When To Write It Off

You picked your event months ago. Booked the hotel, the airfare, put in for vacation days from your job. Invested in all the right equipment.

You've trained long hours. You took your event seriously. You might have even raised money through a charitable organization such as World Vision, gaining the support of friends, family and co-workers along the way.

You skipped the late night parties. Eschewed indulgent behaviour on vacation. Maybe you skipped the vacation altogether to focus on your training. You got up when everyone was asleep to get in your workouts.

You were the only one standing around a Saturday afternoon picnic having run more than a dozen miles that day. Every Saturday for the third month in a row.

You passed up the bacon, fried chicken and ice cream.

You dreamed of acceptable, achievable--and dared to hope for the loftiest goals possible. Every workout was a measuring stick against your goal.

And now, you are either forced with a difficult decision; or, quite possibly, it's being made for you. You can't--or shouldn't--show up at the starting line of your event.

For awhile, you might bargain with yourself. OK, well, let's skip Goal A and Goal B, and still be happy with a reasonably dialed down goal C.

As I write this, I struggle with that very decision. Chicago is four weeks from today.

A mere two months ago, diagnosed with a stress fracture, I was so very determined to overcome it for a great race in Chicago. I worked twice as hard, aqua-jogging, cycling, strength training. I put in more hours of training than I would have if I weren't injured. Miraculously, I healed very well and was back to running in five weeks ever hopeful to be there in Chicago. It was harder than I thought to stay fit during this time. Coming back gave me more muscle aches than I expected. It was grueling, but worth it, and I learned a lot about myself in the process. It even led me to my first Century.

I've put in the time. Skipped the parties. Gone to bed early. Prioritized my workouts despite a highly demanding schedule. I've sacrificed to be there on 10-10-10. I want it. I earned it.

My friends are going to be there. Some running buddies are going to be there. My coach, Vince, is even going to do his debut marathon.

My right leg (where I had the tibial stress fracture) is absolutely fine; I had a story-book recovery. But now, faced with an odd and painful tendonitis on the top of my left foot, I have to make a decision. At the very time I must be peaking in mileage and intensity. In one mere week, there is little I can do to improve my fitness.

My foot tells me not to run. But, oh, how important being in Chicago is to me! I'm perfectly OK with dialing down my goals--to a point. I toyed with the idea of starting anyway, and taking a DNF if I just couldn't do it. But after trying that on for a few hours as a fall-back strategy, I realized that I couldn't really live with the mental burden of not at least finishing a race.

Sadly, my foot looks fine. No swelling. No discoloration. No heat. In fact, many movements of stretching and flexing are completely pain free. Simply looking at my foot, you'd have no idea there was something amiss. How can something so ... apparently minor be causing me such problems?

In this self-exploration I also realized there were personal limits in my own mind where I wasn't OK even if I did finish. These limits are different for everyone; and for different reasons. But there were pretty hard set finishing times that were simply not going to be acceptable to me. I decided not to mention what mine were, because I don't want to offend anyone with how slow or fast my cut-off time might seem. The point is, we all have them. And to me, there are certain times that are simply not worth running, and that's a very personal benchmark for myself.

When do you decide not to run in that key event? After you've given everything? The problem for many of us who have been running seriously for a few years is that we actually can run through quite a bit of pain. The most obvious answer to this question is if running is going to seriously aggravate your injury to the point you will have an extended outage from running. Instead of weeks, you are out for months. In some cases (such as stress fractures), running through the pain can actually permanently damage you if the bone breaks all the way through (which can and does happen--see photo to the left--Ouch!).

Another key time not to run is when you find you've altered your gait in pain-avoidance. Running miles and miles like that invites yet another injury cycle to go through. If you find yourself doing this, it's time to consider throwing in the towel.

Sometimes you are willing to take on that risk because a single event is so important to you to complete. You'd take two months off just to be there and finish. And that's where I am right now. My foot says, "don't run." My soul say, "run, you must run." It's a watershed event for me for more reasons than one. I'm at the point if I thought I could finish at my personal minimum goal level, I'd be OK if I had to be carted off the finish line and not run for the rest of the year.

Within the next couple of days, I will be making that decision. I'm either going to run Chicago, or I'm not. Probably by the time you are reading this; it will have been made. But, I am avoiding it just yet. Hanging on to the most tenuous of threads of hope that somehow, by some miracle, my foot will settle down and I can be there in the marathon that I love and for which I have prepared so hard and sacrificed so much.

Summer Breeze 2010 100 mile Course

It was out of complete ignorance I decided to do a biking Century. Sure, a few 10-mile loops here and there, a successful 74 mile ride. This is going to be so easy!

We started right on time, cruising out in a large group. I found comfort in being so close to a lot of other bikers, and enjoyed the excitement, brightly colored jerseys and flashing triangle lights many of the cyclists were wearing. But it was already 75 F when we started, and my early plans to skip the first rest stop at 15 miles were thrown out the window.

I realized a few things rather quickly: This was, in fact, not going to come easily. The 25 mph headwind made the biking exhausting. I was utterly unprepared.

The first stop I realized how necessary the bottle on my bike was. I was expecting cups and gatorade and water (a la marathon style), but the deal was you filled your own bottle. If you wanted Gatorade, you tossed in the powder on the spot. Not a bad idea. I ate a cup of peanut M&Ms.

I spent much of the first 30-ish miles fighting the wind, the hills and the rising temps, yet still feeling reasonably fresh. I was eating and drinking well, but about this point I was utterly alone on a road going straight into a very hilly section, directly into the headwind. I began to panic that I had somehow missed a turn. Nary a single marking of "SB -->" popped up even once on this long stretch, and each hill I thought to myself, "OK, this is the hardest hill I have ever climbed." Only to find another one just as bad or worse a few minutes later. I said this to myself at least ten times on ten different hills.

The second stop around 30 miles, I drank another 40 ounces and ate a half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

The wind was so strong, I had to pedal to go downhill. There was no coasting or resting. For fifteen miles (from 30 to 45), my concern grew. I hadn't seen a soul in over an hour and had no confirmation I was even on the right course. I searched my brain for a plan B: How do I figure out where I am and if I am on the course? The miles did not come easily, and this was way too early to be so exhausted. My worry grew, but then I hit the sign for the next SAG stop, which was quite busy with other cyclists, and marked the end of the long trek directly into the wind. And then my Garmin 405 battery died (despite being taken off the charger the moment I left), at 44 miles. Ugh. I mentally needed to know how far I had left.

From here on out, while I did occasionally lose sight of other riders for stretches, there were enough "SB-->" sightings that I no longer worried I was off course. Although I would have given anything to see a mark on the road that indicated a half-way point!

Being out of the wind, I started to feel better. In fact, I came in so strong at the mile 68 rest stop, it was the best I'd felt all day. I knew I was going to make it another 32 miles. Somehow. I had begun to pass people (instead of being passed), and never was passed again.

The next stop was the lunch in Raymore, at mile 83. I got off my bike, and suddenly felt quite woozy. This worried me a bit; because I didn't know why I felt like that and had not realized it while I was on the bike. I was well enough hydrated to require a visit to the porta-sans each stop and drinking 40+ oz. per stop (yes, it was THAT hot and sunny). I was eating solid food, and had been taking a few hammergels as well. Also, I'd built up some endurolytes the night before. Seventeen more miles to go. Although I was fully aware of how much I'd underestimated this effort, I also knew I'd finish this thing.

Lunch was delicious, barbecued chicken and beans and all the traditional goodies of orange slices, grapes, bananas and peanut butter sandwiches. I had two helpings of the chicken, as I found I was quite hungry. Feeling better, I took off for the final (and longest) stretch.

Interestingly, I was still riding well. I'd continued to pass people, which surprised me. I passed with caution, as I figured every single person on this century ride was better prepared and better trained than I was. I didn't want to pass someone and annoy them, only to get re-passed as they breezed by to point out I was a complete and UTTER novice. Nonetheless, my strength did not leave me.

At last, I pulled into the parking lot and spotted my car.. and many other cars still there. I eagerly searched for some welcoming committee: ice cold beverages, cold orange slices, live band music, anything. But, no one was there. A few riders came in after me as I put my bike away, and I was glad I'd bothered to pack a cooler in my car and downed yet more Gatorade. Somewhat anti-climactic after finishing my first Century. Nonetheless, I managed a little, "Hell, YES! I did it."

I topped things off when I got home with a 22-minute ice bath. Why 22 minutes you ask? Because I honestly forgot I was in an ice bath while reading a magazine.

The one thing I wished I'd brought more than anything in the world? Lip balm.

Coming Back From The Stress Fracture, Again...

My leg hurt for nine days. And then it stopped. I didn't run a step for five weeks.

In fact, I could honestly say... I hardly missed running at all in those five weeks. Now, for those of you who know me, that sounds unimaginable. I am an addict after all. But, the first week was spent on vacation in Florida with my father and daughter, and after that, my next four weeks were filled with very consistent, endurance-type cross training. My sixth week introduced short runs after my cross training workouts.

Not a day went by that I wasn't doing a workout of some kind for over an hour. And then I picked up road biking, which held an interesting allure for me--allowing me to go for four hours or more. I'd never gone more than 20 miles on a bike. Ever. For the heck of it, I went 35 miles one day, and the next thing I knew, I'd signed up for a century. Between water workouts, biking (and a few other things, like kayaking), I collapsed into bed each night satisfactorily spent. I simply wasn't full of jittery energy wanting to burn it off with a good run.

This Sunday, I will attempt to complete my first biking century (starting from Longview Lake in Missouri). I don't really know what to expect, but I did manage a 74 mile ride without any issues two weeks ago. I'm oddly excited about it--happily nowhere near as stressed as my first marathon, but edgy and wondering, will I make it? Will it be too hot? What will it be like? Did they HAVE to put the bulk of the hills in the last third of the ride? Will peanut butter and jelly sandwiches taste good at mile 80?

And, of course, Chicago is still on the map in six weeks.

Like Ali In The Jungle

It's, not, how you start, it's how you finish,

One-and-two-and-three-and, I grunted out my core exercises and thought about my low point. It wasn't when I actually got the news I had another stress fracture; it was hours later, sitting in my hot parked car, in my hot garage, choking back hot tears hearing all the things I didn't want to hear from Vince about Chicago.. and any other high-mileage plans pretty much for the rest of my natural, running life. One stress fracture, you move on. Two, things have to change.

And it's, not, where you're from, it's where you're at,

It didn't seem to matter I'd done everything right. I've been there. Practically an expert on stress fractures, what to do, what not to do. It's almost embarrassing I did it again. But, I guess it doesn't matter. Here I am now. Tibial stress fracture. In the exact. Same. Spot.

Everybody gets knocked down,
Everybody gets knocked down,
How quick are you gonna' get up?
How quick are you gonna' get up?

Well, sometimes it doesn't seem like everybody. There's no normalizing boxing glove to make sure everyone gets a sucker punch every once in a while. But, that's not the point. What am I going to do about it? Recovery is no big deal, I know the drill. I want this to mean something. Ultimately, my stress fracture in 2008 ended up being such a positive experience, I wouldn't take it back. Even if I could.

Like Ali in the jungle,
Like Nelson in jail,
Like Simpson on the mountain,
With odds like that, they were bound to fail

I actually wanted to spend some time feeling sorry for myself. I waited until evening to have a good cry; I earned it. But it never came. I've had worse odds against me.

Like Hannah in the darkness,
Like Adam's in the dark,
Like Ludwig Van, how I loved that man, well the guy went deaf and didn't give a d---, no...

Twenty-three and, twenty-four and, twenty-five and, yes. I have something to prove. This can be ordinary, or I can try to do something highly improbable. Or anything in between. But, it excites me to think.. maybe I can do something extraordinary here. Maybe this.. could be an example of how to get through a serious injury, without laying down and giving up.

It's, not, where you are, It's where you're going,
Where are you going?

Sensible people would take the time off, come back in a few months and consider a 2011 marathon. Or maybe no more marathon training at all. And, no, I haven't run in fifteen days--don't think I'm doing anything stupid here. Chicago is a mere eleven weeks away. But, I have hit a "maintain fitness" routine that is as challenging--or more so--than my running was going. And I am determined--as if lit by fire--to give this my all: Come out across the finish line in Chicago with a PR, a New York qualifying time, and a healed tibia. My own hat trick through sheer determination.

And it's, not, about the things you've done, it's what you're doing, now,
What are you doing, now?

It's a very, very long shot. Mission impossible, really. But what if I can do it?

Post Holiday Blues

#$@)(-ing great. Marvellous.

I'd been quietly training for the past few weeks, very happy with my progress... avoiding the, "Wow, this feels almost too good to be true..." entry.

Until, it was.

It's been almost two years. I'm wiser this time, though.

I dug through the back of my closet, thinking the F-word more times than I care to count. It's in there somewhere, I know it.

"On the bright side," I pensively thought.. and cursed under my breath, "I live on a lake. It's July. I can do this." And, there it was. Waiting for me.

I kept the original box, I don't know why. I took it out, held it up, yeah.. this is what it's going to be today. And tomorrow. And probably... well, I'm not going there yet.

Now, where's the swimsuit? I'm not doing this in a bikini. Not for an hour. And there it was, under all my running clothes, in the very back, my one piece swim (read: exercise) suit.

I grabbed my kids' boom-box, a towel, a stopwatch, and headed down to the shore. Yes, in the answer to my next question, there was a functioning outlet on the dock. Bonus. This was going to suck for hours on end if I had to do it in silence. I don't listen to the radio, so I found some decent sounding station, tossed the ladder in the water, strapped the purple thing around my waist and started the stop watch.

I looked to my east. This might not last long, and soon, it started to rain. By 11:52 into this gig, it was raining so hard, I couldn't see across the cove. Sheets of rain poured down off the metal dock roof and hammered out the radio on high volume. Perfect. I closed my eyes and kept up the steady rhythm. I imagined myself a drowning cat. I hoped no one was watching.

Surprisingly, this was a great, all-over-body, workout. Note to self: Maybe I should be doing this in the summer even when I'm solid.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention it--my leg is.... hurting. I noticed it now and then Friday-ish, Saturday-ish, nothing problematic. Yesterday (Sunday), it was more evident. By 2.31 miles today, I decided it was best not to push through the pain on the inside of my calf anymore. Oddly, it doesn't hurt on impact (good sign), but does hurt as the foot pronates and is tender to the touch on the lower calf (bad sign).

I saw my doctor today, and we're hoping the insurance company will approve an MRI this week. It will be amazing if they do, since they don't see fit to approve my daughter's emergency appendectomy of a few months ago, but that is another story (I'm bitter). But, I want answers. I can push through the pain, no problem. But, of course, that is the crux of the problem--learning not to push when I really shouldn't. I'm busily trying to convince myself the conservative approach is best.

So, after 2.31 miles on the treadmill, it was 60 minutes of aqua jogging in the lake. We'll see, stay tuned. I'm not about to give up Chicago, just yet. Meanwhile, I'm hoping for a "Get out of jail free" card this time.

Night Flight 5K Race Report

Pre-Race Friday

The way things came together for me on race day were important in my dealing with the very slow time psychologically. This was, in fact, the slowest 5K I've run in a few years. There may be good reasons for that, but I'm not looking for excuses.

Lately, in fact, I've felt more like re-naming my blog "SheRunsSlow," or "Building a Slower Me," because I swear, that's what it feels like.

I was running my strongest ever in mid-March, when I had my unfortunate round with the aliens. I haven't been back there since. But, hey, it's been three months now, time to HTFU.

But, in the back of my mind, there was a nagging worry. My passage into running is more about a second chance on life after a devastating illness that should have by all means claimed me. Although I will manage this for the rest of my life with medication and routine testing by my doctor, there is always the chance things can take another really bad turn. It is a real fear that haunts me daily.

Ironically, Friday was also the day of my annual check-up (oh, how happy I am that this is only yearly now.. it used to be weekly--or more often in the beginning).

I thought about Lance Armstrong and what he had to overcome, as he chronicled in It's Not About the bike (which I read a couple of years ago). What if.... I am getting sick again? I wrote this in my review of the book back then:

And for me, he's captured why I run: "But now I knew exactly why I was riding: if I could continue to pedal a bike, somehow I wouldn't be so sick." "As long as I could move, I was healthy." "Move. If you can still move, you aren't sick."

I embrace this thought daily; the fear of being sick again, regressing, somehow letting my illness take hold of me and pull me back down means that I run almost every day. I panic when I don't run for this very reason. If I can still run, everything is OK. If I can run faster than last month, I'm getting better... not sicker.

Quite frankly, going into Friday night's race, I was getting worried. But after several hours of testing, I walked out a free woman. In the battery of tests, it was determined that I was as healthy as I'd ever been. I was not--in fact--getting sicker. Far from it. My results were excellent.

Warm-Up

Now onto the race. It was hot. On the way back from my testing, the car thermometer held steady at 98F for most of the drive. It had cooled only to 85F by race start, and I sweated standing still. My two mile warm up at 8:30 PM left me drenched already.

The Start

We lined up, and it was about 400-500 runners--all donning various glow bracelets, necklaces and the like. I had four myself. I picked a spot about six rows in from the front-runners, not really sure what I'd be running. One woman next to me looked me up and down and edged past me quite certain that she belonged further up front than I did. We traded twice, I finally let her have it. I found this particularly amusing, and promised myself to look up her time later. For the record, she ran a 41:01. Glad she got up close.

We took off right on time (9 PM, just after sunset), and began the out and back course. The first quarter mile was a fairly steep downhill, which worried me as I knew what that meant for the last quarter mile (even with my blonde hair, I could do that math). I let my stride relax and lengthen a bit and got a secure position. Then it was uphill a bit, capped with a hairpin turn and then a sharp turn to the right down Douglas Street (where most of the race took place).

Mile 1

I was counting backwards from 24:00 in my head, as that was my best guess as to what I was going to run. But at the 18:00 to go point, and nary a breeze, I was melting. And the second incline of the race began. Not to overstate the hill, but it was there and I was hot. It peaked just past the one mile point. We passed Dairy Queen. I sincerely thought about dropping out and sitting in the deep freezer.

Nearly to the half way, we had two turns through downtown Lees Summit, and they had quite a bit of music and people out cheering us on. That was definitely a highlight for me.

I was pretty sure at this point (having carefully examined the lead pack while they began their trip back down Douglas) that I was the third female overall. Not to say I was running fast, but I decided I really wanted to hang onto that and was willing to suffer a bit to do so. Third sounds worth mentioning. Fourth... well, not so much.

Mile 2

We turned, and just past the third hill (and mile 2) I could hear an adult male speaking to what seemed like a child behind me, "Ok, you ready? We're going to do it now..." And sure enough, a 30-ish male with a young girl in tow surged past me. Hmmm.. I might get kidded [Thanks, Joe, for the perfect term, "kidded!"]. Was I going to let her get third female? No way. I determined above all else, I would not let her get too far in front of me (though she was adorable) and I would outkick her at the end.

Soon, her coach let her go to hold her own and surged up to start talking to another young boy quite a bit far ahead. I slowly reeled her in, and as we began the fourth ascent to the left I surged past her and decided it was just my moment to hang on. I could her her plodding patter behind me.

The Finish

Another hairpin turn and up that last (fifth) hill. I was miserably hot and out of any energy, but I was not going to lose my position, so I didn't let the hill defeat me. At the crest, I sprinted to the finish line. One of the officials called out my bib number as third female, my family was waiting and told me I was third female, so I was pretty confident of this going into the awards ceremony as I had also come to the same conclusion. My final official time was 24:02, not so fast. But hey, I did it.

Final Results and Wrap-Up

As it turns out, I was also not third female overall. Another woman ran a 22:30 for third place, although I never saw her. I saw 1 (19:33 time) and 2 (20:30). Not sure what happened there we all missed her, but oh well. She also didn't show at the awards ceremony (shame on her ;) ).

I did love how I had to push through, the feeling of the race, the excitement building... and the possibility I might do better than I actually did. I resolved to do this more often, as I think good things can be gained from it. I thoroughly enjoyed it, and actually feel quite sharpened as a result. I have no regrets, despite the slow time.

We are runners. A runner who doesn't race is like a musician who doesn't perform. I've become more resolved for my 2011 goals as a result of this, and I will be running a lot of races--good or bad--I'm going to have a blast!

Night Flight Beckons

I'm doing it. I'm running in a local 5K this Friday Night... partly for fun, partly to get in a good threshold workout situated in the middle of some warm up and cool down miles. I'm pretty sure I'll run 3 miles a lot harder in a 5K race than I would during a workout. And, that's really the point for me right now.

So, in the midst of marathon training, with no speedwork whatsoever, I'm just.. going .. to do it. And I'm going to live with whatever time I run and realize--flat out--I'm not in 5K shape.

I'm hopeful the moon and stars will be out, the luminaries enchanting.. and good fun is had by all. Stay tuned ...