Auld Lang Syne

Somehow, today is the last day of 2010.  Today is a day when everyone finds themselves a tad more introspective, filled with both regret and the anticipation of a fresh start.  Tomorrow morning, we make promises that perhaps we can't keep, but that for at least a few weeks, we believe we can achieve.

2010 was not my banner year.  I started off strongly, then found myself seriously derailed by compartment syndrome.  From the "easy" surgery to the extremely long recovery, 2010 was a wash of a running year, at least on paper.  However, I wouldn't completely erase the experience.  I learned a lot about patience, about why other people run and that time really does heal all wounds. I ran my first ultra-distance, joined a dear friend completing her first half marathon and raced my first half marathon back with good results. 

I have big goals for 2011.  I want a PR in Boston. I want to become confident in my running. To do this, I first need to get over the fact that it's cold, dark and slippery and get my butt out the door. I want to build back up to my regular mileage around 60 miles per week. I also need to continue to work on core strength and strength training. To improve my confidence, I am going to take advantage of almost every race I can find. Even if I use the race as a tempo run, every time I toe a start line, I learn how to manage my nerves and focus on a particular pace.

What are your goals for 2011?  How will you get there?  Are you being realistic or a bit on the overenthusiastic side?

Happy New Year
~S

The Holiday Express

Somehow, it's December 22nd. As I often remark to friends, we are aboard the "Thanksgiving-Christmas-how the f&^% is it Valentine's Day Express." It's enough of a struggle to meet all our commitments during the holidays; how do we even begin to maintain a running schedule? Below are two ways I keep moving during the holidays:

*Commit to 10: You can find ten minutes in your day.  Yes, you can.  On busy days when I'm too tired/busy/sick to run, I get myself out the door for a ten minute run. Usually it will turn into a longer run, but sometimes, it's just 10 minutes (or 20 if I did an out and back).  Obviously the benefits aren't immense, but I get my heart rate up, stave off the "ugh, I haven't run in a week" motivation killer and sometimes end up with a worthwhile run.

*Lunchtime Run: In the winter (at least in the Northcountry), it's cold enough to reasonably run at lunch. I keep a complete set of running clothes under my desk for days when it's way below zero at 5 am, or if I'm exhausted. For winter, I leave a pair of cheap trail sneakers (I bought a New Balance pair from a couple of years ago) kicking around.  They have enough tread for snowy days, but can go inside for the treadmill or track.  I aim for a 30 to 45 minute run, leaving me enough time to clean up before the afternoon.  Work Running essentials?

• Dry Shampoo (women): TRESemme has a decent line, just rub in and shake out hair.
• Baby Wipes
• Face Wash
• Mascara, tinted face cream and blush
• Hand Towel

Pack a bag on January 2nd to start the first work week of the year off right.  30 minutes is better than nothing.

How do you force yourself out of bed during the winter? What tricks do you have to keep motivation high when the mercury drops?

Run On ~S

Race Report: Roxbury Half Marathon

Short Version: I broke (almost) every race week rule and still managed to pull out a win and decent run on a course that a) wasn't marked b) was more like 14 miles and c) had some um, interesting timing (As of writing this, our times are all about 20 minutes slower than we actually ran). I managed to do the last 3 something miles at around a 6:00 mile pace, which was a huge success and feel that overall, I ran my first truly smart race. It isn't a course I'd recommend to a runner who needs more than a start/finish line and a wristwatch, but for me, it was as good a comeback race as I could ask for.

Overall 7th
Women 1st
Time 1:37:xx?
Distance: 13.8 (we think)

Long Version:
Race Week: I was an epic disaster. I went out Thursday night for an event and had too much wine, so I didn't sleep well and was dehydrated going into Friday.  Early Friday morning, we had McDonald's breakfast (I did oatmeal, but still) and headed to CT. Upon arriving at the hotel, I realized that I had no Body Glide and two pair of socks, both with significant holes. We went out to the course to check it out, then attempted to find a place to eat dinner and settled on Don Julio's Italian. Despite having strong reading comprehension skills, I managed to end up with a battered chicken on a bed of arugula instead of the chicken parm I thought I was getting.  So much for eating some carbohydrates. I slept well from about 10 until 2 on Friday night, then fitfully until the alarm rang at 6:15. I attempted some French Toast at breakfast but was anxious, so only got in a couple of bites and some water.

Course: The course was beautiful and also one of the hilliest that I have ever run.  About 60/40 dirt to pavement, it was kind on the legs.  There were a set of screaming downhills, followed by grinding uphills and there wasn't much flat to be found.  Markings proved to be the biggest issue.  Despite the RD telling us that the pavement was marked, almost no runner ran the same course. The group I was with ended up doing about 13.8 miles after a missed turnaround on the first leg.

Race:  After a ten minute warm up, I stripped down to my race outfit.  It was only about 20, so I opted to keep my jacket on, despite knowing I would need to shed it later. It made it until mile 4. We herded over to the start line a little before 8:30. Unfortunately, the start didn't go off until about 8:50, giving us plenty of time to get cold and grumpy.  Somehow, during this wait, my nerves subsided.  When the start went off, I was relaxed and ready to run my own race.

Mile 1: I used the first mile to settle into a pace and warm-up and came through the first mile in about 7:30. 
Miles 2 through 7: For the first time ever, I ran with a pack.  A group of men joined me right around 1 mile and instead of letting them pass me, I worked with them over the next 5 miles. We talked a little and one of the local runners told me more about the area, which was a great distraction. I took a Gu as I was starting to feel the week of terrible eating.
Miles 7 through 10: After a mix-up at the turnaround, we were back on the loop, where no more course mistakes could be made.  I decided to break free of the pack because the pace felt too comfortable.  I came through the 10 mile at 1:16, about a 7:36 pace, and decided it was time to work. From here until the end, I was alone.
Miles 10 through Finish: This section started with a grinding uphill section and I was definitely feeling the earlier hills.  I worked on maintaining good posture and turnover and just kept telling myself to leave it out on the course. My work paid off and I came through the finish just after 1:37, meaning that I geared down to somewhere around 6 minutes per mile.

For the first time ever, I was happy with a race performance.  I couldn't have given much more than I did and I ran a patient, smart race. I started to trust the benefit of working in a pack and it is something I hope to explore more in Boston and beyond. 

Grumpy Me at the Start Line, rocking some Carolina blue tights.

I'll post some race pictures when they are available.  They are sure to be a doozy, with both happening on big climbs.

Run On. ~S

Stretch and Strengthen

Somehow, these two exercises escaped me, so I'm sharing them here.  As other post-CECS runners can attest, compartment release doesn't necessarily erase pain and soreness. The compartments may be decompressed, but we now combat significant scars deep in the anatomy of the calf. Calf pain is perpetual enough for me that I rarely list it when whining about what hurts on any given day.  I'm going to begin to build these two exercises into my routine; if you do too, let me know how they work.

Heel-Toe Walk: A spinoff on one of the diagnostic tests for CECS, this can also help build strength in the lower leg compartments.
Walk across a flat surface on your heels.  Return to start while walking on your toes.  Repeat 2 more times.

Compartment Stretch:
Start in the standing quad stretch, one leg pulled gently behind, with the foot in your hand. (Use a wall for balance if needed.) Shift your hand such that you are grabbing the toe of your shoe (toes pointing skyward). You should feel the stretch in the anterior and lateral compartments (as opposed to the quad in the traditional version of the stretch.)

And that old disclaimer: I am not a doctor or a physical therapist, so you know, contact one if you don't regularly stretch or move.

Run On.  (And stay warm, the deep freeze is back).
S

Another Product Review: Winter Gloves

I know I've been giving Ski Rack a lot of love recently, but there's a reason for that: they carry good gear at reasonable prices, and create an atmosphere where elite athletes and weekend warriors alike are welcomed.

I suffer from a condition called Raynaud's, which means that my fingers and toes are painfully frozen at any temperature lower than about 50 degrees.  I wear gloves in the frozen food section of the grocery store year round. As a result, winter running can be incredibly painful.  I've tried gloves, I've tried mittens. Thin gloves result in pain, huge mittens result in hands that get so clammy, I have to take them off mid-run.  Not a great solution on either end.

When I was in Ski Rack last weekend, the 180s Ultralite Running glove was recommended to me.  I was skeptical to say the least. The fabric was thinner than most windbreakers, with a glove inside a mitten construction (hereafter: glitten). They did come with the required fleece strip for nose wiping (gross, but totally necessary. Don't lie, you do it too). I liked that I had the dexterity of a glove with the (alleged) warmth of a mitten.  At $25, they were much more reasonably priced than other running gloves.  I decided to give them a try, with the idea that they would at least be a good glitten for late Fall/early Spring.

Much to my surprise, they are really warm.  I've worn them comfortably from 30 degrees down to 0. My hands were a little warm at 30, and a little cold at 0, but I never had the throbbing/white/frozen feeling that I usually do.  They are particularly great between 10 and 25.  My hands were warm, but not sweaty. I would actually describe the feeling as comfortable, which is something my hands rarely are.

Overall, this is the best running glove I've come across:
*Preserves dexterity
*Option to be a glove (mitten tucks into itself) in warmer weather
*Metal touch pads to operate phone/iPod
*Wind/Water Resistant
*Reflective strips

Link to Ski Rack:
http://www.skirack.com/browse.cfm/4,10408.html

Link to 180s Website:
http://www.180s.com/

What makes the dawn come up like thunder? Courage!

I am the Cowardly Lion of running. There, I said it. This is neither breaking news nor a surprise, but like most character flaws, hard to admit to yourself and others.

Even before surgery, I avoided racing  (and speed work) because it was more comfortable to not know how fast (or slow) I was, an extension of the "if a tree falls in the forest" logic. After surgery, I've used recovery as a crutch.  My surgery was on April 7th. I started running again in earnest in September.  It's now December and I'm still jogging along. Part of that is that I am still in some pain.  A bigger part of that is that I'm afraid to find out what happens when I start pushing it again.

What if I never run fast again?  What if I never reach my goals in the marathon? What if I never PR?  Alternatively, what if I am recovered and ready to run fast in Boston? Am I ready to plunge back into training, putting hours a day into running?

In deciding to run this half marathon next weekend, I find myself panicked. I recognize the need to push myself and the benefit of assessing my current speed. But what if I fail?  I've had a few quality workouts in the past couple of weeks.  I comfortably held estimated race pace for 4 miles on the treadmill. I ran a set of three minute 800s and am still walking. I slogged through 14 miles in snow and wind (okay, not quality, but a good character builder).  Still, I am not prepared to confront the truth revealed by a real-life race.

The bigger question is, who cares? I assume that people will not like me less if I don't have a great race. I would guess that the readership of this blog (which, from the Google Stats, is alarmingly high) won't decrease if I blow up. So who does care? At the end of the day, it's probably only me. In all honesty, I'm never happy after a race even if it does go well. I am notorious for finishing a race and shrugging off congratulations with a litany of things I could have done differently.

So, how do you find courage? How do you push through doubt to give it a try? What confidence builders get you to the starting line?

Run on.
~S

Saucony Kinvara Review

I have a far more introspective blog entry that I should be writing about courage and confidence, but instead, I'm going to do a first impression shoe review.

At Ski Rack (www.skirack.com), I got to play around with some of the new minimalist shoes on the market.  My requirements?  Small difference between heel and toe, low profile heel cup and otherwise no bells and whistles.  Perhaps this was an overreaction to my failure of a shoe purchase earlier this Fall, but after two months of struggling through a neutral cushioned shoe that made every run feel awkward, I was ready to head back to a simpler shoe.  I had previously fallen in love with the New Balance 737, but as with some love affairs, New Balance crushed me by pulling it off the market.  The 737 was light and simple, perfect for someone like me, who basically needs something to protect my soles and not much else.

I tried the Kinvara first and was immediately impressed with the level of comfort.  I also tried an offering by Brooks and by Pearl Izumi. The Brooks shoe was a unisex shoe and felt too boxy for me.  I like to have a good feel of the road and feel secure in a shoe, so I nixed that offering.  The Pearl Izumi had a narrow fit, which didn't feel great on my super high arch. After trying the Kinvara again, I decided to go with it, adding a bright orange shoe to my collection.

My major concern was whether my feet would freeze in the highly vented shoe.  To my surprise, my feet were completely comfortable, even on an extremely cold and windy Sunday night test run. All told, the shoe was a hit. I felt light and efficient and for the first time since surgery, like running was a natural choice for me. As others have noted about the switch to a more minimal shoe, my calves were a little sore, but no more than usual for me.  I did notice that my feet were much more sore than normal after the 8 miler.  Overall, however, the fit was great out of the box and besides needing some adaptation time, I think these are going to be an awesome shoe for me.

Of note, for runners in the Burlington area, Ski Rack is competitive on price for this shoe, coming in less than Roadrunner Sports and of course, is one of our local options. The service is great too and the ability to return a shoe without a lot of hassle if it just doesn't work out is worth it, at least in my estimation.

Shhhh a secret HM for $5

Anyone who reads Runnersworld.com probably saw this headline today, but I'm passing it on.  In a time where we are spending upwards of a $100 for entry fees, a $5 half or full marathon is a total steal. The full marathon is December 11th and the half is December 18th.  The course is rolling, with some loops needed to get to 26.2 miles.  It's in Roxbury, CT, about an hour from Hartford and they are offering a deal on a local hotel to boot.  The hotel and race combined is still less than an entry to a Rock and Roll Race or Boston.

http://roxburyraces.net/half-marathon/

Despite the urge to run a full, I'm going to resist and hold myself to the half on the 18th.  It gives me a chance to see where my legs are at before the snow flies and get a good starting measure as I ramp up for Boston. I'll delve into goals as we get closer.  Right now, all I would like is a solid effort with minimal pain, maybe somewhere around 1:35.

Anyone else in for the Roxbury Full or Half?

Juiceheads Beware

In my former life, I was a gym rat. I lifted five days a week, consumed a huge quantity of protein and espoused about muscle groups with my fellow rats. Despite my best efforts, however, I never found myself particularly muscle bound.  Depressed with my permanent status as an ectomorph, I gave up on lifting and focused again on running. 

Winter in Vermont is brutal.  It is particularly brutal for runners.  We face ice, sleet and snow.  Sidewalks don't get plowed for weeks after a blizzard and if we don't run at noon, we are doomed to be creatures of the dark at either end of the day. Last winter, I ran outside almost every day as a matter of pride.  I have screws in my "ice" shoes, an indeterminate quantity of winter running layers and a healthy dose of Yankee stubborn in my blood.  This year, however, I broke down and joined a gym.  I still plan to run outside when the footing is good, but on days when it's slippery, you'll find me slogging away the miles on a treadmill.

Yesterday, I talked about how inclement weather is a good training tool for Boston.  Today, I'm telling you I joined a gym to avoid it.  So what gives?  Inclement weather is one thing.  Getting hit by a snow plow or breaking my leg is another.  Beyond bodily harm, a 6 mile run slogging through a foot of snow is not necessarily the quality I need to be putting in on the road to Boston.

What gym did I join?  None other than the juicehead haven of Planet Fitness.  With unbeatable low rates, few people doing cardio and 24 hour availability, it was the best choice for me. It looks like I'll start to get my money's worth immediately, with freezing rain on Friday morning in the forecast.

Happy Running all. Think of me fondly, running along side this guy:

A Fellow Tarheel joins the CS Game

(Two posts in a day?  I know.)

Hakeem Nicks, a fellow Tarheel, is out of the game for "3 weeks" due to compartment syndrome.  Press Release.  The onset of his CS is different, sounding more like acute CS than chronic.  Still, he'll have to recover from the same surgery.  3 weeks sounds laughable to me, but I also don't take huge hits professionally.  I hope they give him the time to recover adequately.  He's too good of an athlete to rush back for the sake of the playoffs.

(Photo via http://giantsoutsider.wordpress.com/2009/08/14/amazing-hakeem-nicks-catch-unc/)

Gearing Up

It's been a bizarre weather week.  Unseasonable temperatures and serious winds have made for interesting training scenarios.  Every time we face inclement weather and I yearn to stay in bed or run indoors, I remind myself that anything could happen weather-wise (or otherwise) in Boston, and I'd better be ready. Yesterday, I fought wind on a basic six miler.  Today, I had track work in some serious humidity.  I was overdressed heading out the door and was a sweaty mess by the time I reached the track.

Thankfully, the workout looming ahead distracted me from the hair plastered to my face. I haven't officially done speed since February and to describe myself as anxious would be a gross understatement.  I dutifully did my warm-up, followed by some stride drills, then set into an "easy" workout of 400s. In February, Lee and I did 20 400s on the indoor track.  I wouldn't say the workout was easy, but we survived and felt pretty tough. Today, I was aiming for 4 at a 1:40 pace, about the equivalent of my half marathon pace pre-surgery (PS). After this workout, I refuse to believe that I ever maintained that pace for 13 miles.

Being honest, the workout went fine.  I huffed and puffed and survived.  My legs felt fine, I didn't have a lot of stabbing pain around the incision and I went on to do a few more laps of less structured speed play. As much of a doubting Thomas as I can be, there was a teeny tiny part of myself that thought I might have an effortless workout and be able to say, "Aha, I really didn't lose that much conditioning!" But I did.  So now starts the hard work of rebuilding.

Persistence

"Nothing in the world can take the place of Persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan 'Press On' has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race." (C.Coolidge)

This quote hangs in my parent's house.  In my lifetime, I've read it hundreds of times and trust me when I say that it has been woven into my moral fabric. I won't get into to the other ways in which this quote has altered the course of my life and why I think Coolidge was partially wrong (meritocracy is a myth, in short), but persistence frames my life as a runner.

As demonstrated last weekend, I do not want for persistence and determination; I slogged through 30 miles on a 1.25 mile loop course and wasn't bored to tears or resignation. Sometimes, however, I wonder if I lack the talent to reach the next level with running.  Perhaps a remnant of a high school career wrought with confidence issues, I consistently battle myself over whether or not this is worth it if I never run a 2:40 marathon. The kind part of my brain, the part that praised me for my tenacity and strength during last Saturday's run, tells me that I don't have a lot of racing experience and that in time, this will all click together.  The nasty, cruel part of my mind, however, tells me that it is because I don't work hard enough, because I don't want it enough and because I lack the talent for it. (Apparently I am not alone in this) And herein lies the problem.

I've enjoyed exceptional success in other parts of my life as a result of persistence. I graduated summa cum laude and was inducted into Phi Beta Kappa.  I've received awards and fellowships for my scholastic endeavors. I continue to have many opportunities to be a co-author in prominent print, despite my youth and lack of a PhD. So what is holding me back from similar success in running?

Last winter, I popped out of bed every morning before 5 a.m. to hammer out a hard workout before work. It should be noted that my job at the time was the job from hell and required me to drink copious glasses of wine post-work to manage, thus negating the option of running after work. Sure, I occasionally missed a workout, but in reviewing my running log from those months, I was a pretty consistent machine. Now, I can barely summon myself out of bed in the morning to get to work on time (new job, no wine needed), let alone do a 12 mile run beforehand. I have always taken my persistence for granted, so to suddenly have that hallmark of my personality wane perturbs me as much as questions about my talent.

Since surgery, I regretfully admit a sense of hopelessness. Despite making huge strides since April and especially this fall, I still wonder if I will ever bounce back.  I have one or two good runs a week now, but spend the remaining four feeling sluggish and out of shape. This beats the crap out of my motivation and I suspect keeps me anchored to my bed in the morning.  I make up most of my runs in the evening after work, but out of a sense of duty, not inspiration. I long for a day when the alarm rings and I don't snooze it for an hour and a half.
 

Thus, Coolidge's quote haunts me. What if I am a runner who works her butt off, without realizing that talent is the limiting factor in her success? What if my marathon PR never goes below 2:40 or 3 hours? As I'm out on the roads this weekend and as I ramp up for Boston, Silent Cal's words will echo through my head, but only time will tell if talent plus persistence will come to fruition for me.

Race Report: Run Your Can Off

Saturday morning was literally the perfect day to be a runner.  Although it was 30 degrees at the start, it quickly warmed up to the mid 40s with sun and clear skies. About 50 of us showed up, filled a truck with donated food and prepared to run anywhere from 1.25 to 35 miles.

From the time I woke up on Saturday, I was aware of how different the morning of an ultramarathon felt compared to a regular marathon.  I didn't have to worry about halting drinking so that I could use the porto-potty at the perfect time before the start; there was a porto-potty every 1.25 miles.  I didn't have to eat a huge bowl of oatmeal to carbo-load; I had fuel every 1.25 miles. I didn't have to pick the perfect layers; as some of the other runners can attest, I lost a layer of clothing every lap for the first few miles, leading me to ask if this was Run Your Clothes Off. Even the atmosphere was different.  Instead of thousands of anxious runners shoving each other in a corral, checking pace bands and planning strategy, we stood around drinking coffee and introducing ourselves. As Queen of race nerves, this was a welcome change.

The race went off around 9:15 and I started slowly as planned.  Really slowly.  I'm not kidding when I say that some of the kids who were running with us beat me through the first lap.  The first few laps were painless as my fingers and toes warmed up.  By about 5 miles in, I had stripped off my tights and was comfortably in shorts and a tee shirt.  For the first couple of hours, I ran in 4 lap (5 mile) chunks, stopping after every 4 to fuel, stretch and do a systems check. Per usual for me, I didn't feel warmed up until about 8 miles in and cruised through mile 15.  After the 12th lap, I started doing 3 lap chunks and definitely started to feel the distance.  After my 17th lap, I announced that I was only had 24 laps (30 miles) in me for the day. From that point on, I did two laps at a time and just tried to keep one foot in front of the other.

Miles 22 to 26 were tough.  I was tired, sore and disoriented from running a loop trail covered in leaves. By the time I reached 26, however, I was elated.  Every step was one longer than I'd ever run before and I was excited to see how far I could go.  I was also thrilled to note that although I was tired, my form wasn't falling apart.  I was moving slowly, but not compensating, so I plugged on.  On my 24th lap, Greg, the race organizer, kindly joined me to celebrate.  It was a good thing, as I was tired enough that bidding adieu to every tree, stump, log and squirrel seemed normal.  I finished, with minimal fanfare, but have never been more proud of myself.  The race medal, a crushed can, may become my favorite bling from any race.

After the race, I begrudgingly got myself into an ice bath, foam rolled and refueled.  My friends can attest that I even wore small heels on Saturday night (although they will also share that I was moving so slowly, it could barely be considered forward progress).  I am sore today, but much less so than I anticipated. Stairs are not my friend and although I feel like a rockstar, I look like a pirate. 

So what did this race mean to me?  First, it was part of my continued effort to be a more patient racer. I knew that if I wanted to survive, I needed to go out and stay slow.  In past races (please see Vegas 2009), going out too fast crushed my opportunity for a good race. Second, I verified that endurance remains a strong point for me.  When I am exhausted at mile 20 of Boston, I can think back to Saturday, and be grateful for only 6 miles left and confident that I have it in me.  Finally, I had fun. Running has always been my release valve, but my competitive drive sometimes overrides that and sucks the joy right out of it. During this recovery, I've done some fun events that I hope recalibrate me.

I said I'd never...

run an ultramarathon. But here we are and I'm signed up to run a lot of miles tomorrow, under the auspices of charity.  Run Your Can Off (http://runyourcanoff.blogspot.com/) is tomorrow morning, and I have up to 6 hours to fill with running.  I pledged to run a lap (1.25 miles) for every can/good donated.  I like doing good things almost as much as I like running, so I have a lot to donate and therefore a lot of laps to run.  As with all long runs, I'm approaching this one in a relaxed manner.  I'm not ready to race or even push it, so tomorrow is an another exercise in patience.  I'm going to take it one lap at a time, stretch when I need to and call it if things start to feel bad.  After all, the finish line is at most a mile away.

I'd like to do at least 15 laps, but my real goal is somewhere between 25 and 30 slow laps.  The mental exercise of pressing on and managing boredom will help me late in the marathon, when I often find myself alone and battling my inner "stop" demons. Running 30 miles will also be my last very long run for a while; on Monday, I start my gear up for Boston, the first 6 weeks of which are focused on speed and strength.  Endurance is not a limiting factor for me, but speed certainly is.  My best 5k time, for example, is only about 30 seconds faster per mile than my marathon pace. Focusing on speed necessitates that I drop my volume and over the next few weeks (detailed training plan to be revealed soon...), my runs will be short and intense.

I'm excited to get out there tomorrow for a good cause, meet up with some local runners and run trails for the better part of the day.  Being honest, I'm also excited to eat poptarts, which are my guilty pleasure long run food.  I'm also excited to take some pictures and add to my collection of running pictures in which I don't look terrible!  I'll post one or two here.

Have a great weekend of running all. This is the perfect time of year to be a runner!

Patience, Grasshopper

It has been a really great couple weeks of running. My miles are building, my leg has behaved and I can picture myself toeing the line at Boston for more than just a qualifying 3:40.  Tomorrow, I will do my first speed workout post-surgery, with 4 miles at a 7:30 pace. It's funny to think that my pace will be slower than the pace at which I ran my last marathon.  My test will not be whether I can run that fast, but whether I can be patient enough to let a 7:30 be enough.

Patience has never been a virtue.  My mom recently retold the story of me going to sleep away camp a full year before I was technically eligible.  Somehow, I convinced the camp to let me attend, despite being 7 when I needed to be 8.  In fact, I came into the world impatiently, arriving a full two months before I was due. That's why it is a bit of a surprise to me (and to my loved ones, I'm sure), that I've been patient with my recovery. When I went into surgery, I expected to be running in 6 weeks, training hard by the end of the summer.  Instead, it's November. As I start to feel strong, I find myself pushing too hard in workouts and tacking on extra miles. My brain knows that this is the easiest way to end up on the injured reserve, but my competitive side wants to make up for all the lost time.

Patience in the context of a marathon is an interesting thing.  Those who are successful in the marathon must have at least some level of it, as the distance punishes the hare and rewards the tortoise. Perhaps the strongest warning we offer to novice marathoners is that "there are no shortcuts."  Why, then, is it so hard to remember this for myself?  When I run with friends or give advice to new runners,  I always caution against too much too soon, about taking easy runs easy.  It seems that with most advice, it's easy to dole it out, but not as easy to observe.

As I wind on down the road this weekend, I'll be working on waking up my fast twitch muscles again, but also on practicing patience.  It's a long road to Boston.

Spooky Time of Year

(When I set out to write my post for this week, I had grand plans of writing about my experience registering for Boston. Other ideas included talking about volunteering at a marathon last weekend and cherishing the connection with other runners.  As life goes, however, my run on Wednesday night changed my plans for this week’s entry. )

Typically bucolic Burlington has been disrupted by a violent event in the North End, where a woman was found dead in her home.  Details continue to emerge, but the event unsettled me. The extent to which was not clear until my run on Wednesday night.  

I was running along the bike path when a bike slowed behind me.  Normally, I wouldn’t have paid any mind.  On Wednesday, however, I spun around, spooked. It was a commuter, slowing to turn off the bike path onto his street.  He apologized and was clearly surprised to have upset me. I spent the rest of the run on edge, jumping at the rustling of leaves and mile markers.  As it got too dark to see, I needed my headlamp, plunging myself into the isolation of a single beam of light.  By the last two miles, I was whistling “Camptown Races” as loudly as I could, as though that would dissuade any attackers.  

On my nth rendition of the song, I got mad.  I’ve been running alone for fifteen years in places much more dangerous than Burlington.  I survived four years in Albany and ran through post-Katrina Biloxi.  Now, in my safe little haven, I’ve been rudely reminded of my vulnerability as a woman runner.  As someone constantly competing with the boys, it pisses me off that while they run on, I’m risking ankle sprains from jumping off a path when a branch brushes my arm.

In a few weeks, the salience of this will fade and I’ll be back to being a creature of the night, running before the rest of the world rouses. Until then, I’m begging friends to run with me (fruitless), considering a new dog (crazy) and re-scheduling my life to allow me to run in the daylight (impractical).

The Diva's Half Marathon

Despite a rocky start (sitting in traffic for over an hour, missing the race start because they didn't hold the race for the 2000 people in traffic etc), my girls and I had a fabulous time in the Diva's half marathon.  For Lindsey, it was her first (and allegedly only) half marathon.  For me, it was a completely different perspective on a race.  A normal race morning for me finds me a bundle of nerves, reviewing strategy until the gun goes off.  When the gun went off last Sunday, we were facing the wrong direction and not even in the corral.  While I'll admit to being perturbed, it waned when I realized that my start (nor my middle, nor my finish) didn't matter.  We were here to run with Lindsey and enjoy the ride.

Enjoy it we did.  I have never been part of the pack.  Even in Las Vegas, the pack thinned quickly and I spent miles 10 through 26 essentially alone. Last weekend, however, we were surrounded.  We chatted up other groups, inevitably curious about our costumes, danced when there was music around and stopped to take pictures mid-race.  I took a bathroom break, walked through water stops and hurdled the occasional pylon.  I had a blast. The picture below is from the Mile 12 tiara and boa stop.  As you can tell, I'm taking things very seriously. (The song was Vogue.)

So what do I take away from the experience?  Anyone who has been around me on race day knows that I am legitimately no fun.  If I talk at all, it's harsh and I am so nervous I often vomit. Delightful, I know. Did this race change all of that?  Of course not.  What it did remind me is that running should be fun and that there are always other races.  It also helped me realize that I want to be racing again and that I have a lot of work to do this fall. 

Other lessons?  Don't run with a boa.  They smell terrible and are hard to breathe through.

Absence makes the heart grow...

Fonder?  Nah, I've just been too busy to post.  Luckily, a lot of that busy comes from getting back into running.  I am fresh off my first 30 mile week, including 30 miles in two days last weekend.  Yes, folks, I'm almost like a real live runner again.  I successfully pulled off 15 on Saturday, followed by a half marathon on Sunday where I paced a dear friend through her very first half marathon. Granted, both of those runs were incredibly slow, but I'm grateful to have survived with no symptoms and to be running this week without any residual pain.

So how did I get here?  As those around me can attest, I have been fastidious about routine and willing to try almost any rumored way to speed healing, encourage the regeneration of nerves and reduce scar tissue.  This has translated into a number of new things:

First, I am actually taking my vitamins every day, which include a multivitamin, Vitamin D (I'm in the North, we are low on sunshine) and a Fish Oil.  All of this comes from my mom, who also doubles as my RD.  She reads a lot more of the nutritional research than I do, and while I can't provide support beyond the anecdotal, I'm reticent to change the routine because it isn't hurting me and I know, like many of us, I don't always eat as well as I should. 

Second, I warm up and cool down.  No longer can I run from my front door.  Now, I warm up on a foam roller, then walk for a few minutes, then transition to a run.  After my run, I stretch carefully and foam roll again.  This adds a good 20 minutes to every run, but I'd do 40 if it meant running comfortably and avoiding additional surgeries.

Third, I am consistently working on flexibility.  Much like taking my vitamins, I know I should, but that doesn't mean I want to.  If I have an extra hour in my day, I am just not someone who would opt for yoga.  I'd watch TV, go for a run, organize my bathroom, floss my teeth.  Anything but yoga.  I have to admit, though, that a regular practice has allowed me to be better aware of where my left foot is in space and for that, I'll om with the best of them.

It's hard to know whether these things are making a difference or if I'm just finally reaching the end of this road to recovery.  Since none of them are likely to have a negative effect, I'll keep doing them (probably until I run out of time or forget all the lessons I've learned). 

The next challenge is to not succumb to "too much, too soon."  With registration for the Boston Marathon fast approaching, I find myself eager to start following a stringent plan.  I know, however, that I still have a lot of base building to do and I fear that a strict plan will be discouraging.  For the remainder of 2010, I am going to keep working towards a normal base for me, which is somewhere between 50 and 60 miles per week.  This will come from a longer weekend runs and a handful of midweek runs.  In a month or so, I'll begin to add tempo work back in.  By January 2011, I should be ready to gear up for a true training cycle.

Stay tuned for a picture or two from the half marathon on Sunday.  The event itself was poorly executed, but we had a ton of fun and it gave me a whole different perspective on running, which I will share along with those pictures.

Step by Step

As with most things, no news is good news.  Things haven't miraculously improved, but they haven't gotten worse either.  I'm still running five days a week, with my mileage hovering around 20 miles a week.  My long runs are pushing past an hour and my pace is dropping down towards normal.  For days after a hard run, however, I'm sore and exhausted.  Recovery certainly is a slow road.

I met with Dr. Charlson recently and we evaluated the situation and my choices.  His take, based on the EMG and exam, is that I have nerves that get compressed in my left leg, at the fibular head and down by the incision at my ankle.  I notice is more while running because I'm moving faster and need more feedback from the ground to ambulate safely and efficiently. My complaint of a "missing" foot is a sensory issue resulting from damage from surgery (known risk before surgery) and from the continued compression of this nerves.  My choices are to wait longer and see if I improve, have surgery to release the nerves or do nothing.  For now, I've opted for Choice 1.  I am going to continue to build/maintain, run the half in October then reevaluate.  Boston registration is October 18th (I was wrong in an earlier post) and that is currently my goal return race.  If I feel like things are improving, I'll just keep plugging.  If, however, I feel like the sensory issues are the same or worse, Dr. Charlson and I will discuss another surgery. The good news is that he doesn't feel that running is causing damage, so I'm free to continue running as much as I'm comfortable.

Right now, I'm keeping a loose schedule, trying to run most days, some hard and some easy.  I am focusing on building up my long runs, as those are the core of most schedules, and on improving my fitness.  It's hard not to start pressuring myself to get back into shape faster or to run bigger miles, but I am trying to be patient.  I want to come back strong and uninjured, and rushing is an easy way to mess that up.

I also had my DVT blood panel drawn and analyzed last week.  The great news is that I don't have a clotting disorder.  Most likely, it was the combination of surgery (provoked cause) and taking oral contraceptives.  For future surgeries, I will need to be take prophylactic Lovenox and probably be on a blood thinner through surgery.  There are also some precautions for both pregnancy and post-partum periods that I'll need to take when I reach that point in my life.


Note to other CECS-ers: Jenn, Erin, Leah etc...how are you all doing with recovery?  I've been missing from both here and Runner's World and am curious how your recoveries are going as well.

Two Steps Forward and One Step Back

I've been remiss in posting recently, partially because work has gotten busy and partially because there's not a lot to report.  My running is on and off.  Some weeks are great, and I crank through runs with no problem.  As soon as I start to think things are good, though, I have a run with numbness and pain. 

The past two weeks have been quiet running-wise.  I was building miles through July, but weather and life have gotten in the way and I've only been running a couple of times over the past 10 days.  I planned to head out for 8 today, but the pouring rain is dissuading me yet again.  During a normal training cycle, I would berate myself for deviating from my schedule.  Since surgery, I'm finding myself more laid back.  As my runs get faster (I hit 8:20 miles twice this week), I can feel the surge of competitiveness returning, but for now, I'm pretty happy to be out there plodding.

Next on the horizon is a half marathon for fun in October.  Of my three besties from graduate school, Lindsey never really bought into KC, Emmy and my insanity about running.  However, osmosis occurred and we're all running the Divas Half Marathon on Long Island in October. It's the silliest half we could find: shirtless men handing out medals, tiaras and boas as uniform and champagne for hydration. I am nowhere near in shape to be racing, so an event that is intended to be 100% fun will be great.  I haven't been doing a lot of running, so 13 miles will be a push, but I'm sure we'll survive. KC and I plan to carry a camera and document in a way we haven't previously been able. I'll post the winning shots up here.

The specialist shuffle begins again next week with an ankle/foot specialist, so look for more frequent posts as that begins again.

Ahhh, Finally

It's been a decent week for me running-wise.  I put in 22 miles and was only mildly symptomatic.  On today's 7 miler, my "long run" of the week, I had no symptoms at all.  I took it very very easy, making sure to slow down as I found myself pushing too fast.  More and more, I am understanding the idea of the true easy run. My other great run (yes, great run) of the week was on Tuesday, when I got caught in a torrential downpour. Instead of being annoyed, I was running with a big, dumb smile plastered across my face, intentionally splashing through the puddles on the trail.  As my inner cross country girl woke up, I actually felt like a real runner for a few minutes.

I also touched base with Dr. Slauterbeck this week.  He, Dr. Zweber (Nerve Specialist) and another foot/ankle surgeon are going to team up to better identify what we're dealing with and how we might fix it. One option, of course, is to ignore it.  Dr. Slauterbeck's concern, which I share, is that the numbness will eventually begin to happen at rest. Even now, going down stairs or descending on a hike is difficult.  Getting in and out of my bike clips is near impossible.  I have some feeling in my foot, but I am not confident that I know where my foot is in space, which makes my movements tentative at best.  Because running is so practiced for me, I'm okay while doing that, but as a relatively new cyclist, being stuck in my clips is a downright disaster.

Moving up to 25 miles this coming week.  Boston registration opens September 1st...current dilemna is to register or not to register...

(Almost) 16 Weeks Post-Op

It seems inconceivable, but tomorrow will mark 16 weeks post-op for me.  16 weeks ago, I was eating my last big meal and talking about what life was going to be like without pain and pressure.  I assumed I'd be running by June and back to rebuilding by now.  As we all know, the best laid plans...

Despite the setbacks and frustrations, I will say that my scars are looking great.  Although they still seem huge and grotesque to me, friends assure me that in fact, you almost don't notice them.  While I generally think they are humoring me, the scars have certainly flattened out.

Lateral Incision

Medial Scar (this one has really improved recently)

My Mastercard Commercial

EMG/NCS Round 1 : $1200
Left Leg Fasciotomy: $3000 before insurance
10 hrs of PT x 12 weeks: $720 in co-pays
Repeat EMG/NCS:  TBD

Having surgery and doing full rehab to be worse off than prior to surgery?  Priceless.

Last Week's Goals:  All met except weight lifting (surprise, surprise)
This Week's Goals:  22 miles, 1 session of yoga and 1 session of weights plus assorted cardio.

Wanted: Totally Flat Marathon, perhaps on Treadmill

The search to figure out what is wrong with my leg has led to an interesting discovery: I am asymptomatic on flat surfaces.  Before my EMG on Wednesday, I ran for almost 40 minutes on a treadmill with little trouble.  Today, I ran a flat mile on an indoor track in under 8 minutes, with no pain and no symptoms, followed by another asymptomatic 3 on the treadmill.  What good is this information?  In some ways, not much.  It complicates things because it corroborates Dr. Slauterbeck's thought that something is going on with my gastroc head, a finding ruled out, at least neurologically, by the EMG.

What this discovery does allow me to do, however, is continue to rebuild my fitness. One of the other complications I am currently dealing with is the fact that being out of shape means that I am just not as efficient as usual.  Because of this, it's possible that some of my discomfort while running is a result of compensating for my lack of cardiovascular fitness. Indeed, it's hard to remember cranking out 7 minute miles for 26 miles when a 9 minute mile is a "fast day."

I'm getting more aggressive with my running and general fitness this week, aiming for about 20 miles of running (I did 17 miles last week) plus another 2 hours of cardio, 3 sessions of weight lifting and a nightly core routine.  I'm hopeful that by continuing to improve my fitness, we can suss out what is related to the nerve issue and what is a side effect of my loss of conditioning.

Filling in the Blanks

It's been a long week.  I saw Dr. Slauterbeck last week to try and begin piecing together what is going on with my leg.  First, we ruled some things out. Despite some pain around my tibia, I don't likely have a stress fracture.  Dr. Slauterbeck feels confident that the release was successful and that he opened the compartments up so extensively that a recurrence of CS is almost impossible. What we did decide on was that something happens when I'm running that causes an interference with a nerve, likely the peroneal nerve.  To get more information on this, I was scheduled for a dynamic EMG, which I had today with Dr. Zweber.

For those who haven't ever had an EMG, think serious poke from an electric fence, at various places along your leg.  It's not painful, per say, but it's not pleasant either.  We started by establishing a baseline and tested me at rest, both with the electricity and with some strength exercises.  Then I headed to the treadmill to get tested.  The drawback to this, of course, is that I've never had symptoms on a treadmill.  I ran for 40 minutes until my foot felt like it was flopping around and starting to go numb.  Dr. Zweber and I hurried back to the exam room and he repeated the EMG.  So what did we find?

The good news is that there is not a trap at the fibular head, as we had suspected.  I have some tenderness in this area, but the EMG seemed to suggest that the nerve was happy and free here. As we move lower, however, a trap seems to exist just below the lateral incision. This explains the eventual numbness and inability to control my foot while running.  Basically, the sensory feedback that should be coming from my foot as it strikes the ground is getting garbled and my anterior tibialis muscle, ankle stabilizers and toe muscles don't know what to do to coordinate movement.

So what to do?  Dr. Slauterbeck and Dr. Zweber need to put their heads together and figure out what the test results and my symptoms mean, what the solutions might be and what the chances of success are with those solutions.  As Dr. Slauterbeck and I discussed last week, a nerve trapped up by the knee would be a far easier (as easy as nerve surgery is) than a nerve near the ankle.  For me, the location is also complicated by the vast amount of scar tissue found in the area and the incision. 

Wish Me Luck!

Saw my PT this morning and he didn't like what he saw from my leg.  There is definitely some abnormal swelling, edema in the ankle and bulging veins behind the knee.  Based on this, he put a call into the surgeon to see me earlier than next Tuesday.  I head over to Dr. Slauterbeck's tomorrow afternoon to have him take a look.

Since my symptomatic run, my leg feels like there is a blood pressure cuff on it, much like it did before surgery.  Those with CECS know how uncomfortable the pressurized feeling is.  However, foam rolling helps relieve some pressure, at least temporarily.  This turn of events makes me hopeful that some soft tissue work may help relieve these symptoms.

I'll update more tomorrow after my appointment.  Send good running vibes my way (not that anyone really wants to be running in this heat right now).

Why do you run?

Any semi-serious runner encounters this question on a regular basis.  Often, it's an out of shape co-worker or acquaintance who hears you talk about soreness or injury and helpfully informs you that "running isn't really that good for you."  There was even that infamous Glamour article a few years ago that told women that running would make their skin saggy.  I don't know about their research cohort, but my skin is a lot less saggy when I'm running than when I'm not.

As I ruminate over yesterday's run and the seeming return of my symptoms, I find myself asking "why do I run?"  (For those with a time constraint, the answer is that I actually love running. For those interested in a more detailed answer, read on.)

I started running competitively in 7th grade.  At the time, I was not particularly good at or interested in other sports.  My parents had a rule about us being home for dinner and most elementary sports practices happened right at 5:30.  I was always a strong runner, however, often winning the mile run that we occasionally did in gym class.  I did gymnastics a couple of times, rode horses and bikes and was generally an outdoors kid, but not in an organized sense.

I joined the cross country team in 7th grade for the social interaction and because everyone else joined a sport.  I wasn't particularly good, but I wasn't particularly bad either.  By high school, I was a solid runner and often ran in the 5th spot (which scores in XC) during my freshman year.  I didn't improve drastically over my high school career, only getting into the 21:00 minute range in the 5k.  It wasn't for lack of talent; I just ran at a time when my team and Vermont had a series of insanely talented runners.  My teammate Tara would go on to win NCAAs.  Erin Sullivan broke almost every Vermont record.  With limited resources and attention, I was fine at running and very strong at nordic skiing. Even at that time, I suspected that short distance was not my strength.  It took me almost all of a 5K to warm up, but once I was warm, running felt like something I could do forever.

I opted not to run in college.  Burnt out from a rather uninspiring high school career and sick of being told that I was too heavy for running (ridiculous, as I was a good 15 pounds lighter in high school than I am now), I went on to college as a nobody, athletically speaking.  I played field hockey freshman year, and was surprisingly good.  As an inner, my job was to run fast, seemingly forever.  Success.  When I transferred to Albany, however,  playing on a D1 team with only a year of experience wasn't an option.  I occasionally played pickup, but found myself coming back to running by the end of sophomore year.

It would take me almost 4 more years to build up the confidence to race again.  Will watched me run every day in graduate school and as a former runner himself, recognized that my speed was improving.  When we talked about racing, however, I would balk, afraid to put myself out there again. I came home one day to find amazing pink waffles on my pillow with a note that said, "I hope to be watching you race in these by the end of the summer."  It was enough to encourage me to sign up for a 4 mile race.  To my surprise, I did well, finishing 4th among women, and the first woman who wasn't a former Olympian.  I continued to race through that fall, winning a 5K in September, placing 7th in my first marathon in November and winning a race series.  I was back.  Or so I thought.

Running has meant different things to me throughout my life.  In elementary school, it was a source of pride for a kid who otherwise didn't feel particularly athletic.  In junior high and high school, it was a social experience.  I still hold an incredibly special place in my heart for "my" cross country girls. In college, it was a way to keep up with late night beer and pizza.  After Katrina, it was a piece of normalcy in an otherwise insane day.  In grad school, it was sanity and a social event and a major piece of my relationship. 

For those who aren't runners, it would be impossible for me to describe the depth of loss that I'm feeling today.  Of course I can find another sport.  I like biking and hiking, I even occasionally like ultimate frisbee and swimming.  But I love running.  Running is who I am.