It’s not Sweat, It’s My Body Weeping March 31, 2007

The half-marathon is 2 weeks from tomorrow, and today’s long run was 12 of the 13.1 miles.

This was me at the end of mile 12:

And this is me in the cold water bath after I hobbled home:

Note: I’m the one lying down.

As all you steady readers of my purple prose know, my knee has been an issue for quite a few weeks now. I’ve been muddling through with a variety of braces, ice packs and profanity.

On the last few runs, I’ve been doing a snazzy little run-walk combo that’s been getting me through and was actually pretty rad last week. I was (somewhat) faster, felt better afterward (relatively speaking), and only contemplated killing myself about three times.

This week, that plan worked for about 8-9 miles. But from then on? Not so much.

It was a ridiculously painful and tiring, and incredibly frustrating way to spend an hour or two. I landed about 40 minutes later than planned….I’m thoroughly at the back of the pack when we do these things, but this time even 90-year-olds with walkers were whizzing past, giving me the finger.

I seriously considered jacking some of the people on bikes, just so I could get back more quickly. And when I’d finally get frustrated enough with the walking to try running again, I’d go for about a minute before my leg threatened to dislodge itself from my body.

Which, at mile 11 or so, I was seriously contemplating. Nothin like a little Saturday afternoon amputation!

What’s extra super sad about it is that not once, but TWICE did I have to stop and wait for a train during that last bit of the route. The first one was kind of annoying but secretly welcome, but the second one was sweet relief (for the first five minutes. for the next 10, it was also pretty annoying because it was SO close to the end).

You’d think, after a nice little break, I’d be all ready to go and plenty rested.

But you’d be wrong.

I was just beaten down and even later than I already would have been. Although I suppose, now that I think about it, that means all the lateness wasn’t totally my own Elephant Man-like gait.

On the up side, showing some “No Man Left Behind” chops that’d make the military proud, Coach Joe ran/walked/checked his watch with me for quite a bit of that last murderous haul. Sure, it might have just been his way of making sure I didn’t hail a cab or get hit by a bus and sue TNT for letting me enroll in this voluntary program, but even so it was excellent support and made it far less sucky than it would otherwise have been.

One of the things we talked about (well, he talked; I wheezed) was that this crap is contagious. (Maybe just for obsessive, addictive personalities, but hey don’t knock it til you’ve tried it.)

Despite the crippling knee pain, the horrors of the cold bath, and the torture of shin splints, I’m already thinking about what I’m going to run next. And even worse, I’m actually seriously entertaining doing a sprint duathlon this summer (5k run, 12k bike, 5k run).

Even as I sit here looking at those words I just typed, I’m baffled.

Apparently, the April 15 half-marathon is actually just the start of the story.

Sore Muscle Maintenance March 25, 2007

The only thing that kept me moving after yesterday’s long run was, in fact, Newton’s law. I was able to stretch, walk it out, and check out some of the sites in the park that we started and finished at.

But by the time I drove the 20 minutes home, I was barely able to pry myself out of the car and haul myself up the stairs to the apartment.

I decided it was time to try the thing I’d read about and had recommended–the cold bath.

I knew it would be cold. I knew it would be painful. But I was led to believe that immersing myself in cold water as soon as possible after a long run would help soothe inflammation and inspire my muscles to heal themselves more quickly. Given that I could barely take off my shoes without assistance, I thought it might be a good plan.

Little did I know what I was in for.

Holy CRAP did that suck!

After the initial immersion and uncontrollable shrieking on my part, my heart started beating again and I was able to stay in for about 10 minutes. It then took about an hour and a half to get my body temperature back up into the high nineties.

But…although I’m sore today, I’m able to walk. So I guess there might be something to it.

Note: I did not take the top photo, nor is it of my feet. Nick at marathon blog has a much cleaner tub and cuter feet than I do. I also had nothing to do with the second image. It’s from Scream Magazine, a kind of scary Greek goth music site. Being as I don’t read Greek and their English section is incomprehensible, I don’t know if I’ve just linked to some crazy devil-worship site or not.

Crippling Pain = Better Time! March 25, 2007

Yesterday’s long group run was in scenic Lake Oswego, Oregon. Though I’ve lived in this state for about 5 years now, and in the Portland area for about 3.5, I’ve only been to Lake Oswego once or twice. Not only have my work and other travels kept me out of the southwest suburbs, but I’m also pretty sure that my income bracket and personal/political inclinations trigger a forcefield that causes all of the shops to close when I come within 10 feet, and all of the street signs to transpose their letters and misdirect me. Not only have I infrequently been to Lake O, but I’ve gotten miserably lost every single time.

I got lost enough this time to be about a half hour late for the run’s start…which not only meant that I got to experience the joy of getting lost while driving, but I also got to get lost on foot. I can’t begin to describe my joy at this double whammy. Luckily, I think I only went about half a mile out of my way before I figured it out (On foot. In the car, it was a good five miles.).

All of this made for a pretty testy Temple for the first couple of hours. I was way less than thrilled to be going on this run. My knee was killing me all week so I didn’t run at all, and I wasn’t looking forward to feeling crippling pain for the duration of the run. It was raining and just cool enough to need long sleeves but just warm enough to turn the fancy long-sleeved tech-gear shirt I was wearing into a portable sauna. And I really hate getting lost and being late. I was sorely tempted to turn around and go home since I was so late, but I figured it’d piss me off even more to have to go all the way back home in order to go deal with my meat market gym’s treadmills on a Sunday. It’s probably for the best that I didn’t interact with the group much at all yesterday, as I’m sure I’d have been an ass if I did.

So the run was supposed to be 10 miles. But the directions sheet I picked up at the start said it was 11 miles. If there was any explanation of this difference, I of course missed it. I haven’t gone on MapQuest yet to track it and find out, but it didn’t feel like 11 miles. Actually, it didn’t even feel like 10. My time was right for about 10, but it really didn’t feel like it. I only considered killing myself about three times–and it’s usually more than that, even on the 7- and 8- mile routes.

My knee was terrible the entire time–so I ended up walking all the hills, and on the rest of it I alternated 2 minutes of walking with 3 minutes of running. That’s the longest interval I could run before my knee threatened to forcibly dislodge itself from my leg.

So it was a long morning, and I didn’t really get over my pissiness until after the first aid station–which felt like a hundred miles in. But after that, I chilled out and got comfortable, accepted my gimpiness, and it seemed like it was over really soon. I tried to keep my walking pace as fast as reasonable, and I actually finished at about the same time I estimated I would have if I’d been capable of running the whole thing. I think the walk breaks actually sped up my running bits.

So, although I am going to be walking like a geriatric for the next few days, It all turned out for the best. If it was 11 miles, I freaking ruled. And if it was only 10, given that expected to be crawling back after three miles, I’m still pretty amazed. This might actually be doable.

Reverse Voyeurism March 23, 2007

It’s really funny sometimes to look and see what keyword searches people have used to find your website.

For the most part, mine has been linked by people looking for “knee pain” or “half marathon.” If these people are remotely interested in the actual sport of running, they are probably sorely disappointed. My brain begins to ice over at the very mention of things like “splits” and “pace” and “for the first five miles…”–let alone if I try to write about them.

But I got a new one yesterday:

“Fat Cannibal OR Cannibal”

On one of my posts a ways back I mused about how I’d taste (A fine marbling of muscle–I’d be so delicious), so I guess I’m now hooked into the cannibal scene. Probably even more so once I post this entry, since it’ll quintuple my references to “cannibal.”

BUT–what really intrigues me is “fat cannibal.” What is going through your mind when you sit down at the computer and say to your pals, “hey wait–let me just google this”?

Are you trying to identify the guys who jumped you last night?

Are you looking into a new weight-loss fad? (It burns extra calories not just because of what you eat, but because you have to catch ‘em, too.)

Are you testing the theory that, if they call it “long pig,” they might also call it “wide pig”?

Note: For kicks, I just went and googled “fat cannibal,” and it turns out a)I’m not the first entry and b)it’s a freaky little webzine. Huh. If you learn something every day, it’s a shame I just wasted my chance.

9 Miles. No Shit! March 17, 2007

This is a before and after picture of my legs with regard to today’s 9-mile run.

[Disclaimer: elephantiasis is a very serious and unfortunate condition. I don't mean to make light of the situations of those suffering from it. I just mean to make light of the fact that my legs are freakin HUGE right now.]

Ibuprofen, you and I are going to get prett-y cozy today.

Crappity Crap Crap March 16, 2007

My knee is bugging the crap out of me and I’m quite pissy about it.

It was hurting a couple of days ago so I held off on the short run on Wednesday…instead, I gave it an extra day and tried to do it yesterday morning before work. There’s a track near where I live, so I headed over there for a boring but easy place to kill a half-hour run.

Fifteen minutes in, the knee was killing me. No variations on the knee brace rig helped to soothe the pain. I pushed through it for about a minute, and then gave up, crapped out, and limped home in defeat.

Today, I only had computer and phone call work to do for work, so I was able to do it from my couch. I’ve been icing the knee on and off, getting up and moving around, and generally trying to make it better before tomorrow’s long run.

I’m pretty sure things are better today–I think the high-heeled shoes I wear to work to help me feel like a grown-up might have been part of the problem. I didn’t wear them yesterday, or for today’s couch surfing adventure, and it looks like things are getting better.

But I’m still grumpy.

Typically, when grumpy, I either force myself to go out and exercise or, failing that, pick a fight with a loved one. But the damn knee hurts, and since I’m well aware that I’d be picking a fight just to pick a fight, well that just makes me feel guilty.

Which makes me grumpy.

And the vicious circle goes around.

Maybe there’s some emergency chocolate around here somewhere….

Rabbit at Rest? March 12, 2007

I’ve been wracking my brain for a good 8 Mile/Eminem joke, but I have yet to come up with one. The closest I’ve come involved John Updike, and I’m pretty
sure the Rabbit connection is a little oblique, even for me.

This week’s 8 mile run covered about 4 miles in scenic, trendy NW Portland and the Pearl district, and then about 4 going up to Forest Park and coming back down. The NW/ Pearl part was nice–there are lots of windows and shops and things and people to look at as you toddle past them.

The only problem with that is the relative frequency of opportunity to catch a glimpse of yourself reflected in the store windows. If you, like me, are more likely to envision yourself in a MADTV parody of a fitness class than in an actual fitness class, this is not necessarily a welcome sight. As I passed a row of dress shops, hair salons, and $6 coffee joints, I made the mistake of catching my own eye in the reflection.

Holy crap! Those people who were moving out of the way as I barreled through? I realized they weren’t kindly letting me pass–they thought I was on the way to the hospital and didn’t want to slow me down mid-heart attack.

Ah well. After that, we headed uphill to the park. “Uphill” is really too kind. When I think “uphill,” I think UP a hill, and then DOWN a hill on the other side. What we did was climb one of the Cascades. I’m pretty sure they were handing out picks and crampons at the aid station halfway up.

Ok, perhaps I exaggerate. But when you’re coming off of seeing your own reflection and confusing it for being chased by Roseanne Barr circa She-Devil, I think you can be forgiven a little bit of overstatement.

And it was on this “hill” of a mile up and a mile back at a 56% grade that I learned my lesson of the day: when you’ve got a bum knee, downhill sucks WAY harder than uphill.

As with most lessons, this is not one that I enjoyed learning. So far, training for a half-marathon has not yet afforded me the kind of lessons I’d prefer to learn– lessons along the lines of, “eating ice cream after 8pm is actually one of the most effective ways to lose weight.”

Alas.

Turns out, after pounding on my knee for a good 5 miles or so, then hauling up a hill for a mile, trundling down a steep hill can actually set off involuntary spasms of pain and cursing.

However, I’m sticking with the whole icing-as-much-as-possible thing, and it seems to be working out. It was still sore into Sunday, but was pretty ok by this morning. Which was fabulous, because that meant I could go to the gym this afternoon and torture myself with speedwork.

It’s a glamorous life, really. I know you’re jealous.

8…Miles…. March 10, 2007

Eight miles this morning…finished it….but…can’t…move…[Thud.]

Back in the Game March 6, 2007

At long last, the knee is on the mend.

I backed off the heating pads and stepped up the icing to help bring down the swelling. I still didn’t do any of my speedwork or tempo work last week, making two weeks in a row of being completely lame.

However I did experiment with my knee straps to try to find a contortion that would keep my kneecap in line without pressing it into the joint. Being that the knee area is little more than a kneecap and a joint, this was easier said than done.

Runner’s knee, I learned from the interwebs, is basically your leg doing one thing and your knee doing something else altogether. Say the leg bones have chosen a nice, calm waltz–your kneecap has chosen the cha-cha, and is a dancer of remarkable determination.

I’ve found that the knee braces that cover the whole knee are little more than a pain factory. By pushing everything in, they make the kneecap do its little cha-cha right up against the waltzing femur and tibia–making everyone uncomfortable, and guaranteeing that someone is going to get stepped on.

The challenge, then, was how to divide the rec center that is my left leg into compartments so that everyone can play nice together.

I ended up taking one knee strap and cinching it on my lower thigh, just above my knee. Then I took another, slightly more pliable one, and anchored that sucker just below the knee. Then I walked around a bit and adjusted the tension until everything felt supported and I was reasonably sure that things were loose enough to allow blood to circulate.

The knee has its own little rumpus room to do whatever the hell it wanted, and my upper and lower legs had a little privacy to take things at their own pace.

I didn’t see this in a book or online–I basically just tried to use the tools I had to make the ouch go away. I’m sure that sometime when I’m doing this in public, some old pro will walk up to me and let me know that what I’m doing there is how their best friend Paul used to strap his leg…you know, until it cut off all of his circulation, caused a clot which traveled to his heart, and made him collapse in the middle of a half-marathon. His life could have been spared, but he was in the middle of the race and was trampled before the paramedics could get to him.

Luckily for me, I’ll be at the very back of the pack–so at least I won’t get trampled.

So anyway–Saturday was another long run. I’d just discovered my leg bracing technique, and was still a little concerned that if I went out with the group I’d find myself stranded at mile 3, unable to run or walk, begging my teammates to drag my limp near-corpse back to the starting point. Given that I don’t know these folks that well, I decided maybe that wasn’t the best way for me to rejoin the team.

So I went to the gym to do my miles on a treadmill–at least with the emergency stop button, I’d only have to worry about dragging my ass back to the locker room if something went horribly awry.

To my amazement (and the likely amazement of those around me, who must have thought I had a portable iron lung stowed under my shirt, for all the wheezing I was doing), I did all 7 miles. There was a lot of walking, plenty of gasping for air, and more than a few curses–mostly aimed at myself for being the genius who came up with this idea. 

But I did it. And not only that, I was able to walk afterward.

I went home, iced the hell out of my knee, and massaged my poor little calf muscles, who I have been neglecting for the last two weeks but made themselves very apparent during the run.

It hurt, but not as bad as the week before…I could walk without limping, as long as I concentrated on walking correctly and keeping the knee in line. Sunday, it was feeling even better–and yesterday, I did my speedwork for the first time in two weeks.

I’m freakin elated. It still hurts a bit, and I need to be more careful than I used to be about how I’m walking,  sitting whatever….but I’m back in the game, baby! The weather’s been absolutely incredible here the last couple of days…it’s supposed to start raining tomorrow, but I’m hoping it holds off long enough for me to get my short run in outside.

Death by Pilates March 1, 2007

I finally caved on the knee thing and emailed Coach Joe about it. It was still hurting a bit this week and the people at Walgreens were getting testy about seeing me twice a day for pain killers and medicated rubs. (And creme eggs. They have orange-creme this year! Rock!)

According to Joe, I should be ok. Especially if I lay off the creme eggs. Apparently this happens to a lot of new runners and there’s absolutely nothing special about me so how ’bout I suck it up and grow a pair?

Ok he doesn’t really talk (or type) like that. But to me, that’s what a coach sounds like. I’m not positive, but my initial impression of Coach Joe is that “grow a pair” isn’t a phrase he’d use in any context. Let alone to a whiny fat chick who thinks it’s funny to call men “Julie” and women “Mario.”

He did say I should back off of some of the heat and stick with cold and ibuprofen. Apparently heat, while good for circulation, also adds to inflammation.

This running medicine voodoo is getting a little hard to follow. We had a hydration clinic the other day where we were told not to take ibuprofen if we can help it because it taxes our kidneys. But then Coach Joe (who was there. I know because he glared at me when I almost knocked Mr. Speaker Doctor’s laptop onto a hardwood floor [1.) Almost! I saved it! and 2.) has no one besides me ever learned to tape down a cord? jeez!]) refers me to an article that recommends ibuprofen for swelling. Mr. Speaker Doctor also said we shouldn’t eat a bunch of carbs the night before a race because they’re hard to digest and might make us kind of ooky on race day. And what is TNT doing the night before the race? Hosting a big pasta party for us. I think someone needs to vett their speakers a little more closely.

I’m so confused.

But for shits and giggles this week I’m laying off the heat and just doing the cold. And I’m still staying away from the mid-week running in anticipation of the Saturday long run. I’m in far better shape, knee-wise, than I was last week.

In the meantime, so as not to become a huge(r) blob of depression and non-running anxiety, I’ve been doing Pilates via an audiobook I downloaded. It’s low-impact, it’s kind of tough, and it requires no fancy tools.

It does, however, require a healthy dose of not looking down at my stomach. I’m pretty strong and relatively flexible, so most of the Pilates stuff is excellent. I can do it, I can feel a sense of accomplishment, and I can get a nice little workout. What I can’t do is ignore my stomach, floating and jiggling there for 45 minutes as I go through the motions. But I’ve gotten pretty good at sucking it up and sucking it in, until this morning.

Today I learned that there’s this one obnoxious move that requires that you lie on your back and toss your legs up over your head so your feet are parallel to the floor and your toes are pointing at the wall behind you. You hang there for a sec, and then slowly ease down…..you do this repeatedly. I’m pretty sure the official number of repetitions is “until you’re about to puke.”

I had to adjust my form after the first one when a fat roll tried to suffocate me.

I’d gotten the stomach under control when I was right side up. I’d forgotten that gravity keeps right on going even if you’re upside down.

I’ve got it down now, but it was startling when everything went dark, I couldn’t breathe, and I realized I was going to die at the mercy of my own stomach. The perky voice on the audio book chirped, “This is a more advanced move, and some of you may want to modify it according to your needs.”

Ya think, Princess? Thanks for dropping that in AFTER we’d already started the exercise.