Miles 38.5-43: Trails Rock!

To illustrate just how much trails rock: this is a post-run picture. 

O Gods of Wonderment and Enlightenment, thank you for this past Sunday!

When the weather forecast came in Friday predicting sunny skies and temperatures in the fifties, I begged James to go to Raleigh for, among other things, a run in Umstead Park. Since his half-marathon training schedule called for a short run, he agreed and we set off on Sunday morning after requisite black coffee and breakfast.

Unfortunately, I left the bag with our running clothes sitting on the kitchen table; however, since "other things" included using our Fleet Feet gift certificate from brother Forrest (thanks, man!) we just purchased new clothes to wear on the trail.

The gods really must have been looking out for us because we arrived in one of the two parking lots and drove directly into a spot, changed our clothes and hit the Loblolly Trail - and out and back 5.5 miles run - within a matter of minutes, giddy like schoolchildren.

James took off like a shot.  Months of road running had made us both forget what a joy running in the woods can be. On the trail, you are forced to tune your body into the smallest changes - sounds, the ground underfoot, the shadows - in your surroundings, lest you run into another hiker. The experience is at once all-consuming and completely liberating. Five minutes in, my joyous husband turned his head and shouted, "I'm so sorry for running fast, but this is so much fun!"

It bears noting that James does not usually apologize for running faster than me. Nor does he smile so broadly. 

The map described the Loblolly Trail as "moderate" and while the map showed it as a straight line, it was quickly apparent what we were dealing with. Descents and ascents, switchbacks, bridges, rocks, and tree roots.

I have never had so much fun in my life.

At once I was both wildly nostalgic - this is the kind of running I cut my teeth on in Queeny! - and intensely present and happy in the moment, strangely spring-like and intensely beautiful.  Of course James ran in front of me, of course I was winded and red-faced, but I glimpsed what running was like in the flow again.

I am aching today in ways and places that road-running does not touch but I am smiling there, too.

 

Okay, Runner's World, You Win

I had every intention of doing a Friday Freedom Run yesterday, despite Tuesday's disaster on the treadmill. I got out of work a little early, the day was beautiful, my spirits were high, and when I got home, I browsed March 2011's issue of Runner's World while I drank some pre-run water.

There, on page 56, I was forced to confront what I've probably known all along.

I am dealing with shinsplints.

" 'Shinsplits' refers to medial tibial stress syndrome, an achy pain that reuslts when small tears occur in the muscles around your tibia (shin bone)."

Now I realized this is not an earth shattering diagnosis. (That it made it into Christine Aschwanden's article "The Big 7 Body Break Downs" and constitutes 15% of running injuries annually is a clue.) But when the veil is lifted from your denying eyes, it certainly feels that way.

"Can you run through it? When the first twinges of pain strike, back off your running to a comfortable level for a few days to a week, then slowly up your milage using the 10 percent rule (no more than 10 percent increase per week). Bike, pool run, and swim."

Not sure what this means for The Plan. But in the meantime, I fully intend on backing off. I started this morning by going to back to back Power Cut and Cycling classes with my favorite crazy-haired lady, Claudia.

I figure if I can't get the mileage in that I want to, I can at least strengthen all of the muscles (Power Cut) and keep up my aerobic activity (Cycling) so that the runs I can go on will be all the more successful.

(Damn you, shinsplits.)

Run for Your Life

Of all the movies I've watched about running, Run for Your Life definitely tops the list.

It's all the things a great sports documentary should be: informative, inspirational, and hilarious.

Check back later for a report on the Friday Freedom Run. It's 46° F and climbing.

Miles 35.5-38.5: Torture on the Treadmill

Last night I was reminded again of why I don't run on treadmills.

My legs loathe them.

Or should I say, more specifically, my lower legs protest so loudly during those runs, whatever normal stresses and pains I experience in my shins and calves is amplified to such a degree, I always take leave of the gym wondering if I have bone cancer.

But Erin, you're asking, if you know you have these challenges, then why...?

Rain is why. A cold winter rain that brought the dark on a full half hour early. I'll run in the dark, I'll run in the rain, but I'm not going to tempt fate and run in the both of them.

Last night I intended to run 5 miles of intervals.  Our gym's treadmills have a decent program and I started the fifty minute session feeling strong. Sweating profusely, of course, but breathing well, keeping good form, and then....

Nagging, persistent pain.

I'm a fairly pragmatic person when it comes to my body and wellness. I sleep, hydrate and Vitamin-C my way through head-colds, but when a fever won't go away for 24 hours, I know it's time to get to the doctor. I push through muscle soreness during and then stretch, massage, and replenish proteins and carbohydrates after strenuous work-outs.

If you're thinking that the second half to that parallel phrase would be "nagging, persistent pain means it's time to go to the doctor," my writing-self is inclined to agree with you.

But my running-self is going into histrionics. If you've been keeping tabs, my mileage is super-low for where I'm projected to be at.

 
Yes, this does show that I have only completed half the miles I should have to stay on track to complete The Plan. This was, in fact, deliberate. Part my reasoning was to ease into the running, complementing the miles with cross-training, to prevent injury.

But that all goes to pot if I am, in fact, injured.

Let's hope Friday's Freedom Run (uh, not on a treadmill) goes better.

Miles 27-35.5: Food for Fuel

James and I ran just under 10 miles today, once again under calm sunny blue skies. (My condolences to those back in the Midwest - I understand your weather has been a tad more extreme.) We ran at my pace, around 9:45 minute miles, for which I am very grateful to James.

He's like a gazelle, that man.

Because he's slowing down to run with me, it gives me a chance to ask him questions and listen to him talk.  It's no secret that I'm the big talker of the two of us, but since we've begun running, I've learned he can talk with the best of them.

I just have to shut up to let him.

At any rate, with today marking my first truly long run of the year, let's talk about fuel for a moment.

I am by no means an expert, but some basic fueling principles I've picked up through reading and listening to my own body are:

1) Night before a long run (anything over 8 miles):
    a) try to eat an extra 200-300 calories of simple carbohydrates and
    b) avoid having more than one alcoholic drink. You will regret it.
2) Morning of a long run, eat a combination of carbs and protein, but avoid high fiber items, unless you know you have a toilet on the route.
3) During a long run, take a goo or a sports-drink to help keep you strong, and (my favorite)
4) Immediately after a long run (within 30 minutes), enjoy a protein shake of your liking.

My current favorite concoction includes:

Chocolate Silk is delicious on its own, but it is also a great way to blend up whey protein (I find whey protein mixed with regular milk hurts my stomach and mixed with water tastes too bland). Post-run banana is a staple and, well, we could always use a little extra green in our diet, yes?

I swear it tastes fabulous. For one shake, I use:

Two handfuls of spinach
1 banana
1-1.5 cups of Chocolate Silk
1 scoop Whey protein
4-5 ice cubes

I learned from the Green Monster Movement that when using spinach, it's helpful to load the leaves in the bottom, using the heavier items to weigh them down and allow for even blending.

Happy Sunday everyone!

Miles 22-26: Old Moon Rising

After waking to the dark damp of a stormy Wednesday dawn, I felt certain my plans to run that night were foiled.  But the fickle weather of the coastal plains worked in my favor this time and by that afternoon, it was a beautiful, calm 50°F day.

Sweet.

I scurried home from work, threw on some clothes and dashed out the door, trying to beat the impending dark.

Rounding the second loop, I ran to the spooky dance beat of DeadMau5 (“Moar Ghosts ‘n’ Stuff”) and felt a joy so profound that when the full moon peaked up over the tree line, I knew a huge grin was cracking my face.

(It bears noting that smiling it not something I normally do while running, especially not in the first weeks back after a break. A permanent grimace of grit and spit is more like it.)

I rode the wave of joy from the end of the fourth mile into a fifth mile, surprising both me and my loudly protesting shins.  I think for a moment I saw the glimmering portal to the fabled flow state in running.  Defined by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, “Flow has been described as a state of optimal experience involving total absorption in a task at hand, and creation of a state of mind where optimal performance is capable of occurring.”

I can attest that flow state is an awesome mental place - having been there while hiking, doing yoga, even painting my bathroom – but never have I transcended during running.  Something – breathing, muscles, joints, busy streets, conversation with a fellow runner – has always distracted me. 

But I glimpsed it, and that's a start. I glimpsed it under the Old Moon which, as the first full moon of the new year, may portend good beginnings of all sorts.

Thought for January: Get Out and Do Something

I'm sure most of you read the eyebrow-raising article in the Wall Street Journal article regarding Asian mothers and their child rearing techniques. I read it like a college student, trying to decipher the thesis while keeping my emotions in check.  And while I believe the thesis was buried under a lot of self-congratulatory anecdotes, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that there is a salvageable nugget to be gleamed from this article. (Can you even call it that?)

If the point of being alive and on this earth is to do something (which I believe it is), then why not do it with gusto, dedication, and resolve so complete that you cannot do anything but succeed - if at nothing else but having accomplished what you set out to do?

While I was at the gym tonight, taking another day off from running, I couldn't help but reflect on this point. I am not, nor will I ever be, a champion runner. But is this fact any reason to not pursue it - as long as I truly pursue it?  Half-assing anything is pretty much a waste of time - your time doing it and any one else's time you involve having to evaluate your work, encourage you along the way, pick up your slack, or console you on your "failure."

The article's whole point about American parents's obsessions with their children's self-esteem, I think, missed the point. Cultivating self-esteem is important - but so is pushing the child beyond their comfort zones. Telling someone who gives 50% they did a great job is a disservice to everyone - the individual, the speaker, and society.

Before I get all the way on my soapbox,  I'll step back and encourage everyone - get out and do something. I know I won't beat James in 5K because he's faster than I am; but that sure as hell doesn't mean I can't try. It also means I can celebrate his victories with him and be proud of my own accomplishments. I'm not asking for anyone to tell me I'm the best runner out there just because I finished a race - that's a lie. That would be like those parents who told their tone-deaf children that they really could be the next American Idol. 

James recently told me that one of the bad-ass ultramarathoners is planning to run 1000 miles in three weeks.

I am not a bad-ass ultramarathoner; so when I finish this year of running, I'm going to smile from here to California, and I hope you'll raise your glass to drink with me. 

Miles 16.5-21

James and I emerged from the house this morning dressed for winter weather. Imagine our surprise, then, when we found not only the blue sunny skies of North Carolina but also the warmth of 40°F light winds. 

Lovely.

After yesterday's strength training session, today's long run was a bit of a doozie.  It wasn't so much the sore quads from those killer squats (they loosened up around mile 2), it was the sore shoulders, upper back and abs. If I could have let my legs run while my upper torso laid at home moaning, I would have been just fine. 


James planned a 9 miler for himself today, so I tagged along for the first 5.5 miles. The fact that I could split off from James at that marker reminded me of just how fortunate we are to live where we do. Though fairly small, our neighborhood easily connects to four other neighborhoods.  Each one has at least one major loop (if not a series of them), allowing us to create any number of different mileage options (the 2.5, 3, 3.5, 4, 4.5, 5.5, 7, 9, 10 being our most often used). Before this Christmas, we didn't have a Garmin to help track the mile, so we used Gmap-Pedometer to help us plot our courses. 

One thing our routes don't have? Hills. After running on flat ground for 3 years, I'm itching for some incline changes that don't involve the pre-programmed settings on the gym's treadmill. 


And I'm going to need the practice if I am to keep up with my mom and sister at the upcoming 2011 GO! St. Louis Half-Marathon.

Look out, race. Janet, Emily, and Erin are going to bring it.

Thanks, Claudia, you kicked my ass.

After last night's Friday Freedom Run and with the promise of a long run with James on Sunday, I woke up this morning knowing I needed to take a day off from running and force myself back to the gym.

I have a confession to make. I haven't truly cross-trained in over six months.

As Emily at Daily Garnish explains, cross-training - especially of the strength variety - is essential to being a successful runner. Sure, those twice weekly spinning classes count as cross-training because they give your body a break from the stress of running, but they are still aerobic exercises working more or less the same muscle groups.

James and I belong to Gold's Gym and once upon a time I attended twice weekly Power Cut classes (read: a combination of aerobics, light weight/high rep strength training, and pilates). But then the schedules changed and more and more I opted to come home and kick back with a beer than making the classes work.

I was cursing this decision at the 2010 City of Oaks Half-Marathon Mile 8, as I trudged up the long gradual incline, the crowning glory after a series of hills. My breathing checked in fine, but my form was collapsing. My ankles felt weak. (Are my feet still connected to my shins?) My back ached.  I hadn't built the support I discovered I was going to need to deal with the incline changes of that race.

That's where Claudia comes in.

Claudia is both an awesome teacher and a true inspiration. She's a small Latina powerhouse with a soft voice, outrageous hair, and thighs that you can break bricks on. She recently won her age group at a half-marathon in Wilmington - and only ran on the weekends to train. "Between teaching spinning and Power Cut classes, I didn't have time." She encouraged me to come back to Power Cut; I should have known what was waiting for me.


Probably because she also has a background in yoga, Claudia is not only strong but also flexible. Squats with Claudia is unlike any leg workout I've ever done. This rendering is not far from the truth.

Miles 12.5-16.5

I am still sweating from my inaugural Friday Freedom Run. I have no idea how fast I ran (I was more concerned with holding the flashlight so oncoming traffic could see me) but I pushed myself to breath hard and let it all out.

I meditated on confidence tonight. And strength. And awareness. I thought about how these principles apply to running. How necessary it is to be confident that I can and will breath through the pain. How strong my legs, knees, and ankles must be to allow me to move myself forward over thousands of steps. How critical it is to be aware of the cars, the trees, the sounds, the stars.

How I must possess these things already in order to take my first steps, and then how the act of running multiplies them.

Miles 12.5-16.5: four-mile Friday Freedom Run to banish an impending dark night of the soul. (I don't have time for you, it's the weekend!)

A tangent on running: The short film, "Two Men"

Two Men from Dominic Allen on Vimeo.

(Reposted from www.dooce.com)

Ughhhhh: Weekend reset, please?

This week has been a disaster as far as The Plan goes.

The combination of Jury Duty, bad weather, and previously scheduled goings-on did not make for much time to get out and pound the pavement.

As fortunate as I am to have my job, sometimes I really hate the hours (7-5). That sometimes mainly being the three or so months when I leave my house and it's dark and I come home and its dark.

Booooooo.

A round of applause for James, for keeping to his half-marathon training schedule. (Damn you and your 7:30-4:30 work day.) I'll be heading with him to the Crystal Coast Half Marathon on March 5th - where I will run the corresponding 5K.

Stay tuned for regularly scheduled programming tomorrow. Miles 12.5-15 are slated for the newly-dubbed Friday Freedom Run.

Where I let my legs stretch out and run like hell to greet the weekend.

A Brief History: Part II

The April I turned sixteen, my father insisted that I get a job. My initial performance working as his receptionist the previous summer clued my people-savvy father into the fact that his eldest daughter needed a serious confidence overhaul. I think it was the bursting into tears the first time I answered the phone.

(I did get better.)

My protestations that I could babysit were met with raised eyebrows. Because exactly how does supervising and cleaning up after children increase your social confidence? He told me to get a job by the summer.

Enter Schnucks, the local grocery store, where several of the parishioners's children got jobs as customer service representatives, also known as baggers. By June I found myself as one. 

And at the end of the day after bagging groceries and ferrying carts to and from the parking lot, I found myself sore. I couldn't remember the last time I had been sore.  Lo and behold, my brain had reconnected to my body.

More importantly, during a brief dating stint with a co-worker, I discovered how badly I wanted to be able to run without having to stop every ten minutes while red in the face and wheezing.

After a badly botched jog in the park with said co-worker (His sentiment was something to the effect of "Hey, I enjoy the fact that as a chick you're actually giving it your all, huffing and puffing, red in the face, and sweating like a pig, but - dude - I need to train? So...I'm going to leave you now and actually run this loop non-stop."), I gritted my teeth, wanting to run without stopping, too.

But before I could do those 4 hilly miles, I needed something manageable, like the cul-de-sac loop our house sat at the end of.

I ran one, I walked one; I ran one, I walked one. Only after did I drive my car around it.

It was only a quarter of a mile long.

Those first run/walks were always after work at night, when no one could see my red face and hear me huffing and puffing, practically puking. I ran lightly out of necessity, allowing my feet to feel the cracks in the sidewalk and the branches fallen from trees above, and after awhile, I wasn't dying.

I was flying.

Courtesy of Chris McDougall: Words from Jenn Shelton

" 'I never really discussed this with anyone because it sounds pretentious, but I started running ultras to become a better person,' Jenn told me. 'I thought if you could run one hundred miles, you'd be in this Zen state. You'd be the fucking Buddha, bringing peace and a smile to the world. It didn't work in my case--I'm the same old punk-ass as before--but there's always that hope that it will turn you into the person you want to be, a better, more peaceful person.' "

Miles 8-12.5: Cold, clear and quiet

James and I woke to sunny blue skies this morning; one major perk of living in North Carolina is the endless supply of sun. Even though it was a brisk 27°F, there is something endlessly uplifting about being drenched in light on a January Sunday.

Sunday morning long runs have been our ritual for about a year and a half now. The locals go to church; James and I go running. It is quite possibly the only place in running where we equal each other out. Where James has incredible talent and intense competitive drive, I have a calm outlook and an internal pacemaker. My natural pace is somewhere around a 9:30/mile; though I've gotten (slightly) faster in the last year on my short runs this pace has almost always dictated my races - be it a 5K, 10K, or half marathon. For long runs, especially when we get 8 miles and above, keeping an even pace and finishing the whole thing is far more important than how fast we run. I keep him on track, he keeps me motivated.

Today's run was quieter than normal.  We passed no other walkers or runners on our three-neighborhood loop.

Miles 8-12.5: 53 minutes where our feet pattered out a near-silent benediction.

Courtesy of Christopher McDougall: Words from Ann Trason

"Relax enough, and your body becomes so familiar with the cradle-rocking rhythm that you almost forget you're moving. And once you break through to that soft, half-levitating flow, that's when the moonlight and champagne show up: 'You have to be in tune with your body, and know when you can push it and when to back off,' Ann would explain. You have to listen closely to the sound of your own breathing; be aware of how much sweat is beading on your back; make sure to treat yourself to cool water and a salty snack and ask yourself, honestly and often, exactly how you feel. What could be more sensual than paying exquisite attention to your own body? Sensual counted as romantic, right?"

A World of Pain: Miles 5-7

I mentioned yesterday that I hadn't run since Tuesday with James, partly from my normal procrastination but also because I've been redoing the hall bathroom. After a cup of coffee I went for broke in my pajamas and I am happy to report, it is all but done (one outlet to change and some caulking to do). With the bathroom righted, I downed a Green Monster and set out for my second run of 2011.

It didn't go well.

The tightness I had been feeling in my calves since Tuesday briefly threatened to end the run all together around the quarter mile mark. I stretched gingerly but decided to push on. (My own damn fault for not running sooner. My house's fault for the bodily contortions I put myself through painting the weird angles of the bathroom.) I made it through the three miles mainly due to the distraction of my iPod and a kindly black lab who decided to join me for nearly all of mile two.

Miles 5-7: 30 minutes of awkward shuffling. Running with sore calf muscles makes me feel like a drunk Indian firewalker.

Thankfully, the AXIS foam roller was there to help.  I don't know where I would be without this puppy. I've always muscled through pain that is associated with soreness - I usually will rub complaining muscles vigorously while yelping. (Makes the cats jump. Pretty hilarious, actually.) When James and I went to a free distance running clinic in Raleigh this past fall, one of the sessions was with a physical therapist and this foam roller.

It was love at first touch.

This black foam roller is the most unforgiving in the series (very little give) and allows you to utilize your own body weight to roll out cramps, knots, and all kinds of fun lactic acid build-up.

Calves, quads, hamstrings, IT bands, you name it, you can hit it. The PT's recommendation was to utilize it every day, spending one minute on each muscle group. The key is to have the muscles warmed up. Can't run? Take a really hot shower to prime them.

A Brief History: Part I

Before I get too much farther along on this blog, I thought I should revisit a few topics, namely: where I come from, mentally and physically; my history as a runner; and how running impacts my relationship with my husband James.

(Yes, I am avoiding writing about running because no, I have not run any more since Tuesday.)

For as long as I can remember, I have been equally drawn to incredibly passive activities (read: sitting for 6 hours straight to finish a book) and incredibly physical ones (read: swimming at the neighborhood pool for 6 hours a day all summer so my blond highlights turned green from chlorine). Or, in other words, I love both mental and physical stimulation. In fact, I'm a bit of a stimulation junkie - mental, physical, and sensory. 

Combine this with the fact that I come from a family of (tall) athletes and you have a recipe for a voracious eater. I love food - the taste of it, the smell of it, and - here's where the challenge arises - even the sensation of eating it. Standing at a fairly muscular 5'10" means I need a decent amount of calories to maintain healthy weight. But I'm no ultra-marathoner or distance swimmer. I cannot justify eating an entire box of CheezIts now, let alone when I was ten (yes, this really did happen).

I also happened to be one of those people whose physical body developed (height from 10-13 years old and weight from 13-16) more quickly than my mental awareness of it; that this happened in tandem with a significant withdrawal into my head and away from my body didn't help.  I tried out for my soccer team freshman year with no clue of how soft I had become.

Okay, I was a soft wheezing mess.

So what happened? Schnucks happened.

Miles 1-4: Four for Four

You could say I'm off to a banner start of The Plan, waiting to log my first run well past the first day of the year, but I sort of like the symmetry that running my first four miles of the fourth day of the year provides.

There are a number of reason why it took me over 100 hours into 2011 to enact The Plan, including - but certainly not limited to - grogginess due to the plethora of shots imbibed and endless appetizers consumed on New Years Eve; a strong desire to dismantle my Christmas tree and decorations; the eneral apathy (meh.) that usually sets in about half-way through New Years Day afternoon; and an almost OCD driven launch of repainting my hall bathroom, resulting in 15 man-hours over a 36 hour period.

(My fingers and wrists were protesting so loudly I could barely type Monday morning. So I certainly couldn't run because I wouldn't be able to blog about the experience.)

But no matter! This afternoon at 3 pm, I texted James to ask if he would wait for me to go running. And around 5 pm, James, his new Garmin watch, and I went running on one of our standard loops. We chatted - well, I gasped, and James breezily chatted - about our day, as the last of the sun disappeared and the air chilled.

I felt strong despite my nearly two month long break from running (thanks to cycling classes), though the left calf cramped up about three miles in. Luckily, I had my trusty Axis foam roller back at the house to save me. More on that later.

Miles 1-4: 38 minutes shared with James while a pink explosion of clouds faded into the dark.