Ever since running down in So. UT over 4th of July weekend, my right ankle has been bothering me.
I didn't roll it, never heard a pop, nothing. But it's continued to hurt and be a bother. So I finally went in to the doctor last week seeing as our half marathon was coming up on Saturday and I didn't want to really damage it.
I'm not a regular at doctors' offices and going always makes me nervous. I always worry that I'll be going in for a broken arm and they'll discover that I have an incurable disease and only ten days left to live.
I had only gone in for my ankle, but I suddenly felt like every move I made was being put on review and this man in a white coat had the power to alter my lifestyle with nothing but a look and the word sorry.
"I know that's not probably what you want to hear, but you have to stop running."
Yes, that is exactly what he said.
They put you in those rooms, alone, to wait quietly pondering over all the things you've done wrong. Giving you enough time to rethink your decisions so that when the doctor comes in you're just a mess, fragile and weepy, sorry for the smallest mistake: skipping breakfast, running on a bummed ankle, not sleeping enough, and from there all the other life decisions start to come into question.
It's miserable. I was miserable. I started to cry as I waited to get an X-ray and then again walking home.
I'm not sure why I was so heart-broken. I had my heart set on training and accomplishing this great thing, something I probably wouldn't have chosen to do except in the heat of the moment, which it was. My sister had called me 3 hours before registration closed (and since it's a lottery there was a chance I wouldn't even get picked) and I thought, what the heck?! Why not? What are the chances? Sure. No problem.
I was determined that this great, big goal was going to define my life this summer. It was the thing to keep me going, the thing to keep me distracted and busy from dating and waiting for Sol. And suddenly I wasn't going to be able to do it anymore. I actually had a doctor tell me to stop running until I heard back from the radiologist and even after seeing a podiatrist.
But the tiniest part of me was ok with it, ok with not having to push myself to do something really hard, to not go outside of my physical comfort zone. Pushing yourself physically is hard enough, and I've done it before with rock climbing, but running felt different. It felt different because it's a "single's" sport for me. I've never had someone right there next to me, pushing me, encouraging me, telling me they believe I can do it. So this tiny part of me was almost relieved to have a good excuse that I could pull on to bow out gracefully, and I was almost more disappointed with myself and feeling that way than actually having a fracture.
My sister was sweet and reminded me that there would be other marathons as I cried over the phone, but I knew this was something I didn't want to do alone. I probably couldn't do it alone, and the thought of having two sisters as a support system when the big day came was comforting. I knew I could do it if they were there beside me, but to imagine going and doing it alone was disheartening.
I would have though, if I needed to. Maybe because the vain woman inside of me was determined to not suddenly go to mush after finding out about a stress fracture. I was going to continue to cross train and exercise and not gain anymore weight and stay thin and be beautiful! The vain one was panicking, I'll admit it. She was quite distraught, and that didn't help my disappointment (I'll speak more of her one day).
I spent the rest of last week resting, no running, no cross training. Taking the prescribed naproxen from the doctor helped seeing as I took it for one day and spent that whole day dizzy and sick and in bed.
By Friday I was again worried because I hadn't heard from the radiologist and was loathing going to the podiatrist the following week. But as I walked home I received the voicemail saying my X-ray was a negative for a fracture.
Remember Christmas mornings as a kid? That's what it felt like. It was wonderful and scary at the same time, though because that small part of me that was ok with bowing out suddenly had to wrap its head around training again. I couldn't back out anymore, not without admitting my fear.
So instead I have 7 miles to run tonight; alone.
I'm not looking forward to it, but I am looking forward to the after part. The part where I get to text my two sisters and tell them I did it, and it was great (even if it wasn't).
Showing posts with label marathon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label marathon. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
Friday, July 18, 2014
because of spilled milk
I think I set hell in motion at work yesterday.
I spilled my breakfast in my lap and spent the first couple of hours wet and smelling like milk.
I wanted to explode.
I'm tired. I had to run 6 miles last night and 12 more on Saturday. My ankle is in pain and I'm near positive that I'm iron deficient. I spent most of work yesterday researching injury prevention and how to fix my form for running.
Marathon training is getting harder. My runs are longer and I have to really be good about setting aside time to go when it's not baking outside. On top of that - water. I think I've always spent my life in a borderline state of dehydration. I've never been good at staying hydrated, and now when I need it the most I still just can't quite give up the soda. I can pound a good 32 oz water bottle into me by noon, but after that I spend my afternoons tired and bloated and sick of the stuff.
Before I fell asleep the night before, I was informed via social media that someone I really care about had lied to me. Over a petty thing. But I fell asleep crying with a sick feeling inside.
So yesterday morning I wanted to cry - over spilled milk.
After running home to change I came back to work, feeling a bit better after the walk. Grateful that I live close to my job to allow for that, and that my boss was kind enough to let me leave. Upon getting back she and I sat chatting. I needed it. I told her about the roommate drama and she gave me the validation I needed.
Then a kid threw up. All over the playground. I sat reading books to him until a teacher brought down another child who was sobbing with a big scratch across her face. We dealt with the neosporin, and my boss brought the culprit of the scratch in to sit with me. Mom picked up the sick kid, and I sat with a new student: a 4-year-old who thought it was ok to scratch the entire side of an older child's face because she bumped into him. Then from down the hall came the frustrated cries of another child being pulled from class for punching another student.
So there my boss and I sat. The two of us with these kids wondering which of us was the cause for the chaos.
We got through it though. Laughed and joked, rolled our eyes and found some little things to be grateful for. Whether it was another child in the afternoon class showing his new invention, or the fact that I had a fun night with friends to look forward to.
Something my boss mentioned made me really think though. As I told her I had jokingly wanted to cry over spilled milk she said it was a symptom. And I got to thinking about what my disease must have been and I discovered it was just self-pity.
And just being able to recognize that helped me yank myself out of that gutter and get over it.
I've never been a fan of self-pity and when I find myself brooding in it, the fear of being there gets me running out of the muck like a madman.
I don't let myself wallow. Wallowing is destructive. It can tear you apart from the inside out leaving you half empty and darkly hollow.
So I didn't cry over spilled milk. I didn't curl up in a ball and let the pity surround me in the dark. I pulled out a book and I read about Ophelia. I listened to Isaac Russell and let his music sooth my soul. I grabbed a soda and said damned if I have to go run 6 miles still tonight, I'm doing whatever I want right now.
And you know what? The sun kept shining through it all.
I spilled my breakfast in my lap and spent the first couple of hours wet and smelling like milk.
I wanted to explode.
I'm tired. I had to run 6 miles last night and 12 more on Saturday. My ankle is in pain and I'm near positive that I'm iron deficient. I spent most of work yesterday researching injury prevention and how to fix my form for running.
Marathon training is getting harder. My runs are longer and I have to really be good about setting aside time to go when it's not baking outside. On top of that - water. I think I've always spent my life in a borderline state of dehydration. I've never been good at staying hydrated, and now when I need it the most I still just can't quite give up the soda. I can pound a good 32 oz water bottle into me by noon, but after that I spend my afternoons tired and bloated and sick of the stuff.
Before I fell asleep the night before, I was informed via social media that someone I really care about had lied to me. Over a petty thing. But I fell asleep crying with a sick feeling inside.
So yesterday morning I wanted to cry - over spilled milk.
After running home to change I came back to work, feeling a bit better after the walk. Grateful that I live close to my job to allow for that, and that my boss was kind enough to let me leave. Upon getting back she and I sat chatting. I needed it. I told her about the roommate drama and she gave me the validation I needed.
Then a kid threw up. All over the playground. I sat reading books to him until a teacher brought down another child who was sobbing with a big scratch across her face. We dealt with the neosporin, and my boss brought the culprit of the scratch in to sit with me. Mom picked up the sick kid, and I sat with a new student: a 4-year-old who thought it was ok to scratch the entire side of an older child's face because she bumped into him. Then from down the hall came the frustrated cries of another child being pulled from class for punching another student.
So there my boss and I sat. The two of us with these kids wondering which of us was the cause for the chaos.
We got through it though. Laughed and joked, rolled our eyes and found some little things to be grateful for. Whether it was another child in the afternoon class showing his new invention, or the fact that I had a fun night with friends to look forward to.
Something my boss mentioned made me really think though. As I told her I had jokingly wanted to cry over spilled milk she said it was a symptom. And I got to thinking about what my disease must have been and I discovered it was just self-pity.
And just being able to recognize that helped me yank myself out of that gutter and get over it.
I've never been a fan of self-pity and when I find myself brooding in it, the fear of being there gets me running out of the muck like a madman.
I don't let myself wallow. Wallowing is destructive. It can tear you apart from the inside out leaving you half empty and darkly hollow.
So I didn't cry over spilled milk. I didn't curl up in a ball and let the pity surround me in the dark. I pulled out a book and I read about Ophelia. I listened to Isaac Russell and let his music sooth my soul. I grabbed a soda and said damned if I have to go run 6 miles still tonight, I'm doing whatever I want right now.
And you know what? The sun kept shining through it all.
Sunday, June 29, 2014
marathon madness
I finally had a panic attack the other night as I realized just what I had gotten myself into with this whole marathon business.
I was creating a route for Saturday's 9-mile run while Meg was checking my schedule and telling me when the half marathon was coming. As I navigated my way through GoogleMaps, the fact of just how far 26.2 miles is struck me and I started gasp-laughing (aka hyperventilating of sorts), which is basically a combination of laughing at the ridiculousness of it all and gasping for air in sheer panic.
It is 26 miles from Provo to Draper, UT. That's a THIRTY-SEVEN minute drive!!!!!!! Which will take me 37 hours to complete then at best. People should NOT be running for that long. It took me a minute to get a handle on myself as I remembered that I've done this before, halfway at least. I've done the training, the hard work, I just need to do it again, for a bit longer, and a bit farther. No biggie.
Everyone keeps saying that I'm in the "prime of my youth," but there are days that I don't feel like it. Days where my knees are creaking and my ankle is sore (the latter has actually started to worry me). Days when I can't wait to get home to just take a nap, and still manage to get to bed by 10pm. And other days when I can barely manage a 12-minute mile.
Running a marathon has always been a goal of mine, and I kind of like the idea that I'll be 26 when I do my first. But reading other people's stories of their own marathon/triathalon/ironman experiences has really worried me. What if I get halfway and all my faculties shut down and I have to be carried away on a stretcher with an IV jammed into my arm? What if my legs turn into jelly at the finish line and I wobble over it, fall down, pass out and again am carried away on a stretcher with an IV jammed into my arm?!
But more importantly, what if I get injured? I strained my IT band training for the half, ran injured, and then didn't run again all summer. Then just this last Christmas break I strained my MCL while sledding (I know people who have been paralyzed from sledding so don't you dare laugh!) and all I can think about is what if I injure myself to the point of no return and can't run ever again, turn into a couch potato and then Gilbert Grape's mother?!
So instead of freaking out for the rest of the summer, I've started stretching any chance I get. I've looked into post- and pre-workout exercises to help, better cross-training ideas, yoga, hydrating, better eating, just about anything so that I don't die in the process. I don't mind if I die after I cross the finish line, but I'd like to at least get there.
I was creating a route for Saturday's 9-mile run while Meg was checking my schedule and telling me when the half marathon was coming. As I navigated my way through GoogleMaps, the fact of just how far 26.2 miles is struck me and I started gasp-laughing (aka hyperventilating of sorts), which is basically a combination of laughing at the ridiculousness of it all and gasping for air in sheer panic.
It is 26 miles from Provo to Draper, UT. That's a THIRTY-SEVEN minute drive!!!!!!! Which will take me 37 hours to complete then at best. People should NOT be running for that long. It took me a minute to get a handle on myself as I remembered that I've done this before, halfway at least. I've done the training, the hard work, I just need to do it again, for a bit longer, and a bit farther. No biggie.
Everyone keeps saying that I'm in the "prime of my youth," but there are days that I don't feel like it. Days where my knees are creaking and my ankle is sore (the latter has actually started to worry me). Days when I can't wait to get home to just take a nap, and still manage to get to bed by 10pm. And other days when I can barely manage a 12-minute mile.
Running a marathon has always been a goal of mine, and I kind of like the idea that I'll be 26 when I do my first. But reading other people's stories of their own marathon/triathalon/ironman experiences has really worried me. What if I get halfway and all my faculties shut down and I have to be carried away on a stretcher with an IV jammed into my arm? What if my legs turn into jelly at the finish line and I wobble over it, fall down, pass out and again am carried away on a stretcher with an IV jammed into my arm?!
But more importantly, what if I get injured? I strained my IT band training for the half, ran injured, and then didn't run again all summer. Then just this last Christmas break I strained my MCL while sledding (I know people who have been paralyzed from sledding so don't you dare laugh!) and all I can think about is what if I injure myself to the point of no return and can't run ever again, turn into a couch potato and then Gilbert Grape's mother?!
So instead of freaking out for the rest of the summer, I've started stretching any chance I get. I've looked into post- and pre-workout exercises to help, better cross-training ideas, yoga, hydrating, better eating, just about anything so that I don't die in the process. I don't mind if I die after I cross the finish line, but I'd like to at least get there.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
a conversation post running
Marathon training is a lot harder than I expected it to be.
I recognize that I am in my prime but dang it if my body doesn't vehemently hate me right now!
I got back from running yesterday and proceeded to have this texting conversation with Jacob. Mind you this was after THREE MILES. THREE. ONLY THREE. Ten minutes into my run I had to take a minute to walk and passed this crazy lady on the sidewalk who proceeded to talk to me, with one hand in her armpit, the other tucked in her pants. She asked me how long I had been running and guessed an hour (an hour!), and as I was panting and trying to keep my legs under me I realized how terribly pathetic I must be that after TEN MINUTES I looked like I had been running for hours.
I lied. And I told her about a half hour, because, well, it was better than ten minutes.
I finally made it home and as I lay on our hallway floor directly under the swamp cooler, half dead, decided to try to get some sympathy from a dear friend. I failed. But did manage some internal hysteria.
Conversation:
"Me: it took me 40 minutes to run 3 miles today :(
Jacob: you are tired. Let's work on your form.
Me: my knees hurt. it didn't use to be this hard!!!
Jacob: they are not the bees. hot bath
Me: ugh that's the last thing i want to do right now. it's ROASTING outside.
Some moments later...
Me: I don't know why I'm listening to you. But here I am sitting in our twice-scrubbed-yet-still-filthy-tub, pretty sure I just flashed our male neighbors through the open window, wondering what I ever did to you to deserve this.
Jacob: are you talking to your knees?
Me: no i was talking to you.
I WAS BEING A LITTLE DRAMATIC."
I don't think he quite got the fact that I needed sympathy. Though it will be nice to have someone help me with my form. My 26 going on 76 year old knees need some help.
I recognize that I am in my prime but dang it if my body doesn't vehemently hate me right now!
I got back from running yesterday and proceeded to have this texting conversation with Jacob. Mind you this was after THREE MILES. THREE. ONLY THREE. Ten minutes into my run I had to take a minute to walk and passed this crazy lady on the sidewalk who proceeded to talk to me, with one hand in her armpit, the other tucked in her pants. She asked me how long I had been running and guessed an hour (an hour!), and as I was panting and trying to keep my legs under me I realized how terribly pathetic I must be that after TEN MINUTES I looked like I had been running for hours.
I lied. And I told her about a half hour, because, well, it was better than ten minutes.
I finally made it home and as I lay on our hallway floor directly under the swamp cooler, half dead, decided to try to get some sympathy from a dear friend. I failed. But did manage some internal hysteria.
Conversation:
"Me: it took me 40 minutes to run 3 miles today :(
Jacob: you are tired. Let's work on your form.
Me: my knees hurt. it didn't use to be this hard!!!
Jacob: they are not the bees. hot bath
Me: ugh that's the last thing i want to do right now. it's ROASTING outside.
Some moments later...
Me: I don't know why I'm listening to you. But here I am sitting in our twice-scrubbed-yet-still-filthy-tub, pretty sure I just flashed our male neighbors through the open window, wondering what I ever did to you to deserve this.
Jacob: are you talking to your knees?
Me: no i was talking to you.
I WAS BEING A LITTLE DRAMATIC."
I don't think he quite got the fact that I needed sympathy. Though it will be nice to have someone help me with my form. My 26 going on 76 year old knees need some help.
Wednesday, June 4, 2014
day one
I'm running the St. George marathon with my two oldest sisters in October.
Yesterday was Day 1 of training.
Only had to run 3miles, but I was done in after mile 1. I'm sure I walked the majority of it.
I felt fat and sluggish when I got home and realized with a bit of horror how careless I have been with my body. I was so excited for this challenge and for training because I know it will get me in shape, but I had the painful reminder yesterday that exercise isn't the only key.
I felt old. Weak and sore not only in my muscles but in my bones too. As if my metabolism was gently telling me "Hey, I can't keep this up much longer" (I always imagine him (yes, it's a him) as a yellow blob, a bit shaped liked a tear drop).
We're both a bit unhappy at the moment with our long faces and wobbly bits giggling behind our backs. I am determined to start eating better and to really cut back on the caffeine (save my soul I'm not sure if I'll survive with out it. More to come on that later). Last summer was blissful- I was drinking green smoothies (predominantly fruit), creating menus (cooking for one is a nuisance, I am so ready to have someone to impress with my cooking skills. Maybe then I'll be motivated to eat out less), and climbing fiercely. So it's a major lifestyle revision this week.
I'll let you know how it goes.
I did get to wear my new Nikes yesterday, however.
Yesterday was Day 1 of training.
Only had to run 3miles, but I was done in after mile 1. I'm sure I walked the majority of it.
I felt fat and sluggish when I got home and realized with a bit of horror how careless I have been with my body. I was so excited for this challenge and for training because I know it will get me in shape, but I had the painful reminder yesterday that exercise isn't the only key.
I felt old. Weak and sore not only in my muscles but in my bones too. As if my metabolism was gently telling me "Hey, I can't keep this up much longer" (I always imagine him (yes, it's a him) as a yellow blob, a bit shaped liked a tear drop).
We're both a bit unhappy at the moment with our long faces and wobbly bits giggling behind our backs. I am determined to start eating better and to really cut back on the caffeine (save my soul I'm not sure if I'll survive with out it. More to come on that later). Last summer was blissful- I was drinking green smoothies (predominantly fruit), creating menus (cooking for one is a nuisance, I am so ready to have someone to impress with my cooking skills. Maybe then I'll be motivated to eat out less), and climbing fiercely. So it's a major lifestyle revision this week.
I'll let you know how it goes.
I did get to wear my new Nikes yesterday, however.
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