TST: I Just Ran My Dream Marathon . . . So Why Am I Crying?

Distance:  26.2
Time:  3:57:29
Pace:  9:04
Bucket List Items Completed:  1 Big One!

Yesterday I ran the BMO Phoenix Marathon.  Yes, I managed to get through an entire marathon training season without a single blog.  Sorry about that.  And thank you to the loyal readers who keep asking about Toe Shoe Tina and Mo Jo.  I am thankful people enjoy reading about our running experiences.  Toe Shoes Tina is a misnomer at this point.  I haven't put on toe shoes in well over a year.  I log too many miles to go without padding.  But Newton Tina or Altra Tina just doesn't have the same ring.

In any event, when I started to take running seriously, I came up with two "bucket list" race goals:  break 2 hours in a half marathon and 4 hours in a full marathon. At the time, both seemed to border on impossible.  Well, I've now logged 4 half marathons in under 2 hours, with my latest PR at 1:45:59.  The 4 hour marathon, however, has remained elusive.  And with previous finishes of 4:27 and 4:50, I was not sure I could break that barrier.  So I signed up for the BMO Phoenix Marathon.  First, it required no travel.  Second, it was not held in a city associated with drinking (New Orleans and Napa, anyone?).  Third, the course elevation looks like this:

With the exception of one hill, it is a downhill course.  If was ever going to break 4 hours, this was my course.  I changed up my training, too.  I (mostly) followed Hal Higdon's intermediate marathon training program.  This meant I ran more than my normal 2-3 days per week.  Because I stubbornly refused to give up boxing, this also meant I doubled up on a lot of workouts, boxing in the morning and doing shorter runs (3-5 miles) at night.  I struggled with tendonitis in my foot and eventually backed off the running a bit.  Once my long runs reached 18-20 miles, I gave up some of the shorter runs and simply did 3-4 runs per week.  This eased the pain in my foot.  I also trained faster, logging a 20 mile training run at a 9:26 pace and running many intermediate runs well into the 8:00s.  Unlike prior training seasons, my hips did not hurt at all.  My problems seemed confined to my feet and ankles:  tendonitis on the left and a bunion developing on the right.  As of this blog, I haven't worn high heels in months.  On the plus side, I've lost about 5 pounds without really trying.  Yippee!

I got to race day relatively unscathed.  I felt lazy and bloated from tapering and carb-loading.  I was ready to run. KO Kennedy and I caught the bus at 4:45 am and arrived at the race start about 45 minutes later.  It was freezing up in the dark desert mountains (okay, foothills).  Some people took advantage of the dark desert to avoid porta-potty lines.  Some of those folks ended up with jumping cacti stuck to various parts of their skin.  KO Kennedy and I wisely opted to stand in line for the bathrooms.    

(TST and KO Kennedy, ready to kill this race!)

The race started and I flew down the first 4 miles, which was my plan.  Normally it is not a good idea to start a race so fast, but it was the steepest decline and the sun was not up yet.  With a forecasted high of 90, I knew I'd struggle once the sun came up (about 30 minutes after the race started).  As I sped down the hill, I came across a group of 6 runners in bright orange shirts with some team name I could not read, but said "Mexico" at the bottom.  They spanned the entire path, which annoyed me because it was hard to get around them.  I eventually did and passed the 3:55 pacer, too.  I hit the course's only real uphill feeling great, having averaged just over 8:30 for the first downhill miles.  I backed off my pace on the hill, which lasted for about 1.5 miles.  Lo and behold, here came the orange-shirted team, holding steady at an 8:35 pace.  They passed me, but I caught them again on the next downhill.  This time I stayed behind them because they were solid steady pacers.  They seemed jovial, chatting with each other and waving to people in the crowd.  People seemed to recognize them and cheer, so maybe I should know who they are?  We hit the halfway point at 1:54:25, a respectable 8:44 pace.  

I stayed with the orange-shirted Mexican team through mile 17.  I ate some salted potatoes at mile 5 and then had Gu (rootbeer . . . yum!) at miles 10 and 15.  By mile 17, my pacers had slowed to 8:45ish miles, but I was struggling and had to slow down more.  The sun was hot, there was no shade or breeze, and the course no longer felt downhill -- the elevation map says we were on a slight decline, but it felt completely flat.  Shortly thereafter, the 3:55 pacer caught me.  I kept at my (much slower) pace and counted down the miles until I would spot my family on the sidelines at mile 20.  ("Three more miles until you see your family!"  "Two and a half more miles until you see your family!")  For all of you who show up on the sidelines to cheer on your friends and family:  I know it is a lot of waiting around for about 5 seconds of cheering, but it makes all the difference to a struggling runner.  I found them just before the 21 mile mark and it took everything I had not to just stop and go home with them.  Instead, I gave my kids hugs and ran on.  

(I may or may not be whispering to Daughter #2 "Please just put me out of my misery")

(Refreshed by seeing my family, I lurch off to finish the last 5.2 miles.  I'm clearly heel striking here, which is neither normal nor good.)

I don't remember much of the last 5.2 miles.  My legs felt like cement and I allowed myself walk breaks, always on the lookout to make sure the 4:00 pacer wasn't coming up behind me.  I ate more potatoes at mile 22.5, but it didn't really help.  When I hit 26 miles, I tried to sprint to the finish and managed to bring my pace back into the 8:00s, but nothing close to my normal finisher's kick.  I crossed the finish line, gulped down a bottle of water in about 3 seconds and then the pain hit.  My legs wobbled, I felt like Bambi walking across ice.  My feet hurt, my skin hurt, my legs refused to obey my brain.  Everything seemed to be happening so fast around me while I was in slow motion.  I shuffled to medical tent for some vaseline to slather on my numerous chafed areas and then followed the crowd toward the exit.  I called Husband #1 and he was ecstatic about my time:  3:57:29.  But I just wanted to go home. He asked where he should pick me up and I had no idea.  We were in a big outdoor mall complex and I couldn't tell where I was.  He told me to go out to the main road so he could pick me up and I just cried.  I didn't know which direction the main road was and couldn't bear the thought of being on my feet any longer.  The pain was overwhelming and I wanted to just give up and lie down in the middle of the parking lot.  Surely Husband #1 could find me and carry me out?  I realized the mapping function on my phone could orient me, which allowed me to limp to the main road.  Along the way, some very well-meaning spectator asked me where the finish line was and tried to engage me in conversation.  I mumbled some response, but was irrationally mad at her because, did I LOOK like somebody who wanted to stop and chat?????

Husband #1 found me wandering down the main road.  I collapsed into his car and sobbed like a baby.  Not out of happiness.  I felt awful.   More awful than I can recall ever feeling.  That feeling persisted all day. Every little thing seemed impossible:  "I cannot possibly go all the way across the bedroom and put on my flip flops.  They are SO.  FAR.  AWAY."  "But the Advil is ALL THE WAY IN THE KITCHEN!"  It was very frustrating.  I should have been sore, but elated about my time.  All I felt was pain, sadness, and lethargy.  To make matters worse, I had a hard time relaxing after the race because my legs felt crampy and restless.  Every time I stood up it took several seconds to steady myself and then my gait was slow and wobbly when I finally got going. It was nothing like I'd ever experienced.  After my two prior marathons, I actually felt pretty okay.  This was a whole other beast.  

I've now had about 12 hours of sleep and feel much better.  My legs are sore, but they are obeying my brain's commands.  My feet hurt, but I can bear weight on them and walk like a normal adult human instead of a drunk toddler. Finally, I am enjoying the fact that I BROKE FOUR HOURS IN A MARATHON!!!!  I will never do that again.  I'm not sure what happened to my body and brain, but it is not something I'm anxious to do again.  Sure, I'll run more long races (I have a 50K in 5 weeks and then another marathon in June).  But no more pushing for goals that hurt so bad.  I keep wondering if maybe I shouldn't have started out so fast.  I truly felt comfortable during those early downhill miles. I was not breathing heavily and was hardly sweating, so I don't think I put myself into a deficit.  I think I would have struggled those last few miles in the sun regardless of my starting pace  -- perhaps even more because I would have had to keep a faster pace in the later miles if I'd started slower.  But I guess it will remain an open question because I do not intend to find out! 

I would also be remiss if I did not give a HUGE congrats to KO Kennedy.  She managed to rock her first full marathon, finishing with a respectable time without worrying about all that pesky training that most of us do.  She's a stud.  

Creepy Camry

Distance: 9 miles 8 miles
Pace: 12 min 11 min/mile
Number of calls to police: 1

Yesterday I set out to run 9 miles. I've been building: eight miles last week, seven the week before that. I'm experimenting with fuel and pace, because I tend to lie around exhausted all day after a long run, and I want to continue to have a life on the weekends. So I'm eating before the run, eating during the run, and slowing it down for the long runs. This worked beautifully last weekend for the 8-mile run, and I was anticipating a no-problem 9.

I started at Bethany and Central on Murphy's Bridle Path at 7:05 a.m. It was supposed to be 7, but Pixie, my running companion, said her alarm didn't go off (a likely story) after I texted her at 7:04 to see where she was. I'm sure I've described the Bridle Path a zillion times, but for any non-local readers, it is a dirt path that follows Central north to the canal, about 2.5 miles. It is very popular with walkers, joggers, and bicyclists.

After I got about 1.5 miles in, I saw a car waiting at a side street to turn onto Central. It was a silver car, and the driver's side window was down about four inches. I thought he seemed eager to make the turn, so I ran behind him instead of in front so he wouldn't have to wait for me. I ran on, vaguely pleased with my civic-mindedness, and forgot about him.

A few blocks later, there was the same car--silver, with the window down four inches, waiting on a side street. Major deja vu. I thought, that's weird. This time I took a better look. Four-door Camry, dude inside. I thought, maybe he's lost. I ran past, this time in front of the car.

A few blocks later...the same car was waiting at a side street. I now thought something was up, but couldn't quite believe it. Silver Camry, window down more. Got the driver's face. I made a WTF expression and ran past him.

A few blocks later--you got it. SAME DAMN CAR, waiting at a side street.

I was completely freaked out at this point and ran past it and approached two women out walking. I said, "I'm sorry, you don't know me, but I think I'm being followed." They listened to me tell the story, and as we were talking, the car pulled up ahead of us on a side street, waiting. I was like, that's the car. Then another woman approached us and said, "Are you talking about that silver car? I saw that guy following you. He waits til you pass then turns around."

Well. This was all a bit much. I called the police on him, and they promised to send someone out. While I was on the phone with the police, he turned off the side street and drove past us on Central. We all stared at him.

I don't know if the police caught up with him or not, because last I saw him, he was driving. I left my new friends and continued my run up to Dunlap, but I didn't do the sketchy half-mile up into Sunnyslope or the canal portion of the run because those are isolated stretches and I thought I had better stay around other people. It was nuts. Plus, because I was flooded with adrenaline, I was completely unable to maintain my plan of running slow and ended up all over the place with my pace, which then caught up with me later when I decided eight miles was plenty, thank you, and screw mile 9.

Some male friends of mine have asked why I didn't get my phone out and take a picture of the guy or the license plate or be more aggressive. Well, for one, if I took his picture and he got out of the car and came after me, that would not be a good situation. What am I gonna do, fight the guy? I am unlikely to win a physical fight with a man. For another, my instinct at that point was saying very loudly, "Get away from him." I trust that voice.

Anyway, I guess this isn't my lightest or funniest post ever, and next week it will be back to describing chafing in embarrassing places. But I wanted to share it, and also to just note, be careful out there. Bring a buddy. Bring a dog. Bring your BFF bear spray. Most people are good, like the women who circled around me while I called the cops. But for that one creeper out there...just be aware and be careful.

Faster Than A Hobbit

Distance:  13.1

Time:  1:57:23

Pace: 8:54

Hobbits On The Course:  1

I am not a fan of Disney.  Disneyland rivals an oversold Southwest Airlines flight and Trader Joe’s on a Sunday afternoon in its ability to make me hate people.  And yet, on a whim, I find myself signed up to run the Disneyland half marathon.  Because who wouldn’t want to go to Disneyland on a major holiday weekend????  Daughter #2 turned 5 a couple weeks ago.  We told her the trip to Disneyland was part of her birthday present.  It’s not lying.  It’s parental multi-tasking.  So off to Disney we went on Saturday morning.  A five and a half hour drive made more bearable by my friend, Bandana, who hooked me up with a sweet Dodge Charger rental car.  A far preferable ride to Cali than my ancient Prius that’s pushing 150K miles.  (Though now the horsepower in my Prius seem insufficient.)  

I went into this race with exceptionally low expectations, both for my performance and for the overall experience.  I’ve been running quite a bit this summer because I’ve traveled a lot.  But I kind of gave up on pacing because . . . summer. And my longest run in the last couple months was only 8 miles.  So I wasn’t particularly trained for a half marathon and wasn’t expecting greatness in the timing arena.  As for experiences . . . well . . . Disney.  Ugh.  This view was reinforced when I showed up to pick up my race packet and was nearly run down more than once by grown women in sparkly princess wear pushing double-wide strollers.  

But I did immediately find some silver linings.  First, my previous half-marathon time of 1:50:04 scored me entry into Corral A (evidently the elites do not turn out for this race).  Not only that, but my race number of 412 (sorted by anticipated finishing time) meant that I got to go to the very first booth to pick up my race packet.  Most windows had lines for packet pick-up.  The 0-500 window?  Not a soul.   Second, Disney apparently takes pity on folks who pay $200 to register for a half marathon (no, not a typo) by giving us slightly discounted tickets and a break on room rates at the non-Disney properties around the parks.  I saved a little over $40 for our family’s tickets and was able to pick them up at the expo.  I navigated the expo, expertly avoiding stroller collisions, and met the family at Downtown Disney for lunch.  What a clusterf&#%.  We paid $100 for mediocre food and much needed wine, then checked in at the Anaheim Marriott.  

The Marriott was great.  The staff were super nice and it is just over a mile from the parks.  Our stay was made a little more interesting by the convention for recovering drug addicts going on this weekend.  There were some very inspirational (okay, interesting) tshirts.  And nuns.   After checking in, we went to Newport Beach so the girls could play in the ocean.  It did not disappoint, though both children got nailed in the face by powerful waves more than once, so they might disagree there.

(Pools in Phoenix do not have waves like this.)

We had a beach-side pasta dinner then headed back to the hotel for an early bedtime. Mo Jo will be happy to know I made all my race preparations that night:  making sure my bib (which held my timing chip) was properly affixed to my shirt and all my clothes were ready.  I also packed a bag of dry clothes and flip-flops for Husband #1 to bring to the finish line.  I’ve learned there’s nothing quite so divine as being able to shed wet running clothes and shoes within a few minutes of crossing the finish.

The next morning went off without a hitch.  Well, almost. No coffee shops were open before 5:00, so I had to settle for crappy hotel room coffee.  But other than that, it was great.  I had planned on just walking to the start line so my family could sleep, but ended up catching a shuttle right outside the hotel.  It was still very dark outside as the runners drowsily streamed through Downtown Disney to the start line (many adorned by glowing and/or blinking accessories).  And then I got to go through several check points to Corral A.  Yes, thanks for asking,I am very important.  The race announcers were trying to get everyone pumped up before the 5:30 am start, a tough job in Corral A.  Us expert runners were just so cool at the start – having done this hundreds of time before, at least.  One of the announcers yelled “WHO’S GOING TO SET A PERSONAL BEST TODAY????”  The response in Corral A was a resounding and unenthusiastic “meh.”  We all knew we weren’t going to PR at Disney.  They also announced that Sean Astin was running.  Cool!  A celebrity! 

(My race bib said "Corral A," but surprisingly, nobody asked me for my autograph.  Lame.)

And then we were off, Corral A going off one minute after the wheelchair racers.  The first 3-4 miles wound through Disneyland and California Adventures.  It was completely dark and the parks were beautiful.  There were many photo ops for runners to stop and take pictures with characters.  That involved stopping, so I skipped them all.  There were also race photographers every 50 feet or so.  I’m usually pretty good at spotting photographers and putting on a photo smile, but they were like ninjas.  I’m sure I will be rewarded with some hideous race pics.  Disney employees lined the dark pathways and enthusiastically cheered and offered high fives (with Mickey hands – ingenious for avoiding touching sweaty runner hands).  It was really cool to have such a supportive cheering section so early in the morning.  

It was humid.  By the end of mile 1, I was well on my way to being drenched with sweat even though I wasn’t breathing hard.  My plan was to run a 9:00 pace so I could squeak in under 2 hours.  In those early miles, I wasn’t sure I would be able to do that because I was sweating so heavily and thought it might be unsustainable, being prone to dehydration as I am.  Around mile 4 we turned out of the parks and on to the streets of Anaheim.  This opened up our space and allowed for a bit of a cooling breeze.  I was running just under a 9:00 pace and decided to go with it as long as I could.  The sun didn’t come up fully until about mile 7, which kept the temperature manageable.  I started drinking Powerade at mile 4 and walked most of the water stations while doing so.  

Because I was being a Disney grinch, I hadn’t bothered to check out the course.  It turned out to be pretty darn cool.  In addition to the early miles in the park, we actually ran into Angel Stadium and did a lap around the field.  The lower level of the stadium was packed with cheering fans.  I’m not sure how they got all those people there to cheer for random strangers, but it was amazing.  I felt like [I don’t follow baseball, so insert Angels player’s name here] rounding the bases after hitting a home run.  Even beyond the Disney crew and the Angels fans, the course support was fantastic.  There were numerous bands and cheer squads and members of the general public.  There were even a couple miles filled with a classic car club with their cars parked along the side the road.  They sat out there beeping and yelling at us from their classic cars, sipping their coffees, which I envied.  

The miles flew by as quickly as 13 miles ever can and before I knew it, I was heading back into Downtown Disney.  The humidity had taken its toll.  I could feel multiple chafing locations and a couple of blisters.  My clothes were drenched  and I was dreaming of the dry clothes awaiting me at the finish.  When the finish line came into view, I sprinted to it, got my medal, picked up  runners’ snacks (for the girls), and went to meet my family.  The girls were adorable – full of excited congratulations.  I did not share their enthusiasm, however, as Husband #1 had forgotten my bag of dry clothes.  Something I did not handle gracefully.  My mood improved slightly as we were leaving and I heard the announcer say Sean Astin was crossing the finish line.  I beat him.  Woot!  (He didn’t know we were racing each other, but that does not make my victory any less sweet.)

I walked the 1.3 miles back to the hotel in my dripping clothes and climbed into the shower, where the water scalded numerous points of my body that were newly deprived of skin.  Then I downed some Pedialyte and we hit up Disneyland (walking the 1.3 miles back).  The temperature climbed to 90 degrees.  By 2:00, I was done.  We hit the room for a bit and then returned at night for the parade and fireworks, this time finally taking the shuttle.  I am pretty sure I cleared 20 miles Sunday.  

I am still not a fan of Disneyland.  The lines were insane and many of the tourists were oblivious or downright rude.  The food was overpriced. The Haunted Mansion was closed.  But the kids had a great time (which is good, because we won’t come back for 5 years).   And the race itself surprised me.  It was exceptionally well-organized and fun.  Plus, I did more than victoriously race a hobbit.  (Though I did get beat by a few people in costume.)  I finished 1,027 out of over 15,000 racers and 260th in my division (1,398 people).  The race was a confidence booster, for sure.  I might even consider doing it again in the future.  

Mo Jo: There Is No Tri. There Is Only Do Not.

Distance: 0
Pain pills popped: LOTS
Whimpering noises: Many

I know you were looking forward to your race report. Did someone try to swim over me in the pool? Did I yank that jerk's goggles off, per race plan? How did the transition go? What was the ride like? What were our times? Would we do it again?

Well, let's back up a bit.

On Thursday, I did my final training ride on the bike--spent about an hour. I decided Friday and Saturday would be rest days so that my legs would feel strong for the race. TST and I were coordinating how to get to the race, which had an insanely early start. We considered whether she should just stay over at my house, which is closer to the race, and whether than meant that we would sabotage our efforts by drinking a ton of wine together per usual. I also planned to head over to the triathlon store on Friday afternoon to figure out what the hell I was going to wear, as the tri suit I had ordered online was really not going to be suitable for me to wear in public. Not if I planned to exit with any self-esteem, anyway.

In other words, we were mentally ready.

On Friday morning, I took a shower and was getting dressed. I reached into my closet to grab the skirt for the suit I needed to wear (yes, on a Friday), and something horrible happened. My back went into spasm.

I know "indescribable" is a sucky adjective, but holy moly, the pain. Indescribable.

I stood rigid for a while hoping it would subside, then decided I had better go into the living room and get my phone in case I needed help. But the phone was on the couch, and I couldn't bend to get it. I somehow managed, after much puzzling over how this was going to happen, and then thought I'd try lying on my back on the floor.

This did not help. Instead I was in a lot of pain on my back on the floor in my underwear, but at least I had my phone. I googled back spasm. Google said ice and advil. Well, that would require me to get off the floor. I discovered that there was no way to get off the floor, and I was now stuck on the floor. In my underwear. I was reminded of that Sex in the City episode where Miranda wrenches her back getting out of the shower and Carrie has to come rescue her naked friend. I really, really did not want to be Miranda right now.

Some time passed. I got a good, long look at the ceiling of my house.

I finally determined that I had to get up and get some pain reliever and ice. I managed to get onto my side and push up a little, then grab onto the ottoman and get upright. This hurt. Got the ice. Started texting friends for advice, including my friend H (who would have been the one to get the Carrie call, as she lives in my neighborhood, has a key to my house, and wouldn't care if I was in my underwear). At this point I was really almost crying from the pain, because the spasms kept coming.

A doctor friend kindly called me in response to my texts for help and told me basically to take all the drugs I had. I complied. Vicodin? Check. Muscle relaxant? Check. What else is in here? Xanax? I like Xanax too. Check. The only thing separating me from Heath Ledger at this point was the lack of Benadryl in my system.

Despite my drug cocktail, my back continued to hurt. I wanted to attend a special ceremony for a friend, so another friend picked me up and I went, but I may have been a little high during this ceremony. Pretty sure that I was reacting three seconds behind everyone else. Then I went home and slept and slept and slept.

Now, due to triathlon training psychosis, I was still thinking maybe I could do it. But on Saturday, the pain was still QUITE present and robust, so I texted with TST and said I probably needed to drop out, but I could crew her. She was kind enough not to insist that the bad back lady stand around for three hours while she did a triathlon, and she decided, given some work pressures and deadlines, that it made sense for her to skip this one, too. What a relief that she didn't mind--I didn't want to miss the race, but I didn't want to let my friend down, either.

We're signing up for something else. First, I'm going to get a spine transplant, and then we'll be ready!

Mo Jo: Cross Training Is for Realz

I'm going to date myself here, but I used to LOVE step aerobics. Secretly, I still do. It was awesome. Loud music, complicated routines--the more complicated, the better. I liked how I had to fully engage in it and concentrate on the pattern, lest I go flying off one side and injure myself (that happened). It was like meditation with cardio benefits.

I'm thinking about step classes today because the instructors generally made us do some sort of strength training as part of the class, and we usually had to do push ups. I was young and fit and I could KNOCK OUT some pushups. How many? 25? I give you 50. I had toned arms. They did not keep waving after I stopped waving.

15 years and 20+ pounds later, we have encountered some changes. I cannot do pushups. I hate them. I would not describe my arms as toned. No one compares me to Michelle Obama in any way. And alas, my beloved step classes are not something one finds on the Group Fitness Schedule anymore. Times have changed, and now people want GROUP POWER KICK SOMEONE'S FACE OFF class. That doesn't sound meditative at all.

All is not lost, however. I have made an important discovery while training for this triathlon (which is THIS SUNDAY OMG not that I'm worried but OMG). And that discovery is this: Cross-training works, yo. Why have people been keeping this secret from me for so long?

Okay, it's no secret, and everyone advocates cross training. I didn't listen. Running is, frankly, easier. Put on your shoes (and your water belt, and your anti-chafe cream, and your headphones, and your sunscreen, and your special running sunglasses) and go. No worrying about cars hitting your bike and safe routes and flat tires. No worrying about how your hair and makeup will be restored after the pool if you need to go back to work or look acceptable for happy hour.

(As an aside, I came back to work from the pool and my office mate, MR, said, "You look like you've come from the beach or the pool!" I said, "Oh, is my hair beach-tousled? Do I look tan?" He said, "Um, yeah... And you have goggle marks around your eyes.")

But here's what I discovered in this four short weeks of training: Biking is kick ass for runners, or at least this runner. The muscles you develop biking make your running easier. I have been feeling so strong on my runs lately, and I can even feel the difference in my legs--there is more developed muscle tone. I even checked ROW's favorite source, Runner's World, and various articles definitely support my theory that biking develops the power muscles: quads, glutes, calves. Other authorities (is the website "nomeatathlete.com" a solid source?) agree, plus note cycling is less impact on the body. You can get a great workout without the pounding on the joints.

Swimming has been good, too. Admittedly, I have had some issues with swimming. First, I appear to have some sort of weird allergy to pool water. Apparently it can't be a chlorine allergy, but the chlorine can aggravate existing sensitivity to allergens. Or, simply put, I sneeze and have a runny nose and feel generally like I would if I had snorted ragweed for about five hours after a swim. Second, as detailed in other blogs, I don't know how to swim. I thought I did, but after lots of coaching, I have discovered I have a lot to learn, like "don't inhale the wet stuff." Third: my poor hair.

But we are positive here at ROW, so let's get back to the positives: TONED ARMS. Weak sister here is a slow swimmer in part because my hard won push-up muscles appear to have atrophied over the past 15 years of sitting at a desk and typing. But even swimming a few times a week over the past few weeks has made a noticeable difference: my tricep muscles are back!

So that's pretty cool. Here I thought I was going to have to start a Retro Step Class (maybe the Jazzercise lost souls can come too) to find my triceps, but no! I can do it in a more acceptable way--by getting my very slow and awkward Missy Franklin on. Sweet.

Wish us luck on Sunday!

In which TST writes a blog post and realizes she sounds a little bit like a crazy be-yatch.

Miles:  12

Pace:  8:48

Friends saved from heart attack:  1 (you’re welcome, Thompson; I accept gratitude payments in wine)

Today is Thursday, which I have long-since declared to be my running day, yet have failed to actually make it so since Napa.  I forced myself to skip the boxing gym this morning and make good on my plan to cycle through 8, 10, and 12 mile runs.  I chose 12 miles today because I ordered a bunch of smaller sized clothing online this week for a conference I have next month.  I would like them to fit when they arrive tomorrow.  It was somewhat easier to skip boxing this week due to the maiming of my hands that occurred almost two weeks ago during approximately 45 minutes of throwing power right crosses at the mitts.  They are nearly healed, but still scabbed over and it still hurts to punch with my right hand.   (A time lapse progression of my gross hands follows.)

(This is what my hand looked like when I took my wraps on Friday the 13th.  Fitting, no?)

(A couple days later.  Still waiting for real scabs to form.)

(One week out.  Scabs are there, which is nice for protecting the knuckles, but they have a nasty habit of getting caught on things)

(10 days out.  I finally realized I had no choice but to wrap my knuckles in gauze very dramatically to keep my scabs from ripping off every time I reached into my purse.  Sadly, there is no other way to bandage a knuckle.)

It was hard to push myself to go fast when I’m not actively training for a marathon.  Yes, I am training for a triathlon, but the running part is only 10K.  It is not stressing me out.  The swim stressed me out a little bit, but I got myself a day pass to 24 Hour Fitness last Sunday and swam 1600 meters to prove to myself I could.  It took me just under 50 minutes (alternating freestyle and breast stroke with each lap).  It was monotonous, but not hard.  My shoulders screamed at me the next day, but I am now confident I can swim 1600 meters.  This weekend I’ll hop on a bike to prove to myself I can still ride one.  But back to today’s run.  I decided I’d like to do sub-9:00 miles, thinking that would be easy.  It was harder than I expected.  Lack of motivation may have factored in.  My run was uneventful, but since I need to develop some content for this blog, I’ve come up with the following three events.

• I had to stop and wait to cross a major street.  While I was waiting, a less-fit appearing man chugged up to the same stoplight, but across the street from me (running parallel).  When the light changed, I jogged across the intersection and saw that he took off faster than me.  The HELL?  Running has taught me you cannot judge a runner by his or her body type – a lesson I routinely ignore when people run faster than I do.  I also have a running mantra that I use when people pass me early in a race and I am tempted to speed up: “Run your race, TST [of course, I use my real last name because I do not call myself TST in my head].  Run your race, TST.  Run your race, TST . . . ”  Since I was less than 3 miles into my run, I decided I was not going to race this man.  He was probably running a much shorter distance, or alternating walk breaks, or . . . “Run your race, TST.  Run your race, TST.  Run your – oh, eff it!  He is NOT GOING TO BEAT ME!”  I totally smoked him. 
•  At about 6:15 am, I ran past Thompson’s house.  I considered banging on her door and saying hi.  Then I realized she probably sleeps normal human sleeping hours and banging on her door this early might give her a heart attack.  I kept running because I like her and do not want her to have a heart attack.
• I stopped at my boxing gym 6.65 miles into the run (dangerously close to 6.66, I know).  I said hi to a couple friends, took a salt pill, and refilled my water.  Then I saw that a new guy TOOK MY BAG.  Let me back up.  I have boxed on the same heavy bag for the last 3-4 years.  It is my bag.  It is marked with my blood, sweat, and tears (okay  . . . sweat).  I let it slide when New Guy used my shower room a few weeks ago (not bothering to remove the clothes I had in there, which prevented me from using the other shower room).  But this is beyond the pale.  When my hand heals, I will request a sparring session.  No, I was not boxing today.  But that doesn’t matter.  It’s like he peed on my fire hydrant!

I finished my uneventful run with no further concerning events.  I did forget that the sun comes up much earlier these days and spent the last 3ish miles running directly into the bright sun because I forgot sunglasses.  I miss winter already. Husband #1 drove by with Daughters #1 and 2 at 11.5 miles.  He honked and waved.  He later told me I looked "strong."  I did not feel strong at that point, but looks are what matter, amiright?

Mo Jo: Athena Division--Say What?

Run: 3 miles
Pace: FASTER THAN TST. Oh, yeah. (Explanation below--I know, you think I took her knee out Tonya Harding style)
Athena Division Jokes: Many

TST invited me and another friend, Thompson, to Pinetop for a leisurely weekend of wine, Scattergories, and training. We are competitive, if dirty-minded, Scattergories players. In case you are unfamiliar with Scattergories, you have to come up with words that start with a certain letter (selected by a roll of the die) that fit a phrase. For example, if the phrase is "cosmetics/toiletries," and you have the letter "R," then both Revlon and rouge are acceptable answers.

I have instituted a "no adjective" rule after what is known as the "jumping puppies" incident of 2011, in which a certain player who shall remain nameless argued that this phrase was acceptable for animals starting with the letter J. You can see from this rule that I am a ton of fun to play games with.

On our way to a healthy and light meal at the local Mexican restaurant, TST and I talked about our recent triathlon entry form, which had given us the option of competing in the "Athena" division. For this particular race, it means you weigh more than 150 lbs for women. TST, of course, did not qualify, but I did. May I just say right now I am 5'9? 150+ pounds does not seem like a gigantic amount to weigh for a tall woman. Plus, the male version is the Clydesdale. Thompson and TST pointed out that this sounds like a gigantic man clomping along. At least the Athena sounds tall, glistening, and glam. Like a goddamn goddess, not a Budweiser horse. Athenas also get to order the combination plate and beef tamales if they want to.

TST had Daughter #1 and Daughter #2 with her, so on Saturday morning, she packed the kids, Thompson, me, and two bikes into the car and we went to the lake so her kids could bike along the trail. She has described in this blog her methodology: the eight-year-old bikes ahead with TST for a little bit, then TST sprints back to the four-year-old who is peddling slowly but steadily along, then she runs back to the older kid, and so on. I got to encounter this first-hand. Thompson and I were doing a normal-pace jog along the lakeside trail when TST, who had been ahead of us with Daughter #1, came flying by us at a sprint to Daughter #2. Thompson and I appreciated each other's pace at that moment.

Thompson and I jogged around the lake. I was feeling chatty.

Me: "Oh, look at the reeds."
Thompson: "Mmm."
Me: "Guess what song this is on my phone? Bass bass bass bass."
T: "Hmm."
Me: "I wonder if I should get a Vitamix."
T: [silence]

Thompson was focused and probably trying to shake me, but I was feeling strong and kept up. "Guess what song is on now?"

We got back to the beginning (it is a one-mile loop) and Thompson said, "What should we do now?" I said, "We go around again!" Thompson declined, opting to walk in the relative silence. So I ran around by myself and encountered TST, who was doing box jumps onto a park bench. She explained that having to push Daughter #2 up hills had killed her pace time and she was running 11-minute miles. I had been running in the mid-tens and decided this was the ONE AND ONLY time I was going to have a pace faster than TST, so I am telling you all about it here. Yes, I had been running flat out and she'd been taking burpee breaks, but that is of no matter, none.

Anyway, I had the Athena Division in my head. WTF, Athena Division? Who set this arbitrary weight anyway? Apparently it is not, as I first thought (in a possibly reactionary way), meant to shame the athletes. According to Runner's World, weight categories offer another change for people to place and make the races more accessible. The article says:

In running, we know that weight does make a difference. The body supplies oxygen and energy to working muscles, so the lighter the load, the better.... within reason, of course. If you took two runners, identical in all physiological aspects except their weights, odds are that the lighter runner would finish with a faster time than the heavier runner. There are formulas that predict how much time a runner can pick up in a race by dropping weight, especially over the marathon distance. In that sense, you could refer to weight as a "handicap" of sorts, perhaps similar to a handicap in golf, bowling, or even bridge.

My golf handicap is pretty high, too.

Being heavier = more challenging workouts is no big shock. The first third of Matt Fitzgerald's "Racing Weight" could be summed up as follows: Lean people run faster. Got it. Or, there is a different way to think of it (supplied by Coach): Skinny people are cheating.

Or perhaps there is another way to think of it: Athena could be considered an adjective, depending on the usage. It violates my no-adjective rule. And as it is in Scattergories, so it is in life. :)