Baby Got Track

It was a beautiful, sunny evening. Warm, at 68 degrees. As much as I love the temps, it's been a challenge to run (and dress for running) amidst this spring's fluctuating weather tantrums. Saturday morning it was 65*. Sunday morning, 45*. Today the high was 75*… This coming Sunday,  the highest temperature is slated to be 49*. Make up your mind, Mother Nature, and quit being so dang moody! “That's a woman for you”, says the husband with a maddening grin. “Never knows what she wants.”

At least dressing for my 6x800 track workout was easy. Shorts and tank. I was already sweating profusely during the warmup mile. I told myself to suck it up. The sooner I get acclimated, the easier summer temperatures will be. It was already 6:45pm and would get cooler as I progressed. There was a 15 mph wind going on. Normally I'd view wind as a negative, but tonight it provided welcome cooling relief- for half of every lap, at least.

I've missed you, old buddy!

After racing on Saturday, running 7 miles on Sunday and  8.5 miles yesterday (Tuesday), I was prepared to have my legs feel a bit fatigued for the workout.  But heading into the first interval, I felt good. Really good. I clicked in at 3:21, right where I wanted to be for sub-3:25.

The next one, 3:20. And the next. I allowed myself a couple of minutes rest and a water break between the 2 sets of 3. Then I began again. More of the same splits.

My track intervals are run somewhat by feel because I can never tell exactly what the pace is. Garmin irregularities at a track means the actual pace will be 15-20 seconds slower that my watch is showing. Though by the end of the intervals I had learned that to stay in the low 3:20 range, I had to be under 6:20 pace on the watch.

Gah. #5… this is getting painful.

And then I had 6 intervals under my belt. They were still coming in at the same paces. I was tiring, but not too winded after the recoveries. It was cooling down, too.  So I told myself one more, for good measure.

After that, well, it would just be weird to stop at an odd number and an awkward mileage total. So off I went for the 8th and final interval. It hurt, but I guess the last one is supposed to hurt.

That cool-down mile felt even more sweet and rewarding than usual.

Aaaaaand, the data: 8 miles total. 8x800 at 6:40-6:45 pace (Garmin weirdness, as mentioned: 3:21 av. does not translate to 6:13-6:20 pace).

Consistency, yay! Including my heart rate, which means I was pacing with equal effort across the board. I can't wait to see what I can do with a true Yasso 800 (x 10!) workout a few months from now, knee deep in marathon training.

I walked away from the workout exhausted, satisfied, happy. It's good to be back on track.

Life Happens. And I Love It.

I have not done well at keeping up here.

Life happens.

Kids (and all their stuff ranging from art projects to dentist appointments to field trips) running, crosstraining workouts, Mike's schedule, social stuff with friends, church activities, being involved in the city's cycling organization. M will be beginning soccer next month(and later, cross-country!) and J. will be in gymnastics all summer. Once school's out, both will resume their summer swimming lessons at the Y. 

There will be beach trips and fishing and camping and kids' races and church summer camp and "college for kids" courses put on by nearby PennState Behrend.

Oh, and I'm running 30 miles a week, and I begin training for a marathon soon. That's the part where I get to burn out the stress and anxiety and planning of all the above.

 I have more going on now than I ever had. Sometimes it's just right. Sometimes it's a little much. I'm happy, though. Happy in a kind of serene way.

Even though being a stay-at-home mom has its boring, not-fun times, and having a husband who works many and irregular hours (out of town this week for work) can be difficult, I know it's a phase that is soon ending. So I'm just trying to enjoy the parts about it that are pleasant… like wearing pjs until 10:00am.

Even though being a parent never gets easier, my kids are becoming more self-sufficient. They're learning and growing into fascinating little people.

Even though I'm not exactly (yet) where I want to be with running, and worry about getting injured again, I'm feeling strong. I'm progressing rapidly and am better attuned to my body than I have ever been.

Maybe I've just learned to feel peace in my current state, even it's not at the pinnacle of what and where I want to be?

Maybe I look at a running friend with life-altering cancer diagnosis, a mom who fostered a newborn baby for 3 months and soon will be handing her back to her birth mom, and an old acquaintance losing a spouse to a heart attack, and I think: that could be me. 

Maybe I'm even finding ways to create pleasure out of the non-perfection...

Like just the kiddos and me going out for dinner. On a Tuesday evening, because lots of places have kids-eat-free then.

Like going to the library and picking up some books for these long evenings without my husband.

Like planning to run a 5k, knowing that it won't be a PR but just being thrilled to race again.

Like a slow, lazy morning of making granola and sipping coffee as cool spring rain patters on the windowpanes.

Like letting the littles take turns sleeping with me instead of tossing and turning in an empty bed (I hate my bed without Mike in it).

Or maybe it's that what we think of as non-perfection and life being stressful and messy is actually, the best in life that others long for and don't get. The widow who would give everything for a busy husband if it meant he were alive... the grieving foster mom who just volunteered a piece of her heart that she'll never get back... the runner who would trade for an MRI image of a stress fracture instead of the test result she got.

Tomorrow evening my husband returns to me and our kids. We're healthy, we're together, we're fine. In that alone, my cup is full and running over. No matter how messy or mundane life can become. 

I get to (mostly) relax Friday and Saturday and not have to worry about fitting in a long run. My upcoming 5k is Saturday night. I feel ready, despite not having raced in 5 months.The speed workouts have been on point. No PR, though, so soon after injury. I just want to race strongly for a benchmark as I launch my racing season.

The weather for the weekend is shaping up beautifully, with race night looking to be calm, clear, and in the low 50s. Mike and the kids are coming along to spectate. We'll grab some food, coffee and hot chocolate somewhere afterward. Sunday will be more R & R, and maybe a long bike ride. A few of our recent weekends have been crazy and full, so this is a welcome respite.

Lately I'm finding much contentment and pleasure in small, mostly insignificant things...

The way the newly blooming crocuses peep out of the soil. Fresh cut vegetables creating a stir-fry rainbow in my cast iron skillet. My children's laughter. The smell of laundry soap. Cookies, cooling on the kitchen table. A song in Sunday morning church that moves me to tears. A hot bath and a glass of wine. My husband's fingers running through my hair as I doze off with my head in his lap while we're watching an Indians game on TV. Sharing a piece of chocolate with my daughter. Opening the blinds and reveling in the morning sunshine. 

Life is happening and I am loving it.

Of Barriers and Bannister

Numbers can seem arbitrary on the surface, when you look at them without seeing the meaning and emotion wrapped up in them.

It sometimes amazes me that a 3:00:01 marathon does not produce the same response and emotion that 2:59:59 does. IT'S JUST TWO SECONDS! Yet, to any marathoner seeking to break 3:00- or 4:00, or 5:00- a world of difference lies in those 2 seconds. But only if they break the desired barrier... interestingly, we do not view 2:59:57 as having much, if any, more significance than 2:59:59. 

The running world stopped in its tracks and paid awed oblation when the 4:00 mile barrier was broken. Athletes had been pursuing it for awhile. They came really close, but it never mattered. Until it did. You can be sure that if a runner ever becomes fast enough to break 2:00 in a marathon (we're just under 3 minutes shy, which is still an awful lot), it will be highly significant. As elite runners creep closer to that mark, we'll all be holding our breaths again. No one will be satisfied with a 2:00:01. Sure, it might snag a few headlines, but what is that when 2 seconds less will immortalize you?

I'm guessing it's the same for ultra-runners. Who runs a 99 mile ultra? A 49k? They are 100 milers, 50 milers, 50ks (until you get into shorter races; I've seen lots of odd variations of miles and ks- but even those distances usually have a specific commemorative meaning). The course distance itself might give or take a little, but you likely wouldn't sign up for and run a designated 95k or 99 mile race (is there such a thing?) if running a 100k or 100 miler is a long-awaited goal of yours. You want the magic number. And a marathon is not a marathon without the .2. 

Deny it or own it- numbers matter. Barriers matter. Seconds matter. They mattered to Roger Bannister and they matter to us.

On a smaller scale, what's the difference between 29 and 30 mile week? A 199 mile month or a 200 mile month? In the grand scheme of running and training, nothing. One mile won't make a block of running time any more or less significant. Yet, when I hit 30 miles this week- and yes, I ran an extra mile to make it so- it felt like I had hit a certain post-injury milestone. I'm sure I couldn't run a race distance any farther or faster tomorrow because of that one mile, but in my head, 30 miles is the baseline of what it means for me to be in decent 5k to half-marathon shape. And you know, 90% of this running stuff is in your head.

I did stop short of making my 98 miles for March extend to 100 even. A mile may not make a difference, but 2 miles on top of that is a short run in itself and one I'd have had to squeeze into a rest day. Sometimes there's a fine line between hitting milestones and breaking the camel's back, and I chose to draw my line there. Next month will be close to 120, then upward from there toward the 200 or so I'll want in August and September. Not that I'm looking to hit any nice, round numbers...

But 30 miles! It has a nice ring that 24, 26, and 29 didn't. Or maybe it's just because every single run happened perfectly and felt good and well, those weeks don't come around too often.

Mon: Rest day. Did a 40 minute easy spin on the bike trainer.

Tues. morning: 3x1 mile repeats on the treadmill, for 7 miles total. 7:08, 7:05, 7:00. Finished feeling strong. Hit the rowing machine for 15 minutes.

Wed. morning: 1 hour, 20 minutes of weights, 25 minutes on the arc. In the evening, a gorgeous 18 mile bike ride in the sunshine. I heard spring peepers. It was awesome.

Thurs. evening: Finally, nice weather that coincided with my speedwork day! I skipped the gym in the morning, happy to forgo the treadmill. That evening after my husband came home from work I went to the community Little League baseball and soccer park where a mostly flat, paved .70 mile circle is perfect for intervals. There was a stiff wind, though, and it picked up speed throughout the workout. Weather Channel said 17 mph when I started and 24 mph when I was finished. But I was so thrilled to be outdoors with the sun on my face that the wind only irritated me a little--okay, maybe a lot- like during the last couple of intervals when I was both running into the wind and on a slight incline. But the 6x ½ mile repeats ended up being consistent and negative-split, at 3:25, 3:22, 3:24, 3:22, 3:22, 3:22. A 3:23 average, at 6:46 pace. 7 miles total.

Fri. morning; 1 hour, 10 minutes of weights, 25 minutes of arc. Boooooring. Rest day from running.

Sat. morning: Long run day! As mentioned in my previous bloop, my body has been catching up to the mileage increases and speed workouts earlier in the week. The resulting fatigue and breakdown has been showing up on the long run. This week I was especially prepared to suffer during my 11 miler since I'd done longer and harder intervals on both my speed days. It was chilly and windy, too. 39* with an 18 mph wind.

The first mile gifted me with a tailwind for 8:03. I took it gladly, but knew I would pay for it. Then I changed directions and was on a gradual uphill for the next 3 miles. Normally, that section is the sloggish part. Hmm. No slog today. So when it leveled out and started back down, I opened up a little. It felt good. I decided to ride it until it no longer felt good. About an hour later, my planned 11 slogfest had turned into a 12 mile smile-fest at a mostly easy effort. 

I had no fatigue or soreness. I commented to my husband that in reading the condition of my legs,  I'd never know I ran longer than I have in nearly 6 months. His candid (as always) reply? “Guess you should have run faster.” Haha. This is the guy who hates long runs because he can't sustain his preferred one speed: all out.

I would have guessed I'd run long, though, without the legs telling me. Chafing... 

Sun. (today) afternoon: I finished off the week with a 4 mile lope around the block. 9 minute flat average, at a 147 bpm relaxed, recovery heart rate. More wind! It was also 30 degrees and snowing, because apparently this area has not gotten the memo that it's April and technically spring. I wore full length tights. And a beanie. And gloves. I was still cold. 30 degrees in April is colder than 30 in February. Tonight, I did a 45 minute spin on the trainer for 40 bike miles total this week.

That's my week. 30 running miles. It's just a number, and to many runners, maybe a meager amount of mileage for one week. But to me personally, it means something: breaking the injury barrier. I'm nearing my old strength, slowly reeling it back in. The easy pace is falling, the speed is rising and the miles are accumulating. I'm staying pain-free and hitting that post-recovery place where my body is accepting, craving and enjoying the runs. I have big hopes for the summer and beyond, in breaking more and bigger barriers… some which have long eluded me.

If you think about it, we rarely “just” run. Even if we have no time goals to shatter or distances to achieve, we're running to conquer some barrier. Maybe we're shedding weight, preventing a heart attack or stroke, or defying age so we can run with our grandkids. Maybe we're on a running streak, or maybe we want to shut out the clamor of the modern world and get close to nature. Maybe we're raising money for cancer research. Maybe we're letting go of a bad memory, releasing a person or circumstance that hurt us, or seeking a salve for grief. Perhaps we're ridding ourselves of a particularly stressful day, or just wanting to feel alive and relaxed instead of stagnant and tense. Whether speed, summit or distance, whether goal or experience, whether on a grand world stage or on our small, personal journeys- barriers matter because they beg to be broken.

                                 

                                P.S. The shoes are growing on me.

Best Version Yet

I've done this coming-back-from-injury thing often enough to have realized a couple of things.

1) The short distance speed comes back quickly.

2) The endurance does not.

I recall being acutely aware of this early last summer, after taking 2-3 months off from running to let an IT band injury (yes, it's a theme with me) heal. I was doing two speed workouts a week and kicking butt at them. Then I'd get to the weekend long run, and my own butt was the one getting the boot.

This time around: same book, different page. Perhaps doing a lot of speedwork is the reason stamina doesn't come back as quickly? It stands to reason, as your body likely can't do both well while still adjusting to mileage increases. But since my short-term goals are the 5k and 15k, and I don't plan to race a half marathon until June, I'm okay with doing the short-interval speedwork well and sort of plodding through the long stuff. 

At least, I thought I was okay with it.

I've been running on the treadmill a lot. Part of that has been because of the ridiculous wind we're having this spring- well, every spring, thanks to lakeside living. If there's anything I hate running in, it's wind. Give me cold, give me rain, give me heat… wind is my enemy! Also, the local community park's paved trail and local tracks are only now starting to open. Though I do long and easy runs outdoors, I've been taking my speedwork to the treadmill.

400s are fun, and good for 5k training. On Tuesday, I did a 7 mile, 10x400m interval workout, with the 400s at the 8.9 treadmill setting (6:44 pace). They felt good. Almost easy. But, they're 400s… and in my opinion, the easiest of speed intervals. It's not that hard to gut out a little more than 90 seconds of hard running if you get to jog for a bit thereafter.

On Thursday (today), I had a 6 miler planned. I'd had a rest day on Wednesday… and by rest day I mean a 60 minute trainer bike ride. With my growing list of cross-training activities, I think I had 2? 3? true rest days in the last month. Anyway, I figured with 48 hours since my last run, I could throw a little tempo into my 6 miles. Yes, it would require endurance that I haven't been honing for months, but 3 miles... how hard could it be?

After a slow warmup mile, I started at 7:53 pace. First half mile felt good.This is easy, yo! I was even entertaining thoughts of a sub-7:30 mile for the third and final mile.

That stamina thing? Yeahhhhh. So about 1200 meters in, this started feeling alarmingly…challenging.  Wait, whaaaaat?  At nearly 8 pace? No. Just… no. But as I headed into the 2nd tempo mile, it felt bad enough that I stayed put at 7:53, knowing I had another 2 full miles to go. Turns out when you have no hope of respite anytime soon, and your body hasn't run very fast for very long in ages, reality bites. I turn to the facts, looking for comfort. I've been injured. I've been away from running for awhile. I can't expect to come back and run tempos like before. But inwardly, I'm wailing, this isn't even close!! Three measly miles, c'mon, I was running sub-7:30 tempos last summer, FOR 8-10 MILES.

I took a quick water fountain break, and coming back to the TM, had a little “now what” moment. Shut down the tempo and call two miles enough, and jog it out with 3 more easy miles to make it 6? It looked tempting.Did my leg hurt? Maybe a niggle there, in the injury spot? I was injured 6 weeks ago, after all…I should probably stop.

Then my pastor walks into the Y and gets on an elliptical. The athletic pastor who knows I'm a runner and regularly inquires about my running, is also a basketball coach, and whose teenage kids are into track and soccer and, well, you get it…. a situation in which you don't want to look like a wuss. I wasn't going to hang there gasping over the treadmill's side rails when someone I knew personally was right there. So I prayed fervently and ramped up the treadmill settings, figuring whatever heavenly aura Pastor G. brought into the room could rest on me and save me from an untimely death.

That 3rd mile felt easier than the first 2, and I ran it in 7:47, praisetheLordgloryhallelujah.

Though it's easy to be bratty and ungrateful about the current state of your running when your wits are addled by exhaustion and and your competitive juices are in overdrive, a couple of cool-down miles at a nice easy pace was enough to get me mentally grounded again. That thing about “competing against the athlete you were yesterday” only works if today's athlete is coming from the same place as yesterday's athlete. When I think of my “yesterday” to beat, I look at last summer... 1:39 half. 45:xx 10k. (in a training run). Training to run a 3:30-3:32 marathon…  Or even the 2013 Peg, when I had 16 PRs in one year, and capped it off with my first marathon in 3:46. But I'm in a different place right now. 2016 Peg. Comeback Peg. I do a disservice to the injured Peg of a more recent "yesterday"- and any injured runner out there- by failing to be grateful for every healthy run. 

Those long sub-7:30 tempos and that half PR last summer only happened after several months of hard training. On the other hand, two months ago, I couldn't run 2 miles without pain. Remember what that felt like? Remember how you pined and ached for a run, and swore you would give anything to run without pain, no matter how slow? You have that now. Enjoy it. You will get back everything you had before, and MORE.

Being an athlete is more than just speed and stamina and being at your best. It's overcoming and staying mentally strong and training smart. It's letting the good things happen and unfold and grow in their own sweet time. It's staying in the moment, however hard it is, and not ruining that moment by yearning ceaselessly for an old version of you.

Embrace the new version of you, and then set your sights on making it the best version yet.

Better than 2013, and better than the short summer of 2015? Yes, and yes. 

I ended the run smiling, with 6 miles done. 3 tempo @ 7:51 average. My legs ached, but tired legs make me happy. I'll end this week with 26 miles, more than I've run since October, 2015. Very soon, I'll do a 4 mile tempo. Faster. Then 5, and 6, and 8. From there… the best version yet.

The Road is Callin'

 I did something today I haven't done in 5 long months:

 Speedwork.

 I remember the first time I did speedwork. I was completely new to running, having only 2 5ks under my belt. I posted a question to my online running-group site about what I should do to get faster. Intervals were suggested. I decided on 4x800. I did them, and it was the hardest I'd breathed and the most I'd suffered since giving birth to my daughter the previous year. I remember that I ran them at a little more than 8:00 pace. It took me another 3 months to actually run a 5k that averaged under 8:00 per mile. And I never ran a 5k that slow since.

My, how times have changed. Secondly, thank God for muscle memory. 

I just came off a 5 month injury, and most of it was spent not running. I ran 5x800 this morning at a 6:58 average pace, with a lot less suffering than those 4 first intervals 3.5 years ago. 

I did not expect to be able to keep up the sub-7:00 pace, but it was comfortable throughout. In fact, I'd only planned on 4 intervals, but after the 4th one, things felt too easy. My rule is: you should end with the sense that you could do one more interval if you had to, but you shouldn't feel like you could keep going indefinitely. In this case, I was too comfy with the 4. So I did 5 repeats. Even then, I felt like I could have done a couple more. But I'm coming off an injury; I have to be careful whether I want to or not. 

It was... oh, God, I can't even tell you how good it was. I felt good. I felt strong. Mentally, physically, everything. For the most part, I dislike the treadmill, but today, it hardly registered. I was in my own world, in a trance. Though I was at the Y during the busiest part of the day, the people around me just sort of floated around in hazy forms. It was just me and the 'open road' and I was flying and all was well. 

In fact, I feel a strength and stability I didn't have BEFORE. That's a weird thing to experience, coming off a long injury. But I think it's the strength training and weight-lifting. I distinctly feel a power coming from my hips and core that is new to me. Even more telling are the places I'm getting sore. Previously, I always had sore calves and quads after a hard speed workout. Now, the primary spots of muscle fatigue are in my butt, adductors, hamstrings, and hips. What I take away here is that the work I'm doing is making a difference, and the muscles that I need to activate for better running economy (hammies, glutes) are firing.  That explains the feeling of power and centered-ness from my core. Strength training, FTW! 

I had no IT band pain during. Nor after. Nor since. I rubbed stuff down with an ice bottle tonight just to be safe, but everything feels fine.

I've been on a euphoric cloud for the rest of the day. And it's another confirmation of what I know to be true deep down, no matter what other sports and activities I put my hand to. Running is for me. Running IS me. Given the heartaches running has caused me, I'm not sure that this knowledge is a good thing. Kind of like realizing you are in love with the bad boy, the player, the heartbreaker... but not being able to help yourself. Running still gives me chills and weak knees. Running makes my heart race. Running is my true love. 

"Don't look back,
A new day is breakin'
Oh, it's been so long since I felt this way.
I don't mind
If I get taken
The road is callin'
Today is the day."

The Best Of Things

What is hope?

What does it look like and how does it feel?

Where do you find hope?

I will tell you, from my little corner of the world. How I am seeing and feeling hope and where I am finding it. How I am defining it in my circumstance.

Hope looks like an early morning setting on the alarm clock to get that run in.

Hope is what you see staring back at you in the mirror at the gym after a bench press, squat, or bicep curl PR, knowing every muscle stronger translates to every mile faster.

Hope looks like new pair of running shoes. 

Hope looks like a confirmation email for a fall marathon registration.

Hope looks like mileage totals on a treadmill matching the exact distances you planned to run, not just the mile- or part of one- you managed before your body shut down.

Hope feels like singing in the shower, post-run, instead of crying.

Hope feels like the first pain-free 6 miler in several months.

Hope feels like descending two flights of stairs, and realizing that not one step was painful.

Hope feels like the sun on your face, while sweat is trickling down your neck and flying off your elbows.

Hope feels like the almost-imperceptible weight of Road ID on your wrist.

Hope is found in crosstraining that complements your running instead of replacing it. 

Hope is found in the reunion of pavement and sole/soul, your breath as it creates clouds in frigid air, the pounding heart and contracting lung, the freedom of solitude.

Hope is found in pain that is fatigue- and only fatigue.

Hope is found in the tedious hours of strength work and physical therapy that become worthwhile when your PT pronounces a tendon healthy.

Hope is found in the delightful, tangible, little reminders of reconciliation to what you love. Logging Garmin data… Freshly laundered tech shirts, hung up to dry… The bowl of fruit, granola, and Greek yogurt that will fuel you next workout... Filling an empty box in your running log spreadsheet with a number... Clicking submit on a race registration... Surveying marathon training plans… Foam rolling… Tearing the corner off a GU or HoneyStinger packet... Hearing the beep of your watch at the end of each mile.

What is hope?

It's what you have left. When you walk through the loss of your strength, allowing pain to strip you of expectations, goals and performances, Hope is the only survivor remaining to greet you on the other side. 

It births a tired and tattered courage to start afresh.  

It sees a mirage of yourself at full strength, and recognizes it as your future and not just your past.

It drops a mustard seed of faith on the long-barren soil of your dreams.

And then Hope prays for rain.

15 Miles. No Pain, All Gain.

    That sickening old cliche. "It's always darkest before the dawn..."

     Maybe sometimes it can ring true?

    Last weekend found running less, in pain, and wondering if the last 5 months of rehab and time off was in vain.

   Whatever that mysterious resurgence was, it must have been a momentary setback. Muscles too fatigued from cross-training? Some inexplicable inflammation increase? Just a cranky last gasp from the injury?

    I came home from the PT in tears and despair. Then I ran a 3 miler, and it was much improved. I ran 4.5 a couple of days later. No pain.

    Today, I ran 7.5 miles. I felt good the entire time. There was no pain, not during nor after. I iced and took ibuprofen to be sure, anyway.

      I could hardly contain my excitement, both during the run (especially once I hit 6 miles) and after. I've been sore- but content and glowing for the rest of the day. This is what a long- well, longish, for now-  run feels like! Oh my God... it's awesome. 

    Maybe it's the Protech IT band strap I'm wearing, cinching it tightly above my knee to keep the IT band from moving forward over the lateral epicondyle? I tried it back when I was freshly injured, and it didn't work... but let's be fair, everything hurt back then. Now it seems to be a game-changer. It's slightly uncomfortable, but far less uncomfortable than pain. Or not running.

     Maybe it's the Hokas? Every time I try to run longer distances in my other trainers, I have more pain. The wide, stable platform and the forward "rocker" design seem to change me gait slightly, just enough to make a difference.

    I still don't care for the shoe. It doesn't feel like my other shoes, not as streamlined, not as smooth. Conspicuous, big, and obnoxious. But if the shoe Makes Running Great Again for me, I can get on the bandwagon. Hoka should have a baseball cap made for that.

    Maybe it's just time. Maybe my body has healed. Maybe that was the last battle before the victory. I hope so. I'm so ready to move beyond this nearly 5 month struggle. Ready to run.

     A 15 mile, pain-free week was never so appreciated.

   

Will It Ever End?

I stare at the ceiling, the same familiar drop ceiling I've seen so many times in this room. My jaw is set in a hard line; I'm biting down on the inside of my lower lip to keep it steady. But no matter how I study the ceiling and steel myself, I can't stop a couple of the tears that trickle down my face.

My PT pats my knee and turns his back for a minute, pretending to busy himself with something else. There is silence. He's stopped asking questions for the moment, because he knows where my mind is and knows I can't talk about it. There's no need. He knows exactly what an endless journey this has been.

I've been coming here for a year and a half. 3 major injuries. No marathons. A sickening amount of money spent.

For what? For nothing?

I don't know.

Why bother?

I guess the therapy helps a little? Maybe I wouldn't be running at all if I wouldn't be getting treatment? But what is “not at all” compared to 60 miles spread out over 2 months, in runs of 3-5 miles. Most of them painful. What's that, in the grand scheme of marathoning?

It's nothing.

The PT starts talking again. We could try this. Or that. Continue with the ART? Definitely do the strengthening? Perhaps it's a stress reaction, taking time to heal. Though it should have healed by now. Let's look at all potential issues here. The hyper-extended knee is a strong possibility. We should move in that direction for strengthening.

But… then what? After all, I strengthened my hips and glutes for 4 months, and it didn't fix it. What if, in another 4 months, nothing changes?

He doesn't know. He can only tell me what he sees.

You know what I see?

I see weeks and weeks of little to no running. I see an entire marathon cycle length of zero progress. I see dreams spiraling down the drain into nothingness again. I see the third consecutive season, scratched. I see people around me racing and running, excited for their success, their Prs, their BQs. I see other runners healing from their injuries and moving on. I see into my heart, and I see pain and devastation and defeat. Over and over and over again. How long will it take, until I am broken completely? How much more until I am forced to concede? How often do I try training for a marathon, before I admit that it isn't in the cards for me?

How do you say good-bye to dreams? How do you live with yourself, always dangling helplessly between the inability to do what you love, and the constant, relentless ache for it? 

How do you cope when it never stops?

I can't speak much, for the rest of the session. There's too much emotion there, bottled up from nearly 20 weeks of waiting, hoping, and despairing. And counting the times before that, nearly 2 years of wasted time. 2 years of hope that never saw the light of day.

Woodenly, I leave the building and walk to my car. My body falls into a numb autopilot of driving- I could drive home in my sleep, I've been here so many times- but my emotions come rushing back in.

I weep my way across the city. Silent. Staring straight ahead. But the tears spill and spill but I'm barely aware of them. Like bleeding when you're in shock. It keeps coming. Like the injuries, like the pain...  Just. Keeps. Coming.

I go to the gym and do the exact same thing that brought me here: run. My knee is taped up in every direction, creating an awkward kind of bandage that I must run through. It's there to force my knee forward slightly. I don't know if it helps. Has anything helped, really?

The injury starts speaking up toward the end of the run. With as much treatment as the PT has done on my today, I'm surprised it's not worse. It's a couple of miles. But, that's not good enough. I want to run without taking ice and ibuprofen, without straps and tape forcing my muscles to do other things. I want to know that I will end the run happy and strong, not sad and in pain. I want to run free and unfettered, in both mind and spirit.

Run free…

I can barely remember what that's like.

And so I go on. They all say it will get better. They all tell me to hang in there, to have faith. To believe. Because it will end, eventually.

Will it?

Quickly...

I skipped last week's update. Not a lot happened.

Except that I ran 6 miles. In February. In 60 degrees. Yeah, that was awesome.

And then got an adductor strain which I thought was an injury (sure felt like one) but ended up just being a twinge. From doing those squats at the gym... :/ Seems when you're returning to running, you're not supposed to destroy your legs on the inbetween-days that are meant to rest your legs... who knew?

So, easy on weights for the bottom half of me, until I have more firmly established a running base.

With the adductor scare out of the way, I feel relieved. But still scared. I am paranoid already, and a reminder of how quickly injuries can pop up and ruin everything did not make an already fearful comeback easier.

The IT band is mostly better, too. Every now and then during a run, it will whisper a little. Like on the last mile of today's 4 miler. But a whisper is better than a roar. I just need to listen carefully and proceed slowly. The proceeding slowly part is not in my nature, but necessity deems it.

Running a little. Biking. Weights. Tomorrow I might swim. A good week in food... a not so good week of sleeping. Insomnia sucks! But overall, good. Always looking to improve. Stronger than yesterday (or yester-month or yester-year) but not as strong as I will be tomorrow.< that, is what I work for.  Every.single.day.

Maybe 7 miles this weekend?

About the Running

The short version: I'm running again.

The long version: I'm running again !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A couple of visits to the PT over the last 3 weeks confirmed that my dedicated hours of strengthening have been effective and my IT band is loose, flexible and healthy. I think I mentioned that last week? Yeah. But that outer knee was still giving me fits on every run throughout the first weeks of January. Thankfully, my PT is one who leaves no stone unturned. We went back to the drawing board and he started all over with evaluating my strength, stability, stance, running form, flexibility. Dr. C. spends 1.5 to 2 hours with me during those evaluations! Turns out I am like, really strong right now. Stronger than I've ever been in glutes, hips and core. My form and stance has improved and my flexibility is great. In short, I should not be having this issue at all!

I should be running better, faster, and healthier than ever, says Dr. C. But, hmmm… I wasn't, now was I?

During a couple of my stance and stability tests, Dr. C. picked up on the fact that I slightly hyper-extend my right knee when I'm in a standing, straight-leg position. It's almost imperceptible, but I could see it when he pointed it out. I then told him that my ITB issues always got way worse after long bouts of standing or having my knee locked, and he was all excited. PTs are weird like that, when they land on What Might Be Causing It. Apparently, in this hyper-extended position, the IT band has a more arduous journey to climb up over the lateral epicondyle. Meaning that when it finally does snap over the bone, it will irritate the bone. Lately, that's been happening; irritation at the lateral epicondyle in the outer knee, but seemingly not stemming from the IT band itself.

Right away, Dr. C. took the strengthening stuff in some new directions, specifically, calf and hamstrings. On top of my current hips, core and TFL regimen. Geez, pretty soon I'll have to be strengthening my butt cheeks in order to run decently. Oh, wait. I'm already doing that. I was really surprised when I saw the one exercise I have to do for a short period a couple of times a week: Jump-rope! Supposedly this is an effective calf and hamstring strengthening exercise. Hey, whatever it takes. I'm also working on hammy specific leg stuff at the gym.

We've been hitting the ART and massage aggressively. Dr. C, knowing I can't afford the full-blown office visit price every week ($55-$75, and my insurance doesn't cover it), tailored a quick, 30 minute ART and massage session that I can drop in and do every week, for $25. For February, at least, and then in March I'll go to bi-weekly if the running keeps on improving.

I also started running in Hokas… now, I know they're not a magic cure, because I first ran in them several weeks ago and my IT band hurt as much as ever afterward. But they do provide cushion and they force you forward a bit more, on your midfoot/forefoot. Which is what I need. The downside is that my PT dislikes maximalist shoes, so I am not telling him about the Hokas. Sometimes a little marching to your own drum doesn't hurt. Though this marching hurts my dignity a little. The Hokas are so weird looking! And though they feel good while running, they feel awful to walk in. I put them on just before getting on the TM, and remove them immediately after the run. I am not walking through my gym in those things. 

So, after nearly a month off from running (or at least nothing over 2-3 miles), I headed to the gym. My leg was taped up in a fashion so as to keep my knee from collapsing back, and Dr. C. instructed me to gear my form toward short strides, knee slightly bent, and running on the forefoot.

I ran 3 miles. It didn't start twinging at 2 miles, like it sometimes does. It didn't even kick in by 2.5 miles, like it always does. I went 3 miles. Then 3.25. Because I was too scared to push farther, I stopped. No pain. Walking around afterward = no pain. Holy moly!

Okay, I know I've run distances of 3, 4, even once a 5 miler, since this whole ITBS debacle. But never completely without pain. Even on the best of days, when I would ice the IT band before running, take ibuprofen before, and do a boatload of stretching, I would always get those tell-tale twinges at about 2.5 miles and thereafter. They would get worse, and I'd usually shut it down by 3-3.5 miles. If I proceeded to 4 miles. I was in bad shape. And afterward… oh my. It would really hurt. Especially going down stairs or on any kind of descent. I was running, but I knew I wasn't better, since I had to baby the injury just to coax a couple of miles out. I knew it was still there.

This time, I didn't ice or take ibuprofen. I didn't feel pain, Not during, not after. Not going upstairs or downstairs…. “Not in a box, not with a fox, not in a house, not with a mou---” oh, right. Back on point.

Maybe it was just a fluke? Yeah, probably. I vacillated between hope and despair… I'd been here so many times only to have my hopes dashed on subsequent, longer runs. Still, I wasn't feeling a thing in that outer knee!

I skipped a day. 48 hours after the first run, I ran 4 miles on the TM. No pain.

Tonight, I ran 3.5 miles. No pain. In fact, I feel incredibly strong. My hips and glutes and all of that central, pivoting stuff feels more stable, more rigid, more.. I don't know... run-happy. The legs, of course, are a little rusty by way of joints and tendons, etc. but that doesn't bother me. Consistent running will take care of that. I just want to stay injury-free! 

I don't know if it's the calf stuff, the change in stride, the shoes or the ART and massage that my PT has been doing 3-4 times a month (I can drop in anytime for a half-hour ART/massage for $25)? Or maybe that epicondyle has just had enough time to heal that my now-flexible, healthy IT band slipping over it isn't a problem? Maybe some kind of core or hip weakness that I had has now corrected with the strength-training? Whatever it is, I take away two things: 1) Keep doing all of the above. 2) Pray that this is finally the end of the road for me.

Thank you, Jesus. And I say that literally, fervently, without a hint of profanity. I am most grateful. May it continue. May this BE THE YEAR.

I Need a Band-Aid.

There are days when the thought of what used to be is just a dull ache. I miss it, but I've adapted. Not because I want to, but because I need to. I have to adapt to survive, to not go crazy, to find a measure of peace and happiness in a life currently without running.

But there are things called triggers… stabbing little reminders that wake you up like cold water thrown in your face. It will be one of the five senses: touch, smell, hearing, sight, taste. The feel of your favorite tech shirt between your fingers. The sharp, clean smell of lake-shore air from your favorite running route. A song on your treadmill speedwork playlist. Driving past a random running stranger; they're wearing Asics, you notice. A sip of Gatorade. Those triggers sweep away weeks and months of dulled memories and forced acceptance. They rip the Band-Aid of resignation off the wound and you start bleeding again.

I was cleaning in that corner… and as I moved the printer back to its position, I brushed back against it. The clanking, clinking sound jarred in my head. 

Trigger.

 That, right there...  The sound I heard every time I hung up a medal. When I stood here in exultation, triumph, exhaustion, and saw the piece of plastic, metal, and fabric fall to its place among the rest. 'Another one… ' I would think with satisfaction. Maybe another PR. Sometimes, another win. Always, another race trained for, completed, conquered.

They are not worth much, those trinkets, at face value. Costing a couple of bucks apiece, maybe? However, their value to me is not in the thing itself, but the memory attached. The place where I was when I first touched it, those heavenly finish lines. What happened in the minutes and hours just before receiving it... the months, even, in the journey to get there. The ways I lost myself and found myself, all in the same span of time. The sweat, the agony, the exhaustion, the emotion, the heartbreak, the ecstasy. It's all there; the medal being the shell, but the memory containing the soul of it.

I reach out, touch them all, lingering. It's been a few months since I even looked at my medals, acknowledged them, because in times like these I avoid the reminders. But that sound! I can't escape it, I can't resist it, and here I am: exposed. Vulnerable. I feel both naked and safe with all my memories, like I'm in the presence of a lover. My heart pounds as I let myself go...let myself remember… let myself desire the race again.

I don't even realize when it begins, but suddenly I'm aware of the tears slipping down my cheeks.

There was this one… my first AG medal ever, at my second 5k.

Marshall! My love affair with the half marathon begins, and never ends.

Broke 2:00 in the half=marathon here, 3,000 miles from home, with the Pacific Ocean tide crashing in the distance.

Ran one of my best races, here, at the breakthrough half that turned me from runner to competitive racer.

Erie half… where I ran the last 3 miles at close to my then-5k pace.

Marshall, revisited. Nearly a 20 minute PR in a year's time, breaking 1:45, and placing in my AG at a half-marathon with 1,200 participants.

Rehoboth. First- and only- marathon. That elusive marathon. Oh, God, this hurts.

That 10k PR, on a windy, cold, St. Pat's Day.

The Pig… a crazy hilly half.

'I came, I saw, I conquered', for all of those. I took home the medals, and I hung them. And 2 years- or more- later, I stand here, stroking them like the face of a long-lost relative. Broken outside and bleeding inside, weeping over what I've lost and keep losing and will I ever find it again? Will this tide ever turn for good?

I don't even know if this was cathartic or not, if experiencing those moments of vulnerability and grief make it worse… or if they help heal by somehow lending my subconsciousness hope? I find no answers. I just know that for the rest of the day, I carry with me this throbbing mixture of hurt, loss and yearning, the tears simmering beneath the surface. Where's a Band-aid when you need one?

You can take the girl out of the running, but you can never take the runner out of the girl.