Steps. Effin' Steps.

There are few things more terrifying to runner after a race than a flight of stairs. Sore legs, achy backs, aggravated knees, and  blistered feet join forces to make a usually simple motion into a pain fest of annoying proportions. The medal around my neck suddenly felt a lot heavier as I stared at the flight of stairs in front of me.
"Do I really need to go upstairs? Could I live in this hallway?"
"Would it be easier to walk up backwards?"
"Why did I move to the second floor?"
"If I go up there, I'm never coming back down."
"This. is. going. to hurt."
"Ok, quick like a Band-Aid, just go!" 
"Oww! No more quick! No more quick! Slow and steady. One more step."
"Holy crap. Never running again."

I conquered the stairs of pain and was in my second-story sanctuary when I was faced with another runner's nightmare. Little mini steps such as curbs, sidewalks, any elevation change that requires contraction of the demolished quads in my legs. The legs holler, NO MORE! STOP MAKING US DO THINGS!
"My god. Who put the steps in this apartment?"
"Oh sure, the sunken living room was adorable at the time, but now I just have to bend my knees and apply pressure to go to the bathroom!"
"I can just sit here on the couch for the rest of my life. There is no pain on the couch."
"Oh, dear god never running again."

Other things that will strike fear into the heart of post-race runner:
-getting in to the car
-getting out of the car
-sitting down
-standing up

-crossing your legs

-uncrossing your legs

-the first few steps
-heels
-unpacking
-that this pain will never fade
-an empty fridge
-never running again

Diary of a Wimpy Runner

Runner Confession:

I'm a wimp- a wimp with a very large tolerance for pain and a larger dislike of doctors. I will interview CEOs and go toe-to-toe with academic department chairs, but when it comes to making a doctor's appointment, I throw temper tantrums. My knees started to bother me soon after starting karate. Ninja-ing, as I like to call it, is a lot of kicking, jumping, squatting, jump squatting, lunges, more jumping, twisting, spinning, and more kicking. All of these actions are very different from the one foot in front of the other motion of running. The discomfort was not surprising and would easily remedied with a dose of glutimine in my post-ninja smoothie.

One night in early November, we did nothing but right leg front kicks. We worked on form and power. And  my right knee has not been the same. I woke up the next day and went for a run and felt fine. I wore heels to the office and noticed some extra soreness.

I should note here that the combination of karate and running means that I'm almost always sore. Before I started karate, I was doing strength training with a personal trainer. At this point, I'm able to recognize typical muscle soreness from something-ain't-right. Soreness means your muscles are growing or changing. There are exercise-y people with scientific definitions and reasons for why soreness is a good thing.

Back to the night of my knee. I woke up two days after the front-kick fest and was greeted with a sharp, burning fire sensation in my right knee. I iced it throughout the day and kept my leg elevated. I bought a cheap-o knee brace from CVS that afternoon and felt immediate relief after putting it on. I went to ninja that night and out to the bar after.

A dull ache has persisted in my right knee since. I've iced. I worn the stupid, cumbersome knee brace that makes my thigh look like a sausage. The brace helps the knee but hurts the rest of my leg. I've diagnosed myself with runners knees, torn meniscus, sprained ligaments, tendinitis, arthritus, and the same thing that Chase Utley has. I'm on the DL list.

While the breakdown in my runnerness of late has come from a busy schedule and conflicting priorities, there is also a little voice in the back of my head saying, "ummm..... maybe this needs looked at." And also a louder, nag-type real voice from boyfriend and mother telling me the same thing. Here's the thing: I hate doctors. I resist going until I'm on my figurative death bed. I subscribe to my father's theory of illness, "I can go to the doctors and get meds and I'll be better in seven days. Or I can just let my body heal and I'll be better in a week." I even resist taking OTC medicine until orange juice fails me.

It took me three months to gather the courage to call an orthopedic doctor. I faked that I was looking for recommenations. I wanted to wait until after Gasparilla. Honestly, I'm scared! Dr. Google and the staff of Runner's World have the rational side of me convinced that this a minor injury that can be healed with ice and rest. The irrational side of me has been listening to my mother too much and is pretty sure that I'm going to need a total knee replacement and will never be able to run again. I'll just have to learn to swim or bike or deal with my emotions through a non-physical outlet. The horror! Even worse, the irrational side has a 60-40 majority.

My appointment is tomorrow afternoon. I'm hoping that I will be a  waste of the doctor's time and this chronic dull ache is just a symptom of overuse.  But, what if it's not?

Don't call it a comeback

But I ran on 4 of the past 5 days. This hasn't happened in months!
Don't call it a comeback. I’m resetting. I'm starting over. I'm redefining my relationship with running and what being a runner will mean to me in the future and how it got me to this point.
I started "really" running in the fall of 2008. I was sad, lonely, and miserable. Things change. Addresses, friends, jobs, goals, priorities, relationships, families, interests, everything, attitudes--change.

Fast forward to 2011 and I’m anything but sad, lonely or miserable. I’m crazy busy and happier than ever. I keep getting bogged down in what my running used to be. It was a defense mechanism and a way of establishing myself in my own terms. I used to run when I was unhappy. I used to run to prove it. I used to run because I didn’t have anything else do to. I used to run because I was afraid of gaining weight. I used to run because I wanted to be stronger, faster, leaner. I used to run because other people didn’t. I used to run because I needed to feel some form of accomplishment in the day. I used to run because I did not feel good about myself.

Those deep-seated motivators simply don’t light a fire under my feet anymore. I’m not so worried about gaining a few pounds because I’ve finally learned that what is in my head is far more important my pant size.

I used to run to prove “it.” I would run through or over whatever “it” that was missing in my life or the “it” that I was not succeeding with. I had to prove I was something outside of ‘editor’ or the unhappy person I was on the verge of becoming. Would you rather have someone say, “oh, she’s a runner,” or “oh, she’s a bitch.” I might have made another mistake at work, but I ran 6 miles that morning. I don’t see the connection either but that got me through the day. I might not have any one to go home to but there was always a treadmill waiting for me. I didn’t need anyone because I had my sneakers and myself. Get it?
Running is often about challenging yourself and reaching deep down to see how far you can go. I now know I can run 13.1 miles and am capable of doing more. It taught me how to set goals and plan. I don’t feel the same urge to go further and faster. I’ve achieved the goals I wanted to achieve through running and in a few months will have achieved some significant life goals as well.

I’m currently working a new set of running and life goals. The past month(s) off was not a slump. It was a reset. I will continue to run and sign up for races and buy adorable running clothes because I simply enjoy it. It’s a part of my life now but it is not my life now. I have an ultimate goal of running 2011 Philadelphia Marathon in November and beating my half-marathon PR of 2:09. But first, I have a Master’s degree to complete, a career to manage, boyfriend to spend time with, and a family I’d like to see more than once every three months.

As my favorite singer/song-writer and this blog’s namesake once said,

“I’ve got more and more to do/ I’ve got less and less to prove/ And it took me too long to realize that I don’t take good picture/because I have the kind of beauty that moves.”

Defeat at Gasparilla: Running without Respect

In my last post, I was expressing concerns and excitement over the Publix's Gasparilla Distance Classic Michelob Ultra Challenge. I was going to be running a 15K and 5K on Saturday and a half marathon and 8K on Sunday. And attempting to say the entire name of the race correctly, holy brand names! Well, friends. I did not complete the challenge. I got through the 15K and 5K on Saturday.

My legs were a little more sore than I would have liked as I was lining up for the second race on Saturday morning. I heard someone in the corral say that the 5+ 3K was  5 miles. When I thought that a 5 + 3K was 4 miles, it was bearable. But the thought of having to run 5 miles after running 13.1 miles when my legs were tired enough after having only run 15K, was just overwhelming. I decided then and there on the spot that I wasn't going to do the fourth race.

My favorite part of the entire weekend was that I was running the majority of the half marathon with my friend, Kylie. This was her first half and she did so well. She maintained a strong pace and didn't stop once. We were together until around mile 4 when I got a call from Mother Nature. I jumped into the slowest line ever for a porta potty and promised Kylie I'd catch up. I ended up doing a sprint/walk/sprint/walk combo for about the next three or four miles, finally catching her at around mile 6. I  The sprinting wore me out (or the 13 miles the day before) and by mile 11, I just couldn't go anymore. I watched Kylie's white hat and long pony-tail truck forward and was crushed. It was one of my worst runner moments ever. I so wanted to cross that finish line with her. Finding her at the finish line and our sore, slow walk back to the car was one of my best runner moments.



It's been a few weeks and I'm still digesting my defeat at Gasparilla. My  head and heart were never really in any of the races. I was too busy with work, school and social life to have properly trained for ANY distance race. I knew that. I could not rely on the confidence of good training. I expected the ego and hubris of having run so many other half marathons and distance races to carry me for 30 miles. Stretching and hydration, I thought, would be the keys to success. I stretched. I drank loads of water and Gatorade. I ate super well. I did not train.

I said I was doing this four-race challenge because "I needed a win." To be honest, the amount my butt getting kicked to me kicking butt lately has been disproportionate. But I lost. And I needed to lose. I needed to be reminded that just like everything in this world, runnning requires dedication and practice. You can not just think about running. You have to respect the distance and the sport.

 I allowed, or had to allow, life get in the way of running this winter. I had three very challenging graduate classes, an overwhelming amount of work and stress, a new apartment, a new (real) relationship and simply did not have the time, or energy, to properly train. I have to respect my limitations and learn from this experience.

Even though I didn't complete that fourth race and the three races prior weren't my best, I did run 25 miles in one weekend. And that is STILL something to be happy about. Maybe next year, when grad school is done and I've finally unpacked this apartment, I'll train properly and return to Gasparilla for round 3.

I may have lost that battle, but I'm gonna win this war!