spirit has a hold on me.
It's the MOST wonderful time of the year . . .
Uhm. No.
I am STILL sick as shit. EIGHT days of hacking. I've penned a very original song about my plight. Let me clear my throat and I shall sing it for you.
er uhm
er uhm
Er HUM.
Nevermind.
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me a sore and scratchy throat.
On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me fever, aches and chill and a sore and scratchy throat.
On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me a barking cough, fever, aches and chills and a sore and scratchy throat.
On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me many gelatinous globs of mucus, a barking cough, fever, aches and chills and a sore and scratchy throat.
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me SINUS CONGESTION!
Many gelatinous globs of mucus, a barking cough, fever, aches and chills and a sore and scratchy throat.
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me a red and runny nose, SINUS CONGESTION! Many gelatinous globs of mucus, a barking cough, fever aches and chills and a sore and scratchy throat.
On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me shortness of breath, a red and runny nose, SINUS CONGESTION! Many gelatinous globs of mucus, a barking cough, fever,aches and chills and a sore and scratchy throat.
On the eight day of Christmas my true love gave to me 2 swollen watery eyes, shortness of breath, a read and runny nose, SINUS CONGESTION! Many gelatinous globs of mucus, a barking cough, fever, aches and chills and a sore and scratchy throat.
Fucking true love.
We're done.
I'm willing myself well. I am tired of coughing, sick of the foul taste of mucus and most of all I miss running. I've been patient. FOUR. That's right FOUR straight days of no running, biking, swimming, yoga, weights, walking. Nothing. Nada. The only time my heart rate has gone up is from my marathon coughing fits. This is ridiculous.
I'm done with this cold. I need my fucking endorphins.Understandably, I just can't possibly be expected to be nice, bright or merry. Unfortunately, I really need to be all of those things and full of good will since I am in the kids classrooms this week teaching an art lesson, attending class parties and working the reindeer centers (don't ask). So cold be damned, cough may kill me but I am running today.
Shalom.
Or is it Namaste?
Whatever.
Clearly, the Christmas spirit has a hold on me.
It's the MOST wonderful time of the year . . .
Uhm. No.
I am STILL sick as shit. EIGHT days of hacking. I've penned a very original song about my plight. Let me clear my throat and I shall sing it for you.
er uhm
er uhm
Er HUM.
Nevermind.
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me a sore and scratchy throat.
On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me fever, aches and chill and a sore and scratchy throat.
On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me a barking cough, fever, aches and chills and a sore and scratchy throat.
On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me many gelatinous globs of mucus, a barking cough, fever, aches and chills and a sore and scratchy throat.
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me SINUS CONGESTION!
Many gelatinous globs of mucus, a barking cough, fever, aches and chills and a sore and scratchy throat.
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me a red and runny nose, SINUS CONGESTION! Many gelatinous globs of mucus, a barking cough, fever aches and chills and a sore and scratchy throat.
On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me shortness of breath, a red and runny nose, SINUS CONGESTION! Many gelatinous globs of mucus, a barking cough, fever,aches and chills and a sore and scratchy throat.
On the eight day of Christmas my true love gave to me 2 swollen watery eyes, shortness of breath, a read and runny nose, SINUS CONGESTION! Many gelatinous globs of mucus, a barking cough, fever, aches and chills and a sore and scratchy throat.
Fucking true love.
We're done.
I'm willing myself well. I am tired of coughing, sick of the foul taste of mucus and most of all I miss running. I've been patient. FOUR. That's right FOUR straight days of no running, biking, swimming, yoga, weights, walking. Nothing. Nada. The only time my heart rate has gone up is from my marathon coughing fits. This is ridiculous.
I'm done with this cold. I need my fucking endorphins.Understandably, I just can't possibly be expected to be nice, bright or merry. Unfortunately, I really need to be all of those things and full of good will since I am in the kids classrooms this week teaching an art lesson, attending class parties and working the reindeer centers (don't ask). So cold be damned, cough may kill me but I am running today.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
On having no Gojo and being all squirelly . . .
Shrug.
Like shit. It happens.
And, I guess this is how it happens:
I had an awesome workout on Monday.
So fabulous and fun I would call it a playout, not a workout at all: 5 mile run, 36 mile bike (at the Greenway, with my ipod-- 126 minutes of music joy. I am totally living in the past of it--it was that delicious), and then 20 minutes upper body weights, and a 1 mile swim. So yeah, about as much time as my 24 miler took me last Thursday.
I think maybe I kicked it a little too hard.
But hey, I was having fun.
And really, if I think about it, I've had some spectacular workouts lately: 24 mile run 6 days ago, double 5k's (and weights) 5 days ago, a bike/run brick 4 days ago, 8 miles 3 days ago. . .
And so, I suppose, I really shouldn't be surprised that when I went out for my planned 16 miler today I had no mojo to get my gojo go go a going. I ran a total of 3 miles and said; screw it. Okay, really, to quote my buddy Stephan,I said "Fuck this." (You need to know my nose was all crinkled up when I said it because that is how he does it.)
At the time I thought I might rally and make it to the gym for a speed workout and a swim but no, instead I am enjoying, very much, some Dogfish Head Indian Brown Ale and Harpoon Oktoberfest. I heart beer. No beer diet for this chica.
Shrug.
So what if the beer it isn't stoking my gojo but just maybe it is my mojo, er uhm , if you know what I am saying. Wink wink, nudge nudge.
I don't know what is up with me. There is no physical reason I couldn't/didn't suck it up and do my run. I have no sore muscles and I have run much further when I have been sadder/sorer/tireder/stressed etc. There is, of course, the fact that I had no Espresso Love Gu's to which absolutely I am addicted to. But that is silly. Right? I use to run 16 miles with just water so that's no excuse.
And, admittedly I am a bit bothered by the recent attacks on female joggers. Very close to home. But seriously, I run 20+ mile runs so I am bound to be close to some of these attacks even if they don't happen right next door. So not much of an excuse either.
So maybe my mojo is off because we are so poor and everyone but the IRS knows it. Please rain, please rain, please rain. And yes, it is more than the just the drought that is making it impossible to be in the landscaping business. But I am use to things sucking, so. . .
Really, there is no excuse.
I just bailed. Plain and simple. I am totally unapologetic about it.
Oh, and, by the way, tomorrow I am going to work with Ryan.
You read that right: Moi. Work. Ryan.
That's right. My princess ass will be out pulling the deadheads and planting the pansies and getting myself elbow deep and personal with roly-polys and worms.
But hopefully the beer and hard labor will get me outta my funk and on the straight for my last 20 miler (this Friday) before I embark on the dreaded taper.
Oh, and I am having a garage sale again this weekend too. So please, wish me unburdening of my junk and money in my pockets.
Hope everyone had a better run/bike/swim than I did today.
PS: Sorry Lala for all the unlady-like cussing.
Like shit. It happens.
And, I guess this is how it happens:
I had an awesome workout on Monday.
So fabulous and fun I would call it a playout, not a workout at all: 5 mile run, 36 mile bike (at the Greenway, with my ipod-- 126 minutes of music joy. I am totally living in the past of it--it was that delicious), and then 20 minutes upper body weights, and a 1 mile swim. So yeah, about as much time as my 24 miler took me last Thursday.
I think maybe I kicked it a little too hard.
But hey, I was having fun.
And really, if I think about it, I've had some spectacular workouts lately: 24 mile run 6 days ago, double 5k's (and weights) 5 days ago, a bike/run brick 4 days ago, 8 miles 3 days ago. . .
And so, I suppose, I really shouldn't be surprised that when I went out for my planned 16 miler today I had no mojo to get my gojo go go a going. I ran a total of 3 miles and said; screw it. Okay, really, to quote my buddy Stephan,I said "Fuck this." (You need to know my nose was all crinkled up when I said it because that is how he does it.)
At the time I thought I might rally and make it to the gym for a speed workout and a swim but no, instead I am enjoying, very much, some Dogfish Head Indian Brown Ale and Harpoon Oktoberfest. I heart beer. No beer diet for this chica.
Shrug.
So what if the beer it isn't stoking my gojo but just maybe it is my mojo, er uhm , if you know what I am saying. Wink wink, nudge nudge.
I don't know what is up with me. There is no physical reason I couldn't/didn't suck it up and do my run. I have no sore muscles and I have run much further when I have been sadder/sorer/tireder/stressed etc. There is, of course, the fact that I had no Espresso Love Gu's to which absolutely I am addicted to. But that is silly. Right? I use to run 16 miles with just water so that's no excuse.
And, admittedly I am a bit bothered by the recent attacks on female joggers. Very close to home. But seriously, I run 20+ mile runs so I am bound to be close to some of these attacks even if they don't happen right next door. So not much of an excuse either.
So maybe my mojo is off because we are so poor and everyone but the IRS knows it. Please rain, please rain, please rain. And yes, it is more than the just the drought that is making it impossible to be in the landscaping business. But I am use to things sucking, so. . .
Really, there is no excuse.
I just bailed. Plain and simple. I am totally unapologetic about it.
Oh, and, by the way, tomorrow I am going to work with Ryan.
You read that right: Moi. Work. Ryan.
That's right. My princess ass will be out pulling the deadheads and planting the pansies and getting myself elbow deep and personal with roly-polys and worms.
But hopefully the beer and hard labor will get me outta my funk and on the straight for my last 20 miler (this Friday) before I embark on the dreaded taper.
Oh, and I am having a garage sale again this weekend too. So please, wish me unburdening of my junk and money in my pockets.
Hope everyone had a better run/bike/swim than I did today.
PS: Sorry Lala for all the unlady-like cussing.
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