Sometimes it’s the races you don’t run…

Earlier this year HCRP and I registered for the St. Jude Half Marathon.
By “earlier this year” I mean I stalked the registration page and registered us the minute I saw registration was open.

The USAF Half was my first Half and I was running that one for me.
The USAF Half was his second and he was running to PR.
The St. Jude we were running for The Kids and we’d already decided we would run that one together at whatever pace worked for both of us and we’d cross the Finish Line hand-in-hand like we did last year’s 5K.

We registered as St. Jude Heroes which gave us an opportunity to both contribute more personally and raise additional funds through the support and generosity of family and friends.
We had a plan.
We trained together.
We would finish together.
And now we will not start, will not run, and will not finish. Together or separately.

It all started, for HCRP, with good old-fashioned shin splints the last week in October which led to him walking The Biggest Loser Run/Walk 5K while I ran the 15K.
For the record he won first place in his age group as a Walker! Go HCRP!

For my part I ran one of the ugliest races of my life!
Jackson, Mississippi has got to be one of the hilliest, least race-friendly cities on earth!
Okay that may not be a fair assesment.
Maybe it wasn’t the best course that could possibly have been chosen since most of the 15K was right slap along what must be one of the main thoroughfares in Jackson.
Maybe the Jackson PD isn’t as well-versed in traffic control along a course as Memphis PD are. I’ve never run, volunteered for, or heard of a race here where cars were pulling into gaps between between groups of runners. I was a cussin’ fool by about seven miles.
Maybe I’m just spoiled by Memphis Runners Track Club and the relationship they’ve built with MPD in putting on races.
Did I mention the hills?
Oh.
My.
Asics!
It was one after another all of them long, all of them steep, and not more than an intersection’s worth of a flat for recovery in between.
Anyway, that was Saturday, November 3rd and I haven’t run a step since.

Monday the 5th I woke up with a slight cough. No biggie. It would pass. And Monday was a short run day anyway so I’d be fine.
Until the end of the day when about an hour before I ran out of end-of-day I ran completely out of energy.
By Tuesday morning that ‘slight cough’ had turned into full-blown, barking, coughing fits that would take over everything.
Awesome!
I had The Crud.
The Crud is a viral, sinus/upper respiratory funk that is going around pretty much all of North America from what I see on Facebook, but is definitely laying siege to my beloved MidSouth.
And about four days after I started with the hacking, HCRP started and he never, ever gets sick! Not. Ever.
But every night we went to sleep thinking “Tomorrow I’ll/we’ll wake up feeling all better and I/we can start getting some miles in!”

Monday the 12th we broke down and went to the doctor since mine had started to feel suspiciously akin to Bronchitis and HCRP never gets sick and still was.
Nope.
No such luck.
White counts were within normal range so the Official Diagnosis: Sudafed, Cough Medicine, and Ride It Out.
And every night we went to sleep thinking “Tomorrow I’ll/we’ll wake up feeling all better and I/we can start getting some miles in!”

Early on I was advised by Tonia – my soul sister and running guru – that as long as whatever it is that’s sick about you is upper respiratory you lay off running.
And so.
We have.
Or rather haven’t. Run that is.
Even though every night we have gone to sleep thinking “Tomorrow I’ll/we’ll wake up feeling all better and I/we can start getting some miles in!”

Meanwhile the calendar has been ticking right along getting closer and closer to St. Jude Marathon Weekend with absolutely zero miles passing beneath our feet.
And we’d think that thought up there every night before going to sleep.
And we’d wake up every morning still coughing and hacking.
Which, to date, we still are.
To a lesser degree.
But still even an enthusiastic conversation or good hard laugh results in paroxysms of coughing.

But back to The St. Jude half.
Friday evening over dinner HCRP and I realized that trying to run any of the half marathon would be foolish given that even if we woke up miraculously and fully healed Saturday morning (hope springs eternal) we would get five, maybe six runs in between now and Race Day and that wouldn’t allow for building up any amount of mileage.
So there we’d be.
Barely recovered from an extended bout of upper respiratory Crud and an injury on his part.
Way undertrained.
We’d end up walking the entire thing.
Which there is nothing wrong with. Walking. Walking an entire half marathon.
So we decided: We’ll walk the Half!
People walk half marathons all the time!
Remember Robert? The guy who was walking the USAF Half? Hey! He was there and he was doing it and he was gonna cross the same finish line we did!
We can totally walk this.
Right?
Of course right!
After all, this one’s for The Kids!
We were good with this.

And then.
Well then there was this past weekend.
I got slammed with the mother of all stomach bugs.

TMI Warning: WARNING THERE’S TMI COMING!
I was puking from the time I woke up around 6am Saturday until a little before I went (back) to bed at 9pm I couldn’t hold down so much as a sip of Ginger Ale, and could barely stand to hold my head up without it feeling like it was going to split into about three distinctly separate parts.
And of course my lower GI tract had to get in on the fun too.

Of course the funny thing was that for the first time in my life when having a stomach bug my thought wasn’t “Hey, at least I’m losing some weight!” it was “Good God I am going to be so dehydrated when this is over!”
And I was.
It’s Monday evening and I’m only just now starting to get rehydrated after spending all day Sunday and today sucking down fluids like it was my job. 
And I’m feeling somewhat normal, if lacking a little bit of trust in my stomach. But that’s kinda mutual right now. It doesn’t trust me much either.

And The Crud is still extending its departure. Which means The Cough is too.
The Cough means no running.
For both of us.
Less coughing for me than him, but after my bout with The ‘Nother Bug the playing field is pretty well leveled. HCRP’s shin splints are still causing him enough discomfort that running is contraindicated.
*sighs*
*coughs*
*sighs again*

And then came The Email.
Last night we got an email from the Volunteer Coordinator of our local running club seeking volunteers for the various events surrounding St. Jude Marathon Weekend. After a relatively brief discussion, and for as difficult as the decision was, it was pretty much a no-brainer.
So on Saturday, December 1st we’ll still be at that Finish Line inside Auto Zone Park. But instead of crossing it we’ll be ‘select timers’.
I’m not 100% certain what that entails, but we’ll find out that morning.
And volunteering feels a whole lot less useless than walking or pulling out of the race altogether.

And before anyone asks, no we won’t be “selling” or “transferring” our race bibs.
Both St. Jude AND MRTC (our running club) strongly discourage that practice for this race. And by “strongly discourage” I mean they say “Don’t do it!”

/Begin PSA
Unless an event specifically provides a process for selling or transferring bibs seriously: Don’t. Do. it.
It’s a Race Director’s nightmare on many levels.
It is actually hazardous to your – yes you, the runner’s – health. If you’re wearing someone else’s bib with their identity and health information on it and (God forbid) something happens to you and they don’t know that you have oh . . . say . . . a life-threatening latex allergy because Ferd Klodfelder whose bib you are wearing does not happen to have said life-threatening latex allergy and Mr./Ms. EMS First Responder tries to clear your airway with his/her latex-encased finger…
Well I think we can see where this scenario could go all kinds of sideways.

/End PSA

So.
Sometimes you ‘win’ the race by running.
And sometimes you ‘win’ the race by being part of the run in a different kind of way.
It’ll probably take me awhile to be able to justify wearing my singlet or the race shirt.
Then again, I did raise money and I am participating. Just not the way I’d originally intended.

Interestingly enough, the disappointment of this ‘runnintus interruptus’ is far less than what I went through in March when I had to pull out of my first Half Marathon attempt.  It has nothing to do with how important one race is over another.  I think it’s part of the learning curve of running.  learning that “sometimes you ‘win’ by running, sometimes you ‘win’ by being part of it in a different way” lesson.
And knowing now what I didn’t know then: That this is a setback, it’s a slow down, but it’s not a full stop.  The only ‘full stop’ happens between the ears, not under the laces.

Oh, and with my surgery (yes, That Surgery) scheduled for December 6th that will make The Biggest Loser 5K my last race until sometime well after the first of the year.
My doctor predicts that I’ll be able/ready to start running again about 30 days post-op. I’ll be listening to my body on that one.
But being optimistic and believing he knows what he’s talking about that’ll have me lacing back up and hitting the pavement sometime a week after New Year’s Day.
There’s a Valentine’s Day 5K here I think I’ll go ahead and register us for.
We can cross that Finish Line hand-in-hand.
I mean seriously, how cute would that be?

So yeah for the next few weeks this running blog is going to be more about staying in some semblance of cardio condition while recuperating from breast reduction surgery.
Then the whole ‘getting my run back’ once I’m fully recovered from that.
Who saw that coming?!

The not-so-dreadful mill

Tonight found our intrepid heroine venturing into territory she . . .  Forget it, I’m too tired to write in third person narrative…

HCRP has Shin Splints.
Wordpress is having font color issues, and it’s pissing me smooth off, but that’s not particularly 
germane to this post.  Annoying to me?  Yes.  Germane?  Notsomuch.  So I’ll get over that and move on.

HCRP has Shin Splints.
He suspected it during Sunday’s Long Run which he had to cut short and finish as a walk. That was a whole new experience for me – doing 3/4 of a long run by myself.  And it was a good experience.  First I had to get past the guilt of ‘leaving him behind’ when it became apparent that continuing to run was going to cause serious, possibly long-term damage.  That took a good half mile.  But once I got past the urge to turn around and go back and finish walking with him I had a really good run!

Despite his reasonable certainty that he had the aforementioned shin splints, we consulted with a couple other people not the least of whom is my Personal Trainer Buddy and future business partner Tonia.  Tonia was concerned, based on the location and occurrence of the pain, that he might have a stress fracture.  So on Tuesday he headed to see our Primary Care Physician thinking they could do an x-ray in the office and at least rule that out.
The doctor – after being rude, dismissive, insulting, and frankly damn lucky it was HCRP (habitual Nice Guy) and not me (habitual Raging B*tch in the face of rude, dismissive, insulting doctors) – essentially blew him off with a ‘referral’ to a local Orthopedic Clinic.  (For the record, we’re switching Primary Care Physicians and as soon as the switch has been made and our records securely transferred I’ll be writing a tersely worded letter to the head of the practice about his little associate dude.)
Ortho Clinic Doc – obviously a runner – was not rude, not dismissive, not insulting, and very assuring that the x-ray showed no indication of a stress fracture and that HCRP’s self-diagnosis was correct.  The Cure?  Time, non-impact (elliptical machine) exercise, icing the shins, and Aleve twice a day.

Which led us to Ye Olde Gyme tonight.
Because it’s getting darker earlier, and because we live in a subdivision with intermittent sidewalks and completely non-mittent streetlights, and because I don’t want to end up as either a Cautionary Runner’s Tale or a crime statistic I decided to make the best of HCRP’s elliptical prescription and get tonight’s run in on The Dreaded Treadmill!

If you’re not a runner . . .  Well first if you’re not a runner I can’t imagine why you’d be reading this blog, but hey who am I to judge?  I’m a potential borderline hoarder and read the blog of a minimalist living guru.  I digress . . .
If you’re not a runner let me explain something about runners – distance runners in particular – and treadmills: We.  Hate.  Them.  More often than not they are called ‘Dreadmills’. There are no number of Friends or Seinfeld reruns that can make anything more than about a mile on a treadmill tolerable.  Even my girl Jillian Michaels can’t make me love a treadmill run.  Which is why I haven’t done one in about eight or nine months.  I would rather run in the rain.  And I can’t imagine doing a really long run on one.

So tonight I was slated to run five.  I chose the “Hills” program hoping that would make things int… less boring.  And truth be told I had some nagging concerns about my knees.  The last time I ran on a treadmill it exacerbated my then budding young case of Runner’s Knee so I was fully prepared to bail at the first significant twinge.
At about half a mile it occurred to me that my last treadmill run also coincided with the brief tenure of The Wrong Shoes I had ill-advisedly (and briefly) switched to so that assuaged some of my concerns about Ye Olde Knee.
Mile One and things were going . . . okay!
Mile Two and I was thinking “I could do this!  Yeah.  This could get me through the winter!” (A mildly delusional thought given that I have not one but two half marathons to get and stay in condition for between now and Spring springing.)
Mile Three and I was starting to do two things: A) Picture where I would be if I were doing this run on the Greenline; and B) Nitpick Stephen Covey’s colloquial mispronunciations of words like “resonate” (resignate?!) and a couple others I’ve blocked from my memory so I can continue listening to his audiobook.
And right at Mile Four my knees and hamstrings were starting to make their unaccustomedness (if Covey can butcher ‘resonate’ I can make up ‘unaccustomedness’) to this running surface known so I hit the ‘Cool Down’ button, cooled down, and called it a run.

HCRP’s elliptical workout seemed to have gone well.  He wasn’t limping or cursing.
And the ‘mill wasn’t quite so dreadful.  At least not for four miles.  Anything further than that and all bets are off!

Saturday we’re taking part in a race in Jackson, Mississippi.  It’s part of The Biggest Loser RunWalk Series and I am just enough of a Biggest Loser Geek that yes, I signed us up the very minute I heard it was coming within a reasonable drive (3 hours) of Memphis.
Of course my entire motivation (fantasy) is that either Bob or Jillian would be there and I would accidentally-by-design ‘run into’ one or the other of them and get a chance to actually meet and talk to and point them to my blog and we would become fitness BFFs and exchange healthy holiday meal recipes and maybe even vacation togethe . . .  I’ll stop now before the restraining orders get filed.
In all seriousness, it thrills me to see TBL ‘taking it to the streets’ and putting on events like this to reach out to their fans in a way that gets people moving.

The race offers a 5K and a 15K option.  I originally registered us both for the 5K but I’ve found out I can ‘upgrade’ to the 15K at packet pick-up tomorrow evening and since 9 miles just happens to be the distance I’m supposed to run on Saturday that is precisely what I’m going to do.

There’s a little bit of weirdness in HCRP walking the 5 while I’m running the 15 – after all he’s the more experienced runner.  And it’s a little bit of a flip of what happened in March when I had to pull out of the half marathon.  But just like I had to do back then, he has to rest and rehab this minor injury or risk it becoming a major and run ending one.

Of course there will be pictures of the tech shirt and finisher’s medal!
And maybe, just maybe if I’m lucky, one of me and at the very least one of The Biggest Losers.
Or Bob.
Or Jillian.
Because treadmill runs give a person a lot of time to dream . . .