Losing Words

I have 4 blog posts queued up, waiting to be finished.  One tells about Rip Claw, and how we finally finished the lengthy process of gifted testing and enrolled him in the program at a new school.

Genius!
Well, Gifted, anyway. 

He'll start later this month, and we have high hopes that he'll enjoy 2nd grade in a way that he was not able to enjoy kindergarten or first grade.  In another post, I excitedly started to share my Summer Reading list (#1- Nica of Los Angeles by Sue Perry [Bonus! If you want to solve the vague mystery of my real first name, check out the dedication page. That's me!] #2-#5 Connie Willis' time travel series starting with Doomsday Book and ending with All Clear. #6- One Summer by Bill Bryson which I know I mentioned before, but still haven't been able to talk to anyone about, so I'm pushing it on you again.  Read it!) by rambling on about a dream I had where the ocean turned into buildings.  Two posts are mostly about my running, but also about racing, Facebook, training, life, job searching, migraines, blogging and cheesecake.

Homemade cheesecakes with from-scratch caramel sauce and fresh, real whipped cream might deserve their own post.

The one thing they all have in common is that they all end right around here.



Not this time!  See?  You keep scrolling, there are more words.

The problem, of late, is something like writer's block.  Oh, and I kind-of hate running.  Also, I forget things like I'm a highly paid executive at Forget Me, Inc.  I've been sleeping poorly and making bad choices, like this shirt set that I recently purchased for myself (yes, with real, U.S. dollars).

Hot pink lace bandeau with strappy, gauzy, grape colored tank.

The day after ordering the shirt set online, I remembered that I'm 38-nearly 40!, laughed aloud, and decided that I would be sending it back.  7 FULL DAYS LATER I remembered that I'm only 35, but that doesn't justify my owning anything in these colors, made of these fabrics, or cut in these styles, and still planned to send the items back.  Today, the items were delivered.  Tomorrow, they will be returned, with my apologies.

I do have a reason, or at least a theory, to explain all this nonsense.  Drugs.  Specifically, Topamax, the prophylactic medication prescribed by my new neurologist, Dr. T, early last month to reduce the number of headaches and migraines I get from somewhere in between godawful and shocking to a more normal number.  Both Dr. T and my good pharmacist friend, Dr. B, informed me that, much like with any medication, this one comes with some potential side effects.  (Dr. T actually said that the main side effect would be that all my fingernails would be painted the same color, but that's because I visited him on the 3rd of July after painting some of my nails red, some blue, and leaving one unpainted for the Independence Day festivities to come.  I think it bothered him a whole awful lot.  Funny thing is, I don't think I had painted my nails at all for about 6 years prior to that day.)  Tingling in the hands, feet, and maybe around the mouth, is a common one.  Also, feeling a mental fogginess or spacing out.  "You may have trouble saying the words you want to say; feel a sense of disconnection."  The 10-page paper that came with the prescription also mentioned depression, suicidal thoughts ("call your healthcare provider right away, but do not stop taking this medication suddenly, as that can cause an increase in suicidal tendencies"), and the usual "rare but serious..."

After almost a week on the medication, I started feeling tingling in my hands and feet.  No big deal.  Dr. T had said the tingling would go away after the medicine built up in my body and I got used to it, which was one of the reasons he gave me a titration schedule (yeah, I know words like that 'cause I have a pharmacist for a friend) to let it build up slowly.  About two weeks after, I noticed the tingling all the time, especially while exercising, and my running started to suffer.  My pace kept climbing, which really isn't that big of a deal during these hot, humid Florida summers, but I started describing every run with words like "blah" or "blech" or "barf."  And really meaning it, because I was really dreading every one of them, even though they were marathon training runs and I had an incentive set up for myself for finishing a month's worth of them.

Greek food.  I love it desperately.  Charming hates it almost as much.  What could make for a better personal treat for a month of marathon training?

After just over 4 weeks on the medication, I had my first experience with the word loss side effect.  I expected it to feel like the word was on the tip of my tongue.  No.  I lost the word 'lowered.'  When I say I lost it, I mean it was as if it had never before existed in my life.  Drs. T & B both mentioned a disconnection, and I'm sure that's because other people on this medication have experienced exactly what I felt.  It was as if one small part of my brain was whispering "lowered" and the rest of my brain and body were just laughing and taunting, like, "Ha!  You think that's a word?  No.  Don't use that.  Nope.  Won't work.  Can't do it.  Don't even try.  Not a word.  Never heard it.  You're thinking of ______." And then I think I actually saw a big sad face in my head, because I couldn't think of a word.  Eventually, within what felt like 20 minutes but was probably 20 seconds, I came up with the word 'lowered' and it was the right word, but it was as if my brain had been disconnected from the rest of me.  I couldn't make myself use the word 'lowered.'  Later that same day, I said to still-football-obsessed Rip Claw, "Did you know the Giants and Bulls are playing the Pro Bowl game this week?"  I knew I meant the Bills, not the Bulls, and I knew I meant the Hall of Fame game, not the Pro Bowl, but I couldn't say the right words.

A few days later, I started putting together all the pieces.  It's hard, when your brain doesn't work, to figure things out, but eventually, I did it.  Unfinished blog posts.  Hating running.  Hating Facebook more than ever.  Un-returned phone calls.  Looking forward to sitting on the couch.  Throwing the iPod in a bowl of rice for a week rather than figuring it out that I accidentally set it on repeat.  Letting Rip Claw watch Spongebob for a sickening amount of time.  Letting Cupcake memorize the "Go Potty Go" DVD from the library, yet letting her Never Potty Never.  Realizing that many of my text message responses are "I don't care" or "whatever."  Not studying any fantasy football or doing any mock drafts even though the real drafts are coming up in just a couple of weeks. 

I knew my college degree in Psychology would come in handy someday.  I've got the anhedonia!  Okay, so that's not usually a term used with an exclamation point.  It means I've lost interest in things that I used to care about.  It's another side effect.  Now, listen.  Before you start to worry, I'll have you know, I was screened by a nurse just the other day.  I was told to answer, over the past 2 weeks, how many days I had felt a bunch of things like hopeless, failure, fatigue, etc., 0, 3, 5, 7, or 14.  I kept wanting to answer 1 or 4 or 8 or 6 or 57.  Is that weird?  But, she wasn't worried.  I'm not clinically depressed.  And strange nurses don't want to confirm whether or not you're just anhedonic, or if that's actually a word.  I have had ZERO-as in NOT ONE suicidal thought.  I've lost my words.  Literally, that one time, when lowered was gone, and for the past month, when I couldn't make them come out and make sense on the ol' blog.

Now, you may be wondering why running, having been an almost constant source of joy, drenching my brain with powerful endorphins, is not helping me through this tough mental battle.  Well, it seems like I'm just in a perfect storm of awful, lately.  All my runs in July and August, except for half of two, were solo.  Sickeningly hot.  Maddeningly slow.  That's not fun, but it's still running.  However, I managed to do something to some part of my body somewhere along the way, and now I have plenty of time to reminisce and appreciate all of those terrible runs while I sit on the couch in excruciating pain.

X-rays were negative, there's nothing wrong with my joints.  Doppler ultrasound showed nothing wrong with my circulation and no clots (I wore good underpants again, don't worry) in this leg, blood work showed no sign of infection or rheumatism or whatever else they were checking for.  The therapeutic masseuse concentrated her efforts on the Obturateur externe, Adductor and Quad muscles (Did you know there were four of them?  I responded like she said everyone does to that information "Oh, duh.").  She also worked on evening out my noticeably uneven hips.  Result seems to be that now I'm limping straighter than before.

Time for the good news!  I haven't had a headache in over a week!  I'm still taking the Topamax for that reason, and because I don't think it's the fault of the medicine that I can't move my leg.  Pretty soon, I'll know if it can prevent my hormone-triggered, debilitating migraines.  I would gladly lose many more words to be rid of those for good.

I feel like I should leave you with a helpful piece of unsolicited advice, since that's kinda why I'm here.  So, I'll recommend that you do side planks instead of forward planks.  If you're like me, you hate them with a vehemence because they're really hard to do.  That's because those muscles are weak.  You know what?You'll never regret getting stronger.


Please share a bit of good news!

Greek food- love it or hate it?

No Easy Task

Some of you may recall that I registered for my second first marathon, to be held March 29th.

Unlike when I started training for my first first marathon, I've been pretty quiet about my running habits around here.  That's about to change.  (Fair warning, Sha.)  See, now I don't know whether or not I'm actually going to run the full marathon, and I need to make a good, long list of pros and cons.  Here they are, in the order they pop into my head:

Pro:  The marathon course is one I've run and volunteered on before.  I know it's pretty flat, and pretty.

Con:  Today, I ran my longest distance ever.  13.27 miles.  The race is 5 weeks away.  I haven't run enough miles.

Con:  My feet hurt.  My toes feel bruised, and one of my arches is bruised.

Con:  My calf muscles hurt almost the whole time I was running today.

Con:  A couple of weeks ago, my IT band issues arose again.  What if it starts hurting at mile 5 and just gets worse as I run?

Pro:  I know the folks in charge of the race.

Pro:  It's the only marathon I know of that is close enough to allow me to sleep in my own bed the night before.

Pro:  I'll have a lot of friends and family members there.

Con:  I planned to run 15 miles today.  I took a couple of wrong turns and realized around mile 11 that I was either going to come up short by 2, over by 1.5, or would have to run past my car to meet my goal.  I chose to cut it short.  What marathoner would do that???

Pro:  Most of my family members and running pals are confident that I can run 26.2 miles.

Con:  I am not.

Pro:  One of the worst things about today's mentally draining run (it was also physically draining, but mentally, much worse) was the dense fog that I was running through for the entire 2 hours, 24 minutes, 41 seconds.  (10:51 pace is pretty stinking far from my goal).  I was drenched from head to toe.  The hairs on my arms had tiny water droplets all over them.  I am not exaggerating when I say that I was dripping wet even before the temperature went up over 70⌠£╚.  (Gah!  I always forget how to make the degree symbol.  Anyway, you get it.  I'm not googling it again.  ²?  Ñ?  ◘?  ┼?)  My hair was hanging in these awful, stringy, clumps, and despite the blanket of wet, I was still red-faced, hot, and sweaty.  Discouraged, angry, sad, and sore.  Not a pretty sight, to say the least.  When I finished running, I went into our running group's clubhouse to use the bathroom.  I dropped my car key, struggled to get my shorts back up, had to wipe the seat afterward because of my sweaty backside.  The entire time, I was mentally berating myself for stopping after just 13 miles, while the wussy back of my head was all, "Thankyouthankyouthankyou for stopping!"  Anyway, as I was washing my hands and noticing in the mirror how thoroughly revolting I looked, I saw a sign hung on top of the mirror that read, "Smile!  You're a beautiful runner!"  I did.  Because I am.  I <3 WVR.  Then, I remembered about how pretty my hair looked after I had it colored and cut a few days ago, and that I don't always look like I just swam 13 miles in a hot tub while wearing running clothes.

My biggest problem with selfies is that I can't seem to look at the camera.  How is that possible?

Con:  Marathons are really hard.  I know this not from experience, but because I'm smart.

Pro:  I had a 5-day long migraine that made me want to crawl under my bed and cry.  That was really hard, but I got through it.  I even washed dishes and changed out of sweatpants after the 3rd day.

Con:  Running a marathon is a choice.  Being attacked by Satan himself with a hammer inside your forehead, scrambling all your thoughts, pushing you off balance, making you cry when your family members speak, and using a chisel behind your ears is not a choice.  I've found that when given the option, I choose easy rather than hard.  Case in point, today I ran 13 miles instead of 15.

Pro/Con:  If I skip the Tomoka Marathon, or switch to the half, then I'll wait until November to run a full.  Charming registered me for the Savannah Rock 'n' Roll as a Christmas gift, so I'm in for that one, but racing in November means training all summer.  Also, if I skip Tomoka, the not-enough-training I did do will have been for naught.  That's annoying, when I consider how much time I've spent away from my kids, how many times I've rearranged schedules to run, etc.  But, then, there's the fact that I didn't do enough training.  And then, there's the terrible thought that if I didn't do enough training for this marathon, then when will I step up and run enough to properly prepare myself for a race so long?  Which leads to the obvious question- how can anyone go to the starting line of their first full marathon and feel completely ready?  It doesn't seem possible.

Okay, that last point on the list was maybe not so concisely a pro or con, and maybe more like a glimpse into "Freaking Out" by Me.

I know that not every run is easy, or fun, or rewarding, or will make me want to run more and more.  But knowing that, and getting past it to run even more miles next week, are very different things.

Today's advice is to give me advice.  Should I run 26.2 miles in 34 days?



Check out the update to my previous post, if you haven't already.  

Connect The Dots

The dots, in this case, are the random bits of information to follow.  Yes, I could have written several mini posts, but I think you know by now that I will almost always choose long-winded over short.

• For the second year in a row, my team made the playoffs in our Keeper($) Fantasy Football League.  Although my dependence on the Tom Brady/Rob Gronkowski combo seemed like it was going to destroy me earlier in the season (thanks a load for those 9 points in week 7, Touchdown Tommy), they pulled together when the time came and got me the wins I desperately needed.  This team is the one (of three) with which I most concern myself.  I'm doing terribly in the Free Family League, and I need many things to fall into place in order to secure a playoff spot in the winner-take-all League of Mostly Couples.  Unfortunately, my brother-in-law needs to beat his brother this week to push me ahead in the standings in that league, and, well, that might take a Thanksgiving miracle.

BIL's appropriate team pic

• Cupcake (formerly known as Baby) is thoroughly obsessed with The Fox song.  She prefers the live on Jimmy Fallon's show version to the original, because she likes pointing at the horse with the Ylvis guys.  She asks to watch it multiple times each hour day, sings along ("pa pa pow"), and dances.  It's pretty stinkin' cute.
• Rip Claw (formerly known as 6 y.o.) earned his Bobcat rank in Cub Scouts.  I got to paint his cute little face during the presentation ceremony at the pack meeting.  Charming (formerly known as Husband, because he's like my Prince and my Jax Teller all in one charming package) and I are pretty new to the whole scouting deal, and still a little hesitant.  We like the values they teach, and Rip Claw enjoys the activities a lot.  We're not entirely sure, though, that we're getting our money's worth.  It seems like a lot of expense, time, and effort are going in to securing tangible recognition that he's learned things we have taught him since he was born.  The leaders talk a lot about scouting being a family oriented program, but it is really difficult for us to participate in many of the events as a family, and I feel like we're ostracized if we complete assignments or activities just as a family, without the den.  Oh, and then there's the lightly blanketed racism that seems to pervade everything scouting-related...but that's a subject for a different post.  And they also seem prejudiced against those of us who don't sew or iron.

First time in uniform a couple months ago.

• I'm running again!  I've been slowly building my weekly mileage up, and including lots of walking each time I hit the road.  I also was treated to a therapeutic massage recently, which helped with the lingering soft tissue pain around my healed stress fracture.  I already shared some of the lessons I learned from my injury, but I feel like I'm also applying even more intelligence and thought to my running regimen than ever before.  I'm keeping track of how much water I drink, and meeting my goal of at least 100 oz/day.  I'm strength training, with concentration on my core, hips, and quads.  I've been practicing yoga.  Perhaps my favorite change, though, has been the addition of these dynamic stretching workouts after running.  

Miranda Esmonde-White doesn't know it, but I love her.  She makes me want to hug my television.

• I tweet!  Follow me, if you please.  I am @Rhi_Tweeter.
• My Alma Mater has an Ah-Mah-Zing football team this year.  U! C! F!  Whooooo!
• Nightmares have been going around at our house.  A couple of nights ago, Rip Claw slept  in our bed after a bad dream, which has never happened before.  Last night, I had a terrifying dream about the Governor from The Walking Dead wherein he was tearing the heads off of people (not zombies) with a hook, and hunting down me and the other members of my group.

• I'm currently reading 3 books.  1 for regular book club:

Turns out, rock star stereotypes are sometimes quite accurate.

         1 for mini book club:

Page 1, I decided to hike the Appalachian Trail.  Then, changed my mind somewhere around page 1 1/2.

         1 to satisfy my inner sci-fi geek:

Better than the first (so far) and the "There Goes The Galaxy" was pretty grand.

• Let's see...is there anything else important that I should share?  Hmm.  Oh!  Yeah.  I registered for my second first marathon.  Did anyone else just stop breathing for a second?  No?  Just me, then.  If two marathons could be complete opposites, my first first and my second first are such.  This one is in its inaugural year, local, without rock bands (although I think it would be great if they hired some local bands to provide music along the lovely course) and without several thousand of the participants that ran in Savannah.  It's going to be great.  It's going to be great.  It's going to be great.  

It's going to be great.

       Perhaps my chant should instead be: "I will not get injured.  I will not get injured.  I will not get injured."

I know I haven't offered much advice in this post, but please feel free to comment with any questions you have about my areas of expertise, like barely making fantasy football playoffs, running hesitantly, sleeping on the couch or not at all after scary dreams, and... um... reading!  Oh, and if you need to know every single lyric of The Fox song, I can help.

Memo To Note!

I learned a whole lot from my failed engagement.  If you don't feel like clicking the link, and you don't already know my story, here's a synopsis:

1. I registered for the Savannah Rock 'n' Roll Marathon.  My first full, it was to be. Why I wrote that like Yoda? I don't know.

2. I trained for about a month.

3. I managed to snag myself a thrice misdiagnosed tibial stress fracture.

4. I stopped running for 7 weeks.

I've read/heard that there isn't usually a good predictor of future stress fractures.  Basically, it's hard to know how much your body can take until it tells you, "That's it!" in no uncertain terms.  In my experience, stress fractures can be difficult to diagnose, too.  So, I'll share what I learned about and from my injury, with the hope that it might help someone else (or at least help my Mickey Mouse Clubhouse soundtrack-filled brain to retain information for longer than a day).

KNOW THYSELF
Runners always seem to tell each other, "Listen to your body."  You know why?  Because it is really, really important to do so.  You are the only one who knows how much pain you're in.  You are the only one who knows exactly how you feel.  It is so vital to know what is right, what is weird, what is totally off, and in most cases, nobody else can give you that information about yourself.  When my calf muscles started hurting in early July, I was bothered by the pain, but I knew it wasn't due to a serious injury.  I did pay attention to the warning signs, but stretching and rolling and rest didn't help, so I just kept running.  When the pain worsened and moved, I knew I had injured myself, but I listened to the "doctors" who said I could keep running. Bad idea.

DON'T BE A BULLY
Nobody likes a bully.  Chances are, you don't steal people's lunch money, call them mean names, or force them to do things they don't want to do.  But you might still be a bully.  Maybe I'm the only one whose self-talk can get pretty ugly, but I doubt it.  Don't let yourself talk to yourself like that!  Forcing your legs to run another mile (or 10), insisting that your brain ignore all pain signals, reminding yourself that other people can easily do what you're struggling to do are all excellent motivational tools unnecessary bullying tactics that can lead to or exacerbate injury.  Do. Your. Best.  Giving more than 100% effort is mathematically impossible.

WHAT WOULD _______ DO?
For me, that blank is filled with the words, 'my mom.'  Maybe your blank person is your dad, spouse, trusted friend, a doctor, or a nurse.  My mom has always been an awesome advocate, diligent researcher, and brave when it comes to standing up to doctors.  If I had asked myself this question during my first appointment with the "doctor" who gave me a cortisone shot for bursitis, I could have saved 2 weeks of non-running time.  See, my mom would have insisted on an MRI at that first visit.  She would have made absolutely certain that the "doctor" knew all the details of the problem, even if it meant telling him a 3rd or 4th time.  I let myself believe that he had listened and understood, even though he contradicted that belief several times.

Not my MRI image, but looks similar.  Sort-of.  I can't tell if this picture is of a R and L leg, or one leg from different angles.  Either way, my stress fracture was near where the arrows are pointing, on just the one leg.

THE TRUTH ABOUT STRESS FRACTURES
I feel like I learned more about stress fractures through my experience than anyone at the Orthopaedic doctor's office knew.  There's the fact that the nurse, when she saw me after my diagnosis, actually (truly, I'm not making this up) asked me how to spell the word 'stress' (Seriously.  She thought it was strest.), plus the absence of the hop test, and the "doctor" telling me that it was a "highly unusual" place for a stress fracture.  In addition, more than one professional I spoke with before being seen tried to convince me that an x-ray would show a stress fracture.  It doesn't, until it has healed.  I have no medical training, but I still feel confident telling you these truths:

• Tibial stress fractures can occur anywhere on the tibia, not just the lower shin. 
• Stress fractures hurt, a lot, but not necessarily as bad as you might expect.  Lots of people continue to walk and run after this type of injury.  Don't.  
• Usually, muscle pain means muscle weakness.  Muscle weakness means the bones aren't getting the support they need.  This is why running through pain can lead to further injury.  Get it?
• A stress fracture can only be positively diagnosed with MRI.  I would probably get the science behind this fact all wrong, so just trust me.  I read a lot of articles, and talked to 2 imaging technologists who confirmed this.
• Stay-at-home-moms almost never have their hands free to use crutches.  
• It is not safe to carry your 18-month-old on your back while walking with crutches.

IT'S ALL MENTAL

Not the stress fracture, the recovery.  A runner unable to run is like a singer without a voice.  Like a guitar without strings.  Like brewing coffee without water.  Frustrated.  Devastated.  Hurt.  Depressed.  I feel like I went through more pain, mentally than I did physically.  I won't lie and say that I'm okay now (especially as I type this, while I have the live streaming coverage of what I thought was my marathon open in another window) but I am much more okay than I thought I could be.  This race was not ever mine.  I shouldn't have been at that starting line this morning, because I would have been if that was the case.  Since my injury, I've volunteered at two races and one long group run.  I started a local chapter of the Moms RUN This Town group.  I watched a friend cross the finish line of her very first 5k, and virtually followed another long-distance friend as she completed the Couch to 5k training, which will culminate today!  At least partly due to my decision to register for the Savannah Rock 'n' Roll Marathon, many people get to run with my amazing sister as their pacer.  She gets to help all of them meet their 4-hour finish time goal.  My dear friend and training partner will run her first marathon, and even though I'm not next to her, I know she's rockin' it and I couldn't be happier for her.  All of these facts have helped me to heal.  I've learned that my being a runner is about so much more than the miles I run.

About to set off for my first run in many weeks.  It hurt.  I walked for another week.

What have you learned, lately?

Jeremiah 29:11

*There is exactly one person on this planet that will immediately get the title of this post.  So, I'll try to explain.  One time, ~10 years ago, some family members and I were in line for a ride at Islands of Adventure.  A very intense-looking fellow briskly walked through the labyrinth to get to the front of the line, and as he walked, he poked his index finger into the air above his safari hat and loudly said, "Memo to note!  Always use Fast Pass!" It was hilarious to us at the time, although as I type this and grin at the mental picture, I can also see in my mind's eye the blank, confused look on YOUR face.  Probably I should move this tidbit to the end.  And put it in even smaller type.  And change the title.

Na Na Na Boo Boo?

You know how when you tell someone you love dearly something- like, where you think a lost item is, or that their bike is going to get rusty from being left on the porch because the rain gets there, too or that they can't trust a certain friend, and then it turns out you were completely right and you find the lost item, the bike gets rusty, and the friend commits a blatant act of betrayal, but you don't want to stick out your tongue and gloat about being right because you love the person dearly and you don't like to see them suffering?(Or . That sentence went on so long, I'm not sure whether it ended up being a question or a statement.)  This is like that.  Well, sort-of.  I mean, I don't love Dr. Schmoctor, but I do love running (dur).  I probably don't care that it might hurt his feelings or damage his credibility with his other patients if I limped marched into the office and waved around my MRI results while chanting something like:

You're not a doctor but neither am I

You're not a doctor but neither am I

You didn't want to order an MRI

You didn't want to order an MRI

You said my problem was bur-si-tis

You said my problem was bur-si-tis

That's what we call a swing and a miss

That's what we call a swing and a miss

Sound off!

You were wrong

Wrong Wrong

Sound off!

I was right

Right Right

Na na na na BOO BOO!

I'm not really one to brag, though, about being right.  It is enough to know that I have proof that I told him so.  I told everyone so!  

Since I've been very grumpy whiny busy eating chocolate focused on other things and haven't written a blog post in a while, I'll sum up for you. 

7/4: Flat white flip-flops are the only shoes that match my 4th of July party outfit.  My calves hurt after standing all day in them.

7/8: Marathon training starts, despite my still-hurting calves.

7/9-8/10: Marathon mileage buildup at a totally safe rate.  Seriously.  Calves hurt at the beginning of each run, usually felt better a few miles in.  Around the beginning of August, I took a few days off because my left calf was hurting really bad.  I had a few bad runs because of the pain, but I could still run.

8/10: 12 mile, hilly run.  My left knee started to hurt during the last 3 miles.  Took a couple of days off.

8/21: 1st Chiropractor appointment.  Knee and calf had still been sore, despite only running twice in 11 days. Chiropractor convinced me that the problem was my hips, which makes perfect sense.  She stuck some KT tape under my knee, cracked me from top to bottom, and told me I could run.

8/23: Ran, it hurt.

8/24: Ran, it hurt much, much, much worse, and in a different spot.  My knee felt okay, but my calf and upper shin hurt very badly.

8/27: 2nd Chiropractor appointment.  Same diagnosis, same treatment.  She did check for signs of a clot in my leg since I told her that my left calf was so sore.  Too much pain to run, too much internet reading to ignore the signs of a stress fracture.

9/4: Dr. Schmoctor diagnoses my pain as bursitis, despite the fact that bursitis is usually more knee and less shin.  Injects me with cortisone, says I can run after 2 days, when I should be pain-free.

9/4 (later): Solar Cortisone flare, lots and lots and lots of pain and swelling.

9/6: Pain back to normal level, I run.  It hurts, but I don't care.

9/6-8: Pain much worse

9/10: Pain back to normal level, I run again.  It hurts a lot.  I care a little.

9/13: Second visit to Dr. Schmoctor, he admits that if it had been bursitis, I would be completely without pain.  Orders an MRI.  I don't ask whether or not I can run, because I'm sure that I shouldn't.

9/20: MRI.  It's an even louder "wowd" than I had expected. I fall asleep for 2 minutes at a time, several times throughout the procedure.  Impressive, no?

9/23: Baby's 18-month birthday!  My old friend Will's 34th birthday!  Terrible, awful, frightening migraine!  Phone call on behalf of Dr. Schmoctor with the MRI results.  "Mrs. Knowitall?  You have a stress fracture.  Try to not put any weight on that leg, and come back Wednesday."

Remember my engagement?  It's officially off.  I'm very sad about it, but I'll be alright.  Just like when a relationship ends, it's hard to stop thinking about all the things you're missing.  But then, eventually, you're able to recognize that if the relationship had been perfect, if the other person had been meant for you, you would still be together.  Savannah Rock 'n' Roll and I are not meant to be together.  I'm confident that soon, I'll find my Husband of marathons.  My Race Charming will come along and sweep me off my feet, and those 26.2 miles will feel like I'm riding on a white steed.  

My Prince

Let me ask your advice, for once.  Should I make a big deal about Dr. Schmoctor's misdiagnosis?  

Run For Your LIFE!

Growing up, there was a lot of imaginative play with my older sister and our best friends.  Not to get all, "back in my day, sonny" on you, but we didn't play video games.  We didn't have cable, and only watched about an hour of television each week.  We read a lot of books.  We wrote a lot, and self-published our stories in magazines and newspapers which we would then distribute to our parents and their friends.  Most of the time, though, we played outside.  I think I heard the phrase "run for your life" for the first time on Scooby-Doo.  It was also probably used on Gilligan's Island and on The Brady Bunch, although not quite as often.  Quick digression-

Truth.

Anyway, let's get back to the running for our lives thing.  'Run for your life!' is a really fun thing to shout, as is 'You'll never catch me!' and 'You're our only hope!'.  Another quick digression- wouldn't it be cool to really be someone's only hope?  I mean, to possess either the knowledge, strength, or superiority to be the only hope has to feel pretty awesome.  Okay, back again.  I distinctly remember that whether we were playing detectives or stranded islanders or football or Cookie Jar (in which one of us [me, except when I protested really loudly] played the mom of several demanding, whiny children who did nothing but crawl around and ask for cookies- not my favorite game, but definitely the best preparation for real life) or archaeologists or hide-n-seek or Carson Kids (in which we were orphaned, crime fighting, Macguyver-esque children except when we had to get away from our mean foster parents, when we would break all the rules) or A-Team, someone would inevitably shout, "Run for your life!" and we would all take off as fast as our scrawny legs would carry us.  We would run down the sidewalk, as far as we were allowed.  We would run circles around the house.  We would run until my friend's younger brother, who was always the Bad Guy, complained to our moms that we weren't letting him catch us, or until someone got stung by a wasp (okay, that only happened once, but it sticks out in my memory like nothing else).  Running was the most fun part of all our games.  Running was the constant.  Running was survival.

Not pictured: anyone I know.  I realized I was going to have to google 'kid running images' when I looked through my oldest photo album and found pictures of kids in sinks, wearing tutus, playing t-ball, jumping on trampolines, and baking bread, but nobody running, ever.  We must have been too fast for those '80's cameras.

Did you know I'm training to run my first marathon?  (If not, this is probably your first visit to my blog, so let me welcome you!)  I've been thinking a lot lately about why I'm doing this.  See, back when I ran my first half-marathon, there was someone holding a sign that read, "Remember your why."  I had trouble coming up with anyone's why, much less my own, at mile 12 of the 13.1 mile race.  Because of my new brain-training initiative, I decided I should explore my reasons for deciding to run a marathon so's not to be caught off guard, mentally, by the motivational signs on the course.  After a couple of days of trying to come up with good reasons to neglect my family for hours each week while completing training runs, to put almost every inch of my body at risk of injury, to spend a whole bunch of money, to be impressed almost daily by how much sweat it is possible to produce, I was feeling a little stuck and discouraged.  I decided to check out other people's reasons, hoping maybe I could find something inspirational and deep to tell people when they asked why I was running a marathon.  Thank you, google, for always being there for me!

What I found when I typed 'why do people run marathons' was not very encouraging, nor was it very surprising.  There was one article claiming that many of us are not genetically suited for long-distance running, and that no amount of training will make those genetically lacking folks improve.

Lucky for me, I seem to have good genes.  Thanks, Dad!

I also found a blogger who says that only white people like to run marathons, this guy who says it's the challenge which excites our sense of adventure, and a really interesting (maybe only to me) article in which the decisions we make which cause us pain vs. pleasure are explored.  You really should read the whole article, but I'll sum up the parts I found most fascinating:

• Choosing to run a marathon is irrational.  Choosing to have more than one child is also irrational.
• We humans are not oh-so-rational, really.  Nor are we very good at remembering just how painful some experiences are.
• Apparently, it was the Hindus who inspired Westley's words in The Princess Bride, "Life is pain, highness.  Anyone who says otherwise is selling something."
• Life can be measured as a sum of moments, and if the pleasurable moments outnumber the painful moments, we can claim to have lived a good life.  Or...
• Life can't be measured as a sum of moments, and is "good" if we are able to appreciate the painful and pleasurable both as experiences which make us whole.

So, here's what I've concluded.  I'm going to run a marathon because I want to.  I stressed the word 'want' in that sentence to make it look closer to the word 'need', which might be more accurate.  I need to challenge myself, physically, mentally, and emotionally.  I need to know that I can do it.  I mean, I know I can do it.  But saying that at this point, when I haven't actually done it, is not much different from my saying that I know I can pitch a perfect game in Major League Baseball.

It's easy to say you can turn a pilgrim...

...into a zombie, but have you actually done it?

My life is a happy one, no matter how I choose to calculate happiness.  Maybe that's why I'm ready, now, to physically torment myself and put myself through 26.2 miles of pain.  Maybe Maslow had it right, and running a marathon is how I self-actualize.

Run for your VITALITY!  Hmm.  Doesn't have quite the same ring to it, but for me, it seems accurate.  No matter what is going on in my life, running is the constant.  No matter how hot and miserable I feel, physically, and how drained, mentally, running is still fun.  Improving my pace, setting new personal records, testing my limits and surpassing what I ever thought was possible, well, keeps me feeling alive.  Running is survival.

My advice for you was rather subliminal in this post, so I'll add a tip here just in case you stopped by looking for it.  I think you should get caught in some quicksand.  It probably makes more sense for me to be speaking metaphorically, here, like, "seek out some danger and don't be afraid" or whatever, but I mean it literally.  I would love it if someone would call me from quicksand.  I would totally know how to get you out, too.  Just give me 4 other people and a dog, and we'll be all set.

Have you ever been the only hope?  I will also accept stories about being "the only one I can trust" or "the last chance."  

Has anyone ever even seen quicksand?  Really?

Expert* Advice

I've been training for my first MARATHON for a while now.  19 whole days.  Therefore, I can now share with you the things I've learned about marathon training, and I can delude myself into thinking that my advice will be helpful (what's new, right?).

One of her newest words is "run."  Be still, my heart. :)

Once people know you're a runner, it's hard to shock them with anything running-related.  They already think you're crazy.  What's 26.2 miles to a crazy person?  Nothing.  I expected that the same people who laughed when I told them I was a runner would laugh when I told them I was training for a marathon.  Not so!

Logging miles is even more fun when you have a goal.  I've logged my miles on a few websites and on my wall calendar since I started running.  Don't judge.  I do it because it's fun, not because I'm, like, obsessed or whatever.  Now, I've got a fancy-schmancy ($10 from Target) planner, with my training plan all written out.  One of my favorite parts of each day is writing in my actual miles, and then I get to add them up at the end of the week, too.  Sometimes, I flip to November and just stare at the page for a few minutes.  It's so much fun.

The musical notes and stars represent the extent of my artistic ability.

So far as I can tell, every training plan has already been thought of.  I briefly considered making up my own training plan, then running a jaw-dropping-ly fast first marathon, then selling my plan for millions of dollars.  But then, I couldn't come up with an original plan, let alone one that would work.  Side note- Am I the only one who comes up with amazing ideas that have already been invented and marketed by someone else?  You know those gloves with the fingertip pads for using a touch screen?  My idea.  A single, short corded ear bud?  My idea.  Automatic transmission?  My idea.  I slightly modified Hal Higdon's plan for my own schedule, and it seems to be working for me.

Lots of people gain weight while training for a marathon.  Usually, later in their training than 2 weeks.  Possibly for reasons other than M&Ms and chips at 9 p.m.  Probably, I should listen to my own advice, and the creaking of my jeans as I try to button them, and concentrate on eating healthy foods.

Marathon training miles don't run themselves.  Weird, I know.  But, yeah.  Marathon training miles feel a lot like non-training, just-for-fun miles.  There are more of them, yes.  But, you don't suddenly run faster because you registered for a big, long, race, and you're not actually training if you don't run. 

"Time is an illusion"- Albert Einstein.  Often, I feel like I will never be ready for the music and running on November 9th.  Often, I feel like it can't possibly come soon enough.  How can 3 1/2 months (roughly) seem like an eternity at the same time that it feels like a moment?  That Einstein, he was a smart guy.  He had it right.  So, to pass the time, I'll run.  A lot.

Have you ever invented something that already existed?

Which is crazier- running a marathon, or jumping into the Bering Sea?


*self-proclaimed

Suck it up, Buttercup!

It's just one more race recap.  You can handle it.  I know I said I was done with the race recaps for a while, but, well, then I ran one more race.  It would be silly to just leave all the important to nobody but me details floating around in my head, don't you think?

Race #15- Suck it up Buttercup 5k, July 14, 2013
          H-E-Double Hockey Sticks! That's how we spell 'hill' in Florida!

A couple of people in my running group have made this phrase a mantra, of sorts, and everyone's favorite race director friend of mine decided to give us all something to suck up, so to speak.

Remember how I complained about the cold race day weather all those times?  This was not one of those times.  Florida.  July.  100% humidity.  In addition to being hot and sticky, the race course was definitely the hilliest course I've ever run, and likely one of the hilliest in the state.  One person called the hills "lung crushers".  Most people couldn't breathe well enough to get out any words.  Despite being a challenging race from every possible perspective, there were hundreds of entrants, all ready to suck it up and run.  The race directors actually ran out of finisher's medals a few days before the event, ~100 people still registered with the understanding that they were too late for a medal.

I, along with 25 or so other lunatics runners, ran a few miles before the race, and then ran to the race.  Yes, you read that right.  I purposely ran 5.5 miles (2 miles of which were on the very same race course hills) before running the race.  Then, of course, I had to run back to my car, so I put over 11 miles behind me that day.  (See, I'm training for a marathon.  I'm in marathon training.  I'm going to run a marathon soon.  Marathon.  Marathon.  Marathon!!!!!!!!)  Because of the extra miles, and because of the really-truly-significant-I-don't-care-if-it-is-Florida hills, I made it my goal to finish the 5k in less than 30 minutes.

I also made it my goal to sweat until I could wring out each article of clothing.  Congratulations, me!

My dad crushed his under 25 minute goal, and earned himself a 2nd in age group cowbell award.

The only bad part of this race, for me, was my stupid *#$%ing race-day brain.  Nothing makes me want to punch myself in the temple quite like the thoughts of, "Gah-hasp.  I've...ne-ver...pant pant...run...like...this...pant pant...eh-ver...before!" (Yes, I think out-of-breath when I'm feeling anxious.  You don't?).  The worst part?  I was thinking those stupid, breathless, nonsensical thoughts at the start of the race.  I wasn't fatigued.  I had just run the exact same course.  I have run many a race before.  Yet, there I was, slowing down before I even got to the first hill, thinking, "What...am...I...do-ing...pant...run-ning?  I...don't...ruh..huh..huh."  Yeah.  You wanna argue with me about deserving a temple-punch?

It just so happened that the article I had bookmarked in my 4-months-old issue of Runner's World to read last night was:

From what I understand, stupid *#$%ing race-day brain, or "The Blerch" is a bit of an epidemic among runners.  According to the article, it's super important to train and tame the brain and those ridiculous thoughts that pop up and turn swift feet into leaden ones.  I haven't actually finished reading the article yet (the magazine has been sitting next to my bed for 4 months, you think I can read a whole article in one night?) but I think it's good advice to teach your brain to think helpful, true thoughts.  'Specially when you're also training your body for a marathon (EEP!!!).

Result: 28:58

Do you ever deserve a punch in the temple?

Marathon training. (It's on my mind, couldn't help but mention it again.)

I'm Engaged!

I can hardly contain my excitement, and I can hardly wait for my special day.  No, this is not a Throwback Thursday post, as I'm not talking about my engagement to Husband.

That engagement ended in a fabulous wedding and blissful marriage.

I don't have a new diamond to show off, and I don't have any dress shopping to do.  I wasn't even proposed to, actually.  I haven't called all my family members and changed my relationship status on Facebook.  However, this is a big deal for me.  Huge.  Epic, as 6 y.o. would say (although he uses that word waaaaaay too liberally, these days [I've been wondering- can something be more epic than something else?  Is there such thing as 'a little bit epic'?  I find myself agreeing with him, that the dinner I cooked is indeed, epic.  But then, I backtrack and say something like, "Well, I mean, not epic epic, but pretty epic."  Ah, who am I kidding?  I know that

 was at least a little bit more epic than

my fantastic Chili Chicken Crescents {a.k.a., "Imperial Walkers"-named by 6 y.o.}].  So, yeah, this engagement falls somewhere in between Wednesday dinner and world-altering battle on the scale of epicicity.)    If you're not ready for my big news, this is the part where you should stop reading.  Here goes: I've chosen which marathon will be my first.  I've made a mental and psychological and heartfelt commitment, which is pretty much the same thing I did when I was engaged to be married.  There is nothing legally or financially binding me and my marathon-to-be together, yet, but that doesn't mean I'm going to just run, willy nilly, with no training plan and no hard work.  So what if I haven't actually signed up for it?  The registration price doesn't increase until July 31st!  I think this engagement period is very important.  I have a few weeks to change my mind before the invitations are sent and the family members start requesting time off work, see?  Not that I'm going to change my mind, of course.  Think about this:  how often do you hear about people cheating on their fiance?  Not that often, right?  I'm pretty sure that more spouses cheat than engaged folks, because they committed too fast or to the wrong person.  (That is not true for me and Husband, mind you.  We're desperately in love with each other.)  I'm 99% sure that I've chosen the right marathon, and that I'm going to be healthy, injury-free, and ready for it.  I just don't think there's anything wrong with my having an open relationship with my race-to-be, for now.

Our love is epic.

I've chosen to run the Savannah Rock 'n' Roll marathon on November 9, 2013.  18 weeks and 2 days from now.  The timing of the race is just right.  Although I'm one of the world's worst procrastinators, I'm also rather impatient when I'm excited about an upcoming event.  Early November is pretty near the beginning of racing season for us Southerners, so I won't have to endure too many marathon stories from my runner friends before I have one of my own.  Plus, there's a training plan I like that is 18 weeks long.  Also, when I think about it, the rock 'n' roll aspect is pretty fitting for a rocker like me.  This series of races includes live music along the course and a concert at the finish line.  I was/am a little bit nervous about the popularity of the race series (there are R'n'R races all over the country, they're well advertised, not disgustingly expensive, and make 26.2 miles seem like it'll be a long party full of sweaty strangers) making it too big for my liking, but realistically, the size of the field probably won't effect my performance much at all.

Savannah is the oldest city in Georgia, the home of racism and butter Paula Deen, and is really quite charming.  The climate isn't much different from home, and the elevation isn't much higher, which is nice for training purposes.

The whole race course will be this serene and beautiful.  Right?

The drive there from my home in central Florida will only take about 3 1/2 hours.  We will have to stay in a hotel, which makes me a little bit anxious because of Baby's aversion to sleeping in beds other than her own.  I came up with a still-secret plan, though, that makes me think the traveling will not be so bad.

There you have it, friends.  I'm engaged to run a marathon in a few months.  In the meanwhile, I'm going to be putting an obscene number of miles under my feet, producing gallons of sweat, learning lots, and getting stronger every day.  I hope you'll follow my training and offer me some encouragement along the way.  I'm going to need it, I think.  Unlike being the bride, beautiful, glowing, pampered and fussed over on her wedding day, this engagement is going to end with me filthy, stinky, disheveled, exhausted and in a lot of pain.  Let's just hope that the arch I smile under that day has the word "FINISH".

Any training advice for me?  

Would you rather train for a marathon or plan a wedding?

UPDATE: Remember how I'm not really a "math girl"?  Yeah.  Totally miscountedcalculated and I have to admit it because otherwise I'll seem even more of a dummy later on.  The marathon was 20 weeks from when I posted this, not just over 18.  Still, training starts soon!

Mission: Impossible

I've got to say something about it, even though I feel like I don't have the right words.  Horrible.  Tragic.  Sickening.  Maddening.  Scary.  Motivating.  Unifying.  Gut-wrenching.  Nothing new, I know.  I was thinking that I needed to know more details about the who, how, and why before I could write about it, but then I realized that I kind-of already have those answers.

Who?  A coward.  Someone sick, and I mean that in the most literal way.  Probably, he (in my head, he's definitely a he, not a she or a they) isn't the most hateful person you would ever meet.  He's never picketed outside of a sporting goods store or worn a sandwich board condemning runners at a race.  He's probably never even been in a fight.  I doubt he pointed fingers at the race directors or wrote letters or made angry phone calls to protest the running of the marathon.  He's too cowardly for all of those things, I think.  Instead, he stewed and seethed and plotted against the physical representation of  his nemeses- power, strength, stamina, hard work, accomplishment, joy and unity.  The goodness that is evident when watching runners at a marathon, he can't find within himself.  He has probably never had people- strangers or loved ones- cheer for him.  He has probably never had to dig deep within his soul to find the strength to overcome pain, fatigue, and mental anguish to finish what is impossible for the majority of people on the planet.  And he made the rest of us suffer for his inadequacies.

How?  If someone offered me money, I'm quite certain that I could make a bomb.  (Please read the rest of my blog for context clues, Big Brother and airport security folks, and know that I wouldn't do it).  There are how-to videos on you tube, right?  Or is that just on how to cook meth?  I couldn't tell you right now, this minute, how to do it, but I think anyone with enough desire and time could do it.  I hate hearing these words, and I am a tiny bit disgusted with myself for typing them, but here goes: it could have been so much worse.  For the people injured, the families of those killed, I apologize, and I grieve.  But I think we can all agree that if the bomber had been more experienced or had been more determined to wreak havoc, he could have killed and hurt a whole lot more people.

Why?  Whatever the reason, it can't possibly make sense to us normal, healthy, sane individuals.  I won't say 'nonstop', but I've been thinking about this for a good portion of every hour since 3:ish on Monday, and I simply cannot come up with anything that would justify, even slightly, this action.  Was he trying to make a statement?  Well, nobody is going to agree with his point of view, now.  Was it political?  If so, it's seems counter-intuitive to protest against certain laws, regulations, or political figures with law-breaking actions that couldn't possible change anything for the better.  He accomplished hurt, pain, and destruction.  If I were to venture a guess, I would think that's pretty close to the definition of terrorism.  All of the "why" goes back to the "who".  He's sick, and his incapacity for normal human feelings has led him to terrorize.

For once, an all-over-facebook, fairly-sappy-messaged image that I felt the need to share.

I'm more proud than ever to be a runner.  Becoming a runner changed my life, and I'm far from able to qualify for the Boston Marathon.  I can say with confidence that as a community, runners are stronger, more unified, and tougher now than before.  And we were all pretty stinkin' strong, unified, and tough on Sunday, April 14.  We'll remember the victims whose lives were cut short, and we'll do all that we can to help their families, and the injured, to recover.  He scared us, yes.  Saddened us, to the core.  But stopped us?  Impossible.