Walk it off?

I have a habit of telling myself to "walk it off."  I think I'll be fine if I say I am - this works best if I am in a panicked mental state.  It fails when used for physical pain.  My last blog I alluded to how horribly the region above my ankle hurt.  Welp, a week ago I went to the orthopedist.  She gave me a sexy walking boot and said come back in two weeks for another x-ray.  Judging by the extreme pain - leading up to the appointment I would sweat at my desk at work, so uncomfortable and snapping at people like the lion with a thorn in his paw - it's most likely a stress fracture that isn't showing up on the x-ray films.  Walking it off was not productive. 

I hobble around Baltimore in the boot.  I must look incredibly morose because on my lunch break people come up to me to tell their sad stories with positive endings.  Then there are the creepy men say things like "Gurrrl you're still working it even with that boot."  Thanks, sir that just got out of prison and is excited by long hair and all attached limbs.

I refuse to let people sign the boot, but stickers are welcomed.  I have a "fail" bumper sticker on my heel and other silly things.  One of my co-workers ordered a bunch of random stickers from the fantastic site Etsy a few weeks ago and they arrived just in time for me to have “Wieners” and “butts lol” stuck to my robot leg.

“I know these things don’t come without a cost.  I know that there’s no insurance you can buy on this.  I know how the thing that’s restoring you can wind up killing you.” - Philip Roth

Who needs feet.

My mind detached from my body on my run and I felt phenomenal.  At one point, I looked at my feet and thought "You guys really belong to me?  You make me proud."  Then, doom.  Around five and a half miles, my left foot started hurting with each push off.  I was shooting for 8 and did not want to change my plans.  After a minute it turned into shooting pain from the outside of my ankle up the side of my shin.  2.5 miles from home, I cursed my body as a limped a mile to the Circulator.  Thank goodness for the Charm City Circulator Purple Route.

I iced and took Advil, but it still hurts to the touch.  I honestly have no idea what it could be – this has never hurt before.  I’m hoping it will heal with a couple days rest, elevating, and ice. 

Possible culprits: I was striking the ground weirdly as I ran over ice patches and my foot was slipping because I was wearing awesome knee socks to protect my shins from the cold that were causing my foot to slide around in my shoe.  I can’t handle not meeting a goal, I will limp through 1.5 miles to meet my goal of 50 miles in a month.  It’s only 15 minutes of pain away!!!  For now, I’m going to cry every time I flex my left foot. 

Four Minute Mile

I ran five miles on the treadmill yesterday.  The goal was to hold a relatively easy pace – on Monday I did a speed track workout and don’t want to burn out my legs.

Nike+ has been giving me trouble for the past few months.  Granted, the technology is a year and a half old.  Before it was telling me I was running about 30 seconds a mile slower than my actual pace.  I checked my pace about 2 minutes in – apparently I was running a 4 minute mile.  Not my goal.  Also, not possible.  My iPod wanted me to feel confident, but that was going too far.  Don’t lie to me, technology.  I am not a professional male middle distance runner.

Butt Burn

My windburn looks like sunburn.   I guess that’s normal after an 8 mile jaunt.  I set out to run 7 at an easy pace, touring Federal Hill and Locust Point.  I felt great, pacing under 9 minutes even when I was pulling back so I decided to tack on another mile for good measure. 

Part of the success came from finally dressing appropriately for the temperature.  The Weather Channel told me it would be 30 degrees F and windy, so I suited up in black with lime green piping running tights, gloves, a cotton long sleeve tee under my Brooks tech shirt, and of course, a leopard print beanie. 

I looked like a trip.  I think I photo-bombed a news program as well, so if you saw someone smirking with a leopard print hat and a sky blue tech shirt, that was me.

Still, my butt was freezing.  Every other part of my body was pleased with my clothing choices, but my butt sagged sad and numb.  I would be first in line if a running apparel company developed a comfortable butt glove.

“A chance is enough…A chance is all we got, right?  In the air, or underwater, or right here, from the minute we’re born.” - John Irving 

Fantabulous

I had a fantabulous treadmill run.  I ran 5.2 miles in 45 minutes.  Solid.  I broke it up in intervals to keep it exciting, going ten minutes at 9:00 minute mile pace, 5 minutes at 8:30, and 5 minutes at 8:00.  The exciting part was that I was cruising at 8 minutes, like, honey badger don’t care.  My 1:45 half-marathon goal seems very reasonable, I’m not running one until the St. Luke’s Half Marathon on April 29. 

The playlist made the workout.  Words Make Damn Sure (bonus points if you know which two songs that references), a mix of Eminem and Taking Back Sunday – because I’m an emo thug – marinated my ears.  Only I forgot about the political content in “Mosh”.  My eyes bugged out and I frantically looked at my fellow gym-goers as bombs exploded.  This wasn’t as bad as the time I dropped to the ground while running on a trail when dogs barked during DMX’s jam, “X Gonna Give It To You”, but I looked pretty absurd.  I people watch because the gym is full of characters, so I’m sure someone was laughing quietly.  I’m here to entertain.

“I do muscular work, because I have muscles; and if I don’t use my muscles I shall become a bad-tempered sitting-addict.” – Aldous Huxley

Running with a Friend (on a Treadmill)

I ran five miles today.  Like they are saying in the new season of The Biggest Loser, NO EXCUSES.  The first mile was rough.  Then a friend showed up on the treadmill next to me.  I thought maybe she moved, but she just wasn't frequenting the gym.  I coerced her into doing a St. Patty's Day 5k - it's at 1:15 in the afternoon right by both of our apartments.  Again - NO EXCUSES.  We talked for a while, but both of us were getting serious about our pace.  She was also a competitive swimmer.  The work ethic never goes away.

I descended the run down to an 8:45 pace the last mile.  Meh.  I feel better - better being a relative term, it's more my shins aren't splintering and knees aren't wobbling when I finish - with the increased mileage.  It's partly because I have been dliigently icing and stretching in order to reach my goal of 50 miles this month.  I am rewarding myself with Skinny Runner's "Don't Stop" shirt.  She's stylish and a machine - I think I'm awesome for running 50 miles in a month and she's doing that weekly.  I clearly need a new shirt because swimming old tee shirts aren't going to cut it if I'm running around Baltimore frequently.  I want to feel like I earned it when the crack addicts holler at me.

I will make an excuse to end this post.  I'm tired from my workout and watching The Biggest Loser, so soon I'll be crying from all of the emotions and unable to type.

“…If you just worked hard enough.  If you just learned enough.  Ran fast enough.  Everything would turn out right, and your life would amount to something.” - Chuck Palahniuk

What is Beautiful

What is beautiful?  The morning sun on the harbor.  If I could pick one person to write a poem about the heartbreaking beauty of the polluted water, I would summon Pablo Neruda.  I hear a line like “The morning light ripples through the waves and the void of my soul cries for her.”

What is not beautiful?  My running.  I set out to run seven miles.  The first three I stopped five times to stretch and curse my tired legs.  My head wasn’t in the run.  I turned around before halfway and made a deal with myself to keep going at least another mile.  That turned into four and I completed the goal.  Each step was ugly and slow, but I focused on breathing and my body – zen tricks from yoga – and transcended.  I cleared my face and my mind of struggle.  Dare I say I felt good at the end?  The miles were slow, but I was pleased that I finished without pain.

“She is not compelled by a desire for beauty, she is compelled by a desire for life.” – Milan Kundera