Did you mean WordPress Dot Com?

That’s what my browser asked me when I clicked on the shortcut to my blog dashboard.
Has it really been so long since I came here that even my browser doubts my intentions?
*le sigh*

Marathon Training is rocking right along.
Three weeks ago we ran nine miles about seven miles into which I had reached the obviously inescapable conclusion that there was no way I was ever going to complete a marathon.  Ever.  I was delusional and this was stupid and I was just fooling myself.
Evidently my whining and self-doubt was toxic enough that HCRP couldn’t take it anymore as he (probably wisely) went on without me while I walked (and whined) through what was supposed to be a running interval.  I considered, briefly, just walking the whole thing in but then I got to the intersection of a major thoroughfare and realized there was a good chance someone I knew would see me walking and so I started running again.  Then I walked the appropriate two minutes, then I ran five, then I walked two, and I finished the nine miles running.
Not because I particularly felt like running.  But because I’d have been damned if I was going to be seen by all the other people in our running group finishing the run walking!
So I finished running.
Dripping wet from the What do you mean it’s not raining yet?! percent humidity.
But running.
Still doubting my ability to complete a marathon e-v-e-r.
But running.
The Good Book teaches us that pride goeth before a fall.
Sometimes pride goeth before a finish!

Two weeks ago we broke our ten mile run up into two runs.
There was a 5K we were committed to running in honor of the son of a dear friend who lives with the condition this 5K is put on in support of.  So we ran that then got the other seven in a couple hours later.  Thankfully this was during the Unseasonably Cool portion of The Summer of 2013, otherwise running seven miles at Noon in Memphis could have ended very badly.
Sunday was another 5K we were determined to take part in for a couple reasons.
#1 because it was put on by our favorite local running store; and
#2 because it supported St. Jude and clearly there’s just something about St. that makes us want to run.
Plus it was a great race with a kick-butt after party!
Sundays are our Rest Days.  As in the “Remember the Rest Day and keep it holy” Rest Days.  We didn’t keep it holy.
For a good cause!
For a great time!
And we paid for it the entire rest of the week!
We were wiped out all week!
It was worth it!
But I have a whole new respect for The Rest Day.

Last Saturday we were staring down 11 miles and the start of 6am runs rather than 7am runs.
This was the first time I’d run 11 in just about a year and between the humidity (93% at 6am), the course (through a lot of neighborhoods that made it somehow feel like a really long way), the hills, and mostly the way I’d felt doing the 9 miles just two weeks before I wasn’t particularly excited about the run.
I leaned – hard – on my new “This can never be harder than chemo for a kid” mantra and off we went.
And I did it!
It was long.  It was humid.  And by “humid” I mean my clothes come out of the washing machine dryer than they were at the end of that run.  But it wasn’t anywhere close to as bad as I’d been afraid of it being.

Until Monday morning.
I woke up Monday morning feeling like someone had driven, and was continuing to drive, an ice pick into my left thigh just above the knee.
It wasn’t Runner’s Knee.  Been there, done that.
All I could think was “Stress.  Fracture.”
I was working very hard at not freaking out.
Really hard.
A stress fracture at this point would knock me out of the marathon.
I reached out to one of my Running Mentors who has had a stress fracture.
Based on her experience it didn’t sound like that’s what I was dealing with.
She reached out to some PTs she sees at work every day.
Their sight unseen diagnosis: Quadricep Tendonitis.
The ‘prescription’?  R.I.C.E.
They also assured her to assure me that stress fractures don’t generally occur in the middle of a large muscle mass like the quads.
So I did the R.I.C.E. thing Monday and Tuesday.
And the pain that was excruciating and distracting all day Monday dulled by Tuesday and was gone by Wednesday.
I’d already decided that if I was still in pain Wednesday I’d be getting an appointment with Dr. Awesome Sauce the Official Unofficial Chiropractor of Choice of Runners around here.
As fun as he his to see I was just as glad not to have to make that appointment.

We ran three on Wednesday and everything went well.
We ran six on Thursday and everything went swimmingly!
By which I mean we looked like we’d swum six miles by the end of the run.
If you ever wonder whether it’s The Heat or The Humidity let me assure you that it is most certainly The Humidity.

None of which excuses the absence of my presence here.
But between the running and the cross-training and the eating I sit down and the sleeping takes over and I’m not especially good at writing in my sleep.

We’ve also perfected our pre-long-run eating strategy: Steak and Baked Potatoes.
We’ve done it every Friday night for a month and it really seems to give us what we need to get through those long runs.
Which are only going to get longer.
Which secretly makes me more than a little excited!

The scale might lie – but the PJs never do!

As seen on Facebook:
Okay, I have to brag a little here…
A couple months ago I snagged a pair of summer PJs that consisted of a cute little tank top and a pair of cotton – dress shirt cotton, not t-shirt cotton – pants. Grabbed them off the rack based on (my recently acquired) no-longer-XL size and took them home. Went to put them on that evening and was mortified to find they were ENTIRELY too tight! Can’t sit down without splitting a seam tight. I was pissed! I threw them in the back corner of the closet and went back to my faithful, t-shirt cotton PJs that fit comfortably and non-judgmentally. Meanwhile, I’ve been running and running and yoga-ing, and Ye Olde Scale has remained unrelentingly stuck on A Number so I’d given up any hope of New Summer PJ pants fitting.
Tonight in a fit of morbid curiosity I grabbed New Summer PJ pants and put them on, fully expecting a seam to split.
And guess what?!
Guess!
They fit!
As in “I’m sitting in them with all seams in tact” fit.
The number on the scale? Hasn’t budged. Not 1/10th of a pound.
But something has obviously changed because The PJ Pants fit!!
I swear I’d wear them to work tomorrow if I thought nobody would notice!

Which was followed by (my own) disclaimer/comment:
The Moral of this moment of braggedness: The scale might lie, but the PJs never do! Just because weight doesn’t change doesn’t mean changes aren’t taking place in the body.

Just about the time I was going to delete the post because I was worried it would hurt or offend some of my friends who are struggling with weight loss issues, I was tagged in a post by one of the women who is participating as a Beginning Runner in the Women’s Running Program that got me started running two years ago.
I just want to “Thank” Middle-Aged-Woman for her PJ story!! I have been having a pity party these last few weeks b/c I hurt my hip and the doctor told me NO running for 2 weeks!! NO RUNNING are you kidding me?? I am on a running plan and have been so excited about the Womens Run Walk program that this is going to KILL me…Then football practice started and then I went on vacation so needless to say I am a little unhappy at the moment that I know for a FACT that I am behind in the run…So then I read your PJ post and it made me smile…It made me think to keep going no matter what (I too have been mad at the scale for not moving) and I was whining to Brian about next Monday and how I am going to suck and he said NO your going to go and run what you can. No matter if I am behind I am going to keep going….I am so lucky to have encouraging people in my life:)
And, as I commented back to her:
Oh B! You just BLEW AWAY every doubt and ‘second guessing’ I had about sharing that. It felt so ‘selfish’ and ‘braggy’ that I seriously almost deleted it as -soon as I posted it. I have so many friends struggling with weight loss and I really questioned whether or not posting that would come across as a ‘slap in the face’ to them.
I am just in TEARS reading this post and realizing I was so right to listen to that ‘still small voice’ that said “Share this”. Thank YOU for this affirmation that sharing our little victories is done for a reason and serve as an encouragement to others!
You will do great Monday. Run your pace and stick with the program and you will ROCK that Finish Line next month!!
Followed – once I was no longer all puddled-up – by:
Thank you more than I can say.
Also, thank you for redirecting me to the greater point of what happened for me with those PJ Pants. I don’t run to “fit into the PJs”. I run to run, and to remind myself of what I can do today that I couldn’t do last week.

Earlier today another online friend messaged me sharing her intention to get back into running.  She’d been a cross country runner and swimmer in high school and over the (much fewer than mine) years since she’d fallen into a more sedentary lifestyle.  Of everything she said to me in her message, this stood out the most: I joined a local gym tonight, and just wanted to say that reading your posts about the running events and training you do has been a huge inspiration for me with getting back into it and hoping that one day, I too can complete run events…  but I know I can do it, because the running/fitness journeys of you and many others show me that it IS possible, no matter how unfit I am right now. So thank you for sharing about your running and fitness, because I know I really appreciate it and find that it has spurred me on with this. 

A few minutes later I received a text from my DIL that led to a textversation about the ways our bodies change, but more importantly the way our expectations of ourselves and what we can do change as we continue our journeys as runners.

At the end of the day – and especially any given run – it is those immeasurable, un-quantifiable things that running gives us that keeps us coming back for more.
It’s running a distance you’ve never run before.
It’s a body that just feels stronger.
It’s doing A Thing we never thought we could.
It’s hearing “Your calves look amazing!” when we’ve been focused on our gut.
It’s ‘getting’ what “I ran ‘X’ miles today!” means to another runner.
It’s knowing what PR/PB means because you’ve had one.  And want to set another.
It’s having someone say “You encourage me!”  “You inspire me!”  “I appreciate your encouragement!” 

And then there are the messages that make it just impossible to ever – no matter how bad last week’s second four mile run s-u-c-k-e-d, and no matter how many doubts about finishing a marathon Saturday’s eight miles left me with – quit this thing called running.
How do you quit a thing that gives you all that?!

But, some nights, it’s putting on Those PJ Pants.
And having them fit!

The Cherry on Top. WAY on top!

That’s what a marathon is.
I’ve already decided that’s what it is and it’s still four months and six days before the Starting Line is even set up.
It’s the cherry on top of the sundae that is made of dedicating months of your life to a single thing: Training for The Marathon.
It’s the justification for all the Friday night get togethers you skipped because you had to be up at the BCOD (Butt Crack Of Dawn) Saturday morning to get in your long training run.

And maybe it’s a little bit of vindication thrown in for all the people who couldn’t understand that you Made A Commitment to The Marathon that is just this side of taking vows.
The sprinkles are the exclamation points at the end of every time you answered “Is that all you do is run?” with a resounding “Yes, yes it is!”  (Except when you’re cross-training, eating, sleeping, and washing running clothes.  Oh, and working the day job that pays for the race registrations. And new shoes. And Glide. And Gu. And Other Runner Stuff.)

We are finally, HCRP and I, getting into The Meat of The Training Miles.
Earlier today I was staring at the calendar above my desk that holds all those miles in its memory for me, and seeing the mid-week and Saturday numbers steadily moving further and further away from ‘3’ and ‘4’.

We have a five mile race Saturday morning after which we have to run another three to get in our eight.
Two weeks from Saturday we have a 5K we have to supplement with seven miles to get our ten.
In August.
In Memphis.
Just another scoop of rich, creamy, sweet/sweat/salty, running goodness in the bowl that will make that cherry sit just a little higher.

Speaking of heights . . .
Last Saturday we were in Omaha for my thirty year high school reunion and we had to get a run in.  One of my former classmates took up running a few months before I did and we’ve enjoyed sharing our experiences as middle-aged, newbie runners via Facebook posts and commentversations.  As the reunion drew closer our discussions turned to getting together for the Saturday Long Run HCRP and I would be getting in.  Because I wasn’t athletic in high school I really wanted to begin and end our run in front of good ol’ CHS which is right smack in downtown Omaha (incredibly hilly!).  Bob’s kids go to our alma mater and are active in sports (unlike us back in the day – we were choir geeks) so he gets a lot of his runs in while he’s waiting on their practices.
During one of our chats he mentioned the Bob Kerrey Pedestrian Bridge which spans the Missouri River between Omaha and Council Bluffs.  I looked it up online and about fell over just looking at the website!
Here’s the thing: I am petrified of heights.
I get up high (defined as my feet more than a foot off of terra firma) and my entire equilibrium shifts and I feel like I am sliding/hurtling over the nearest edge towards sudden death.
Bridges really tweak this fear/sensation. Particularly bridges over water.
The Bob Kerrey Pedestrian Bridge is a bridge over water.
The very thought of running the 3,000 feet across that bridge (and back) was enough to make me dizzy.  And queasy.  And scared half crapless.
And so.
I had to do it.
It was a mandate.

If running has taught me nothing else it has taught me this: I can, in fact, do things I never thought I could.
I can run – not walk, run – a 5K.
I can run a 10K.
I can run a Half Marathon.
Therefore, I could run The Bob Kerrey Pedestrian Bridge during our trip to Omaha!

I started putting this intention “out there” back in March.
And I kept putting it “out there”.
I did this for a couple reasons.
First: So I couldn’t chicken out.  You can’t chicken out when it’s “Out There”.
Second: To convince myself that I actually wanted to do this. Theoretically, I did.  In practice?  There was some wiggle room.
By last Saturday morning, I was convinced.
If not “convinced” I was committed.  Or needed to be committed.  Jury’s still out on that…

HCRP and I met Bob at the high school and off we went!
The first couple miles getting from CHS to the foot of the bridge were nothing more than a warm-up/necessary evil for me, and I wasn’t even thinking about the rest of the distance we were set to run.  I had one, and only one, thought in my head: Getting across that godforsaken structure, then coming back across so that I could say “I.  Did.  It!”

We got to the foot of The Bridge during a walking interval and I paused to take a picture before we headed up.

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We’d been chatting along as we ran, but when we headed up the curly-cue ramp that led to the actual off-the-ground part of the bridge I told the guys (something like) “I can’t talk to you while I do this.  I’m turning up my music and not stopping until I’m on the other side.”
And off we went.

The liars at Wikipedia say it is 52’ above the Missouri River.
I say nay, nay!
It has got to be further up than that.
Whatever, Wikidiots. Wikiliars.  Wikiceivers.
I know the truth.
Somewhere in the middle of the (really freakin’ high up) bridge is a line that says you’ve crossed from Nebraska into Iowa (and vice versa on the return).
I vaguely heard Bob say something about it.
At that point I was focused on breathing rather than hyperventilating and keeping my feet pointed forward since everything inside me felt like the bridge was tilting from side to side and I was about to go hurtling off the side to certain death in the torrential rapids of the river below.  (I’m pretty sure, although not 100% because I wasn’t looking, that the bridge didn’t move and the river was flowing along smooth as glass.)
One of the reasons I “couldn’t talk” to Bob or HCRP was because I was exercising my freedom of speech by uttering every profane word in the known English language in what I consider to be some fairly creative combinations.

It is at this point in the narrative that I have to pay special homage to fate, karma, kismet, or whatever you happen to call it when The Exact Right Song comes on your randomized playlist at The Exact Moment when you need it most.
In anticipation of The Bridge Run – what this particular seven miles will always be in my mind – I had set up a very specific playlist.  I’ve been listening to it on every run for the past two months getting my mental game set.  There is No Fear in these songs.  They move me, motivate me, and make it impossible to feel weak or unable.
One of my favorite songs on that list?  Gwen Stefani’s Hollaback Girl.
And guess what song came on just as my feet hit the Nebraska end of The Bridge?
You got it!
My Girl Gwen!
Okay, technically she’s HCRP’s Secret Girlfriend, but for purposes of that song on that playlist, she is all mine! 

We made it to the bottom of the Iowa end of the bridge at the start of a walking interval and paused, in part, so I could take a picture from that end.
For the record: All intervals were OFF during The Bridge portion of the run.  If I so much as slowed to a walk all bets were off and I was going to be on my hands and knees.  So it was “run or stop and wither” on The Bridge.

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HCRP and I hit our Gu, hydrated, I took a deep breath, backed back up to my girl Gwen, and we headed back across because . . .  well . . .  all my crap was in a hotel room on the other side for one thing.  And we still had four miles to finish for another.  (There was a reason I put The Bridge in the middle of the run.)

The picture below is me (I think) at the Iowa/Nebraska Line mark.

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Not fainting.
Not puking.
Not crawling on my hands and knees sobbing.
Running.
And damn well Doing It!

Because that’s another thing running does.
It shows you there’s nothing to fear but the fear of a thing.
Face-planting on a run?  Everybody does it once.
Finishing dead last?  Somebody has to.
Crossing a raging river ridiculously high above it on a reeling unsturdy thread of cement?
Easy freakin’ peasy!
Just keep breathing.  Keep your feet moving.  Think about The Run.
And it’s all over but the high five and (look away Mother) “I fucking did it!” at the end!

And that, My Minions, is likely going to end up being the biggest, best, creamiest, tastiest scoop of running goodness under that cherry on top of this whole thing.

(Betcha wondered how I was gonna get back to that whole ice cream sundae metaphor.  Din’tcha?  See?  I did that too!)