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!

Because it will never be harder than chemo for a kid

Today is exactly 20 weeks – 140 days – from Marathon Day!
Today’s Long Run was 6 miles.
Today’s run is the shortest Long Run we will have until after The Marathon.
I have our entire Marathon Training Program on a Google Calendar, a paper calendar that hangs above my desk at work, a second paper calendar that hangs in our kitchen at home, and on an Excel Spreadsheet.
Oh, and in my Franklin Covey Planner.
I have it in all those places not because I have some undiagnosed psychosis or neurosis. I have it in all those places so I don’t have to constantly be thinking about “What’s next?”
(Which could, quite probably, have led to the development of some undiagnosed psychosis or neurosis. But I fixed that.)

Early on in this whole process I started freaking myself out by constantly checking and rechecking the whole entire thing semi-obsessively to make sure I wasn’t double-booking us for some sort of non-running event – because we have so much time in our calendar for anything non-running these six months – and in doing that I started looking at the number of miles we’d be working up to and Freaking The Eff Out!
“I can’t possibly run 14/16/18/22 miles! I’ll die! My legs will collapse. My lungs will explode! I’m not THAT kind of runner!”
Thankfully, during one particularly freak-out filled run I had the sudden flash of sanity that I didn’t have to run 14, 16, 18, or 22 miles that particular day. All I had to run was that day’s three or four or however many miles it was.

Much like the sudden flash of sanity I’d had the first time I set out to run more than four miles.  After nearly hyperventilating I realized that I didn’t have to run the entire four miles that minute, all I had to run was the five minute interval I was at the start of. Then I would walk for two minutes. Then I would run the next five minute interval.  But in that moment all I had to run was the given five minutes.

So, just like I worked through that little existential crisis, I realized that in documenting the entire training plan (in a ‘couple of places’) I no longer had to focus on anything other than any given day’s scheduled miles.

And, four weeks ago, we set off on Our Marathon Training Program.

Brief Aside
We are incredibly blessed (and grateful beyond belief) to live in a city that boasts an indescribably amazing Running Club. We are surrounded by experienced runners (many of whom are certified trainers) who are more than willing to impart their knowledge and wisdom-from-experience anytime we ask.
In addition to that we have not one, but two, actual Running Stores (as opposed to Big Box Sporting Goods Stores) each of which offers a Marathon Training Program designed to prepare local area runners for St. Jude. This year St. Jude is also offering a Marathon Training Program, which is also great! We decided to go with the training program offered by our favorite Running Store, in great part because we have a great relationship with the owner and his staff and trust their judgment and guidance.

Brief Aside Concluded

The first two weeks our training runs felt like what I’m pretty sure military boot camp does. On X Day we ran X Miles.
Why? Because we had to. The Schedule said so. And so we did.
And those runs felt like exactly how I was approaching them: Mandatory steps to get to what I really wanted to do – Run The Marathon.

I began to dread these runs the way one dreads going to the dentist, making a toast at a distant relative’s wedding reception, and trotting out the Christmas Sweater you got from Aunt Hattie in 1987 because “she just adores seeing you in it”.
Don’t get me wrong.
I love running.
I love everything about running.
I love the release, the relief, the effort, the personal barrier shattering.
I love finishing a run dripping with sweat, red-faced, gasping for air, with at least some part of me crying out in protest for a few seconds.  Just because.
But I found myself not loving The Training Runs.
And it stymied me.
I mean, what the hell?!  (Sorry Mother.)
Here I am doing something I love to raise money for a place I love and believe in like few other places I know.
And I am haaaaating it!
Quitting was not an option, so I decided to heed the advice of one of my favorite Bondi Band headbands and “Suck it up, Buttercup!” hoping that the dread of the Must Do Training Runs would somehow get left behind me on the pavement like the stress of work or several ounces of sweat.

And then.
It happened.
It was on a Monday about two weeks ago and, after a week or two of unseasonably cool summer weather, it was hot.
Hot hot.
Ugly, muggy, nowhere for sweat to evaporate to, sun glaring down like the wrath of someone wrathful, hot.
Memphis in July hot.
Who saw that coming?!
Oh.
Wait.
Anyone who’s ever spent a July here.
Enough about the weather.
Memphis.
July.
Hot.
Happens.
Back to my epiphany…
It was hot and there I was again not looking forward to that evening’s run.
Add to that the fact that it was the first week of our running club’s Women’s Running Training Program which I should have been looking forward to.
No, I was looking forward to it.
Really, I was!
I love seeing all these Beginning Runners taking control of their health and, for many of them, doing something Just For Them for the first time in their lives.

I just wasn’t looking forward to my run. My miles.
HCRP and I were going to get to the venue early to get in a couple miles so our total mileage would add up to what the training plan called for.
As I was changing from work clothes to running clothes and mentally bitching about the heat and why couldn’t it be a little bit overcast and where did our cooler summer weather go a thought came slamming into the front of my brain: Kids going through chemo at St. Jude don’t get to ‘just not do chemo’ because it’s too hot. Or too cold. Or too early. Or because they’re “just not feelin’ it”. They have to do it No Matter What.
From that realization was born my New Running Mantra: No run will ever be harder than chemo for a kid.
Since that moment there’s been at least one day when I just really didn’t “feel like” running. But I did. Because kids can’t “not feel like” chemo.
There have been moments during runs when I wanted to just stop and walk the rest of the way back to the car. But I didn’t. Because kids can’t “just stop” chemo.
There have been times when my lungs protested sucking in 70+% humid air and sweat was running into my eyes and my knee was twinging and IT Band and/or Piriformis was screaming and I tied my shoes too tight and . . . and . . . and . . . And whatever it was that was uncomfortable couldn’t hold a candle to what chemo does to a kid during and after.
They can’t make excuses. I don’t have any.
And you wanna know a little secret?
There are no more ‘bad’ runs for me.
I cherish every one of them.
Because no run – no matter how long how hot how cold how anything – will ever be harder than chemo for a kid.

STILL Still not running . . .

. . . but I am better.

Had my second follow-up appointment with The Surgeon and things seem to be progressing/healing well enough that he wants to use me as one of his Before/After ‘poster kids’.  He asked if I could come back in three months to have the final ‘After’ picture taken since at the moment the healing incisions/scars aren’t exactly ‘After’ picture worthy, and I’m good with that. (I’m still doing some *internal work* on that whole ‘having scars’ thing – I’ll get back with you on that)
ALL that aside, I am apparently healing nicely.  No complications.

Which means! It is basically up to “When I think it won’t hurt to do it” to determine when I’ll be running again.  At present I’m using the ‘If it still causes a twinge to go over a speed bump, I’m not ready yet’ school of thought/measure-of-readiness.

HCRP is currently out of town on a work related trip.  He’ll be back a week from tomorrow.
Which gives us that Saturday morning to do two things:
1) Go to one of our local Running Stores to get me a good, supportive, new-sized running bra; and
2) Switch our gym membership to the one that offers better cross-training options.  (Not the least of which is an indoor,heated pool and an indoor track. So we’ll have that going for us! 

Of course I will be ‘running’ at more of a jog until I’m comfortable that nothing’s going to be literally, physically ‘left on the track’..

so miss running!!
You have no idea how much you love it until it is taken away from you!
2013 is going to be My Best Running Year Ever!

Before and The Beginning of After

So my surgery was a week ago Thursday.
Yes,THAT Surgery.
The Reduction Mammoplasty.
The Reverse Boob Job.
My great, courageous (so a couple people have told me it was) act of “Getting Proportional”.  (Kudos to a dear friend for that reference.)

Before I go any further and really start rambling, here are the obligatory Before and After Images.  (Unfortunately I didn’t have the presence of mind to take a true “Before” picture in something I am willing to share here on Ye Olde Worlde Wide Webe.  I mean, I like you and all, but no you don’t get to see pictures of me in my bra.  Or less.  So this is what you get.)

IMG_0404

Before: September 2012

December 9, 2012All buttons.  No safety pins.

December 9, 2012
All buttons. No safety pins.

Yeah. Tell me about it.

I’m still in the healing phase, and healing nicely.
This is not only my opinion but my surgeon’s opinion at my post-op visit.
There hasn’t been any horridly excruciating pain.  Of course the first couple days when there might have been I was doped up on Demerol and probably wouldn’t have felt it if someone had come in and lopped off one of my other appendages.  I mostly feel, and have mostly only felt, really bruised.

So far the worst parts have been: A) Having to sleep on my back; and B) The itching where the stitches are healing.  Fortunately both these issues are resolved by the same solution: Benadryl!  Oh sweet little hot pink elixirs of relief and rest!

The weirdest part was the first week when – for the first time in my life at forty-seven – I had to line my bra with maxi-pads (to protect the incisions and absorb any ‘drainage’). I actually found that quite hilarious on Friday morning when my mom and my BFF helped me change from the padding I’d left the surgery center with to the first set of maxi-pads. I am reasonably certain the Demerol weighed in on the hilarity factor of that experience.

The waterproof surgical tape he put back over the stitched up incisions (which will dissolve rather than having to be removed) comes off a week from Monday.  Christmas Eve morning. (The jokes on that one really do write themselves.  I’ll not insult your intelligence or sense of humor by overstating the obvious . . . )

In the couple weeks leading to the “Procedjah” people kept asking me “Aren’t you nervous?!” and I would pause, do one of those mental ‘system checks’, and answer (in all honesty) “No.  I’m really not.”  By the day before the Procedjah my answer had become “At this point I feel like I’m ten months pregnant and I’m just ready to have this baby!”  (Having gone 1/3 of the way to ten months pregnant twenty-four years ago, that’s an analogy I was quite comfortable making.) During the pre-op prep they checked my blood pressure.  111/74 (before they had given me any ‘calming agents’ via IV).  Seriously.  So it would appear that “nervous” was the last thing I was.  Which I think was pretty cool!

Friday morning I woke up and could already feel a difference in my shoulders.  The constant muscle tension and ‘pull’ I was used to was just GONE!  Saturday morning once I was showered and wearing something other than pajamas my first thought was “I can’t wait to take these puppies out for a run!”  Really.  I called them “puppies” in my head.

All told the doctor removed three pounds of excess ’tissue’.  Not fat.  Actual whatever-it-is tissue that boobs are made of.  The Mammogram Lady told me I had “dense tissue, not fat”.  I’m not sure why I feel the need to clarify that, but I do.  I digress . . .

So at this point I’m in something of a ‘holding pattern’ while the incisions heal, the bruising abates (there’s actually quite a rainbow of bruise coloration going on), and the stitches dissolve. I can’t run.  I can’t lift anything heavier than a pound.  I can’t run. Bending over causes discomfort. I can’t run.  Yet.  The doctor’s (somewhat flip) answer when I asked “How long after surgery until I can run?”  was “Around 30 days.  Basically it’s up to your pain levels.”  I was expecting to hear something more along the lines of “Eight to twelve weeks” so this was a relief!  A shocking relief, but a relief nonetheless.

Right now I’m still adjusting to what really is a whole new body.
Seriously there are days when I see myself in the mirror and am overwhelmed with not just the change, but the realization of the number of years I was identified – in my mind and other people’s – by one (okay technically two) disproportionate body part(s).
I can wear button front blouses without buying them two sizes bigger than necessary and still having to safety pin between the buttons.
I can wear pretty much any kind of v-neck t-shirt, sweater, or whatever else without worrying if the cleavage is going to be inappropriate or offensive.
I will – once the healing is complete and I no longer have to wear a bra 24/7 – be able to throw on a t-shirt or tank top sans brassiere and run to the store without worrying about scarring the psyches of small children or fast-tracking some unsuspecting male tween through puberty!
And.  And!  AND!  I will be able to not only wear cute running bras (and cute little strappy running tops), but I will be able to wear those cute running bras without additional padding on the straps or moleskin applied under the band to prevent wearing holes in my hide!

If you want to get a sense of the “Before” and “After” effect of this surgery, pick up a three pound bag of potatoes, divide them into two mostly equal amounts, wear them around your neck. (I suggest a king size pillow case. You’ll have to sew the open end up somehow.)  Pick your favorite shirt and wear it over them – have fun with those buttons on those blouses.  Do this all day, every day for a week or two.  Now multiply that by a good couple (or three) decades.  Have fun with that math!  I know I always did.
[I say “or three” parenthetically because I have it on good authority from one of my lifelong best friends that my ‘disproportionate proportions’ were there in high school even though it didn’t seem like it to me at the time.  But I trust her judgment.]

Monday HCRP and I are going to get back in the gym.
He can do whatever he wants.  I’ll be limited to a recumbent bike for cardio *rolls eyes* and lower body strength training.  But it’s better than nothing at all.  While we’re at my in-laws for Christmas I’m going to do Yoga as much as I can without pain.  Once we get back home we’re changing gyms to one that has a pool and both an indoor and lighted outdoor track.
We both realize the absolute requirement of cross training – strength training in particular.  The lighted outdoor track is a huge plus because of shorter winter days combined with the fact that our regular running trails close at sunset and our subdivision lacks streetlights  (like at all) and consistent sidewalks.

So that’s where things are in my middle-aged, post-op, currently not running life.

In Running News I’m weighing the pros and cons of Jeff Galloway’s and Hal Higdon’s respective Marathon Training programs and starting to plan next year’s running goals.
Running. Goals.
No more of this just running willy nilly for the sake of it for me!  I have G-O-A-L-S.
I’m notsomuch looking to break any particular times.  Okay that’s kind of a lie.
I would like to get my 5K finish time down to 30 minutes.  Less would be good too, but I’ll be good with a consistent 30 minute finish time.  Which will of course make for a nice, clean, well-rounded 60 minute 10K finish time.
I’m good with a 3 hour half-marathon time.  That allows for enjoying the venue as well as the run itself.
My first Full will be next year’s St. Jude Marathon in December.  I could be ready to do one sooner, but I don’t intend to make marathons a regular ‘thing’ so I’m reserving them for St. Jude and Ronald McDonald House supporting events.

So that’s how things are and where I’ve been.
How’s things with you?

I should NEVER have started running

This was the start of a conversation – and by ‘conversation’ I mean monologue/diatribe by me – last night in the car as we were running an errand of mercy for/to my son. (Said son is, for the record, going to be 24 years old next Wednesday, is 6’5″ tall, and like a good Southern Boy still calls me “Momma”. Awww . . . )

Back to my diatribe . . . Which went a lot like this:
Me: I should NEVER have started running.

HCRP: Why?

Me: Because now I can’t just ‘quit’.

HCRP: Why?

Me: Because that’s just not how it’s done! You don’t start something like running and then just quit. Especially when you’ve Put It Out There that you’re going to run a Full Marathon next year! I mean to ‘just quit’ – which by the way I have the perfect opportunity to do what with the being too sick to run for a month and now the month ‘off’ after my surgery next week – at this point makes me look like a big ol’ [STOP READING MOM!] pussy.

HCRP: (Keeps driving and looking straight ahead. He is wise beyond his years that one.)

Me: But this is just stupid!

HCRP: What is?

Me: Running!
(Is he paying no attention to anything I’m saying?!)

HCRP: (Keeps driving and looking straight ahead.  Again.  Genius!)

Me: I mean seriously. I run and I run and I run all these *expletive deleted* miles and where do I get?  Nowhere.  Okay, generally back to the car, but still! It’s not like I’m going from Portland (Oregon, I realize there’s also one in Maine) to Boston with all this *expletive deleted* running!

HCRP: We could.

Me: Could what?

HCRP: Run from Portand to Boston.

Me: (Singes him with a blistering glare.)

HCRP: (Regains his senses and keeps driving and looking straight ahead.)

Me: This is just stupid. It’s a stupid sport.  And now that I’ve started it I can’t ‘Just Quit’. There’s no end to it. It’s not like I’ve suffered some permanent injury that would force me to stop so I’m stuck with this *expletive deleted*.

HCRP: Well what else would you do?

Me: For what?

HCRP: For fitness?

Me: I would eat! And sleep! A lot of eating and sleeping.  And hang out with friends in bars.

HCRP: That wouldn’t be very healthy.

Me: (Singes him . . .  You know the rest.) That is entirely beside the point.

HCRP: Which is? (Sometimes he’s not very bright… Really.)

Me: That I really can’t *expletive deleted* quit running!

HCRP: Why not?

Me: You didn’t hear that whole ‘If I quit now I’ll look like a big ol’ weenie’ (edited for inappropriate content for my mom’s sake) part before?! Besides, if I quit now what was the point of the entire last almost year and a half of my life? And all those shoes and socks and clothes and those freakin’ high dollar, industrial strength, double-reinforced running bras I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of money on?!  Huh?  What about all that?!
So.
*expletive deleted* it. I may as well keep running.
[Insert especially creative uses of ordinarily run-of-the-mill profanity.]

Of course what prompted all of this was having spent the morning sitting at a Finish Line I had originally intended to be running across.
Which wasn’t altogether bad.

Actually.

It was pretty cool.
It was inspiring watching the Elite Runners cross in times I will never, ever hope to make.  And they were, I might add, barely breathing heavy or sweating.  Much.
It was fun watching the non-runners who would stop a few feet before the Finish Line to pose their Finish Line photos.  (Costing themselves valuable seconds towards PRs… Who does that?!)
It choked me up seeing the people who – you could tell by the “I did it! Wait, I did it?!” looks on their faces – were finishing their First Ever 5Ks and Half Marathons.
Then there was the mom who had written in Sharpie on her arms and legs: My son couldn’t train for cancer.  I was full-on snot-slingin’ squawlin’ when I saw that.
Really being a part – any part – of an event that raised $5.8 million for St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital. Well, how can you have a ‘bad’ time doing that?!

So I end 2012 with the following statistics under my laces:
1) I suffered from, rehabbed, and overcame my first ever sports injury.  Me!  *I* had a “sports injury”!
2) I was a coach for other women who were setting out on their own journeys as Runners.
3) I ran a Half Marathon! AND finished under my stated goal time.
4) And at the end of all that diatribe and deleted expletives up there – I’m going to keep on running. Because really, who wants to look like a big ol’ weenie (edited for inappropriate content)?!

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?!

Falling in love again . . .

Falling in love again
Never wanted to
What am I to do?
I can’t help it

And because nobody should ever be able to read those words without having the song going through their heads, I’ll direct you here.  You’re welcome.

I haven’t run in eight days.
I have a note from my doctor.  Maybe not from my actual doctor, but From the Desk of Dr. I Said I’m Sick.  HCRP and I have both succumbed to The Creeping Crud that’s been going around down here in Dixieland.  It’s an Upper Respiratory Today, Gastrointestinal Tomorrow melange of congestion and sneezing and coughing and queasiness and TMIness, and zero energy dragginess that’s making the rounds while the weather makes up its mind between September and December from one day to the next.  The idea of hacking up a lung in the middle of the trail doesn’t appeal to me much more than finding out exactly who does what in the woods whether there’s anybody there to see it or not.
IfyouknowwhatImean…

And the thing is, I haven’t missed it.
Not one step.
I haven’t envied my friends who’ve been posting runs on Facebook.
I haven’t gazed longingly at my Asics.
I haven’t felt the first twinge of guilt seeing my packed-since-Monday gym bag languishing in the trunk of the car all week.
I just haven’t felt The Run all week.

Which isn’t very good since we have the St. Jude Half Marathon in less than a month.  Chances are good I’m going to end up walking a fair amount of that one.  But I’ll be there and walking or running I’ll be doing it for The Kids.

Speaking of changes in schedule . . .  Yes, we were.
Last week I got a call from my surgeon’s office.  Remember that reduction mammoplasty thing I had all planned out and scheduled for the end of February?  The one that’s going to make running all new and different and less painful from the waist up?  Well wha’ ha’ happen waaaas . . .
Starting January 1st Ye Olde Boobie Reducing Doctor will no longer be accepting our health insurance.
*blinks*
*blinks again*
*bursts into hysterical laughter*
Really, I did.  I started laughing.
So my options were:
A) Reschedule to a date prior to December 31st.
OR
B) Not have this done at all since this is the only doctor in a city overrun with doctors (and coincidentally lawyers) who will do Boobie Reducing surgery and (for the moment anyway) accepts our health insurance.
I think what the Mayans meant by The World’s Gonna End in 2012 was really “Women who need Boobie Reducing Surgery and whose husbands are retired military and who live in Memphis will be SOL after 2012.”
Soooo…
The surgery is now scheduled for Thursday, December 6th.
I planned and the Mayans laughed.

All things – and my recovery – being equal I should still be able to participate in The New Orleans Half Marathon next February.  Maybe not the fastest Half ever run, but certainly the most comfortable in my experience.  Unless the Mayans have some issue with that plan too.

But first The Run and I have to renew our romance.
I’m not anticipating flowers or candy, and something tells me I’m going to have to make the first move because as we all know running is notoriously shy until it gets to know you.

Hey Running!  How you doin’?
Got any plans Monday after work?
How about you and me find a nice, quiet place and I’ll treat you to three or four miles.