Mo-Jo: Almost Half Time!

Distance: 5 miles
Pace: 10:15s (well, with a recovery mile and a warm up mile and a kind of a long pause and stuff)
Medical emergencies: 2

CC is doing her first half-marathon on December 7, so Coach, CC, and I have been a Training Unit for weeks now. This involves getting up at 5:15, driving to the path in the dark, starting the run in the cold and dark (I know. We are in the warmest place in the country right now. But it still feels cold), and generally getting it done.

Last Sunday was a long run at 8 miles, and man, I felt great. I don't know if it was the good sleep, or if I ate well, or if I had just been putting the right kind of miles in, but it was a good run. Didn't even slow down on the half-mile that is one long hill. (We used to call it the Wild Mile, but now it is Dead Chihuahua Mile due to an unfortunate discovery I made on one run.) I hammered it. Was super pleased with my pace.

This leads me to my plug for my friend Dave's blog. He's a very talented ultra-runner and has begun coaching and has a blog called Coach's Corner with practical information. Also he's a good writer, so the blogs are fun. Anyway, in today's blog, he notes that one's performance at a race depends on our training. Here's an excerpt:

"Between the day we start training to the day of the race, we have a million opportunities to make choices that will either help us or hurt us on race day, and it starts at the beginning of the day.  Here are 10 questions to ask yourself:

• Did I routinely wake up early to get in my training run, or did I decide to sleep in?
• What was my diet like?  A hard tempo run followed by cheesecake, perhaps?
• Did I have a specific purpose for every training run I ran, or did I just basically run the same pace each run to hit some arbitrary weekly mileage goal?
• Did I routinely skip/modify workouts or cut them short?
• Did I make sleep a priority?
• Did I routinely stay out at happy hour or on a weekend night longer than I should have?"

Wait a minute. What now? I stopped reading at that last one. You should click on the link and read the whole thing, though.

Anyhoolies, today did NOT feel as awesome as my recent 8-mile Run of Awesomeness so I was definitely thinking about what I had done the night before to sabotage myself. Plus, today was Push Your Pace day. As you loyal readers of ROW know, Mo Jo, formerly Slo Jo, can run some slow-ass miles. I mean, I was the queen of them. But now I'm trying to get my pace up, and that means I have to run faster. Coach thought we could do three 10:15-minute miles after our warm up. Here's how that went:

First half mile: I feel incredible! Boom. I am fast fast fast. Woot!

Second half mile: W. T. F.

Immediately after that mile ended, I had an asthma attack, adding a little exclamation point to the end of the run. Had to walk a bit. This was the third exercise-induced asthma attack I've ever had, and they are really not so fun. Remember at the marathon where that lady with the broom tried to suck out my soul? Anyway, I indicated my possible imminent death to running buddies through pointing at throat and wheezing. Wheeze, wheeze, wheeze, walk, wheeze, try to calm down...and hey! I had air again. We decided to do a "recovery mile" for Mile Three, then ran hard again for Mile Four and to the end.

Meanwhile, CC had developed a severe headache and showed up wearing her scarf wrapped around her head like she had a Civil War head injury. She said keeping the cold out of her ear and eye was helping, but not being able to see was not. She looked absolutely miserable--but what did she do? Finished the training run. Because we are committed!

• Did I routinely skip/modify workouts or cut them short?

Not today, muthaeffa. Not today.

Toe-Shoes Tina: Trails Are Hard, mmmmkay?

Miles:  15.5

Hours of sleep:  maybe 4? 

Solid foods consumed over 24 hours:  very little

Ragnar!  I’ve wanted to do Ragnar for years, but have never been able to make it work.  So when some of my friends from the gym invited me to join a team for Ragnar Trail, I jumped at the opportunity. 

(Sadly, I cannot run trails in toe shoes, so this is my best "toe" shoes pic.)

For those of you who aren't complete running nerds:  Ragnar is a 24ish hour relay race.  Traditional Ragnar is run on roads and has teams of 12.  They are point to point and each team member runs three different legs (varying in distance from a couple to several miles).  The runners are shuttled to each transition area in one of the team’s two vans.  Ragnar Trail is, as the name suggests, run on trails.  There are three trail loops:  green (short), yellow (medium), and red (long).  Each team member runs each loop one time.  Ragnar Trail teams have eight members and a central campsite instead of vans.  The logistics of Ragnar Trail are simpler and thus more appealing.  Plus, I have a ginormous tent that never gets used because we are not camping folk.  See?  Already contributing to the team!

(The main building is up, the east and west wings are still being constructed.)

Each team member gets a number, one through eight.  There are twenty-four legs total, so if you are runner 1, you run legs 1, 9, 17.  When it came time to assign numbers, I boldly said I was fine doing my long run last because I feel like I am a pretty strong runner (not fast, but consistent).  This is how I became runner 8 and ended up agreeing to do my 8.4 mile trail run at the end of a 24-hour trail relay.  As runner 8, I ran legs 8, 16, and 24.  My team was assigned an early-ish start time of 11:00 am on Friday.  We all met up at 7:00 am.  I carpooled with KO Kennedy. Peppy, who has run many Ragnars and has a knack for organization, rented a huge cargo van to get all our stuff in and out of the campsite.  Another of our teammates, Go Pro, had the foresight to go up on Thursday night and rope us off a sweet campsite, which she reserved with cones and a pirate flag. 

(Death to ye who think of stealing this spot!)

We were initially a little disappointed that we didn’t get a spot in the main “village” (which filled up lightning quick) and had to stay a quarter mile down the road.  But this turned out to be a blessing.  It was quieter where we were and the bathrooms situation was infinitely better (porta potties were less used in our area and our campsite was far enough away to be free from the odor).  My tent is truly a monstrosity and – oh yeah – doesn’t have directions.  KO Kennedy is a master tent setter upper and figured it out.  My tent and her pop up did not fit on our allotted space, so we encroached onto other campsites.  Oops.  People were nice, though.  (I later found out Mo Jo’s friend, Flash, had a campsite very close to mine.)  We had our camp set up by 8:30ish and I was HYPED!  Due to time constraints, I had skipped my 6:30 am boxing workout and was full of normal energy topped off with a little nervous energy.  I began to realize the drawback to being runner 8.  I would not run my first leg until approximately 5:00 that evening.  I joined my teammates in a pre-run beer and wandered around the village.

Our first runner, Sombrero, got us off to a great start with his 3.1 mile (green) leg.  He was followed by Nike, our second runner who ran the 4 mile (yellow) leg.  He finished strong, but looked a little wobbly from the heat after finishing.  This made me nervous for my later runs.  KO Kennedy was up next with her 8.4 mile (red) leg.  She had selected runner 3 so she could get the 8.4 miler done first.  It was stressing her out and by this time it was friggin’ hot!  She did great, though, and finished strong.  I still had several hours to go.  Our teammate, Yogi, then rocked the 3.1 (green) again, despite the heat.  She was able to beat the heat a little by running in shorts and a sports bra.  Something I could never do with my (lack of visible) abs.  Maybe I should take up yoga . . .  Sparky was up next (KO Kennedy is going to kill me for giving him an ASU name when she didn’t get one).  He ran the 4 mile (yellow) loop and I was interested to hear how he liked it since – when I FINALLY got to run – I’d run that first.  He warned me it was hilly.  Specifically, you get up one hill and think you’re done, but it is a cruel hallucination.  There is more hill to climb.  Great.  Go Pro set off for her 8.4 mile run in the merciless desert sun and I went back to camp to rest a bit.

At that point, a dilemma emerged.  I was hungry.  But my stomach is the first thing to go when I run.  I prefer to run with no solid food in it, which is easy when I run at 6:00 am.  Not so much when I run at 5:00 pm.  I chose to eat a banana and granola bar and just live with the rumbling tummy.  I had also been aggressively hydrating, but decided to cease all water intake at that point so I would not have to pee on the trail.  Go Pro triumphantly avoided heat stroke.   Then Peppy ran her 3.1 and I was FINALLY up!  The sun was just starting to go down, so I got some relief from the sun, but it was still warm.  And Sparky was right; the yellow loop was HILLY!  But I thought I would be fine.  I can do hills.  I run hills up in the mountains.  I know trails are supposed to be harder, but surely the 7000 foot elevation I get in the mountains would offset itself with the increased difficulty of the trail.  Nope.  The terrain is uneven and my feet slipped a bit on the way up.  This does not happen on pavement.  Then, when I got to the top of the hill, I could not fly down the other side.  There were too many rocks, ridges, holes, etc. for me to go full speed down the hill without jeopardizing my ankle.  And this screwed me.  When I run up The Beast at 7000 feet, I chug up at or just below a 10:00 pace.  But then I cruise back down at up to a 7:30 pace.  My pace did not have any such rescuing on the trails.  I did my 4 miles as fast as possible, which required me to really push myself up the hills.  It was hard and I wanted to vomit (glad I didn’t eat!) and my pace did not reflect my effort.  I ended up with a 9:27 average pace and decided to be happy with it.  I was happier still when my teammates greeted me with a beer at the finish.  Suddenly my nausea improved.  And I was happy to have finally contributed to the race!  I went back to camp and ate two slices of cheese to celebrate.  I followed it up with a couple handfuls of chips.  Health food!

My next run was at 1:00 am.  I tried to get some sleep, but only managed to doze several times. Did I say I’m not a camper?  I’m not a camper.  And the ladies in the tent next to us were loud.  And it was COLD as soon as the sun went down.  I was in running clothes covered by sweats wrapped in a sleeping bag and was still chilly.  Desert weather is ridiculous.  I managed to get to the transition area to wait for Peppy (who was just finishing her 8.4 loop).  She looked at my jacket (which was over a long sleeved top) and told me I didn’t need it.  I couldn’t imagine taking it off, though, so I ignored her advice.  Plus, I was holding my bear spray in one hand and my phone in the other and didn’t want to deal with the logistics of un-jacketing.  I just wanted to be done.  I switched on my headlamp and set off.  Yes, headlamp.  It was the desert in the middle of the night.  We had a full moon and some of my teammates were brave enough to run just with the moonlight.  I was not.  I’ve never run at 1:00 am before and certainly not on a trail.  It was not my favorite experience.  I began by telling myself pace doesn’t matter.  I very quickly laughed at myself for thinking I could abide by that. 

The headlamp was really bright, but did not light the area directly around my feet.  So I nearly turned my ankle several times.  My ascents were difficult and my descents were cautious.   Then we ran through some washes, which are filled with sand.  Every time somebody passed me (which happened more than I care to admit), sand would go flying into the air right in front of me.  This was an unexpected attribute of the headlamp:  I was able to see all the dust and sand swirling in the air.  I’m sure it was all there during the day as well, but there is something extra special about actually seeing all the crap going into your eyes, nose, and mouth.  I finished my 3.1 with a 9:47 pace and fought nausea (and regretted the second beer I had after my first run) while Peppy (who had stuck around for me to finish) handed me my sweatshirt and we walked back to camp together. Still restless, I walked her and Nike back to the transition area to welcome Sombrero back from his third (and final) run and send Nike off on his final run: the 8.4.  

I then slept poorly on the floor of the tent.  At some point during the night, I moved onto an air mattress and slept a little better.  KO Kennedy finished her last leg at around 5:00 am and took off to catch the ASU/Notre Dame tailgate and game.  I was not awake to see her off, but woke up 6:00 am and went in search of coffee.  The sun began to rise and it was gorgeous.  Sparky was running his 8.4 leg at that time and I decided I was jealous of him.  I love running as the sun comes up.  Instead, I got to run my 8.4 at 10:15 am, when the sun was up in force and the temperature was hellish again.  I was tired and had only eaten a banana for breakfast.    

(The view from my (coffee) run.)

Sparky told me he really liked the 8.4, despite most other people complaining about it.  Yes, mile 2 was all hill, but it was gradual and the views were fantastic.  I decided I wanted to really enjoy one leg of this race and I would not push myself to the point of nausea.  For once, I stuck to this plan.  I ran, but didn’t race.  It was challenging.  There was no relief from the sun and there were lots of sandy washes and brutal hills.  But I still enjoyed it.  After the big hill (which I ran to prove I could), I walked the steeper inclines and sometimes even walked sandy portions.  I still managed to finish the whole loop in an hour and 29 minutes.  I regretted being runner 8 until I approached the finish line and my whole team (minus KO Kennedy) was there: wearing our team shirts and waving our team flags.  I got a burst of energy as they cheered and ran in with me.  They once again handed me a cold beer and all was right in the world.

We lounged around the campsite for awhile.  Peppy scrounged a stick of butter from another campsite.  She and Sparky used it to make grilled cheeses on Sombrero’s propane grill.  Hot, solid food never tasted so good!  And, my god, I’ve never had a shower so divine as the shower I took upon arriving home.  I thought I appreciated my post-marathon NOLA shower.  But this shower put that shower to shame after more than 24 hours sweating it out in the dust and sand.  Husband #1 asked why my shower was so short if I liked it so much.  I answered his question by passing out in my warm, clean, pillowed bed.  No matter how awesome the shower, I could not let it delay my non-camping sleep.  Aaaaaaah.        

TST Gets Brave

Distance:  7 miles

Pace:  8:51

Sleep:  4.5 hours

Drinks at speak easy the night before:  2

Mo Jo has admittedly been keeping this blog afloat for the last few months.  I’ve been running – occasionally – but have not had much time to post.  Since the beginning of September, I’ve been to Ireland, Albuquerque, Denver, San Francisco, and Fresno.  All but Ireland were work trips.  I had some amazing runs in Ireland, but have since forgotten too many details to post.  I also had a great run in  Denver, but it was too uneventful (eventless?) to post.  

(From top left clockwise, Denver, Vegas (with Husband #1 and his toe shoes), and Ireland)

Which brings me to San Francisco.  I spent Tuesday through Sunday of last week in San Francisco.  San Francisco may be my all time favorite city in the world.  I’ve spent a lot of time there and logged a lot of miles running there.  You can cruise up the coast for a (relatively) flat run.  Or you can turn in to the city and chug up one of the city’s many hills.  On prior trips, I’ve even run up the famous Lombard street.  It is supposed to be closed to pedestrian traffic, but what can I say?  I’m a rebel.  

My first run did not disappoint.  I was there for a conference and had a lot of time available on Wednesday morning.  I ran from Soma (where my hotel was) to Embarcadero and up through Fort Mason (the only significant hill along that part of the coast) to the marina.  When I turned around, I back-tracked for a bit, but decided to go inland just before Ghiradelli Square.  I hit both Russian Hill and Nob Hill on the way back to the hotel.  My pace skyrocketed from around a 9:00 mile to a 10:30 average after those hills.  Phew!

(A prior run up Lombard Hill.  Or maybe this was a down run.  In any event, I've run up and down it multiple times.)

For my second run, I had badgered a fellow conference attendee (we’ll call him Timmy) into running with me.  We headed out after a very early business meeting.  This meant I was in full makeup, not my normal running look.  We started out the same way, up the Embarcadero.  We “turned around” at about 2.6 miles.  Rather than turning around, I had the brilliant idea to go hit some hills like I had the day before.  We ran up to the famous part of Lombard street.  The street to get there is very steep and we were mocked by a group of French tourists who were walking up the hill at a pace not much slower than our running pace.  We got to the base of the curvy part of Lombard and admired it while we caught our breath.  Timmy declined the opportunity to run up it.  I then attempted to lead us back to the hotel with minimal additional hills.  This resulted in a series of diagonal intersections with no cross-walks and sidewalks that were closed for construction.  We hit the outskirts of Chinatown, as well.  These are not ideal running conditions.  The last mile of the run went something like this:  run, run, run, stop for red light, run, run, run, shit, the sidewalk’s closed, run, run, run, stop for red light.  Not my finest run-planning moment.  

My third run almost didn’t happen.  Following an evening of networking and a trip to a speak-easy, my friend and I discovered we were starving at 1:00 am.  There is nowhere to eat in Soma a 1:00 am, save Denny’s.  I initially declined and then realized I might die of starvation in my sleep, so then accompanied my friend, who shall henceforth be known as Denny, to Denny’s at 1:00 am.  I inhaled a cheese omelette, hash browns, and toast before Denny was even halfway through her omelette.  This gave me time to look around for our server to signal for the check.  Instead, I accidentally made eye contact with a man who had just come into the restaurant.  He took this as an invitation to saunter up to our table where the following exchange took place:

Man:  I like your hair.

Me:  *polite smile* Thanks.

Man:  So, are you married?

Denny:  *dissolves into giggles right in poor man’s face*

I did not get back to my room until after 1:30 am.  As I apparently cannot sleep past 6:00 am anymore, regardless of my bedtime, I was working off less than 5 hours’ sleep when I began my third San Francisco run (not surprisingly, Timmy had ignored my e-mail asking if he wanted to join me).  I have run right up to the Golden Gate before, but never beyond as it is quite some distance from Soma (where I am usually staying because that’s where all the conferences are).  The coastline is gorgeous and I wanted to see more of it, so I decided to cab to Crissy Field and start my run there.  My original plan was to run around the coast underneath the Golden Gate and see what was there.  I got in the cab and told the driver to take me to Crissy Field.  She replied “where?”  I was baffled and just had  her take me to the marina.  I still had to give her directions.  

On the way there, I started thinking about the Golden Gate.  I cannot count how many people have told me I NEED to run/walk/bike the bridge.  Except, here’s the thing, I’m terrified of heights.  I hate even driving over bridges.  In the few seconds it takes to fly across a bridge going 80 mph, my palms sweat and I can’t look down.  So running across the Golden Gate?  As if!  As we drew closer to the water and the Golden Gate loomed, however, my lack of sleep affected my thinking.  Somewhere near the end of my cab ride, I decided I had to run the Golden Gate while I was still young(ish) and strong enough to run.  Besides, the weather was gorgeous and promised a great toe-shoes pic.  

(Stunning overlook of the Golden Gate.)

So I started at the marina.  The day was sunny and warm.  A little too warm.  But it’s okay because I’d heard the bridge was really windy.  I eased off the pace, knowing I’d want to get off the bridge as quickly as possible.  Soon I began to climb the hill that went right up to the bridge.  And then, all of a sudden (2.5 miles into my run), there it was – spread out in front of me.  It was long and foreboding and PACKED with people.  I took a deep breath, put on some Tech 9 to make myself feel tough, and started to run.  I was afraid the bridge would sway in the wind.  Fortunately, it was sturdy and the wind wasn’t very strong.  Frankly, the biggest danger to me  was bikes.  The bikes speed over the bridge and I had to dart out in front of them to get around the tourists casually strolling three abreast down the narrow(ish) sidewalk.  The risk of grievous bodily injury via bike helped take my mind off the heights.  Until I looked down at the water.  Ho-ly shit!  I was high up!  And I immediately became dizzy and nauseated.  So I tried not to look down any more.  

(From the other side of the bridge!)

(My fingers and toes tingled taking this picture.  Yipe!  So high up!)

The bridge was about 1.5  miles across.  When I reached the other side, I called husband #1 and told him I ran across the bridge.  I expected to be mocked, but he said “wow, that’s a big deal . . . for you.”  Yes.  Yes I am brave.  I conquered my utterly irrational fear of bridges.  I ran back across, victorious, and back down the cliff to sea level.  Then I headed inland and caught an Uber back to my hotel.  Where I napped.  

Mo' Jo: Bisbee Is Coming.

Distance: 30 miles (in several runs)
Pace: MUCH better. Am changing name to Mo' Jo (short for Moderate)
Injuries: 1

Greetings, wine and running fans! So last Saturday, I was hanging out with TST watching her kid play soccer, and she had on an awesome tank top that I should have taken a picture of. It said, "RUN NOW WINE LATER." She was mildly concerned it wasn't appropriate for a kiddie-event, but basically every parent who walked by complimented her on her shirt. We at Running on Wine are apparently not alone in our love of post-run wine.

I've been running quite a lot lately. I tried trail running. This came to an abrupt--and I mean abrupt--halt when I managed to fall two steps into the run. I wasn't really awake or into the run, but I had gone anyway. We walked up the concrete path to where Trail 100 starts at Dreamy Draw, and then said, "Let's go!" I stepped off the concrete onto the trail , started to run, and caught my toe on a rock. BAM. I slammed my hip into the ground and scraped my shin, elbow, and hands. So that run was sort of a bust. I had to tell the other runners to go on without me while I reassured myself that my hips and knees still worked.

I needed a different run. One with fewer rocks. My office is three miles from my house, so I started running to and from work. I have learned that it is perfectly acceptable to run three miles holding a Tupperware container with my lunch in it in one hand and my iPhone in the other. I work in a very small office and am my own boss, so the dress code is pretty lax around here. If I want to wear sweaty clothes, that's fine, says the boss. The office is a converted house, so the bathrooms even have showers. Why wouldn't I run an extra six miles a day?

"I know why," says one uninvited speaker. "Because I am going to blow up on you." Well, welcome, Achilles tendon, to the Injury Party.

I consulted the Bible of Running, aka Runner's World, and it said, to no one's surprise, that the Achilles can get inflamed from increasing mileage too quickly. Guilty. Moreover, I've been really trying to increase my pace. I've been running more like 10:30s, which is still slow for many of you, but for me represents an increase of like 1:17 per mile (approximately). (I got that from Nike Run, which has been sending me happy little messages like that.) To increase my pace, I've been trying to speed up my cadence and also quit striking with my heel.

For example, yesterday we ran the Bridle Path for four miles. I took off like a shot (in my mind). Felt great. Run run run. You would think I would have learned by now that starting off too fast leads to a great deal of pain later on in the run, but no. I have learned nothing. Coach caught up to me around the end of Mile 2 when I was beginning to think about lying down in the roadway and said, "So, started off too fast?" I would have told him off but I couldn't breathe. But after we turned around, I felt good again and tried my best to haul ass back to the car, focusing on my cadence and keeping my weight on the balls of my feet. It's been really fun to see better times on my Nike Run app.

Really fun! But then I had to limp down the hallway to the coffeepot when I got out of bed this morning. Ah, man. Rest and ice, rest and ice.

Observant readers will note that this post, titled Bisbee Is Coming, has absolutely nothing to do with Bisbee. But I'm getting there. We're going this weekend for the Bisbee 1000, a four-mile race with a thousand stairs. I've been running stadiums with Pixie and E to get ready. I actually love that workout but wish my calves would not cry for an entire week afterward. We are planning to be dressed as hippies. Last year, there weren't that many people in costumes, but we are undeterred! Unfortunately, TST is not able to go to Bisbee, so you'll have to get the race report from me. Maybe we can get Pixie to do a guest post. See you in Bisbee or in next week's blog!

Slo Jo: Updates from Slow Training Weeks

Distance: doesn't matter
Pace: don't care
Wine consumed: the usual, normal amount for a healthy single woman with a stressful job

TST and I haven't had any pressing goals set for a while. It has been summer in Phoenix, and that takes the motivation out of even the most enthusiastic Gatorade-swilling athlete. But it is mid-September now, so for me at least (TST is always in shape), it has been time to get back in gear.

Upcoming races include the Bisbee Stair Climb 1000, so I have announced we are doing Stadium Wednesdays and Sundays to my friends. Now, we did Bisbee last year, and if you are not in the fast group, you don't exactly kill it on the stairs. You are surrounded by a lot of people trying not to have a heart attack who are going super slow, and it is impossible to get by them. So I don't feel like I need to be in amazing condition for this race; on the other hand, I don't want to be sore. Or be one of the heart attack people I may have been a teensy bit judge-y about last year.

Then I have the Tucson Half Marathon in December, which promises to be a solidly downhill course. My friend KS says she has run it and that it is, yes, assuredly downhill. So I need to PR this thing. Coach has been working with me on speed workouts, but alas, I still appear to be keeping the Slow in Slo-Jo. I just CANNOT run fast. I was trying to pace this woman who was not, shall we say, built like a runner, and she TOASTED me.

And then we have the Napa full marathon in March. TST picked it out, because she is a sadist. First, she wants to be in wine country at a time when our wine consumption has to be dramatically curtailed. Perhaps she does not remember wistfully wandering around New Orleans the Saturday afternoon before the marathon when all that sounded good was a little sazerac, but I do. And we ate dinner in New Orleans at 5pm. We were the only people in there. We even beat the elderly. Wine country with no little wine is going to be less fun, I predict, than wine country with wine.

Second, after I decided I was not going to let a little wine deprivation stop me from signing up, I perused the Napa marathon website and ran across this:

"The Kaiser Permanente Napa Valley Marathon (NVM) prohibits the use of all electronic devices on the race course—in accordance with Road Runners Club of America guidelines and USA Track & Field (USATF) Rule 1.44.3(f). These devices include cell phones, MP3 players, and other portable audio or video devices using headphones."

WHAT NOW?

No headphones? No music? Just me and my thoughts about chafing for several hours?

I posted this on Facebook, and two of my friends who are experienced marathoners chimed in and said it was actually good. I would be zen with my running. I would concentrate on form. It was way better than checking out and listening to music, they said. (These people do not take five hours to run a marathon, I will just note.)

Okay, so this is going to be swell. Can't wait.

Last, you are thinking, where is the triathlon you promised? A couple of points on that.

We're having a little trouble agreeing on a race. TST won't swim in a lake. She has suggested triathlons that involve a pool. Recall this is the same person who signed us up for a music-free, wine-free marathon. The thought of doing a tri in a pool gives me the concern as a no-music marathon about lapsing into a coma from boredom, but if you do that in a pool, you drown. Ix-nay the ool-pay, I say. I want to do ocean. Or at least open water. Anyway, we'll figure it out soon.

Also, the last time I went swimming I had a traumatic experience, so I haven't been back. In my last post, I mentioned how the high point of lap swimming is the hot tub awaiting me at the end of the swim. I love me some hot tubs. So while I swim, I keep one goggled beady eye on the hot tub to see who is in it. On the last one, some old lady got in it, then got out (me: score), then a middle aged man got in. Hmm. I kept checking on the laps that faced the hot tub to see if he was still in there, and noticed the tub was full of foam. "Huh," I thought. "There must be some sort of 'bubbler' action I hadn't noticed."

So I got out of the pool and, despite having a little friend in there, got in the hot tub. (Don't worry, this story doesn't turn into a Hot Tub After-Swim Delite story or anything.) I pushed the tidal wave of foam aside, nodded hi, and settled in. Ahhhhh. Then I looked around and saw a sign: "Why does the hot tub foam?"

Intrigued, I kept reading. "The hot tub foams when members don't take a shower and the tub senses extra body oils or dirt that trigger a chemical reaction to keep the tub clean."

I looked at the man. I looked at the sign. I looked at the foam chemicals stripping a layer off my skin. I got out of the hot tub and took a shower. So...I haven't been back. But my skin looks amazing.

Slo Jo: Slo Jo Swims

Distance: 800 meters
Pace: Stately
Wine consumed: None.

I never, ever thought I'd say I miss running. I would have thought if I couldn't run any more, I'd think, finally, I have a good excuse not to run. I'd say, "Oh yeah, I ran a marathon once. Now, I can't run anymore so don't ask me." I'd join the ranks of former runners with their blown out knees and busted hips.

Turns out, I don't want to go gentle into that good night. I miss it. And I can't eat like I want to when I'm not running. I even had to turn my back on--you should be sitting down for this--wine.

I know. I KNOW. This is a serious situation.

The solution is obvious. Are you not training for a soon-to-be-selected triathlon, Slo Jo? Are there not other things you might practice, like, I don't know, SWIMMING?

Yes, yes, yes. And I agree, so I went swimming on Sunday, which seems to be the one cardio activity I can still do with my sprained foot. The Y has a 25-meter pool that is, thankfully, usually pretty empty. I'm already used to being a slow runner, but I don't need to get passed by every other person in the pool when I'm focusing on surviving. Coach has given me a ladder program to try: 4x50s, 2x100s, 1x200, then back down. He says I'm not allowed to hold onto the wall during the set--that is, complete your 50 and THEN you get to hold on to the wall. Okay, off we go.

Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe. I remember this from swim team, age 10.

Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe. Kind of harder to breathe on the left. Weird. Sort of like I have trouble turning right when I'm skiing. I'm totally Zoolander.

Stroke, stroke, stroke, inhale some water. How come no one else in the pool needs to take a break mid-lap to cough? At least I'm giving the lifeguard something to look at.

The 4x50s are absolutely no problem. The 2x100s are more challenging. I decide I am not quite ready for a 200 with no wall hang time--me and the wall are like *this*, I love the wall--and skip that part of the ladder. I seem to get within 10 meters of finishing a set and need to have a little choke break. This swimming thing is a sinus-clearer-outer.

Two more 100s. My swim cap seems to be sliding off the back of my head. I try to adjust it and knock my goggles off. I bet Missy Franklin does not have these problems.

Four more 50s and done. It took about half an hour to swim 800 meters. I suspect that is not very good. But anyway, the best part about the Y pool is the hot tub for post swim relaxing. I love it. Sometimes there is an old man in it, which is disconcerting, but usually it is all mine. There's no hot tub waiting for me in running ever! I'm getting on board with this swimming thing.

Slo Jo: Slo Jo Takes a Hike

Distance run: about 8 miles, two runs
Distance hiked: 2.4 miles
Distance fell on way to dramatic entry into river: maybe three or four feet

Triathlon training has begun. I swam in a pool and, like TST, did not drown. The nice thing about swimming is that the boredom is alleviated by the occasional mouthful of water and a coughing fit, which livens things right up. Trying to breathe and not drown will definitely take your mind right off your boredom.

I had a busy week before the Fourth, and basically did nothing but work, but then some friends and I went to Sedona for the Fourth of July weekend. For two mornings in a row, I got up early and ran about 45 minutes. I was so darned pleased with myself, because I hadn't been motivated to run at all before that. I told my friends, "I bet I'd be in killer shape if Phoenix were not the surface of the sun." I felt like my distance running muscles were back. I could have run 90 minutes. 120 minutes.

It helped with my feeling of "could run forever" that the return part of the run was downhill. On day two, I struggled up an endless hill for about 30 minutes before deciding to turn around. I reversed my route and made it back to the house in ten. How was that even possible?! I decided it was definitely a shorter distance on the way back.

(View from run. Yes, my finger in the frame is intentional. It, um, adds perspective.)

After day two's run, I was feeling like Slo Jo Got Her Groove Back, and enthusiastically joined the group for a hike. We drove out to Sycamore Creek in two cars, one marginally suited for the bumpy dirt road (M's SUV) and one born for it (Pixie's minivan). Okay, so the minivan wasn't actually born to be off-road. My friend S. and I were catching air in the backseat from the bumps. He said, "It's like a roller-coaster!"

We hiked 1.2 miles along the Verde River, and then found the spot where a natural spring feeds into the river. Everyone took off their shoes and waded into the spring. I hesitated, then told myself to stop being lame and took off my shoes. After all, it was hot, and the spring would feel good. At the last second, I looked at everyone's phones tucked into their shoes and took mine out, too. I supposed I might get splashed or something.

There was a steep muddy slope to get into the spring. M, who is far more experienced outdoors than I am (like nearly everyone on the planet), was behind me and said to me, "Do you need a hand?"

I said, "I'm good." I placed my bare foot carefully on the slope, shifted my weight onto it, and shot into space for a brief, glorious moment before I came crashing down into water, mud, and rocks.

Well, that hurt.

I landed on my right side in the shallow water, scraping my knee, banging my hip, and wrenching my foot. I got up, noticing I had mud all over myself, and hobbled over to sit on a rock in the water to try to launder my shorts. My knee started to swell around the scrape. My foot was very painful but I figured it would get better if I kept it in the cool water.

It did not get better. I hobbled back out of the spring and only made it back up the slope with F's help. Then we had to hike out, even though I couldn't put any weight on my foot except on the heel and big toe. I got my shoes on and started gimping along. I yelled out, "This wouldn't faze TST!" and everyone laughed. She'd probably have run back to the car just to say "eff you" to her foot.

S., proclaiming "no buddy left behind," stayed with me for the slow limp back to the car. I wanted to complain but thought of something I had heard once. People want things to be hard so they can say, "Look what I did! I hiked with a broken foot! It was excruciating!" and have all this drama and have people marvel at how you conquered something difficult. Or you can just say, "This is easy," and have no drama and be at peace with yourself. So I said mentally, "This is easy," and frankly, that did make it easier. No drama, no upset, just some limping. I did note that, unlike my run, the hike BACK to the car was far longer than the hike from the car. And occasionally I said a bad word when I stepped on something wrong and wrenched my foot again.

When I still couldn't walk the next day, I went to urgent care for an x-ray. Fortunately, I just have a sprained foot and nothing is broken. Broken sounds a lot more dramatic, but I'm not going for drama, I'm going for easy. Sprained means it will heal more quickly and I'll be back to training more quickly. I am supposed to rest it for two weeks, but I can still swim or bike after a few days of icing. And I get to wear this cool shoe:

(Maybe it only comes in one size?)

The doctor tried to put me in a boot, but the physician's assistant (who also, when I told him my weight, said, "Really? I would have guessed [20 pounds less]." Best PA Ever Award coming your way, sir) talked her into the shoe instead, asking if she wanted to kill me in the summer heat. So the shoe it is. I always did like getting new shoe.