I've mentioned before that my most common running injury is somewhere in my calf usually.
Well, it's back, and it's bad. I'm mostly writing this post just so it's chronicled.
I have been feeling very blah lately.
Hubby and I had an awesome trip last week to New Mexico, but spending time with survivors of the Bataan Death March is hard for me. It weighs on my heart and consumes a lot of my thoughts for a long time afterward. It was an amazing experience and so worthwhile, but draining.
And I believe the trip was also draining due to a simple lack of sleep. Saturday night, we were hanging out with some of my friends from the race two years earlier and we didn't get back to our hotel room until probably about 9. Then we had to make sure we were organized for the next morning. Then there were loud people in the hotel hallway. Then our hotel room neighbors had their TV on very loudly. Then the alarm went off at 3-something, meaning only about 5 hours of sleep (5 hours and 10 minutes per my Jawbone, but only 3 hours and 24 minutes of "sonno profondo" (or deep sleep, my Jawbone is automatically in Italian apparently because my phone is)). We were aiming to leave the hotel by 4 since they suggested that we be at the Missile Range by 4:30.
Sunday was the race and it was about 1:00 by the time we finished and got back to the hotel. Shower, packing, on the road to the airport. We ended up skipping the closing ceremony, which was a bummer, but made for a less harried trip to the airport.
Our flight was at 6:15, landing in Dallas before 9 (time change). We were flying first class so I had mistakenly assumed we'd get dinner on the flight. Wrong.
And we didn't know we were wrong until about 10 minutes before boarding. We went to a nearby sports bar, but their kitchen was already closed (I know, at 5:45, wtf?). And the El Paso airport isn't big so there were no other options nearby.
So we flew back to Dallas and enjoyed some wine and figured we'd just grab something quick near the house (within 1.5 blocks, we have a Chipotle, a Pei Wei, and a sub shop).
But we landed in my favorite airport terminal at DFW and right in front of us was a fun looking pizza place I'd never tried.
So we decided to be a little crazy and just have dinner at the airport. Kind of funny. I actually really liked my pizza.
We were completely beat by the time we got home and both elected to skip Monday morning workouts. So Sunday night I probably slept 9 hours? (Actually, 8 hours and 43 minutes, but 4 hours and 33 minutes were sonno profondo.)
Monday night wasn't much sleep though. Coming from the memorial service for my former running coach, plus still thinking so much about Bataan, I was awake a lot of the night, looking things up on my phone, doing more research, just thinking about things.
Wow, it takes me a long time to get to the point!
I ran an easy 6 or so on Tuesday. HR high, but with the lack of sleep, that wasn't a surprise. But today I ran again. We were supposed to do 800 meter repeats. I wasn't feeling it, so I figured a few easy laps on the track would work. I tried to run at a moderate speed for a couple laps, but something pulled in my calf. By the time I was on my way back to my car, I was walking because it hurt so much.
Hopefully it will follow the course of past calf pain and be gone within a few days. But actually, this seems worse. I've never had something hurt so much that I had to walk. Hmmm. We will see! It makes sense that this would happen because I just registered for a half at the end of April...
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Going Commando to a Funeral
Well, if you want to be technical, it was a memorial service, not a funeral.
Still, going commando to a memorial service was not really something I ever thought I'd do. But it's exactly what I did after work last night.
I mentioned last week that I'd been touched by an unexpected death.
A running coach from long ago died very suddenly on Monday night two weeks ago. He would have been 70 on Tuesday.
He was still running strong and really racking up the AG awards. He'd just finished his 53rd marathon. He had coached me for and run with me during the disastrous Chicago Marathon in 2007.
And I'd just seen him Sunday morning while running and he'd called out to me by name to say good morning.
Such a sad surprise.
His memorial service was set for March 24 in the evening at a park in a northern suburb filled with trails that he loved to run.
It was wonderful. Such a mix of people from his life -- family, skiiers, stamp collectors, friends, neighbors, coworkers, and of course runners.
There were several people who spoke and made us all laugh at certain memories.
The images, sayings and memories of him that I will hold with me:
Feelings after something like that are so complicated. I left feeling uplifted, happy and chuckling, but of course at the same time, I felt very sad to know I'll never see him again. It was such a perfect celebration of his life. Race medals strewn all over the tables, pictures from races, a slideshow of family photos and plenty from other parts of his life.
I also thought that his service was almost exactly what I'd want, assuming I'm still a runner when it's my time to go. There was a wild mix of ages of people attending his service, which was so neat. I think the average age of non-family attendees at a funeral for a 69.999 year old is probably between 55 and 75. But of course running is such a massive cross section of people, so his service was filled with everyone starting around age 25 or so, going all the way up to people likely in their 70s and/or 80s. While he was certainly gone too soon, it's so great knowing he did his long run the day before he died, and that he had several marathons and races on the horizon for the next few months. That too is exactly what I want, what I expect most of us want, no prolonged illness or slow decline. Up one day, down the next. Hopefully no suffering. And a bunch of runners there to walk in your memory and fondly share stories.
Still, going commando to a memorial service was not really something I ever thought I'd do. But it's exactly what I did after work last night.
I mentioned last week that I'd been touched by an unexpected death.
A running coach from long ago died very suddenly on Monday night two weeks ago. He would have been 70 on Tuesday.
He was still running strong and really racking up the AG awards. He'd just finished his 53rd marathon. He had coached me for and run with me during the disastrous Chicago Marathon in 2007.
And I'd just seen him Sunday morning while running and he'd called out to me by name to say good morning.
Such a sad surprise.
His memorial service was set for March 24 in the evening at a park in a northern suburb filled with trails that he loved to run.
It was wonderful. Such a mix of people from his life -- family, skiiers, stamp collectors, friends, neighbors, coworkers, and of course runners.
There were several people who spoke and made us all laugh at certain memories.
The images, sayings and memories of him that I will hold with me:
- He ran with his shirt tucked into his shorts.
- He wore his team track suit all the time.
- The way he would stand.
- His running advice to pay attention to the tangents.
- His running advice to avoid hopping curbs on any run over 18 miles.
- His running advice to sit before the start of a marathon.
- His practice water stops set up for us.
- His steady pacing at the track and on long runs.
- His first introduction to me of the concept of heart rate training.
- The way he wore his reflective vest when we were running in the dark.
- He loved to travel.
- How he shepherded a stranger through her first 50 miler, and how after the event, she emailed a mutual friend to describe him and said he was her "trail angel."
- How he was unable to run with his co-coach for a BQ attempt but instead attended the event and was like a helicopter mom, popping up every few miles along the course.
- How at that same race, where the finish line was split between half and full finishers, he climbed over a fence onto the course to direct his co-coach to the full finish line, just to be absolutely certain he went the right way.
- The way he would stand in the store where he worked to wait for the next customer, and how new associates would ask about what to do to get customers, and the manager's advice was to try to go stand in front of him.
- The comment about how he'd be happy to see the crowd gathered on a Monday night, especially since if the service had been on Sunday, they would have had to pay for the pavilion, which he would have hated!
Feelings after something like that are so complicated. I left feeling uplifted, happy and chuckling, but of course at the same time, I felt very sad to know I'll never see him again. It was such a perfect celebration of his life. Race medals strewn all over the tables, pictures from races, a slideshow of family photos and plenty from other parts of his life.
I also thought that his service was almost exactly what I'd want, assuming I'm still a runner when it's my time to go. There was a wild mix of ages of people attending his service, which was so neat. I think the average age of non-family attendees at a funeral for a 69.999 year old is probably between 55 and 75. But of course running is such a massive cross section of people, so his service was filled with everyone starting around age 25 or so, going all the way up to people likely in their 70s and/or 80s. While he was certainly gone too soon, it's so great knowing he did his long run the day before he died, and that he had several marathons and races on the horizon for the next few months. That too is exactly what I want, what I expect most of us want, no prolonged illness or slow decline. Up one day, down the next. Hopefully no suffering. And a bunch of runners there to walk in your memory and fondly share stories.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Reading and Running
A quick post to share a link (courtesy of Hungry Runner Girl). An overlap of two of my favorites -- running and reading.
Here's a link to an article called 9 books every runner should read:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/02/20/best-running-books-runner-should-read_n_4810498.html
I've read a lot of running books, so I was surprised I've only read three of them on this list:
Born to Run (which I reviewed here (the barefoot aspect) and here (the vegetarian aspect)),
Running and Being (a book I'd guess almost every runner has read), and
What I Talk About When I Talk About Running (Murakami being an author of interest outside the running context as well).
Guess I'll have to make plans to read the others!
Have you read any/all of them? Any recommendations on where I should start?
Here's a link to an article called 9 books every runner should read:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/02/20/best-running-books-runner-should-read_n_4810498.html
I've read a lot of running books, so I was surprised I've only read three of them on this list:
Born to Run (which I reviewed here (the barefoot aspect) and here (the vegetarian aspect)),
Running and Being (a book I'd guess almost every runner has read), and
What I Talk About When I Talk About Running (Murakami being an author of interest outside the running context as well).
Guess I'll have to make plans to read the others!
Have you read any/all of them? Any recommendations on where I should start?
Monday, March 17, 2014
Quiet
I'm not really ready to write at this moment. Last week was rough. Illness, missed workouts, and worst of all, a very unexpected death of a former running coach. Sorry that I'm not quite ready to write about it. It surprised me a lot. I saw him last week Sunday while running (he was also out running, but we don't run the same pace anymore, but he saw me and said good morning), and then I heard the news of his death Tuesday morning -- less than 48 hours after I'd seen him on the run. I ended up hearing via email because I was off FB (an effort to avoid Bachelor spoilers). I woke up crying on Wednesday and of course it's been heavy on my heart all week. Runners aren't invincible sadly.
Over the weekend was my favorite 5k of the year. I had a lot of friends running it. I didn't run well, but I guess it was good enough for top 10 in my age group (all three AG winners were sub-20s). And I kept it within my "acceptable for St. Pat's" 2 minute window. I've done this race for 9 straight years now, and 6 of my times are all within that 2 minute window. Miles 1 and 2 were pretty steady (but mile 1 had a lot of weaving around people). I slowed by about 10 seconds on mile 3, but it didn't matter because I was off PR pace anyway. I missed a PR by about 2 minutes, which is a whole lot for a 5k. But the race was fun, though like I said, there's been this weight on my heart. We skipped the parade given that we'd both had such a rough week (hubby was sick as well and ended up being sent to the cardiologist by his primary doc). After a bit of napping, we went to lunch with one of my all time favorite running buddies who has since moved to California. He is hilarious and 5 of us went out to lunch and drank and laughed. It was nice because we were able to share a lot of good memories of our coach, along with catching up -- sometimes it's like he never left. My local bestie and I have an ongoing pitch to get him to move back (though usually we direct it mostly at his wife).
I'm trying to get back to normal this week. Big stuff happening at work (good, making progress on settling a couple problematic cases). And this week is short -- we are heading out of town Thursday morning early for the Bataan Memorial Death March again. This is the marathon I ran a few years ago with a military weight pack (40 pounds, years later, I still have the chafing scar on my lower back, I call it my Bataan Tramp Stamp). This year is the last year they are going to have survivors there to tell their stories (Death March was in 1942), so I knew I had to go back. Hearing Death March survivors tell their stories first-hand, and getting to ask questions, and more importantly, tell them what their sacrifice meant to me and assure them that I will never forget, is a once-in-a-lifetime (well, now twice for me!) experience. And I knew my husband had to have the same chance since I went solo last time. No marathon this time though. Instead, we are planning to walk/hike the memorial march, which is only 14-15 miles. Generally speaking, there are lots of young veterans, often amputees, who also do this race, so I am looking forward to also hearing about some of their experiences during the event. But I'm mostly going to say thank you to these men now in their 90s who went through something I can't even contemplate.
Over the weekend was my favorite 5k of the year. I had a lot of friends running it. I didn't run well, but I guess it was good enough for top 10 in my age group (all three AG winners were sub-20s). And I kept it within my "acceptable for St. Pat's" 2 minute window. I've done this race for 9 straight years now, and 6 of my times are all within that 2 minute window. Miles 1 and 2 were pretty steady (but mile 1 had a lot of weaving around people). I slowed by about 10 seconds on mile 3, but it didn't matter because I was off PR pace anyway. I missed a PR by about 2 minutes, which is a whole lot for a 5k. But the race was fun, though like I said, there's been this weight on my heart. We skipped the parade given that we'd both had such a rough week (hubby was sick as well and ended up being sent to the cardiologist by his primary doc). After a bit of napping, we went to lunch with one of my all time favorite running buddies who has since moved to California. He is hilarious and 5 of us went out to lunch and drank and laughed. It was nice because we were able to share a lot of good memories of our coach, along with catching up -- sometimes it's like he never left. My local bestie and I have an ongoing pitch to get him to move back (though usually we direct it mostly at his wife).
I'm trying to get back to normal this week. Big stuff happening at work (good, making progress on settling a couple problematic cases). And this week is short -- we are heading out of town Thursday morning early for the Bataan Memorial Death March again. This is the marathon I ran a few years ago with a military weight pack (40 pounds, years later, I still have the chafing scar on my lower back, I call it my Bataan Tramp Stamp). This year is the last year they are going to have survivors there to tell their stories (Death March was in 1942), so I knew I had to go back. Hearing Death March survivors tell their stories first-hand, and getting to ask questions, and more importantly, tell them what their sacrifice meant to me and assure them that I will never forget, is a once-in-a-lifetime (well, now twice for me!) experience. And I knew my husband had to have the same chance since I went solo last time. No marathon this time though. Instead, we are planning to walk/hike the memorial march, which is only 14-15 miles. Generally speaking, there are lots of young veterans, often amputees, who also do this race, so I am looking forward to also hearing about some of their experiences during the event. But I'm mostly going to say thank you to these men now in their 90s who went through something I can't even contemplate.
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