The Acceptance Stage

So, I know I just wrote a whole post about how I might be back on track with running and exercise in general after five long weeks of inactivity.

Scratch all that.

At least that is what I have been thinking, as I spend the evening limping to the freezer to grab an ice pack, sinking back into the couch and Velcroing it around my damn knee. Refreeze and repeat. The pain is back and much more intense. The best part is that the soreness and aching have begun to show up in my right knee as well, and moved down to my feet and my ankles.

The makings of an exciting night.

I wake up in the middle of the night tossing and turning because my legs are sore and restless. I wake up at 8:30 a.m., after hitting the pillow at 2:03 a.m. I got home from Job #2 at 2:01 a.m.

I give myself a pep talk before I heave feet to the floor and limp, bleary-eyed, to the coffee maker. It will all be worth it one day, when I make my big break and when I can run again. I chant it over and over, as if saying it will make it come true.

I'm such a complainer, I know. I'm getting sick of myself.

What did I expect, recklessly completing five workouts in one week after doing nothing more strenuous than hitting the 4 button on the elevator panel for a month?

At last, I made an appointment with an orthopedic doctor for next Tuesday. This happened only after I  did some Googling (Googleing?) and self-diagnosed myself with patellofemoral pain, a.k.a. Runner's Knee. Using my great powers of rationalization, I've concluded that now, going to to the doctor might not be so ominous, since I have ruled out several major ailments that would require surgery and/or never running again.

However, a conversation with a coworker/fellow runner this morning prompted a scary possibility that is eating away at me: What if, as happened to him, I had sore knees that would always, from this point on, be sore when I ran? My marathon (ok, half-marathon) running days would be over before they even had a chance to begin.

This article in today's Times provides an interesting, if not completely rounded, perspective on the relationship between cycling and running injuries. The bit on the second page about feeling as if a running injury -- most of them from simple overuse -- is your own fault, is completely relevant here. One of the most frustrating parts is that the realization that it is your own fault doesn't hit your my thick head until long after the hurt has happened, as, the author says, "you cast about for a reason why you got injured."

My whole body hurts, including my head. Going to Price Chopper and getting some ice cream sounds like a good remedy. At least subjecting myself to a brain freeze will taste good.

Back on track?

I re-upped my YMCA membership for the winter and took myself to the gym on Monday evening for my first run in more than a month.

Finally.

It was a major production, at least internally, to go through the motions of getting ready to run. I was nervous. I spent more time than usual tying my laces, securing my hair, adjusting my music, and then gingerly, very gingerly, stepped onto the red, squishy surface of the indoor track on the second floor of the Y.

First, though, as I knelt down to retie my shoe again, I sent a little prayer out to the running gods and goddesses. "Please, please let me run today without hurting my body," I pleaded. "I promise I'll never skip a workout again if only I can have running back."

After a hesitant eight minute warm-up, I discovered that I hadn't completely fallen off the wagon and that my knee was not going to give out or start producing jolts of pain. This felt like quite a triumph, considering I was limping around a few weeks ago.

I ran around the track at a super slow pace for about 30 minutes, until my knee started to ache and go wobbly. Then I went downstairs to spin for 20 minutes, hoping to work the kinks out of my muscles while easing up on my knee. 

Tuesday was a repeat of the routine. Wednesday and Thursday were given over to travel, family time, and so much delicious food, as well as RICE. The holiday was a perfect excuse to rest after an exhausting week.

They make you feel faster, and keep fingers warm.

Friday, after I had sat on my parents' huge couch doing absolutely nothing for so long I began to fear it would swallow me up permanently, I hauled myself up and headed to the SUNY Oneonta track nearby. It was about 35 degrees, and since everyone knows that running outside in cold weather is just an excuse to put on all sorts of sleek gear and feel cool, I suited up in mine: leggings, running shorts, long-sleeved wicking shirt, black ear band, black gloves. While they won't make you go any faster, black gloves, by the way, are apparently the epitome of running cool.

Izzy the bundle of fluff and me, her erstwhile friend.

I pulled two good miles on the track, so relieved to be able to move around outside again and take in the view of Oneonta's blue hills and the setting sun. Forgot to take any pictures of that or of Thanksgiving, save for one, as an afterthought, with the family dog.

 It's still technically Thanksgiving week (eh?) so I'll say what I am thankful for: Always, for family, friends, nutritious food and good health. Right now, for being back in Saratoga in my warm, peaceful home, couching it up again after driving straight to the Y from Oneonta for workout No. 4 of the week. And I'm eternally thankful that I can lead an active life.

Liking the D.I.Y. approach to life

I walked in the door tonight more grateful than usual to be letting myself into my warm little studio after a long day at work.

This evening I spent an hour outside in less-than-desirable weather conditions, covering a vigil for homelessness awareness week. I was so moved by the story of a local woman who endured a childhood of abuse, spent a winter homeless on the streets of Saratoga as an adult and is now earning her degree to be a social worker at age 49. 

That kind of determination makes me feel like a chump for ever complaining about my sky-high student loans and pitiful paychecks. At least I'm working at something I care about and have a safe place to sleep.

As someone who spent her first few months of life sleeping in a tiny blue red trailer in the middle of the woods, surrounded by five-foot piles of snow, with a father who worked nights loading trucks in a warehouse and a mother who taught school to students from poverty-stricken families, the issue of homelessness resonates with me. 

In the spring, with the help of friends and neighbors, they finished hand-building the two-story log cabin that would be my beloved home for the next 16 years.  

Of course, I wasn't fully cognizant at the time, but I don't think there was much separating us three from destitution during that first long, cold winter in the trailer -- not much except an unflappable commitment to hard work and a steady resolution to maintain one's self-sufficiency at all costs.

My parents have long ago gone their separate ways and the log cabin is now someone else's home, but those values have stuck with me, and they flood my one-room apartment with hope.

Stretching out

Saturday was a blur of traveling, kitchen appliances, dish towels, computer upsets and finally, returning home to Saratoga and a delicious homemade squash soup.

Sunday was a blur of yoga class, appointments, work and veggie burgers.

Today was a blur of work, meetings, braving a sketchy Chinese buffet ... I could go on, but I'll just have to show this picture instead:

The happy ending after three very busy days.

All of this activity has resulted in little sleep and a very tired S.R.S. So, therefore, I present the shortest blog post ever.

Yoga four times last week helped to ease my achin' bod. In Sunday's class, I had a super stretching experience with the help of a rock star teacher: We're sitting on the floor, reaching out for our toes in front of us, and without warning, she commences to sit down back-to-back with me and use her body weight to push me into the deepest stretch of my life (life as a former ballerina, that is). Then she held me there.

The physical sensation was so powerful it produced a revelatory effect inside my head. I walked out of there knowing for sure and for the first time that the studio is my sanctuary and yoga is my worship.

After that, my knees and legs have been feeling much more themselves lately, and I can't wait to go for my first recovery run this week.

Hatha healing and wine

Thank goodness for yoga, friends and homemade burritos. And, uhh, Riesling.

Ever since I moved to Saratoga Springs and began frequenting Purdy's liquor store, buying a biweekly-ish bottle of wine, striking up friendly conversation with the employees and welcoming their suggestions on certain varieties, I've been wondering how long it was going to take this one cashier in particular to stop carding me. (I mean, I know it's the law, but -- check the ID for six months straight, see my friggin' face staring up from your newspaper every damn day and give it a rest already!)

Well, tonight I got my answer: it takes about two and a half years for him to stop carding me. Thanks, Virgo Guy at Purdy's. I know, I know, we're both Virgos, and you like to mention it every time you ring me out for my $10 bottle, after scrutinizing my birth date and practically quizzing me about my astrological sign and its stereotypical characteristics. But, Virgo Guy at Purdy's, tonight you surprised me by simply ringing me out with a smile and telling me to have a great night.  

I suppose I'm grouchy because last night's sleep was a weird mixture of tossing and turning, anxious dreams about Twitter (!!) and dreams in which I try, and fail, to write news stories in my sleep.  

So, finally making it to Vinyasa flow tonight at Yoga Mandali was a relief. I fell asleep during Shavasana (the corpse pose, where we relax with our eyes closed at the end of the practice) and woke up feeling like the majority of tension and pain had finally seeped out of my body.

I have a hunch it will be back again tomorrow morning, but I'm looking forward to the weekend to chill things out: Oneonta for a short visit with the fam, McKay's bridal shower, date night, and Sunday ... when I think I'll go for a run.

Caught in a lull, reckoning with myself

It's now been two and a half weeks without so much as a jog, but I've been busy lately, not running (at all) and not eating (much). That's what stress, sadness, two jobs and a busted knee will do to you, I guess. It's not exactly a kind of busy that I am happy with, and I miss my routine sorely, but I keep telling myself it's temporary. It will get better.

On Monday, when it was snowing, I was walking home from work and a guy went jogging past me. He looked a little cold, but otherwise not very bothered about the white wet stuff fluffing up around his sneakers. I had a big pang of jealousy that confused me for a moment -- I was heading home to my warm apartment, soon to be enjoying an impromptu dinner with friends, and all of a sudden all I wanted to be doing was running outside in 30 degree weather? Yes.

The knee is holding up better -- no major pains for more than a week now, but it still feels weak. I've been super careful not to put extra weight on it, have used the elevator to get to my fourth-floor apartment every day and have even tried to stop wearing heels! (Not very successfully. But that's mostly just because I'm a short person and most of my pants are too long, thus requiring the wearing of heels.) These measures, combined, have hopefully allowed it to rest up and strengthen up.

Today I practiced yoga and stretched -- still no pain, but I put enough weight on my knees that I could feel the imbalance between the strong right knee and the wiggly left knee.

I am deliberating over when this "rest" period should be over ... tomorrow, next week?

Yoga is on the agenda until I feel 100 percent ready to risk it. If I try jogging and have the same problems as last time, I figure I'm out for another two weeks at least, and seriously, a doctor's appointment.    

One truth this inactivity has unfortunately reinforced in me is that I must have spent a lot of time doing nothing before I started running and working out regularly. Or maybe I slept more. Either way, I had so much time on my hands that was wasted in fruitless, even damaging, pursuits, such as lashing myself into other people's arms in order to feel as if I had a purpose. I guess that made life feel exciting, like a roller coaster ride.

But I'm glad I've landed safely back on the ground. Running on the road is enough of a rush for me.

This is what slower feels like

It's a time of involuntary rest here at S.R.S.

There was no running of the Great Pumpkin Challenge Saturday, and I won't be participating in the Hairy Gorilla Half Marathon/Squirrelly 6-miler next weekend either.

Somehow, between running a great, hard race last Sunday morning over the cross country trails and going out for a recovery run Monday evening, my left knee has become injured. I think it's a joint problem. The knee cap aches if I put even slightly more weight then regular walking on it -- say, if I'm walking down stairs or moving quickly to get in or out of the car.

Running is nearly impossible. Both times I went out this last week, I walked outside into the cold filled with energy and excitement.  As I start to warm up my legs, my lungs decide they want to go along for the ride too. I am smiling into the air, so grateful and joyed to own this one simple thing, the ability to move myself forward into space. "This is going to be a great run. I can feel it," I think.

I hardly go 3/4 of a mile on an 11-minute pace before the knee pain flares up. When I try to push through it, I begin to feel nauseous, so I walk and then start jogging again. The mysterious pain returns like a nag, getting worse with every step.

There are some frustrating moments when the pain, combined with fears of not being able to race or even get myself home from this brief outing bring me to tears in the middle of the street. Passing motorists see me clutching my knee and cursing out all that is weak within me, right there at the intersection. I give up and gingerly slog the rest of the way home, or call for a ride. I feel such loss. The other day I ran an 8-minute mile with a pack of all sorts of beautiful people in the brilliant sunlight.  Now I am limping alone through the dark.

What seems like a host of other life happenings, in addition to this ill-timed injury, converged toward the end of this week and threw me into an emotional tailspin. Here's hoping that some rest and QT with family this week will help me get back on track.

The pros and cons of age 25

I've 25 now and that means lots of new things, some of which are:

1. Cheaper car insurance. I really worked the system this month and knocked $100 off my premium through sheer genius negotiating. I don't know if this is necessarily a matter of age, but we'll just chalk it up to wisdom from years of experience.

2. Mechanic at shop makes me consider never again leaving the house without putting on mascara by asking me randomly "Do you have class today?" while I'm waiting for my car to get an oil change. Guess he took my "just rolled out of bed and schlepped over here, and I don't care what I look like because this is my day off" appearance for that of a college student. Great. Just great.

3. I'm increasingly having to make room in my budget for gifts for friends who are getting married, and the proper attire to attend these matrimonial ceremonies. [Decided not to insert inappropriate comment here. Foot remains outside of mouth.]

4. I'm getting nervous about continuing to use my SUNY Brockport ID card to get discounts when buying stuff. The photo is now more than seven years old...

5. But most importantly, what 25 really means is that I've moved into a new age group division in running races. Instead of being the oldest in my bracket, women 20-24, I'm the youngest in the 25-29 division. Which means my chances are better for placing in my division.

Yesterday, I placed 3rd out of 8 in my new age group in the 5K Saratoga National Cross Country Classic. Too bad I didn't stick around long enough after the race to hear about it first-hand. A pancake breakfast was calling my name. But it was still super exciting.

My time of about 26:18 was my personal record in an official race, just a few seconds faster than the Fasig Tipton 5K in August. But if it weren't for those winding, gravel-covered hills in the Ferndell area of the state park, I think I would have shaved off 20 seconds and hit my goal, which was to finish under 26 minutes.

Ah well. Mile two was a killer, and I stopped to walk once after the hill. That's what got me.

Overall, it was the most enjoyable race I've done out of the six I've ran since April.

Everything came together: the weather was perfect, I was dressed exactly right so as to be not too warm or too cold, I ate breakfast and was hydrated, I wasn't really nervous because I had trained appropriately, I wasn't tired because I took off work the night before, I had time to warm up because I actually got to the park early and I had the great support of AB to park the car, hold my bag of essentials while I raced and catch me at the finish:

What a guy!

Alas, all wonderful 3-day weekends must come to an end. I'm icing my hurting knee in preparation for what will hopefully be a solid, sunny week of running in preparation for Saturday's Great Pumpkin Challenge.

It doesn't matter how slow you go, as long as you do not stop

After mulling over some sage advice from AB, who is a much more disciplined and established athlete than I, I've decided to ease up on this week's 17-mile goal.

While I didn't think 5 miles more than last week sounded like much -- it could all be done in one extra day of running, after all! -- another way of looking at it, as AB pointed out, is that it's more than a 30 percent increase in mileage from week to week. 

That sounds like a lot. And it makes sense. There's no need to risk injury when there are several races coming up. Add to this that it's been raining like Noah's ark is ready to float out of upstate New York, and I don't feel too bad easing down on the miles.

Like tonight -- I was planning for a couple easy miles, but when I got home around 10:30, it was cold and rainy. So, I opted for a glass of wine instead. Getting drenched during Monday night's 3.6 mile adventure, followed by a solid 3.3 miles under clear skies Tuesday was enough for one week -- at least until tomorrow.

I'll aim for a 14-mile week instead. Fortunately, Thursday's forecast after 1 p.m. is all sun/clouds and no precipitation.

Unfortunately, I'll never be as hilarious as this guy while running in the rain. 

And in honor of breast cancer awareness month and one inspiring, proactive blogger, I'll sign off with a little pink to lighten the mood.

Weekend rundown

Hours worked: 14

Miles ran: 2.74

Cups of coffee: 3 

Loads of dishes/laundry done: 5

Hours of sleep needed, to recover from last week: 26

My plan for this coming week is very ambitious: Since I did not do the Pit Run today, and in preparation for the upcoming races in the rest of October, I will attempt to run five out of the next seven days.

My whiteboard currently looks something like this:

Monday: 4 miles
Tuesday: 5 miles
Wednesday: 2 miles
Thursday: 3 miles
Friday: Rest
Saturday: 3 miles
Sunday: Rest

With the itty bitty run I did earlier this evening, my total mileage for the week ended up just shy of 11 miles -- once an unthinkable number. My big training goal was striving for a 9-mile week just a couple months ago.

Now that a few, albeit nonconsecutive, 10- to 12-mile weeks are under my belt, it's obviously freaking cold out time to stop complaining about the weather and take my training to the next level.

Operation 17 Miles This Week has officially commenced!