Slo Jo: Don't Call It a Comeback!

Distance: 14 miles
Pace: 12:34 avg
Falls while running: 0
Falls on ski slopes: 5

I'm writing this from Pinetop, Arizona. Have been visiting Toe-Shoes Tina and her family over the holidays. She gave me an AWESOME pair of light-up shoelaces for Christmas, plus some travel-size body glide and a Brita water bottle (and a cute scarf). All good running presents! Can't wait to try out those shoelaces.

I wanted to report on last week's progress, because I was having grave doubts last time I posted. So my plan was to rest three days, get my deep tissue massage, stretch a lot, and then do five, eight, five, and a long run. I didn't want to do too long of a long run and wreck myself, as I had missed the last two weeks of long runs. On the other hand, there are only a few weeks left until the full and I need to get in my long runs!

I'm horribly off schedule, and it didn't seem like a good idea to just jump back into it with a 20-mile run. I asked for help. Coach and I decided my mission--if I chose to accept it--would be to run 14 on Christmas Day, then 16, then 18--and then to taper for the full.

(I wonder if I should start holding my hands like that for my 12-minute miles.)

For me, this was a really important 14-mile run. If I couldn't finish it because of knee pain, I was probably going to have to give up the plan to run a full marathon on February 2. But if I could....

I decided that I would run around the neighborhood, taking one dog at a time. Clancy and I ran the first five together. Clancy is a really solid runner and an excellent pooper. He likes to poop on sidewalks where it is harder to clean up.

(I was trying to stretch on the floor afterward and had some enthusiastic observers.)

In any event, Christmas Day in my neighborhood was full of Christmas spirit: people were playing outside with their families, or walking to their cars holding trays of food, or riding stolen bikes around casing the neighborhood trash cans to see who got what for Christmas so they could rob those homes later. I'm not joking. One of these suspicious characters kept pedaling by me on his bicycle and leering at me, leading to this exchange:

Creepo:  Heeeeeeeeeeeey.
Me (with death glare): LEAVE ME ALONE.

He pedaled off.

(I'm gonna have to start carrying bear spray, too, apparently.)

The other incident during the first five miles took place at the park. A baseball team was gathering to play baseball, and I was sort of watching them and thinking how healthy and fun it was to play ball on Christmas Day, when a large stray pit bull charged up to Clancy. The two dogs were posturing, side by side, determining who was dominant. It was terrifying; I was worried the dogs were going to fight, and how would I pull this big stray off Clancy? I made a sort of EEEP! sound when the dog appeared. Seeing the situation, the entire baseball team came over and tried to call the dog and offered advice. It was kind of awesome. I had 25 helpers. The dogs were stuck together, and the stray would come with us if I tried to move Clancy--this standoff took awhile. Then my sweet Clancy-Boy decided to MOUNT the stray. OMG. I freaked a little (well, a lot)--that seems like an excellent way to start a fight! I pulled Clancy off. Eventually, the baseball team distracted the stray dog and Clancy and I were able to walk away, me waving thank you to all of them from a distance like a parade queen. My pounding heart and adrenaline carried me through the rest of our five miles.

I returned an uninjured and foolish Clancy to the house, drank some water, had a Honey Stinger energy goo thing that TST had recommended, and leashed up Clifford. Clifford and I decided to stay WELL AWAY from the park. Clifford is a big, robust boy, and he would be fine for dealing with Creepo Bike Guy (in fact, he would be awesome), but he is a submissive dog and the stray dog might just destroy him for practice. So we did a HUGE 2.5 miles. Because Clifford is, ah, big boned, he is not really a distance runner. I towed him the last half mile back to the house, and we picked up Dog #3: Betty Bamba.

Betty and I decided to run into a nicer neighborhood for the last part of the run, so we ran over to Willo. As I predicted, the worst thing we ran into was a yappy Pomeranian who was loose in its front yard.

The best thing about this run was that I did not have any knee pain. I had other issues. Like, fatigue. It seemed like it would be a good idea to stop, but I didn't. Or foot pain. The bottoms of my feet started to hurt. Or general knee achiness that wasn't IT band pain and that I could work through. But all of these things are part of the tedium of running longer distances. It wasn't incapacitating. It was just fine.

I dropped Betty back at the house at 12.5, and finished the last 1.5 alone. It was mentally hard, but I wanted to finish and know I did my 14. And I did!

Toe-Shoes Tina: Frozen

Distance:  6.75

Pace:  9:38

Spread between what the weather app told me and reality:  -18 degrees

It is December 29 and I haven’t worked out since a 7 mile run on Christmas day.  I’ve been skiing with Slo Jo and sledding, but I count that as playing, not cardio.  (I believe Slo Jo would quibble with me on the skiing, but I’m sort of crazy, so there you go.)  I am also up in the mountains without my scale, so all I have to judge myself by is how I feel.  And I.  Feel.  Fat.  So I decide to go for an 8 mile run.  I check my weather app, which allows me to view the predicted temperature by hour for the next several hours.  It is 3:30 in the afternoon and it tells me that the temp will hover in the mid-40s for the next three hours.  I know from prior mountain experiences that mid-40s means running tights and a short sleeved shirt.  More than anything, I loathe overheating while running and my internal temp skews warm.  I put on my running tights and my Tough Mudder finisher shirt and threw in some gloves because it looked a little windy. 

(See?  This is what my weather app said!  Totally reasonable running weather.)

I started my new Jack Reacher audiobook and began the long slow chug up the Beast.  As I neared the top of the Beast, I realized I hadn’t heard MapMyRun tell me my pace, which it is supposed to do every 5 minutes.  Then I realized I was past the spot where it typically tells me I’m one mile into my run.  Crap.  I checked the app and saw it was set for treadmill running (thanks to my 13 mile death run on a treadmill on Christmas Eve *shudder*), so it wasn’t tracking me via GPS.  I had run for 11:17 at that point, so I decided to just call it a mile and start the app properly.  (I later used my computer to determine it was 1.17 miles.)  Undeterred, I got to the top of the Beast and began my descent.  To run 8 miles, I thought I’d run to the turnoff to my subdivision then figure out how much more I needed to run to get to 8, then do half that and run back.  This turned out to be more complicated by the fact that I needed to add the missing mile to my distance, then do my calculations.  But doing math in my head makes my run go quicker, so it’s all good.  I determined I needed to run 2.75 miles beyond my subdivision and then turn back for an even 8.  That meant I had to turn around when MapMyRun said 4.25 (which would actually be 5.25, since I was missing a mile).  My muscles and joints felt okay, but my skin, nose, and ears did not.  It was friggin’ cold!  Usually when I run in the mountains it is closer to midday. Today, the late afternoon sun was sinking far enough into the western horizon that the forest was throwing long shadows resulting in very little sunshine.  And the wind was whipping me in cold gusts.  I reached my turnaround point and realized my skin was tingling in a bad way.  And my ears were freezing, so much that my ear canals felt like little ice caves stabbing into my brain. 

(When these beautiful caves bore into your skull they are painful.)

I’ve been cold on runs before.  The Tough Mudder was this past February and I’m pretty sure I finished it in the early stages of hypothermia.  I did the race with my friends, KO Kennedy, Peppy, and Obstacle Racer.  Phoenix in February is usually pleasant.  But it is less pleasant when you begin the 12.5 mile dirt course with an obstacle called “Arctic Enema.”  It consists of a giant container lined with plastic, and filled with ice water.  To keep it icy, they continuously dump ice into the container all day.  The layer of ice cubes at the top is a couple inches thick.  There is board in the middle of the container that goes a foot or two under the ice water.  You jump into the ice water, then swim under the board, pop up on the other side and attempt to haul your frozen, shivering butt over the opposite edge of the container.  Arctic Enema is among the most horrifying sensations I’ve ever experienced.  As I emerged from under the board, I heard this weird gasping/grunting sound and then realized it was involuntarily coming from my mouth!  To top it off, the wind was unusually robust that day and we were drenched from the Arctic Enema to the end of the race.  Every time we started to dry off, the Tough Mudder course obligingly dumped us into another water obstacle, though thankfully just regular water as opposed to ice water.   When they handed me my finisher’s beer at the end of the race hours later, my hand was shaking so badly my beer sloshed out onto the ground.  Party foul. 

(Why did I do this?  Oh yeah, bragging rights.)

So I suppose it was appropriate I was wearing my Tough Mudder shirt today.  I was cold in a different way, but every bit as uncomfortable as I was in February.  Whereas in February my entire body just felt extremely chilled, today my exposed skin and extremities were stinging cold.  My core was warm; in fact, I was sweating through my shirt (to keep myself warm, I tried running faster, but that just resulted in more core-sweat and did not help my extremities).  But beyond my core, I was icy cold.  My leg muscles never felt warm, causing some mildly alarming tightness in my hamstrings.   So I caved.  At 6ish miles, I gave up and called Husband #1 to pick me up.  I managed to make it about .6 more before he found me (then gained another .15 when I mapped the un-tracked part of my run).  I climbed into the car, grateful for heat.  The car thermometer said 37 degrees.  What the WHAT?  Where was my mid-40s temperature?  I checked my weather app:  it said the temp was 36 degrees, 28 with wind chill factored.  And I was the dummy running in a thin t-shirt and tights.  28 degrees is a far cry from mid-40s!  Astonishingly, when I stripped off my running clothes, my shirt was soaked through with sweat, even though my skin was bright red and still tingly.  The shower burned that red skin, but I didn’t care.  The heat felt divine.  Tomorrow I will run again, adequately prepared with long sleeves and a hat. 

(Really, it seems dangerously inaccurate for this app to simultaneously tell me that the current temp is 28 degrees and that I should expect it to be 46 degrees until 6:00 tonight.)

TST: My Name Is Toe-Shoes Tina, And I Am A Runner

Distance:  15 miles

Pace:  9:50

Wine:  I didn’t open a second bottle, which is pretty awesome because it is the Friday before Christmas

Aaaaaah . . . the holidays.  Work slowly grinds to a halt as people tend to the endless shopping and wrapping and card-sending and party-going.  Well, that’s what I think every December, anyway.  And then am shocked when caught in an avalanche of work leading up to the 25th.  Then on top of it, my marathon training is reaching its peak during the holidays this year, because, you know, I have so much extra time.  So Friday the 20th, I left work and Husband #1 graciously took the girls to sushi so his crazy-eyed stressed out wife could unwind a bit.  I jumped at the opportunity to cook myself some brown rice, topped it with soy sauce, poured a glass of merlot, and started catching up on DVR’d Criminal Minds.  I gleefully texted Slo Jo to tell her about my well-balanced dinner.  She wondered about protein.  I figured the Godiva chocolate I ate at work (yay holiday gift baskets!) had some protein.  It’s made of milk, right? 

(This is totally a nutritionally complete dinner . . . if you ignore the need for vegetables, fat, and protein.)

I had a 15 mile run scheduled for this week.  We were planning to head to the mountains midday Saturday and the girls had a birthday party to go to at 10:00 am.  That meant I had to run early on Saturday.  Very early.  So, on a Saturday, I got up at 5:15 am and made myself a small latte.   I forced down a banana and pulled on running tights and a neon orange running shirt.   I packed gels into my running pack, filled my water bottle, and set out.  It was dark.  Not even a hint of dawn.  And it was cold, for Phoenix, at 45 degrees.  There was also a "fog warning," though it turns out that means there was a mist hanging over every golf course I passed.  No discernible threat to people traveling on actual roads.  I also realized as I began that my MapMyRun app had updated itself somehow and I couldn’t figure out how to change the coaching function, which was currently set for an 8:00 pace on a tempo run.  Oh well.  I set out prepared to be told for the next several hours I was going too slow.      

It is funny how marathon training changes your perspective.  Three months ago, 13.1 miles was a strenuous distance to be attempted once a year when there is beer at the finish line.  I’ve run that distance or more now for several weeks straight.  I ran 18 miles last week and felt good, like I could have kept going.  So on Saturday, my outlook had noticeably shifted.  “I only have to run 15 miles,” I thought. Sane people do not use the words “only,” “run,” and “15 miles” in the same sentence.  But I didn’t care.  I was excited.  I was actually planning to pick up my pace, hopeful that I could do a sub-10:00 pace.  I planned a route that would take me by my boxing gym at 9.25 miles, delighted that when I popped in to say hi and pee I’d “only” have 5.75 miles to go. 

(This is the most memorable image that came up when I Googled "crazy runner."  I have not yet reached this level of crazy and do not aspire to it.)

It went great!  I started easy.  My first mile was 11:06 and my next two were over 10:00.  Then I pushed myself.  I ran so that I could feel myself breathing hard and sweating, hoping the pace was sustainable.   I took my gels and my salt pills as planned and stopped in at my boxing gym.  They were having “egg nog boot camp” on Saturday morning and I expected to be sorely disappointed at missing out.  Two of my favorite things!  Egg nog and boxing! But a strange thing happened.  I said hi to everyone and then didn’t even feel a twing of regret at heading back out.  I had a goal to meet and was excited to see if I could do it.  Plus, I’m a little embarrassed to admit I’m addicted to the Jack Reacher series on audio books.  They are cheesy, improbable fluff.  They are, however, fast paced and Jack Reacher (if you can ignore the fact that he “shrugs” once every three minutes on average) is a likeable enough guy and fit.  Like a human machine.  I want to emulate his fitness.  It is perfect for running.  I hit 13.1 at 2:08:40 – a half marathon PR (though 9 minutes slower than my January goal).  Then I chugged through my final 2 miles without bonking.  I conveniently ended at a convenience store where I bought a Gatorade to drink on my way home. 

As I walked home, basking in the glow of a good run (hey, I’ve had my share of lousy runs lately and I’m savoring it!), I started thinking about how far I’d come mentally since my training began.  I’ve always been athletic, that’s not the issue.  I’ve been running here and there for years, but have never considered myself “a runner.”  I’m not “a runner”; rather, I run.  It got me thinking about a Newbie Chronicle I read in a recent Runners World.  He pondered when one can truly consider oneself a runner and concluded it is when you have heaps of dirty running clothes on your bedroom floor.  Well, I’ve had that for a while, but only because I box in running clothes.  I still don’t pretend to know where the line is, but I concluded wherever it is, I’ve crossed it.  I woke up hours before dawn, on a dinner of wine and brown rice, squirmed into neon-colored skin-tight not-cheap running gear, and dutifully left my house on foot when most normal people were sleeping.  I ran so long the sun came up and then I kept running.  I was not concerned about missing boxing (and egg nog!) for running.  And what is more, I enjoyed it.  I spent about 5 minutes this week Googling future marathons I want to do (Napa March 2015, anyone???).  I think I can finally go from saying “I run” to “I am a runner.”  Happy holidays, everyone!  Now go drink some egg nog!

Slo Jo: Daunted.

Distance: 0.0 miles
Excuse: IT band agony
Wine consumed: MYOB. It is Christmas. On January 1, I shall reform and snap into healthy habits. Easy!

I am listening to Doctor Sleep, the sequel to The Shining by Stephen King.

We get to see Danny as an adult; he is still coping with some trauma from the Overlook and dealing with some alcohol issues. King is, obviously, a good writer. But he likes to do things like have the character think in italics. A lot. I find this to be an annoying writerly habit. It goes like this:

Slo Jo adjusted her hydration belt and jogged down Central, the ground crunching under her feet. She focused on the road ahead of her, one step at a time

oh god is that my IT band?

and tried to put thoughts of the many miles before her out of her mind

IT BAND IT BAND IT BAND

Then she saw the dead man. He was jogging, wearing neon green compression socks and a black shirt. He didn't know he was dead, but Slo Jo could see the flies covering his face and knew he would be dead soon. It was really too bad that he was out for a jog as his last act; perhaps he'd have a heart attack or get hit by a car

IT BAND!!!!

***

Totally stole the flies on the dead man thing from the book. Moving along. So last Monday, after writing my blog post about my week of wine-and-chocolate-induced slackerliness, I thought, I'm gonna go out and do a long run. Five miles in, my left knee exploded.

[Expletive] IT band

So I had to walk two miles back to the car, and that sucked. Self doubt crept in. I wondered if I was really going to be able to do this.

Two days later, I tried to do an eight-mile run. Three and a half miles in: left knee. Done. Had to walk home. The thing about walking is, it takes freaking forever. So not only was I thinking, oh man, I can't do this

I CAN'T DO THIS

but I had a long time to think that horrible thought. I'm totally behind on my training, and can't do the training because I get pain. This is really, really disappointing. I bet Danny could see flies crawling on my knee as a harbinger of doom.

I've taken some steps. First, CC and I went to a yoga stretch class. It was a little weird because it involved a gong (right by my ear!) and a ocean-noise making machine that the instructor puts over your head when your eyes are closed. I'm not very zen, I guess, because I got the giggles. And there was a put-your-legs-in-the-air-for-about-six-hours component that I disliked. But we did some good hip stretches, which I needed, and I felt good afterward.

Second, I got a sports massage. And it HURT. I even told the masseuse about TST's pic of James Bond and the threat of massaging his IT bands as torture, and she laughed merrily at that for about five minutes. Then the torture resumed. As it turns out, I have tight glutes.

(Sadly, a different kind of tight ass.)

The tight glute muscles are pulling on the connectors to the IT bands, and the IT bands are also tight, and apparently after three miles everything just contracts and stops the Slo Jo Amazing Running Machine from going forward. I didn't even realize those muscles were sore until she attacked them. I cried a little. Then she would pull my leg into an odd shape and attack the muscles some more. I think it helped. I'm sore all over today.

Last, I'm really going to focus on stretching. All that TV time? It is now stretching time.

I haven't given up yet. I still have six weekends before the marathon. I may have to shorten the taper. I'm not sure. But I'm going to run on Sunday, and I am really, really, really hoping that I don't get the knee pain. Send me good loose muscle thoughts! And I'll try to change my mental thoughts to

I CAN DO THIS.

Happy holidays!

Slo Jo: What I Blog About When I Can't Blog About Running

I'm glad I didn't put up a tree this year, because I officially declare it to be January. Yes, it is December 16, but I'm already fat and exhausted. Too much holiday cheer, and not enough running. In fact, hardly any running. I feel like the Family Guy version of a Christmas elf at this point:

("Because Christmastime is killing us.")

Let's recap last week:

Sunday
Hot Chocolate 15K. Felt good about it.

Tuesday
Distance: 2 miles
Distance actually run: 1 mile, with 1 mile walk home
Excuse: Right knee felt "spongy"

Okay, so I was supposed to run five miles. Knee felt crappy. I felt tired. Okay, let's write it off. I decided I would run 5, 8, and 5 Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday instead. I was probably tired from the Hot Chocolate race.

Wednesday
Distance: 5 miles
Martinis: 1
Glasses of wine: The correct number if you are single during the holidays.
Highly caloric dinners: 1

I thanked the running gods for allowing me to run. Perhaps I was now back on track. I can do this, I said. Then I ate my weight in steak and mashed potatoes and chased it with a gin martini.

Thursday
Distance: .07 miles
Excuse: It was cold. I didn't wanna.
Glasses of wine: 2, at party, which is really, really good with an open bar.

Well, shit. I was now officially behind schedule.

I told myself, forget it. I'll just go after lunch. And then...I had to go to this holiday party. I kind of ran out of time.

Friday
Distance: 0 miles
Glasses of wine: Open bar fail

Well, Thursday night I had been at a holiday party and comported myself quite well as I had to drive. On Friday, I did not have to drive and had a most excellent time at the next holiday party.

Why did I not manage to get my eight miles in? I'd had such a rotten running week that I felt eight miles was too daunting. Eight miles! I couldn't run eight miles. Maybe three. Maybe two. Maybe a nice run/walk. Also, my mother was coming up for her birthday on Saturday. I had to clean the house. Oh, and then get ready for that night's holiday party. Oh, and work. Oh, and wrap all the Christmas presents so that my mom could take them with her.

Saturday
Distance: 2 miles
Glasses of wine: maybe three?
Fancy dinners out: 1
Dead plants from neglect due to too many holiday functions: 1

On Saturday morning, Pixie and Toe Shoes Tina ran four to burn off the holiday party calories from the night before. I slept in. It is important to get sufficient rest.

Then my mom came up. We shopped. I told her I was feeling really bad about not running, so she started watching a movie, and I tried to go running. And...another fail. So we went to a fancy birthday dinner and I ate 10,000 calories instead.

Sunday
Distance: 0 miles
Weight: Now measured in tonnage
Holiday parties: Baby shower
Dishes cooked: 100

On Sunday, instead of running, Mom and I went to the Chihuly exhibit at the Desert Botanical Gardens. 

(If you live in Phoenix, you should go!)

Then we had to make food for a friend's baby shower, then go to the baby shower (where I was a host), then help at the baby shower. Afterward, we collapsed on the sofa and ate the chocolates that the same friend had given Mom for her birthday.

No running. I'm behind schedule, I'm stressed, I'm tired, I'm not happy with my body, and I'm sick of parties.

Stewie: Can't you see that every smile/Makes it all worthwhile?

Santa: No, screw you! It's all but through, there's too much to do

All those dreams are nightmares and blank, icy stares.

(You should watch them sing the song--it is awesome--you can find it on YouTube.)

Now, none of this is to say I resent the wonderful friends and family I have been spending time with. I enjoyed those parties, and I am happy my friends are in my life. But it is time for a little me time. I brought my workout clothes with me to work, and I'm going running at lunch. How far? I don't know. My marathon book says if you fall off track for less than 10 days, just get back on schedule. (It also says that if I go more than 10 days, revisit my plans to run a marathon. Uh oh.)

So I'm gonna try. I'll let you know how it goes. After all, I have another party tonight.

Toe-Shoes Tina and Slo Jo Run for Hot Chocolate

Slo Jo:

Distance: 15K

Pace: 10:40

Perceived temperature: -15C

Actual temperature: 53F

The whole thing began because our friend CC wanted to run the Hot Chocolate race. Only she didn’t phrase it that way. “They give out hot chocolate at the end,” she explained. “I want hot chocolate.”

Coach, who has adopted CC as his next trainee, pressed her on this point. “Come on,” he said. “It can’t be just that. You must want to get in shape or—”

“I just want hot chocolate,” she insisted.

Despite our informing CC that hot chocolate was available from various restaurants and grocery stores that wouldn’t make you pay a registration fee and run a few miles, she stood firm. So Flash, Toe-Shoes Tina, Pixie, and I signed up.  We had a Gang of Five, ready for Hot Chocolate.

I was worried about the race. I had blown up on the planned 17-mile run on Friday with Flash. We had even taken time off work to go run the 17 miles, which takes a million years, and at Mile 10.5, I couldn’t go on due to my old friend Knee Pain. I had to do a walk of shame (of sorts) back to the car while Flash zipped off and did another 2.5. I was really discouraged. How was I ever going to run the marathon? What if my knee blew up then? So I rolled my IT bands mercilessly on Friday and Saturday and hoped I wouldn’t have to stop during the 15K.

Flash, Pixie, CC, and I drove together to the event, and it was very well organized. Tons of volunteers were there, and the race had plenty of portapotties—important for those last minute, nervous pee breaks. The expo the day before had been pretty good as well, and all of us got black hoodies as part of our registration fee.

CC jumped out of the car while we were in line to park so that she could stow her gear and queue up for the 5K, which started at 7:30. It was her first 5K, and we were excited for her. Once we parked and steeled ourselves to leave the warm car, we gathered at the start line with our cameras hoping to get a picture of her starting her race. 

(The start line. This was taken after the sun finally came out, to our relief.)

We never did find her. It was basically a sea of black Hot Chocolate hoodies. Everyone was freezing to death. Except Toe Shoes Tina, who showed up in a neon tank top and no jacket. The woman is TUFF.

More friends showed up—P and T from Canada. They were freezing, too. I’m telling you, if the Canadians are cold….

(It was pretty, if cold. Note the absence of people wearing only tank tops.)

Our race was at 8:15, so after failing to spot CC, Pixie and I made our way to the third corral. They started the first corral at 8:15 (where Toe-Shoes Tina was ready)—then TEN MINUTES LATER, the second corral (with Flash, P, and T). So we had to stand in the cold until 8:35. We were freezing and tired of standing. Why, why, why would ten minutes be necessary between corrals? We’re SLOWER than the first two corrals. We’re not going to catch up.

Finally, the horn blew, and we got to run. Our race plan was to go slow for a mile or two, speed up, then at the halfway point, speed up more if possible. So for the first mile, people were passing us constantly. Some were passing sort of aggressively like our very existence bothered them. I thought to myself, “Hey, pass me if you want. I’ll pass you when you start walking because you went out too fast. See you at Mile 2. If you make it that far.”

The race itself went pretty well. We ended up averaging a 10:40 pace after speeding up. Parts of it were out-and-back with a U-turn, so Pixie and I ended up seeing our friends along the route. I noticed I appear to have an extremely high center of gravity, causing any runner in front of me to veer into my path so I have to run around them. The runner will be running a perfectly straight line until I approach and then voooooop! They suddenly angle into my path. I’m like the sun in the asteroid belt. Plus, as I had predicted, Pixie and I started passing people on the second half of the race. We were the little engines that could. Could keep running, that is. Boom!

We finished the race at 1:39:30, and went to pick up our finisher’s mugs, which consisted of hot chocolate, chocolate fondue, a banana, and various sweet stuff like Rice Krispy treats. Pixie and Flash wanted to take their fondue home in my car; I was a little dubious about this program. I could just picture fondue all over the seats and carpet and sticky fingerprints on the windows. But, apparently I was confusing them with little kids, because that didn’t happen at all. They managed their fondue carefully, under my baleful eye, and the Great Post Hot Chocolate Race Incident of 2013 was avoided. And most importantly, my knees held up. We’ll see what happens next weekend during my 18-miler, but for now, I continue to have some hope.

Toe-Shoes Tina:

Distance:  15K (9.3 miles)

Pace:  8:36

# of times wearing heels this week:  0  L

Over Thanksgiving, I ran 28.5 miles in the mountains.  I ran an 8 mile tempo run (the subject of my last post), 3.5 miles of speed work (7 x 800 m), and 17 mile long run (over which I climbed 1,000 feet of hills).  It was unwise for me to attempt a 10 mile tempo run on Monday morning, but that didn’t stop me.  What stopped me was stabbing Achilles pain 3 miles in.  I called Husband #1 to come pick me up at 6:00 am. Then I ran/limped another half mile while I waited for him.  I realized when I got home that I had dropped my credit card when I took out my phone to use it.  Monday was crappy.  It got crappier when I Googled “Achilles pain after run” and the only option Dr. Google gave me was Achilles tendonitis and 6 weeks of rest.  Surely there is something in between completely healthy and needing 6 weeks of rest.  I asked Pinch Your Butt when I went to take a boxing class later Monday morning (don’t worry, I modified . . . mostly).  He told me to ice it, roll it, stretch it, and don’t wear heels all week.  I’m sorry, what?????  No heels all week?   Easy to say when you aren’t a very stocky 5 foot 4.  He also reminded me that pineapple, cherries, and fish oil are natural anti-inflammatories and I should incorporate them into my diet.  Well, I took his advice (looking frumpy all the while) and didn’t even run until Saturday.  I boxed, of course, but skipped the running.  By Saturday I was able to do a half mile boot camp warm up with no problem.  Then I was able to strap a weight sled to my back and run a quarter mile.  Upon reflection, I should have skipped that drill. 

(I was planning to put a funny photo here, but am posting this after an 18 mile run and feeling lazy.  So please just imagine a funny photo.)

Anyway, I was super excited to feel better on Sunday.  Slo Jo and I had signed up for a Hot Chocolate 15K.  They give you hot chocolate and chocolate fondue for finishing.  And the “race tee” is an awesome hoodie.  Also, before my Achilles injury, I had envisioned this as a test race.  I’ve always wanted to break 2 hours for a half marathon. This requires a 9 minute pace or better (preferably better to allow me a pee break).  My training runs up to this point have made me doubt my ability to run that fast for long runs.  I thought 9.3 miles would be a good distance to test my ability to sustain 9 minute miles in my upcoming half.  I formulated a plan, I’d run 9:00 to 9:05 for the first 5 miles, then pick up the pace if I still felt good to 8:45 or 8:30.  I sort of stuck to my plan.

When I registered for the race, I had estimated my pace at 9:30, which put me in the second corral (Slo Jo generously thinks I'm much faster than I am).  Flash and I started in the same corral.  She’d actually been assigned the first corral, but didn’t want to start alone and, frankly, the people in corral 1 were kind of intimidating with their intense runners’ looks and neon compression sleeves on every limb.  Corral 2 was much more friendly.  We all chatted for a bit and then it was time to run.  It was a balmy 52 degrees, so I was anxious to warm up (yes, I showed up to the race in a tank top and yes, it was cold, but I knew I'd get hot running at 52 degrees, so there you go).  I started near the front of the pack, reasoning I should be faster than the others in corral 2, who should be legitimate 9:30 runners.  Not so.  Even though I felt like I was pacing relatively well, I ran my first mile in 8:10.  Surprise!  TST started too fast.  I had to slow down and others began to pass me.  It is hard to let people pass me, particularly when they don’t exactly look like super-runners (I don’t mean that in a bad way, because neither do I).  By mile 2 I was much closer to my goal and through mile 5 I hovered at around (okay, a little below) 8:45.  My Achilles started to bark 2.5 miles in, but not in the stabby way that made me quit my tempo run on Monday.  It was more of a dull ache that pinched when I pushed too hard.  To pacify my Achilles, I changed up my stride a bit.  I alternated between my normal mid-foot stride and more of a heel strike (though not a clompy heel strike like I used to run).  This helped a lot and I was able to push through.  Fortunately I was wearing real shoes and not my Vibrams, which really tolerate no heel strike at all. 

(Again, use your imagination for a humorous picture here.  And laugh.  Now read on.)

At mile 5, I picked up the pace a little.  At mile 6, I started what felt like the longest out-and-back ever (it was over 2 miles, round trip) and ran even faster.  My 10K split was 53:31, which I believe is a PR, for an official race anyway.  I was amazed to finally be passing people who looked a hell of a lot more like runners than I do.  Mile 7 ticked away, then 8.  Coming up the out-and-back, I saw Slo Jo and our friend Pixie who was running with her.  I gave an air high five and cheered.  When I saw the 9 mile marker, I knew I was within range of the finish and seriously dug in.  My Achilles did not appreciate it, but I had less than a half mile left, so I told my Achilles to suck it.  When I came around the bend and saw the finish, I broke into a sprint and was baffled that the little Elven blonde (who did not jiggle at all despite head to toe spandex) I’d been trading places with all race did not join me.  She simply maintained her (admittedly fast) pace and I kicked her butt!  Who doesn’t sprint the finish????  My time was 1:20:05, way faster than I need to break 2 hours on the half, and my Achilles did slow me down a bit.  So if I can arrive to the half (on January 19) healthy, I think I can totally crush 2 hours.  For the moment, however, I am icing, rolling, and wearing flats.  Boo.  I may forego heels until the marathon.  

Slo Jo: Running--a Procrastinator's Best Friend

I'm getting a little obsessive.

Work has become secondary to running. I plan work around the training runs. For example, yesterday I needed to do an eight-mile tempo run...but it was already getting late. I needed to go to the office, but I needed to run....

According to coach Tony Tanser, quoted in Runner's World:

"There's no beating the long run for pure endurance," says Tanser. "But tempo running is crucial to racing success because it trains your body to sustain speed over distance." So crucial, in fact, that it trumps track sessions in the longer distances. 

And:

"Tempo training is more important than speedwork for the half and full marathon," says Loveland, Colorado, coach Gale Bernhardt, author of Training Plans for Multisport Athletes. "Everyone who does tempo runs diligently improves." 

Clearly, work can wait until I get this "crucial to racing success" run in. But what's going on in the body? Runner's World explains:

During tempo runs, lactate and hydrogen ions--by-products of metabolism--are released into the muscles, says 2:46 marathoner Carwyn Sharp, Ph.D., an exercise scientist who works with NASA. The ions make the muscles acidic, eventually leading to fatigue. The better trained you become, the higher you push your "threshold," meaning your muscles become better at using these byproducts. The result is less-acidic muscles (that is, muscles that haven't reached their new "threshold"), so they keep on contracting, letting you run farther and faster.

Okay. Sounds good. I think that means I need my muscles to be less acidic. I think.

(An acid muscle shirt. Apparently not sold with pants.)

So--gotta get this tempo run in, and work be damned. I live just over a mile from work, though, and guilt dictated a genius plan: I would run around the neighborhoods around the office and end up at the office. So I trotted around the neighborhood, listening to my audio book, until I got to eight miles. Tempo run pace was around 11-minute miles. I thought that was pretty good until I read this:

To ensure you're doing tempo workouts at the right pace, use one of these four methods to gauge your intensity. 

Recent Race: Add 30 to 40 seconds to your current 5-K pace or 15 to 20 seconds to your 10-K pace
Heart Rate: 85 to 90 percent of your maximum heart rate
Perceived Exertion: An 8 on a 1-to-10 scale (a comfortable effort would be a 5; racing would be close to a 10)
Talk Test: A question like "Pace okay?" should be possible, but conversation won't be.

Um, maybe I could have taken it up a notch. I probably could have had a conversation. I was probably at a 6 or 7 most of the time. I did, however, go far enough:

Runners tackling longer distances should do longer tempo runs during their peak training weeks: four to six miles for the 10-K, six to eight for the half-marathon, and eight to 10 for 26.2.

Sweet. Eight miles crucial to race day success: check. Then I arrived at work. Two related problems:

(1) I was wearing running clothes at the office. I work in a professional office. They are business casual, but I had taken that to a whole new level.

(It's a good look. Just not a good work look.)

(2) My running clothes were sweaty, and as I cooled down, I began to freeze.

(This just speaks for itself.)

I decided I needed to go home and shower more than I needed to work. I mean, I was already the master of procrastination at this point. But first, I had to get home. No car. Another mile. Great plan, Slo Jo. A cold front had moved in, and suddenly it looked like winter. An arctic blast was whipping the trees, and the sky had turned dark gray. My friend L called as I was leaving the office building.

L: What are you doing?
SJ: Are you in your car?
L: Yes.
SJ: PICK ME UP!
L: What?

He couldn't, so I had to just get home. So I ran. Cold, wet, sweaty, eight miles in ... well, one more won't hurt. I booked it for home. And logged one of my faster miles this training season, with a 9:45 for my ninth mile time.

True, I still hadn't done any work. But I got my tempo run in!

Slo Jo: I Dreamed a Dream I Had a Sandwich

Distance: 16 miles
Pace: 12:10 average
Audio Book: Bad Luck and Trouble, by Lee Child

On Sunday, I ran 16 miles in 3:14.

Now, I would have thought that I would need adequate fuel and hydration to run 16. Nope. The night before, a friend needed some support due to a breakup. How do you get a friend through a breakup? Clue: this blog is named after it. That's right: wine. We drank wine, and wine, and wine. And then we got hungry, so I busted out the Triscuits.

(I really could not love Triscuits any more. Behind that unassuming exterior? Oodles of deliciousness. Yes, I could too be a food writer.)

After that night of healthy, positive, nutrient-packed man-bashing, I woke up and was a little dehydrated. But two cups of non-hydrating coffee had me feeling like I could do my run. I knew I needed to eat, but my friend was still at the house and I felt weird about eating in front of her and didn't really have anything appetizing to offer, so I just ate half a Clif bar and sucked it up.

Well. I have never had so many thoughts of food in my life. I daydreamed of tuna melts. Where are the best ones? They have that good one at Humble Pie with olives. Man, I could tear up that tuna melt. I like the one at the Main Ingredient, too. I could have some chips with it. Yum, chips. In my audio book, the characters suddenly started spending a lot of time at meals rather than trying to catch the bad guys. They had chicken, and steak, and salmon, and delectable desserts. I was starving. And here's what I had to eat:

(They're basically like a gummy bear. I like these better than the Clif shot blocks, although the shot blocks give you something to do while running as you try to remove goo from your teeth for the next three miles.)

I only had three chomps with me, so I forced myself to ration them. I had one after 5 miles, one after 8, and one after 12. They were incredibly delicious. Almost as good as a Triscuit.

Aside from my starvation problems, I was happy because my knees and hips didn't blow up. They say half of doing the marathon is getting to the start line uninjured. (I texted that to TST, and it auto-corrected to "uninsured." I don't want to get to the start line uninsured, actually. What if I require CPR?) So the training runs are supposed to gradually build mileage and get the body accustomed to pounding the pavement for miles. Perhaps this is working, because I've been having stabbing pains all over my knees. Yet on Sunday, while I had the occasional twinge, everything felt okay. I will conclude from this that lots of wine before a run lubricates the joints.

Also, I ran a little faster than I usually do on long runs. I decided to try to just let my body set the pace and not worry about my watch. When I first started running, I'm pretty sure that program would have resulted in 18-minute miles. Yesterday, I was right around 12 the whole time, with some 11s in there and a couple of 12:30s. I mean, seriously, check this out:

(I'm happy with those numbers. And look at that random 11:30 at mile 15! Boom.)

Last point. The intro to this blog says that TST and I are friends, in part, because of a shared love of The Biggest Loser--yet I have been remiss by failing to blog about it. Here we go. Jillian got in trouble for giving her team caffeine pills, yet coffee is available to the teams. As punishment, they gave her team a 4-pound disadvantage at the weigh-in, and brought back the losing contestant from the week before--Ruben of American Idol fame.

Am I the only one who smells a producer-based conspiracy? Ruben is a charismatic contestant with some fame, so they wanted to bring him back. Plus, two shows later they had a Ruben-based episode showing him singing. Like they hadn't already planned that episode. Harrumph. I am shocked, shocked I tell you, to find out TBL is not completely real and might be scripted.

Anyway, 16 miles! I'm finally feeling like I can do this. I can eat all the Triscuits I want with that kind of mileage. Triscuits should sponsor me at the race. I'm gonna do it. And I won't even need a ride in the middle. And best of all? I did have that post-run tuna melt. It tasted like victory.

Toe-Shoes Tina: Thankful for a change of clothes . . . and grit

Distance:  8 miles

Pace:  9:17

Altitude:  7,000 ft.

Elevation gain:  488.8

Wardrobe changes:  1

Temperature:  35 degrees (Fahrenheit)

For my 40th birthday, I want to run a marathon in Antarctica.  Because they only let 100 runners go per year, the trips book up three years in advance, leaving me approximately 2.5 years to save up a few thousand dollars and convince myself I can run a marathon . . . in Antarctica.  Temps during the run range from 15 to 45 degrees (Fahrenheit) because the marathon is in the Antarctic summer.  I’m guessing 5+ years from now, global warming will have adjusted that upward a bit.  But I’ve been mentally prepping for some serious cold weather running gear.  No way I can wear Vibrams (which is fine, since I can’t do 26.2 in them anyway) and I will need some real insulation.  Definitely won’t need my now-preferred booty shorts.  So when I saw the temperature was 35 degrees at the start of my 8 mile tempo run, I thought it would be a good opportunity to test my cold tolerance.  I wore thick spandex running pants, a lightweight long sleeve running shirt, and a very lightweight waterproof wind-breaker.   Then I put on a pair of gloves that are specially designed to use with touch-screen phones and a winter hat. 

(My new favorite gloves that allow me to navigate my phone without removing them.   The gray fabric conducts energy in some way that allows your fingers to still work your iPhone.)

As I walked through my neighborhood to my starting point, the wind was biting.  As it was Thanksgiving, I decided I was thankful for my jacket.  I set my goal pace for 9:00 (aggressive in light of the altitude, but it’s a tempo run, right?) and started my run down a long downhill slope.  Within the first mile, each of my shoes came untied and stopped to tie them – not good for my time!  I finally realized the hem of my running pants was rubbing against the laces and untying them, so on my third try I finally double-knotted my shoes.  Still chugging downhill, I realize I am getting warm.  Very warm.  Very very warm.   My super lightweight jacket feels heavy, hot, and uncomfortable.  And I have to pee.  Oh, great.   At 1.5 miles, I spy a McDonalds and use the restroom, shedding my jacket and tying it around my waist.  I decide to carry my hat.  At 2 miles, I turn around and head back up the hill.  This.  Sucks.  How is it possible to overheat in 35 degree weather?  When I reach my start point 4 miles into the run, I decide to make a pit stop.  I went back to my house and changed into three quarter length running tights and my short sleeved Tough Mudder shirt, feeling anything but tough.  I shed my gloves and hat, popped a Gu, and peed again and set out for my last 4 miles.  (Yes, I paused my GPS during both pit stops.  Much like Mark McGwire, I deserve an asterisk for this run.  But there was a time in my life when I was less dedicated to running and I would have just called it a day after those first 4 hard miles.  I’m proud of myself for getting back out there.) 

(I'm with ya, buddy.  I share your asterisk shame.)

My next two miles were up the hill I’ve affectionately dubbed “the Beast.”  Any relief I got from my change of clothes and short break was gone.  To borrow a Slo Jo word, I trudged up the Beast.  Every 5 minutes, MapMyRun perkily informed me “you’re behind your target pace, speed up!”  I may or may not have called the app a “stupid b***” out loud, angry that she didn’t realize I was going up a hill.  I kept thinking “two miles up, then it’s just two miles downhill.  Down.  Hill.”  I finally reached the top, panting, dizzy, nauseated (ah, yes, this is my old friend, exertion nausea), and angry at the sport of running.  But hey, now I was practically done because I just had to go two more miles downhill!   I quickly realized that running two miles downhill, while much easier than running two miles uphill, is still running two miles.  I’d pushed way too hard in my beginning miles (shocking, eh?), so my downhill miles were still fairly miserable.  And even in a lightweight tee and thin tights, I was hot.  The temp had climbed into the 40s by then, but that was still far too low to justify my overheating.  Evidently you are supposedto dress for 15-20 degrees warmer when you choose your running gear to account for exertion-related heat. 

(Kate Upton's outfit suggests she is dressed for a very strenuous workout.)

I finished my run and limped back home.  By then I was totally nauseated and couldn’t bear to eat or drink anything.  That made it worse.   After about 30 minutes, I took a salt pill and forced some tortilla chips down.  This stabilized me enough to turn to Thanksgiving dinner.   Specifically, I had to hoist a 15 lb. limp, dead, flaccid, mass of dead turkey flesh out of brine and prep it for the oven.  This is vomit-inducing for me under normal circumstances and considerably less pleasant after my run.   Fortunately, the contents of my stomach stayed put while I put the turkey in the oven.  My stomach improved considerably after that and I was able to actually enjoy Thanksgiving dinner several hours later.  Turkey is much more appealing when it is cooked.  And, because MapMyRun told me I burned 1,078 calories pushing through those 8 miles, I enjoyed my Thanksgiving champagne (Piper Sonoma) without any guilt.  All in all, I was happy I pushed through that run.  And I learned that I might want to pack my booty shorts for Antarctica after all.   

(This turkey did not start out so lovely and delicious.)

Slo Jo: Running from the Portapot

Distance: 14.0 miles
Pace: Achingly slow 13-minute miles with a couple of 12s in there for no reason at all
Knee pain: Flaring
Wine consumed: Some good stuff at dinner party. I recall it was red.
Weight: WAY DOWN! WOOT!

Flash and I tried to run on Sunday. We met at Granada Park to run on the canal. Phoenix had a three-day rainstorm which was really, really wonderful, but I was worried the bridle path would be too muddy for a long run. It was sprinkling a little when we started, but about .7 into our planned 14-mile run, it began raining a lot harder. We turned around and went back to the cars, feeling lame. We agreed to meet at 4pm on Monday to knock out the long run.

BUT, Flash forgot she had tickets for Monday and canceled! So I had to do the long run by myself. I sucked it up and went on Monday morning instead.

First Mile: Starting off slowly. Warming up. Slow slow slow. I am bored and lonely. And oh no--I have to pee.

I try to focus on my audio book, The Watchman. One of the main characters, Joe Pike, is a runner, but I suspect because Pike is painted as this super mega athlete, almost like a cartoon character, that he probably runs a little faster than me. I am exactly nothing like this Pike person; he's the strong, silent type. I'm more of a not very strong, talker-type. Especially when there is someone to talk to. Unlike today.

Second Mile: I wonder how scary it would be to use that unattended Port-a-Potty. I read this wonderful book by Justin Cronin, The Passage, and there is a scene (wait, maybe it was the second in the trilogy) where vampires are lurking in a similar container and it becomes a freaking slaughter. (Sorry if that was a spoiler. I tried to be vague about the container.) In any event, I'm afraid to use the Port-a-Potty because what if there is a scary person inside?

Third Mile: I convince the guys at Central Market to let me use the employee bathroom. They look like they are going to say no, but I look sufficiently pathetic that they let me.

(Please don't make me pee my pants.)

Fourth Mile: I decide to turn around at Dunlap, because last time I did the extra half uphill to Hatcher, there was a dead chihuahua on the side of the road. What if the poor thing is still there? I can't take it. Maybe the dead body was moved into that Port-a-Potty. OMG. So I run down the canal to 7th Street and back instead to get an extra mile in. There are some old people running with live chihuahuas, and they are hustling. They are awesome.

Fifth and Sixth Miles: Joe Pike does amazing stuff. Man. I bet he's not scared of the Port-a-Pot.

Seventh Mile: My nemesis Knee Pain decides to join me for the run. Crap crap crap. Knee Pain announces his arrival by driving a nail into my knee cap and then punching me in the quads. Gah. I make little crying noises because I'm running by myself and I can. Whimper whimper whimper. But I do not stop.

Eighth, Ninth, and Tenth Miles: Joe Pike does not have knee pain. His knees are Super Knees.

Eleventh Mile: I try an experiment and run faster and try to land more on my forefoot rather than heel. I think when I go super slow for the long runs, I end up running heel to toe. Running faster actually feels better, to my surprise, and I run my fastest mile of the 14.

Twelfth Mile: Knee Pain says, "You think you are free of me?" Then he turns into Tonya Harding and whacks me in the knee some more.

(Nancy, watch your back!)

Thirteenth Mile: I keep going. The book ends. I won't ruin it for you, but I was saying stuff to myself like, "Oh, COME ON." So I didn't love it. I put on some music, and that powers me through. I continue to make audible whimpers, but keep going.

Fourteenth Mile: I finish at Bethany Home and only have 13.95 on my watch, so I make myself run back and forth in front of my car until it creeps up to 14. Otherwise, the sports watch will say I ran 13 miles, and I want credit for every step! I take my sweaty self home, drink an Evolve, and walk like I'm 100 the rest of the day. I have chafing in terrible places. But I made it, and I didn't get taken out by anything lurking in the Port-a-Potty. That's a good run.

Toe-Shoes Tina: The Tough Runs Make Us Stronger

Distance:  15 miles
Pace:   10:39
Sodium Consumed During Run:  450 mg
Wine Consumed Evening Prior:  2.5 glasses of Dogajolo Toscano

After running 14 miles last week, I am no longer petrified of my long runs.  I am cautiously anxious, but I also look forward to the challenge in a way I did not before (perhaps because I now believe I can meet that challenge).  In preparation for my 15 miles today, I went to the running store to find things to help my post-run nausea.  I was hoping to find some long-distance running guru to give me all the answers, but they were slammed and there was nobody to help me.  So I got a bunch of Gu (my tried and true fave), Gu Roctane (Gu plus amino acids), Honey Stingers (organic!), and a bottle of salt tabs.  Because 15+ miles requires me to run with more gels than I can fit into my running short pockets, I also got a running pack.  It is actually really cool, for a fanny pack.  It is a tiny little band of mesh that stays tiny if you're only carrying a couple gels, a salt pill, and some Chapstick.  But it expands to carry a whole lot more, including a phone, as I would later learn.

(My running pack, before and after.)

I had planned to do boot camp one weekend day and then run another weekend day.  My preference would have been to run on Saturday because I knew my legs would be fresh (there is no such guarantee after a boot camp).  Unfortunately, Phoenix was hit with nonstop steady rain Friday through Saturday.  According to my weather app, Sunday would be sunny with a 10% chance of rain.  I chose to run Sunday.  I also thought that I might need some running gear that protects me from the elements (not something you need very often in Phoenix).  The waterproof jackets at the running store were $150, so I ordered one on Amazon for $27.

Fortunately, Saturday's boot camp was focused on upper body, so my legs were still relatively fresh Sunday morning.  I packed a Gu, a Roctane, a Honey Stinger, three salt pills in a little baggie, and my Chapstick into my running pack.  I grabbed my 16 oz water bottle and strapped on my iPhone arm holder.  And I was off.  Less than a mile from my house, it started to rain.  I was wearing short sleeves and became concerned about my phone getting wet through its neoprene holder.  So I shoved my phone (holder and all) into my running pack and pulled my shirt over it.  To my pack's credit, it stretched to hold all the bulk.  The feeling of my mesh running pack on bare, non-Body Glided skin, however, was unpleasant, but better than ruining an iPhone.  One mile in.  Great.  I hit two miles and realized I had to pee.  I crossed a busy street and used the bathroom at a Dunkin' Donuts, feeling bad that I did so without buying anything.  I made a mental note to go buy a donut from them this week.  Upon exiting the Dunkin' Donuts, I thought "awesome, only an entire half marathon to go."  I seriously considered just turning around and doing this run some other day.  But then I thought that I will certainly hit low points in the marathon when I just want to quit. This is good practice for pushing through them.  Right?  Right????

("What? Over? Did you say 'over'? Nothing is over until we decide it is! Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no!")

By mile three I decided there was no way I could run 15 miles with my running pack under my shirt.  Fortunately, I was only three miles from home, so I sought shelter under a gas station's canopy and called Husband #1 to have him bring me a long sleeved shirt so I could tuck my phone under the cloth on my arm.  Husband #1 informed me that it might be a few minutes because Daughter #2 was in the bath tub following a potty accident.  Fan-freakin-tastic.  I told him my general trajectory and kept running.  He did not catch up to me for two more rain-soaked, pack-chafing miles.  By that time I was grumpy (my splits for my first 5 miles are all near or over 11 minutes, making me even more grumpy).  When I opened the car door, Daughter #2 brightly informed me "mommy!  I had an accident!"  I took off my shirt in the middle of the sidewalk, put on the dry long sleeved shirt, ate my Roctane gel, and promptly vowed never to eat another of those.  Gross!  But I was finally able to take my phone out of my pack and put my (much lighter) pack outside my shirt.  I held my phone in my hand and pulled my sleeve down over it.  Miles 5 through 9 ticked by uneventfully (and thankfully with faster splits).  At 9.28 miles, I arrived at my boxing gym.  I stopped in and quickly said hello, refilled my water bottle, took a salt pill and a Honey Stinger, and peed (again!).  It was a nice pit stop with friendly faces, but I was off again in less than 5 minutes.

(These are my now-beloved salt pills.  They have electrolytes other than sodium, too.)  

At mile 10, the sun came out for about 2 minutes and I actually thought "I only have 5 miles left."  This is not a thought process sane people have.  Only 5 miles????  By mile 11, it was raining again.  Shortly after mile 12, I found a bus stop with a trash can and took a regular Gu (I like to take my gels near trash cans so I can throw them away after, because littering is for losers).  After that, my run was non-eventful.  The last mile sucked because the last mile always does, but it wasn't as bad as my first five miles.  I got home and Husband #1 was nice enough to go to the store to get me a bag of ice for an ice bath because I could feel my legs stiffening (but no joint pain, thanks, Pinch Your Butt!).  I recalled that my friend, Jack Rabbit, had told me the only thing that helped her post-run nausea was Gatorade after a run.  I abhor Gatorade, with its unnatural flavors and colors.  But, in a moment of desperation, I asked Husband #1 to get me a Gatorade, so long as he could find one that was a color found in nature.  Shortly thereafter, I was soaking in an ice bath and guzzling white Cherry Lime Gatorade (I don't even want to think of the chemicals that give it that flavor -- blech!).  But now, several hours later, I feel fine!  My legs and joints are fine and my stomach is normal.  So I'll continue to take my chemical-laced Gatorade and my salt pills.  But no more Roctane.  Gross!

Slo Jo: Hail to the Trudgers!

Distance: 4 miles
Pace: 11 minute miles
Wine consumed: yes

Woot woot! Finished a four miler around the neighborhood, and I was pretty happy with just about everything about the run. I had a slow warm up mile, then miles two and three were both exactly 11:09. How's that for keeping a pace? My last mile I kicked it up a little and got a 10:50.

Now, if you have Toe Shoes Tina as your training buddy, you might feel like these numbers aren't that amazing, since readers of this blog know that she generally breaks the speed of sound at the track. But guess what my wonderful Nike watch told me after I plugged it into the web site:

What what? WHAT? Average pace for women my age (that makes me sound 100) is 13:07, and I, on the other hand, have a comparatively swift 12:10 average. Wow! And the Nike community as a whole is only averaging 11:55. I can't tell you how happy this makes me. I'm not ridiculously slow; I'm normal.

And then look at this one:

(Boom.)

Look at that. I'm putting in miles. Those other slow runners are SLACKERS.

This made me curious. Is there an "average" pace for runners? I spent a little time on Google, and I narrowed my search to average marathon times. In this funny article from the NY Times, the author (who proudly finished 619 out of 625 runners in the NY marathon), says:

"In 1980 the average marathon time was about three and a half hours for men and about four hours for women, according to Running USA. Today, the averages are 4:16 for men and 4:43 for women. About 20 percent of the participants in the New York City Marathon take longer than five hours to finish."

Why is this? Because running has become more popular, and "average" runners like me are entering. This affects the averages.

The article also says that some of the faster marathon runners (those we slow pokes think of as "real" runners) resent those of us in the back of the pack. They call us "plodders." I really prefer the term trudger, if they wanted to slow down long enough to ask me. One reason they don't like us is that marathoners don't feel so special anymore if anyone can earn their 26.2 sticker by jogging along and throwing in the occasional walk. To these elite racers, I offer this considered, well-thought-out response:

I mean seriously? There are elite runner elitists? I think that one of the great things about running is that almost anyone can start to do it. You put on some shoes and go. I know so many people who turn to running when they decide they are tired of sitting in the gigantic buttocks-shaped print they've worn in their couch or who have grown alarmed at the size of their jeans. And a marathon, or half marathon, or 5K, gives the runs a purpose beyond just a new pair of jeans. It is rewarding to finish a race, to be part of the crowd of fit, happy people, and to have put in the work to accomplish a goal.

(Oddly enough, we plodders, or amateur runners, are getting criticism from another group--the couch potatoes. What? How can you resent a runner? But in an article in the Wall Street Journal, one writer told us runners to "get over it." Guess he wouldn't be a reader of this blog. I mainly bring this up because the response in Runner's World was hilarious. Read it here. I had no plans to put one of those 26.2 or 13.1 stickers on my car until I read the WSJ article. Now I'm gonna sticker that sh*t up.)

I suspect the plodder critics are a very small percentage of the running population (and the couch potato population, I suspect, does not give a crap about this issue). I have found runners to be 100% supportive of my attempts to run, and some of these runners are really amazing athletes.

So I say to you, fellow plodders: Keep on plodding! We are runners, and we are slow. We are the Trudging Majority. They cannot keep us down. They cannot make us feel bad about our 13-minute miles. Sometimes it takes 13 minutes. That is okay. They can outpace us, but we'll get there eventually. We are like a very very slow and tired army. We can do this--and we're going to wear crazy outfits and have some fun while we do it.

Fist pump!

Toe-Shoes Tina: Unbalanced

Distance:  0.0
Pace:  0.0

I didn't run.  So why am I writing?  To tell you about my running-focused sports massage.  My body hates me, specifically my hips.  My right leg is plagued by a tight IT band, which causes knee pain from time to time (although that pain has been ameliorated considerably by switching to neutral shoes and a mid-foot stride).   My left leg bestows unrelenting sciatic pain on me when I sit for more than 20 minutes at a time.  My trainer, Pinch Your Butt (pinching your butt is evidently the way to ensure correct form on everything, except being arrested) not only holds his bachelors degree and several certificates for training, but is a licensed massage therapist as well.  He also hears me complain three days per week about which parts of me hurt and what activities cause the pain.  Wanting to stay injury-free now that my long runs are well into the double digits, I scheduled a 90 minute massage session with him.

(Shakira's hips don't lie.  Mine don't like me.)

PYB told me he recently learned a new massage technique.  I told him that the last massage I got (at a fancy spa) included the massage therapist lying his head on my head and that if PYB tried any such thing I would punch him.  He assured me his new technique was called neurokinetic therapy and did not involve placing his head on mine, though might hurt a little.  Because I participate more actively in this type of massage, I wore spandex running shorts and a sports bra to avoid uncomfortable flashing situations.  We began by him testing my muscle strength by having me flex my leg in various directions from different starting positions as he applied resistance with his hand.  Doing this, he could tell where I had strength imbalances.  He then did trigger point work to release tight muscles.  Then we re-tested my muscle strength.  Lather-rinse-repeat.

It was not a relaxing massage and it did hurt when he was working the tightness out of various muscles.  Oh, did you know how many leg muscles there are?  I didn't.  I got quadriceps, hamstrings, and calf muscles, but those are the easy ones.  There are all kinds of little muscles that hurt like a bitch when you "release" them:  TFL, psoas, some little muscle on the front of my shin that I still don't know the name of.  The psoas, by they way, is an a-hole of IT band proportions.  PYB pressed into the side of my abs right above my hip and pain just radiated through me.  Amazed, he said "I can feel each individual insertion point."  I thought that meant I was ripped.  PYB corrected me, telling me it is not a good thing.  Rather, it means the psoas is just too tight, which means it is pulling too hard on other parts of me and creating imbalance.  Dammit.

(All of these little muscles can cause pain and bad running form.  Yay!)  

But it was amazing how quickly the technique worked.  PYB would do the testing and then dig in to some poor little muscle that I previously didn't know existed.  And it would hurt.  And I would scream.  And then hold my breath.  And PYB would tell me to breathe.  And then he'd work the muscle until I couldn't feel pain anymore, often I even felt a warm flush through the muscle.  After that, he could dig right into the same muscle in the same spot that caused me to scream minutes earlier and it wouldn't even hurt.  Evidently once that happened, my re-test showed significant improvement on my strength imbalances.  PYB did this for quite a while on each leg, then finished each leg by stabbing me repeatedly, I mean, working my IT bands.  Oh how I hate my IT bands.  PYB informed me they are full of adhesions, all of which make them hurt more when touched, let alone massaged.  (You can read more about IT band adhesions here.)  Inspired by Slo Jo's plan to have hers surgically removed, I asked PYB if I really need my IT bands or if I could have them taken out.   He insisted I needed them, so I asked for what.  He said to hold my kneecap in place.  I began to wonder whether I need kneecaps.  Really, what do they do?  My IT band massage was ugly. I whined, screamed, cursed . . . if I'd been in possession of state secrets, I would have revealed them to make it stop.  Somebody should tell the CIA this may be more effective than waterboarding.

("If you do not tell us what we want to know, Mr. Bond, we will massage your IT bands.")

After spending over an hour on my legs (something you won't get from a cookie-cutter spa massage), PYB was kind enough to finish with a little back and shoulder work that was more relaxing than painful.  I left feeling much looser in my leg muscles.  PYB said I might see some changes (improvements) in my stride.  We will see how tomorrow's speed work goes, and -- more importantly -- this weekend's 15 miles.  Eep.