So this past Sunday my run didn't go as planned. And when I write that, I mean I sat down on the curb and quickly gave up. It would appear that running four miles with knee pain is difficult. Last week shin splints. This week knee pain. I'm wondering if this is karma, or the universe telling me that my enthusiastic chubby self should look into horizontal running. Whilst watching Downton Abbey. That kind. Does anyone give out medals for that?
On a positive note, the pain isn't sharp or excruciating. And after some rest and ice, it's actually feeling a lot better. I DO in fact have a brace, I just tend to not use it. Because it isn't really all that sexy. But when it comes down to it, nothing about the way I run is sexy. So it would appear this week I am bracing it up and going a little slower. I think my body was being persnickety about the increase in mileage. I'm spending tonight giving it a peace offering of wine in exchange for compliance. Not that I need an excuse to drink wine.
This week I am keeping my mileage stable, doing two, three, and then four miles. Probably walking more than usual. Most likely slower than usual. Definitely with the same disdain as per usual. I am typically a hedonist, just doing what I want most of the time. It works. And I don't usually WANT to run. However, this hedonist WANTS to have run. And wants the medal. And the snazzy shirt.
Although, maybe after this half, I might become passionate about biking. Or swimming. Or something else that results in endorphins and medals. (Get your minds out of the gutter. There aren't medals for that. I checked.) (I then also deleted my internet history.)
Monday, February 25, 2013
Monday, February 18, 2013
Shin Splints and Chocolate Cake
I made it 3.35 miles yesterday. I really wasn't feeling it. After stopping to walk for the third time, I really just wanted to lie down and take a nap. At 3.35 I was passing by my house on my final lap and decided to just be dunzo. I really was supposed to go another .65 miles. I took a nap on my couch instead.
This morning? I woke up with shin splints. It felt like someone repeatedly stabbing me in my shins for no good reason. Even poking them hurts. I laid in better later than usual and moped around the house this morning, feeling unusually perturbed by the most recent training side-effect. Then I started cramping... and suddenly it all started to make sense. Terrible, excruciating sense. Thanks, universe.
Now... I get it. I can't take off a whole week from training EVERY month, even though that's apparently what mother nature prefers. You just have to train through it, I suppose. But I get why yesterday's run was difficult and why I was feeling very emotional about my shin splints. So instead of doing anything at all today, I had a piece of chocolate cake. It was pretty delicious. I chewed slow... cross-training? Yeah. I think it counts. Tonight I am having some wine. Pulling a cork... Resistance training? Probably. So, while today isn't the *traditional* way of doing things, I'm coloring outside of the lines here. Run for me, y'all. Or bring me some chocolate.
This morning? I woke up with shin splints. It felt like someone repeatedly stabbing me in my shins for no good reason. Even poking them hurts. I laid in better later than usual and moped around the house this morning, feeling unusually perturbed by the most recent training side-effect. Then I started cramping... and suddenly it all started to make sense. Terrible, excruciating sense. Thanks, universe.
Now... I get it. I can't take off a whole week from training EVERY month, even though that's apparently what mother nature prefers. You just have to train through it, I suppose. But I get why yesterday's run was difficult and why I was feeling very emotional about my shin splints. So instead of doing anything at all today, I had a piece of chocolate cake. It was pretty delicious. I chewed slow... cross-training? Yeah. I think it counts. Tonight I am having some wine. Pulling a cork... Resistance training? Probably. So, while today isn't the *traditional* way of doing things, I'm coloring outside of the lines here. Run for me, y'all. Or bring me some chocolate.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Length Matters
Sundays are turning out to be my "long run" days. These are the days where you push yourself to typically run a mile more than you did the previous week. Which means every Sunday I am running a distance I haven't run in... years. Last Sunday was four miles. While that may sound mild, I wasn't sure I'd make it.
First, I had a back-up plan. Erich was home, and I warned him that if I called him he would need to come pick me up ASAP. I might be on the asphalt puking, so there would be urgency in that call. He accepted this task, shaking his head back and forth. He probably was feeling exasperated in having married someone that puts him on puke emergency response, but I like to think he was admiring me for getting ready to run FOUR miles.
As I got started I realized that for SOME reason the first mile of my run was uphill; not very good planning on MY part. I nearly called Erich fifty times chugging along up that hill. And then it happened: my life came full circle. Ever so briefly.
This new four-mile route had me running past my old middle school, something I have never done. Now, this may be hard to believe, but in middle and high school I was very anti-running. Most weeks I had my PE note, excusing me from running, all ready to go. Running was cruel and unusual punishment, and I wasn't going to submit; I knew my rights. The weeks I couldn't squeeze a note out of my mom, I would defiantly look at my PE teacher and claim to have cramps. I would arch my brows in such a way, daring my male teacher to argue with me, to tell me to run through the cramps (you know, the ones I probably didn't have.) And, luckily for all my teachers, most of the time they didn't want to pick that battle. Because I was going to die on the no-running hill.
Anyway, now here I was, an adult running past THAT school. RUNNING. Running past one of the schools where I refused to run. And as I slowed down to appreciate the irony I threw up. Right on the lawn of my old middle school. And in that moment I had a brief, vomit-induced full-circle moment. Life is funny when you are running so hard uphill in front of one of the very places you used to refuse to run that you actually vomit. I thought my PE teachers might be impressed. And then they'd be pretty angry about the vomit.
I continued running, and thankfully, I run pretty darn fast nowadays. Downhill. Downhill running is my favorite. I'm chubby, so I have inertia. Which means I kick ass on the downhills. I made a turn to begin the two mile portion behind my house in a somewhat commercialized area and saw Cold Stone. I started deliberately slowing down, contemplating stopping for a snack. Before you make the face you're probably already making, consider all the calories I was burning by running around. Also, I had just thrown up my lunch. A frozen dairy treat break wouldn't be the WORST thing ever. I actually started walking TOWARD the Cold Stone. True Story. I really was going to have Cold Stone. In the middle of my long run. But then I remembered I had NO money on me. No wallet. No card. No cash. And honestly? I was sad about it. I was truly disappointed I couldn't have my mid-run Cold Stone. I considered calling Erich to come pick me up at the Cold Stone, asking him to bring money. But just picturing his face and hearing him mumble, "God dammit, Jennifer" was enough to make me run back over to the path and pick up where I left off.
Looking back that's ridiculous. I probably would have just thrown that up, also. But it seemed like a good idea at the time. Continuing on my run actually went pretty smoothly. I finished those four miles in an hour. Which I was pretty proud of. And I didn't even eat ice cream at the half-way point. As soon as I got home I sat in a chair and made a noise like I was about to cry. I mean, I didn't cry. But it hit me at that moment that four miles was a lot. The length of the run really matters. It was a record for me. I was proud. And also very exhausted. This week is a repeat week for me where I will run four again. Am I bringing money this time? Stay tuned.
First, I had a back-up plan. Erich was home, and I warned him that if I called him he would need to come pick me up ASAP. I might be on the asphalt puking, so there would be urgency in that call. He accepted this task, shaking his head back and forth. He probably was feeling exasperated in having married someone that puts him on puke emergency response, but I like to think he was admiring me for getting ready to run FOUR miles.
As I got started I realized that for SOME reason the first mile of my run was uphill; not very good planning on MY part. I nearly called Erich fifty times chugging along up that hill. And then it happened: my life came full circle. Ever so briefly.
This new four-mile route had me running past my old middle school, something I have never done. Now, this may be hard to believe, but in middle and high school I was very anti-running. Most weeks I had my PE note, excusing me from running, all ready to go. Running was cruel and unusual punishment, and I wasn't going to submit; I knew my rights. The weeks I couldn't squeeze a note out of my mom, I would defiantly look at my PE teacher and claim to have cramps. I would arch my brows in such a way, daring my male teacher to argue with me, to tell me to run through the cramps (you know, the ones I probably didn't have.) And, luckily for all my teachers, most of the time they didn't want to pick that battle. Because I was going to die on the no-running hill.
Anyway, now here I was, an adult running past THAT school. RUNNING. Running past one of the schools where I refused to run. And as I slowed down to appreciate the irony I threw up. Right on the lawn of my old middle school. And in that moment I had a brief, vomit-induced full-circle moment. Life is funny when you are running so hard uphill in front of one of the very places you used to refuse to run that you actually vomit. I thought my PE teachers might be impressed. And then they'd be pretty angry about the vomit.
I continued running, and thankfully, I run pretty darn fast nowadays. Downhill. Downhill running is my favorite. I'm chubby, so I have inertia. Which means I kick ass on the downhills. I made a turn to begin the two mile portion behind my house in a somewhat commercialized area and saw Cold Stone. I started deliberately slowing down, contemplating stopping for a snack. Before you make the face you're probably already making, consider all the calories I was burning by running around. Also, I had just thrown up my lunch. A frozen dairy treat break wouldn't be the WORST thing ever. I actually started walking TOWARD the Cold Stone. True Story. I really was going to have Cold Stone. In the middle of my long run. But then I remembered I had NO money on me. No wallet. No card. No cash. And honestly? I was sad about it. I was truly disappointed I couldn't have my mid-run Cold Stone. I considered calling Erich to come pick me up at the Cold Stone, asking him to bring money. But just picturing his face and hearing him mumble, "God dammit, Jennifer" was enough to make me run back over to the path and pick up where I left off.
Looking back that's ridiculous. I probably would have just thrown that up, also. But it seemed like a good idea at the time. Continuing on my run actually went pretty smoothly. I finished those four miles in an hour. Which I was pretty proud of. And I didn't even eat ice cream at the half-way point. As soon as I got home I sat in a chair and made a noise like I was about to cry. I mean, I didn't cry. But it hit me at that moment that four miles was a lot. The length of the run really matters. It was a record for me. I was proud. And also very exhausted. This week is a repeat week for me where I will run four again. Am I bringing money this time? Stay tuned.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Less Slow
Alright, let me preface this post by saying that I am not a fast runner. I like to attribute my snail's pace to the fact that I have abnormally short legs for my body. True Story. They're pretty short. There are potentially other variables more relevant that impact my pace, but this is usually what I defer to.
Yesterday? I ran an average of TWO MINUTES faster PER MILE than I usually do. I'll let that sink in. Go on. Read it again. TWO MINUTES. What? I was really shocked when I finished. I started replaying my whole morning in my head. Did I have speed for breakfast and just not know? Was it the coffee? Should I always have a crumpet before running? Was it my super cool shirt? The song list? Man. I really don't know.
I'd LIKE to say I'm just getting faster. As in, the process is working. And I'll eventually be less slow. Not really "fast." But, more likely just less slow. I don't really know. I'd need to collect more evidence. It also could be I spent less time vomiting yesterday. No roadkill. I did accidentally run into a small tree branch... (Note to self: really, you should know this by now. Always LOOK up.) Apparently it didn't impact my time a ton, though the neighbors outside did find it amusing.
I really enjoyed the moment where I ran into my house and was yelling, "YEAH! Suck it! KAPOW!" It's a competition in my own mind. And yesterday I won. By not only just not dying, but by improving.
You know, now that I think about it, it probably was the crumpet I had for breakfast. They're just THAT delicious. You read it here first.
Yesterday? I ran an average of TWO MINUTES faster PER MILE than I usually do. I'll let that sink in. Go on. Read it again. TWO MINUTES. What? I was really shocked when I finished. I started replaying my whole morning in my head. Did I have speed for breakfast and just not know? Was it the coffee? Should I always have a crumpet before running? Was it my super cool shirt? The song list? Man. I really don't know.
I'd LIKE to say I'm just getting faster. As in, the process is working. And I'll eventually be less slow. Not really "fast." But, more likely just less slow. I don't really know. I'd need to collect more evidence. It also could be I spent less time vomiting yesterday. No roadkill. I did accidentally run into a small tree branch... (Note to self: really, you should know this by now. Always LOOK up.) Apparently it didn't impact my time a ton, though the neighbors outside did find it amusing.
I really enjoyed the moment where I ran into my house and was yelling, "YEAH! Suck it! KAPOW!" It's a competition in my own mind. And yesterday I won. By not only just not dying, but by improving.
You know, now that I think about it, it probably was the crumpet I had for breakfast. They're just THAT delicious. You read it here first.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
No Hands
You know, I really appreciate how this is a learning experience. Nothing about this training plan is easy or expected. My life, routines, diet, drinking habits... all of these things don't tend to fit with the lifestyle of a half-marathoner. For example, I missed my long run last week due to a poorly timed wax appointment. Apparently you need to schedule those appointments prior to a rest day. Who knew? Now I know. Also, happy hour prior to a run isn't the best idea. It seemed like a good idea at the time. And then yesterday happened.
I tend to run around my neighborhood. In the dark. After getting home from work. And yesterday, after drinking a pretty awesome margarita. I didn't really *want* to, but I needed to do it. A couple interesting things happened. First, within a half-mile I threw up that margarita. On someone's lawn. But, the margarita was green... the grass was green... I'm thinking it'll be alright. Also, it was a half-price margarita. So, I didn't feel so financially irresponsible when I regurgitated it. I did, however, get vomit in my nose. And I may have made some awkward noises and used profanity all while attempting (without result) to get the vomit OUT of my nose. This ruined my mile time, and I ended up continuing on, with the smell of happy hour lingering in my sinus cavities.
After the undoing of happy hour I really wanted to go home. But, let's face it: usually somewhere in that first mile I want to go home. It's the worst mile. It's the toughest mile. My body hurts and all I can do is think about how much running is left and how much I need to do at home. To get myself into some sort of "zone" I listen to rap music. Hip hop. Something about the rhythm keeps me pumped. I also tend to sing along, I guess. You'll do a lot of things to keep your head in the game, to forget your legs hurt, and to keep going forward. In my little world I sing "Get Low" by Lil Jon under my breath. It gives me something else to focus on. I don't really think I sing THAT loud. It isn't really *singing* in my opinion. I sometimes mumble.
And that is the lead in to the video. You see, last night Erich ran out after me. And he came up behind me and realized I was rapping "No Hands" by Waka Flocka Flame whilst running. I guess surprised, he decided to shoot a small video of me running around the neighborhood rapping. I had no idea he had taken it until we got home and he sent it to me. I was initially angry. But then I did see the humor in the chubby, white, blonde girl ambling around the neighborhood spitting rhymes.
I asked Erich if I was really all that loud. He said some people did in fact stare. And that the worst part was when the song changed to "Get Low" by Lil John and I randomly mumbled, "Skeet skeet skeet." I'm not going to win a marathon or be the next American Idol. I'm just happy to get home from a run without dead animal on my shoe or vomit in my nose, really. But, here it is. This is *really* me. Running around my neighborhood rapping. Terrorizing dogs. Keeping it real.
I tend to run around my neighborhood. In the dark. After getting home from work. And yesterday, after drinking a pretty awesome margarita. I didn't really *want* to, but I needed to do it. A couple interesting things happened. First, within a half-mile I threw up that margarita. On someone's lawn. But, the margarita was green... the grass was green... I'm thinking it'll be alright. Also, it was a half-price margarita. So, I didn't feel so financially irresponsible when I regurgitated it. I did, however, get vomit in my nose. And I may have made some awkward noises and used profanity all while attempting (without result) to get the vomit OUT of my nose. This ruined my mile time, and I ended up continuing on, with the smell of happy hour lingering in my sinus cavities.
After the undoing of happy hour I really wanted to go home. But, let's face it: usually somewhere in that first mile I want to go home. It's the worst mile. It's the toughest mile. My body hurts and all I can do is think about how much running is left and how much I need to do at home. To get myself into some sort of "zone" I listen to rap music. Hip hop. Something about the rhythm keeps me pumped. I also tend to sing along, I guess. You'll do a lot of things to keep your head in the game, to forget your legs hurt, and to keep going forward. In my little world I sing "Get Low" by Lil Jon under my breath. It gives me something else to focus on. I don't really think I sing THAT loud. It isn't really *singing* in my opinion. I sometimes mumble.
And that is the lead in to the video. You see, last night Erich ran out after me. And he came up behind me and realized I was rapping "No Hands" by Waka Flocka Flame whilst running. I guess surprised, he decided to shoot a small video of me running around the neighborhood rapping. I had no idea he had taken it until we got home and he sent it to me. I was initially angry. But then I did see the humor in the chubby, white, blonde girl ambling around the neighborhood spitting rhymes.
I asked Erich if I was really all that loud. He said some people did in fact stare. And that the worst part was when the song changed to "Get Low" by Lil John and I randomly mumbled, "Skeet skeet skeet." I'm not going to win a marathon or be the next American Idol. I'm just happy to get home from a run without dead animal on my shoe or vomit in my nose, really. But, here it is. This is *really* me. Running around my neighborhood rapping. Terrorizing dogs. Keeping it real.
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Gear it up!
So, last week I DID run. I just didn't run as much as I should have. Or even have time to write about it. Because work was just over the top this past week. And I've been slowly getting sick. Doesn't the universe know that I'm training to get a medal and a free shirt over here?
Last Sunday I had a headache and was pretty sure the only thing I was going to run would be a fever. In spite of it all, I made it out for a two mile run. And since then my health has been slowly degrading with a dull headache most days, congestion, a lack of sleep, and too much work. I've made it out a few times, but my training has definitely suffered. I'm going to try to rest up this weekend and get back on track. I've got 17 weeks until the big day.
This weekend will be the great shoe adventure. I need new shoes. Because the ones I have are older and they have vomit and possum guts on them. I think if I'm really going to do this I need shoes that don't have roadkill on them. (See, last week I accidentally ran through what was once a possum. Which was worse than running through my own vomit.)
In addition to shoes, I think I need a new sports bra (read: boob jail). With a girl like *me*, a sports bra is actually MORE important than my shoes. I can run barefoot. I mean, people do that in other parts of the world. However, there is NO running without a very expensive, steel-reinforced sports bra that takes a good ten minutes to fasten myself into.
I'm also getting ready to pay my exorbitant registration fee. It's the San Diego Rock 'n' Roll half-marathon on June 2nd. Sign up. Do it with me. And yes: we have to PAY to do this. But we get a shirt. And a medal. Totally worth it.
With this being the weekend of gear and spending I think it is safe to say shit is getting real. This is an investment. No backing out. Seventeen weeks of sweat, vomit, and who knows what else.
Today is a two-mile run. Tomorrow is a three. I'm playing catch up. Stay tuned.
Last Sunday I had a headache and was pretty sure the only thing I was going to run would be a fever. In spite of it all, I made it out for a two mile run. And since then my health has been slowly degrading with a dull headache most days, congestion, a lack of sleep, and too much work. I've made it out a few times, but my training has definitely suffered. I'm going to try to rest up this weekend and get back on track. I've got 17 weeks until the big day.
This weekend will be the great shoe adventure. I need new shoes. Because the ones I have are older and they have vomit and possum guts on them. I think if I'm really going to do this I need shoes that don't have roadkill on them. (See, last week I accidentally ran through what was once a possum. Which was worse than running through my own vomit.)
In addition to shoes, I think I need a new sports bra (read: boob jail). With a girl like *me*, a sports bra is actually MORE important than my shoes. I can run barefoot. I mean, people do that in other parts of the world. However, there is NO running without a very expensive, steel-reinforced sports bra that takes a good ten minutes to fasten myself into.
I'm also getting ready to pay my exorbitant registration fee. It's the San Diego Rock 'n' Roll half-marathon on June 2nd. Sign up. Do it with me. And yes: we have to PAY to do this. But we get a shirt. And a medal. Totally worth it.
With this being the weekend of gear and spending I think it is safe to say shit is getting real. This is an investment. No backing out. Seventeen weeks of sweat, vomit, and who knows what else.
Today is a two-mile run. Tomorrow is a three. I'm playing catch up. Stay tuned.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
The Great Wide Open
Every single day, every single run is an adventure. Running outside just has too many variables; it is completely uncontrolled. And even suburbia can get a little wild. Just take Charlie, for instance. This results in fear, profanity, injuries, unwelcome neighborly encounters, and so much more. But, I've tried running on a treadmill. I really gave it my best. I put my little towel over the stupid informational panel and chugged away like an athlete. And I hated it. I kept lifting up my towel every quarter mile. Also, it's too easy to just get off and go next door for frozen yogurt. I write from exeprience.
Truth be told, I just like doing it outside. I said it. I prefer to do it in the great wide open. Even though everyone can see me in all my glory. Feral animals may chase me. I may run into trash cans and be forced into awkward neighborly conversations. But this is how I like to do it. I'm owning it. And if you need to avert your gaze, that's fine. In fact, I prefer it. I like doing it outside, but I don't need you all watching.
Anyway, today my legs were sore, and I was going slow. A distant neighbor was outside and yelled, "Everyone is going for a walk today, huh?" And I wish he hadn't used that word. You know: walk. I am NOT walking out there (you know, like a good half of the time). Or at least I wasn't intending to at this moment. Sure I was slogging along. But I think you could tell I wasn't attempting to walk. Probably. Thus, I replied "THIS... IS... NOT... WALKING...." And I don't know exactly how I looked or sounded at that moment. But he looked very puzzled and shook his head. I probably would've fired back with something obscene and witty. But my legs were killing me, I was almost home, and also almost out of breath. Because I was RUNNING. He was lucky. Just wait until I'm better at this and I'm able to run AND offend at the same time. That'll be the day. It's good to have goals.
Truth be told, I just like doing it outside. I said it. I prefer to do it in the great wide open. Even though everyone can see me in all my glory. Feral animals may chase me. I may run into trash cans and be forced into awkward neighborly conversations. But this is how I like to do it. I'm owning it. And if you need to avert your gaze, that's fine. In fact, I prefer it. I like doing it outside, but I don't need you all watching.
Anyway, today my legs were sore, and I was going slow. A distant neighbor was outside and yelled, "Everyone is going for a walk today, huh?" And I wish he hadn't used that word. You know: walk. I am NOT walking out there (you know, like a good half of the time). Or at least I wasn't intending to at this moment. Sure I was slogging along. But I think you could tell I wasn't attempting to walk. Probably. Thus, I replied "THIS... IS... NOT... WALKING...." And I don't know exactly how I looked or sounded at that moment. But he looked very puzzled and shook his head. I probably would've fired back with something obscene and witty. But my legs were killing me, I was almost home, and also almost out of breath. Because I was RUNNING. He was lucky. Just wait until I'm better at this and I'm able to run AND offend at the same time. That'll be the day. It's good to have goals.
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