The Devil Made Me Do It

I'm so far behind on posting lately but I figured that I needed to let you all know that I did, indeed, complete the Charlottesville Ten Miler!!  It took me quite awhile - I crossed the Finish Line just before the race timer hit 2 hours! - but I did it and lived to tell about it so I accomplished my goal!

It was actually a really great experience.  After I crossed the Finish Line I told the Spicy Chicken that I thought I might like to do another one.  I now chalk that statement up to the delirium of just having run 10 miles and feeling pretty damn proud of myself at the moment, of course, but all in all it was a great morning. 


It didn't start out that way, though. 

Yep, that's my bib number - 666.  I'm not really a superstitious kind of girl but, 666? Really? You'd think race directors would skip over this number - like they do with 13th floors and things like that. Nope. Not this race at least.  And lucky me, I just happened to be the 666th person to register.  Guess that's one more lesson learned about not procrastinating.


I decided to do the Ten-Miler because I know I'm the type of person who functions better when I have a goal.  Going from a slow 5K runner to a 10-miler in a few months was probably an overly ambitious goal, but I needed something to re-energize my commitment and some added accountability. Once I registered and told all of you I was going to do it I couldn't turn back.


And I didn't. But I'd be lying if I said the thought didn't cross my mind a few (or maybe more than a few) times. Like the night before the race when The Spicy Chicken work up at 2am with abdominal pains and I caught myself saying (aloud) "Please let it be appendicitis!".  


Or...early the next morning as we sat in the parking lot of JPJ Arena and I said "We could just go out to breakfast..."


Or...at mile 5 when I passed the people sitting on the patio at The Nook drinking bloody mary's and seriously contemplated joining them...


But I didn't do anything of these things.  I kept on going - no matter how slowly - and I finished. I did it, I really, really did it! 

Sad Face

I'm usually kind of a Pollyanna-type girl. You know -  glass half full, the sun will come out tomorrow, etc. Right now, however, I'm feeling much more like Oscar the Grouch.  

After months of training (albeit with quite a few ups and downs), lots of stretching, hours of icing and a band-aid or two the race is just 2 weeks away - and I'm injured.  

Last weekend my shins flared up so badly I was barely able to walk up the stairs, let alone run anywhere.  I took a few days off (even from cycling and walking Scout) hoping it would make a difference but a few hours after my run with Meghan on Tuesday I was in pain again.  After my workout with Callie on Thursday, where we did virtually nothing plyometric, I had to ice just to get to the bus stop. They hurt even when I wasn't putting any pressure on them (like when I was laying in bed whining to the Spicy Chicken).

I gave in and called the doctor.  He didn't tell me anything I didn't already know - it's probably just shin splints - rest for a few days - put ice on it - take some ibuprofen... 

The thing is, I don't have time to rest.  The race is just two weeks away!  I've been working so hard for this and now I find myself wondering if I will be able to do it at all.   I know it's just a race but it was a serious goal for me.  I want my girls to see that even though it wasn't easy I put my mind (and body) into it and that I can succeed at it.  I want to carry Chrissy's memory across that finish line with me.  I want to do it.

And you know I will.  Even if I have to load up on ibuprofen before the race, walk more miles than I run and spend the three days following the race with my legs in buckets of ice -  I'm going to do it.  (Just make sure you keep that glass of tequila more than half full for me at the beach, friends, because I'm going to need it!).

Some Days Suck

Ever have one of those days when you felt like the universe was out to get you?  That was yesterday.

It all started around 12:30am. After getting my first full night's rest in over 4 weeks on Sunday I laid down optimistically at 10:30pm. Could it really happen two nights in a row? I fell asleep rather quickly but, unfortunately the night was over almost before it started.  I awoke around 12:30 and, despite my many valiant efforts to fall back asleep (more pillows, less pillows, no pillows; side, back, stomach; couch, guest bed, Moe's bed; warm chocolate milk and Girl Scout cookies...) it never happened.  Or at least not until 7:15am when the girls marched out the door for the bus stop.

A two-hour nap is generally not a good way to start your day. You obviously don't get anything done during that time (besides some much needed rest, I guess) so you literally start your day two hours behind. You spend the rest of the day attempting to catch up, knowing it's not possible. Today I'm convinced that moving backwards would've gotten me further than whatever I was doing.

After accidentally dumping out a fresh pot of coffee, hitting multiple dead ends at work, and realizing we were out of laundry detergent on laundry day I gave in to the sad eyes Scout was giving me and leashed him up for a run.  I really needed to start checking things off the day's "To Do" list, but seriously, how could anyone resist those eyes?

It was another beautiful, unseasonably warm February morning in Charlottesvile so once we were out and about I felt great.  This ended abruptly at mile two, however, when out of nowhere two large, unleashed dogs came barreling toward us.  Scout immediately went on the defensive setting the larger of the two - a beautiful pit bull mix -  into attack mode.  Suddenly I found myself reaching between two fighting dogs to pull Scout out of the teeth of the other and up into my arms.  The other dog continued to jump on me and nip at Scout for a few minutes while I attempted to call out commands to him like "Sit!" and "Stay!" in hopes that he would comply and let us sneak away.  That didn't work, but fortunately a woman with a dog came walking toward us and offered to help.  Upon her arrival the pit bull settled down and walked toward her with his tail wagging. I reluctantly set Scout down and the two proceeded to sniff each other like dogs do and apparently come to some kind of truce, ending the fight as quickly as it started.  

Scout and I are both okay, by the way, and I don't blame the other dog for what happened.  He was just a dog doing what his instincts prompted him to do.  We called the phone number on the dogs' tags but there was no answer so upon my return home I called Animal Control. These dogs had been spotted running around the neighborhood over the weekend so I feared they were very lost and hungry - and knew they were not safe running on their own.  Animal Control works with the Charlottesville-Albemarle SPCA (CASPCA) to return dogs to their owners in these situations, so don't worry, they are being well taken care of.

This ordeal ended my first effort to today but it didn't stop me completely. With the race drawing near I knew I'd have to make a second attempt.  Sparked by my recent run on the Saunders Trail I decided to switch things up again.  I parked the car about a mile from one of the Rivanna Trail trailheads near our house and headed down the road for what I thought would be a fun, easy trail run.

In hindsight it may have been a good idea to check out the trail prior to running it. But, like they say, "hindsight is 20/20".  Unfortunately, I'm blind as a bat.  


The first mile on the road felt great.  The beginning of the trail was even better. But after less than 5 minutes the nice, even path became extremely rocky and uneven, making navigating it while running quite difficult.  Though my pace was somewhat slower than I had hoped I kept on going until something even worse happened.  The trail suddenly ended and I found myself face to face with an enormous, never-ending, steep sloping street. My nemesis had found me once again!

I won't lie - I ended up walking a fair portion of it, but at least I kept on going. When the GPS showed 2 miles, however, I abruptly turned around for the glorious gift you receive after climbing a mountain - the downhill.  Once again I found I quite enjoy running down hill, rocking it at a little under 8.5mph and was back at the trail before I knew it.  

I knew from the first half of my run that the trail, though somewhat difficult to navigate, would offer me no further surprises.  Or so I thought.  Within a mere minute after a woman walking the opposite way said, "Stay safe!" I was tripping over what I assume was a large rock (I obviously didn't see it), sending my iPod flying through the woods, landing sharply on my hands, knees and face, and twisting my ankle.


I usually wear my workout war wounds like a badge of honor - they prove, as a friend on Twitter said tonight, that I am  "badass".  If she could see me right now - ice on my ankle, heating pad on my back and Dora band-aids covering my cut up knees -  I'm not not so sure she'd have the same reaction. 


Oh well, tomorrow's another day.  And it's bound to be better than this one!

Setbacks

When I returned from Mexico I was ready to hit the ground running, literally.  

I'd taken a few days off from Clay during the last days of Chrissy's life because I wanted to be  with her and I was struggling to muster up the desire to do much of anything.  So after Mexico I had had almost two weeks off with the exception of a few less than stellar runs and a lot of walking with Scout to clear my head. 

Amazing how quickly your body forgets how hard you had worked.

Getting back into it was difficult, but I was ready and knew I needed to jump back in as quickly as possible if I was going to achieve my goal of crossing the finish line at the Cville Ten Miler.  

Then the cold hit.  Not the cold outside (though we did get 4 inches or so of glorious snow this week) but rather the dreaded winter chest cold.  You know he kind that is just bad enough for you to feel like shit but not bad enough to convince yourself that you need to take it easy?  That's the one I got.  And it nestled itself in my chest long and hard enough that going up and down the stairs in our house was difficult, let alone running 5 1/2 miles.  

So, there I was with yet another setback.  I was frustrated to say the least.  So when I woke up Thursday morning I was honestly ready to call it quits.  No way could I make it through the short run I was supposed to do on Tuesday, let alone the long one I needed to do today - and the Ten Miler was only 6 weeks away. I'd never be ready in time.  


But, like I've said before, part of this health journey thing is just getting up off your ass so that is what I did.

I wasn't sure my lungs could handle a run yet so decided that walking the Saunders-Monticello Trail would at least challenge me a little. While it's technically only a 2 mile trail (one way) you can add half a mile each way if you park in the lower lot and run all the way up to the Monticello Visitor's Center and it's uphill the entire first half. If nothing else I'd work my calves out a little.


Then the weridest thing happen. As I started up the trail I felt like running.  Yes, I actually felt like running.  So I did.  Okay, maybe "running" is a strong word for what I was doing, but it surely wasn't walking anymore.  I made it to the top averaging 11.5mph.  It's not record-breaking speed, but it was more than I'd anticipated I'd be able to do and, I was still alive at the top.  My heart rate averaged 94% of max., of course, but somehow I survived.

The best thing about the Saunders-Monticello Trail is that after you run all the way up on the first half you get to run all the way back down!  This half I averaged 8.5mph, which I realize is normal for a lot of runners on flat and hills, but was fast for me (recall that though I am running 3 times I week I do not consider myself a runner yet, as I'm certain real runners do not whine as much as I do nor move as slowly as I do).  I was able to keep my heart rate at 86% the whole time and I can even say I kind of enjoyed myself.

Saturday I have to bump up to 5.8 miles and Tuesday up to 6.4 if I'm to keep up with the training program Callie set up prior to all hell breaking loose.  Am I worried?  A little, but I also know that this is a personal goal, not a race I plan to break any records at or anything like that.  I promised Chrissy I'd take her with across the finish line, but I never promised I'd do it fast!

Run Amy Run

I received an e-mail from a friend a week ago entitled "Marathon".  At first I thought she'd sent it to the wrong person.  As I continued to read, however, I realized she was actually asking me to consider doing a marathon with her.  A marathon?  Who was she kidding?  A marathon is 26  miles!  I can barely handle the 3 I do now. No freaking way!

But 12 hours later I couldn't get the thought out of my head. A marathon. How amazing would that be?  Wait - what did I just say?  I have friends who are marathoners and I've always told them that as amazing as I think they are, I think they're equally as crazy.  My father-in-law is a marthoner.  He's 2 inches shorter than me and weighs at least 50 pounds less. Running comes naturally to him.  He's even built like a marathoner.  I, on the other hand, am built more like a sumo wrestler.

I have a long list of things I'd like to be able to say I did someday. Running a marathon has never been one of them.  Now, however, I can't get it out of my head.  I made the mistake of mentioning this to Hyam who, of course, thought it was a fabulous idea!  Before I knew it she had me committing to a training group for the Charlottesville Ten-Miler.  Wait, I'm running the Charlottesville Ten-Miler???

So I'm NOT committing to anything further than 10 miles yet, but that marathon is in the back of my mind pecking away at me.  26 miles.  That'd be all the way to Crozet and back! Wow, that's a long way.