Might Have Torn a Hole In My Tights

 

Today’s been a good day.

Remember about ten weeks ago when I licked myself like a cat in the gas station parking lot and went to see my PT for the first time? (these two things have nothing to do with each other, it was just the chain of events that day). Remember how my PT told me she didn’t think my running the Boston Marathon was a good idea (I mean she is a PT and someone trying to run a marathon with a hip stress fracture might just appear stupid). Remember how I cried in frustration and you guys had to pick up the pieces?

She still may not think it’s the best idea on the planet – in the world of all the great ideas out there like sticky notes and pita chips – but today, the day of our last visit, she gave me her blessing. We fist-bumped on my way out. She told me I looked strong and capable. That my plan for Boston was a good one (keeping a pace that is 60 to 90 seconds slower than my BQ pace, taking one minute walk breaks, enjoying and soaking up every last minute of this epic event). I think I may have even overheard her tell someone I was a “higher level athlete,” which I had never been called in my life. I farted with joy.

It was another of those full circle moments. I am probably not completely healed and I would not be running a marathon in 19 days if it wasn’t Boston. But, I am good enough, and if I am willing to ask my pace-ego to step aside, I just might pull this off.

These days I am running slower than I did when I first started running 2.5 years ago. I’m not going to lie and say “at least I am running!” It is humbling and  frustrating. The runner mind is a funny thing. You give it an inch and it wants to take a freaking ten mile tempo run.

Case in point. For months all I wanted to do was run. Any pace any distance. Once I could run for five minutes at a time all I wanted to do was run a mile. Once I could run a mile all I wanted to do was run five miles. Once I could do that I wanted to run five miles faster.

STOP!! That is exactly how I get myself in trouble in the first place.  My crazy overachieving mind loves to tell me I am not enough. Today as I ran five miles I had this conversation going on in my head:

Small self (negative, competitive, controlling, judgmental): “Seriously? A 9:30 minute mile? Is that all you’ve got?”

Big self (accepting, intuitive, peaceful): “What you are doing today is enough. There will be time to work on pace later when you are fully healed. Take care of yourself.”

Small self: “At this rate it really will take you 8 hours to complete the Boston Marathon.”

Big self: “It takes however long it takes. You will be there running and that’s what counts.”

And so it goes. The question is, who do you listen to? I am a BIG SELF follower right now. I trust her. She knows how to keep me healthy and safe. And she knows more than just running. I hope to follow her for a long time.

I’ll drink to that (another good part of my day):

Do your big and small selves (good/evil, obnoxious/calm, whatever you want to call it)  battle it out? Who wins?

Off to fix the hole in my tights from doing that jump,

SUAR

Hell to the YES!

Hold your breath…wait for it…

Yesterday’s workout: 43 minutes of running (5.35 miles with intermittent 2 minute walks).

I know. I should be in the Guinness Book of World Records or at the very least in the hall of fame or the Olympics or on some bathroom wall (which I sure I am anyway for other reasons). I did not write this, but it just goes to show all dads should check the bathroom wall on occasion.

You have to remember that three weeks ago I could barely run for 15 minutes. Damn hip stress fracture.

I have tweaked my Boston training plan considerably since I was not ready to up my running as anticipated. Today I’ll send the new plan to the Boulder Center for Sport’s Medicine so they can make sure it’s safe, conservative, yet puts me in a position to run Boston without hurting myself. I also hope it is a plan to help me win the race. All $806,000 of it.  Because that is my goal. Sounds reasonable. I could take you all out to dinner.

Today I am wearing this shirt in celebration of running. I haven't been able to wear it for awhile, because I couldn’t run and therefore I couldn’t run for wine. Now I am back to running and wining. I am not good with the self timer. And yes, I am balancing on the bad hip, which I no longer call “bad.” I call it “badass mother f*cker.”

Mine is the most screwed up, untraditional, odd, wonky, training cycle on the face of the earth. It’s so ridiculous I think it’s funny.

This training cycle:

• Longest run to date: 5 miles (would normally be 13)
• Highest weekly mileage: 5 miles (would typically be around 35-40)
• Longest anticipated long run for the marathon: 13 miles if I’m lucky (would usually be at least 2-20 milers)
• Number of weeks taken off completely for trip to Costa Rica: 1 (7 weeks out from the marathon). (Normally, I would not have one of these complete rest weeks in my plan)

So, I’m here to tell you. If you are puking your guts out and miss a few days of running don’t sweat it. If you are behind on the Bachelor and want to take the day off, don’t sweat it. If it snowed 265” and you can’t run, don’t sweat it. Just think of me over here training for a marathon with very little actual running. Yet, I’m still hopeful I can do the race. Denial is not a river in Egypt, or something stupid people say that they think is clever.

Other (overused) things people say when they think they are clever (I apologize in advance if these phrases are in your daily vocabulary):

Game on!
At the end of the day…
Phone tag…
Hell to the yes..
Been there, done that
Guesstimate
My bad
24/7
Just sayin’

What phrase do you find terribly annoying?

Today after a painful, yet glorious PT session, I headed over to Whole Foods to hit up the samples. Do you ever do this? I had a total score. Lemon Dream Cake. Huge slices for free. Or I think they were free. I ate a few and stuffed a couple of them down my pants for later. I think I could make a whole cake with them if I want. This is the very cake I will go and buy (not sample) for my birthday next week. Yes, it is my birthday on Tuesday, 2/22, one week from today. I will be 44 on 22. So, mark your calendars and remember how much I love lemon cake.  Hell to the yes!!!!!

That cake was for sure a cheer-up-quickie (urban dictionary slang),

SUAR

PS: If you live in Boston or are familiar with the city and know of a good happy hour spot for our blogger meet up, please let me know!! I’ll send you a piece of cake from my pants.

Vagina Dance

You may or may not have heard about the Vagina Dance. Probably not. I am glad you come to SUAR for your news, because this is one headline you might have missed.

I’ll start by saying, I did not make up this dance, although it seems like something I could have created. I am sure I would be very good at it, and certainly the pussy posse and I could organize a flash mob at the local food court or bowling alley.

This is not a joke. It happened earlier this week. For real.

Picture this. You are a sophomore in Prairie Ridge High School in suburban Chicago (hey, isn’t that where Kovas lives?) You meander your way into your health class expecting the usual onslaught of diagrams and textbook phrases to depict menstrual cycles, ovaries and gonads (balls, nuts, sacs). Instead, you are barraged by a teacher, Jacqueline Levin, who asks you to get out of your seat and prance around as if you were a vagina.

Although I have a vagina, I can’t imagine how you dance like one. I couldn’t even stand still and imitate one no matter how hard I tried. But, apparently, this genius of a teacher masterminded a means of making her arms fallopian tubes, her hands ovaries, and piping in the “Hokey Pokey” song. She did this to help the students memorize the female reproductive parts.

Upon hearing this, one parent freaked out. Yep, it only takes one parent to spoil the fun. While the school district didn’t reprimand the teacher, the Illinois Family Institute sure did. They complained that,

“Her selection of this inappropriate instructional activity demonstrated a lack of empathy for those who may have a degree of modesty and self-respect that Levin does not possess. Did she consider that some students might feel uncomfortable participating in or even watching this dance and that they might fear being ridiculed if they chose to opt-out?”

I won’t even mention that the principal of this high school is Paul Humpa. Won’t go there.

I know it shocks you, but I’m not the most modest girl in the nudist colony. Therefore, I don’t take much issue with the dance itself. I can, however, see why some students and parents would balk at such a thing. If it were my class, I would have started with the anus dance and worked my way up from there. Like Laurie said, as long as you aren’t teaching the vagina and penis dancers to grind together, it’s okay.

Next time I go to the clubs in Vegas I am so bringing out that fallopian tube move.

By the way, Googling Vagina Dance images is a bit traumatizing. Just saying.

On a different note, PT was much improved today. My doc and PT had “a talk” and the attitude was vastly different. For the better.

I have decided to stop running until my pain lessens. I will keep water running, cycling, yoga and swimming for endurance. I will keep doing my PT exercises and building strength back up in my hip and glutes. I may be the first person ever to have run the Boston Marathon without training on land. Perhaps I will just run alongside in the Charles River and call it good.

Boston or bust.

How would you feel about your kids doing the vagina dance in high school health class?

Off to dance like a body part,

SUAR

Synching Our Cycles

See that little cabin in the middle of the picture? That’s where I slept last night with eleven other women. It did not suck. Estrogen was in abundance. I could feel our menstrual cycles synching up with each passing moment.

 

 

The drive up was long and after a stop at Costco to sample a disgusting mix of protein bars, chicken noodle soup and Brie, I had the worst gas. Poor Erika had her head hanging out the window for the better part of the drive. And, she didn’t even yell at me. In fact she shared a bed with me last night and we spooned.

The group of 12 started out with a snowshoe/cross country skiing adventure. My hip was having a fit, but I smacked it around a bit.

Don’t be jealous of my blue ski pants. They are hand me downs from 1995. I like to save a buck where I can. I will run “the Boston” in them.

Me doing the famed ski shot. I am going to confess. The ski shots never really happened. We are all 40 something lame asses with no alcohol tolerances. By 10pm everyone was dehydrated and reaching for the Motrin. This is me in the morning drinking water. It was all for the photo op.

A bit windy when we left:

Getting out of town was good for me. This was a really upbeat and positive group of women. I have been in a funk since my less than stellar running week and my doomsday meeting with the PT on Tuesday. I tried to run my 8 minutes on Friday and couldn’t. It just hurt too bad. I stopped, and went home, head down, defeated.

The good news is it didn’t hurt where the fracture was. The pain was more in the outside of my hip. But, it was that type of pain where you knew you had to be smart and back off.

I think re-introducing running and my PT exercises got everything all flared up and irritated. I tend to be a very all or nothing person. I get easily discouraged. When something goes wrong or not as planned, I go to the worst place scenario. I keep reminding myself that my body is trying to heal and I need to be patient. And smart.

I got such a cool comment last week that said,

I have this Russian friend who is dying. Really- not going to make it.  Don’t let that bum you out; it’s just a fact. She is the strongest and most determined kicking-asses (not just one ass, many “asses”) person I will ever know. She is also trained in sports therapy, and has worked with everyone from the Chicago Bulls, Cirque du Soleil, and USSR cycling teams when she lived there. I read your post, and even though she’s feeling really really bad, I called her to see what she had to say about your healing--the call made her day! She said A LOT, but, in summary she said EAT FOR YOUR BONES. Eat for healing: plant-based proteins, food-based anti-inflammatory (berries, fresh basil, omega-3), vitamins & minerals. She also said to apply indirect “vibration” in the area of injury 3x per day with a back massager or something, for about 3-5 minutes. This, I can say from experience, totally helps!! You better listen to her advice, because if you don’t, this crazy Russian woman will haunt your ass. She also said red wine helps : )

Vibration! I love vibration. What girl doesn’t? And because I seriously do not want to be haunted by this crazy Russian, I bought a hand held massager at Walgreen’s yesterday for $4.99 (because I would never already have something that vibrated in a drawer somewhere). It is top of the line. 11 a.m. and I could be found, pants down, lying on the floor massaging my hip. Ken called in the neighbors and postman to take a look.

I also love the info on the plant based proteins (soy, beans, nuts, lentils) and food-based anti-inflammatories (spinach, broccoli, blueberries, chickpeas, buckwheat noodles, etc). I’ll post more on that later.

Not to mention that fact that when you are reminded that someone is dying, you tend to back off of your self-involvement. Really, my stress fracture is just not the significant in the grand scheme.

What’d you do this weekend?

Trying anything just to get better,

SUAR

Shot Ski

What would I do without you guys? Seriously. Not only did you laugh at me licking myself like a cat, but you wanted pictures. Sorry, I can’t lick myself and take pictures at the same time.

You also gave me amazing, heartfelt and honest advice about my injury and “the Boston.”  I read every single comment. The consensus seems to be that it is too soon to tell what the injury will bring in regards to training and running in Boston, but that I need to at least try.

After yesterday morning, I talked to my doc. His exact words were, “As long as you remember that Boston is not going to be a PR for you, you will finish.”

I love him.

Some of you have mentioned  the book, The Long Run by Matt Long. Yes, I read his book last month and think of him often. If he can be run over a bus and made into hamburger and come back to run an Ironman, than I can heal too. However, he did not heal overnight and had to give up some pretty major goals (Boston being one of them) in the meantime. I know I will eventually get better and run pain free again. It just might not be in my time frame.

Yesterday, between some bouts of crying, I did my PT exercises and went to 90 minutes of Bikram Yoga in 105 degree heat. I’m a bit sore today, but am heading out for my 8 minutes. Maybe today it will feel slightly better. And, the next time even better.

I will also wash the dog because last night everyone kept thinking someone farted until we realized it was just how the dog smelled. Imagine going through life smelling like one big fart. No wonder he doesn’t have any friends.

I will also vacuum out my car because I have this really disgusting habit of only sucking on half of an Altoid before I spit it out on the floor. They just get too intense. I have half sucked mints all over the floor of my Explorer. Do you like Altoids? Can you take it all at once? (That’s what she asked.)

Tomorrow is a girls’ road trip to Breckenridge to celebrate Julie’s 40th birthday. Apparently there is something called a Shot Ski that we have to do. This is new to me, but I guess it involves multiple people doing shots off of a ski at the same time. How old am I? I learned what it was from a site called Dorm Guru. Later on today I might rush a sorority or at least lose my virginity while drinking Keystone Light.

Finally, I leave you with this video. I am the ultimate prankster, if you haven't already gathered that. Remember how I spiked those muffins with Ex-Lax? Therefore, I really should be the one at Target pulling this prank. This seriously made me laugh out loud (LOL!) many times.

Hoping shots don’t kill me,

SUAR

Licking Myself Like a Cat

What a morning. I’ve got a special story for you. I know how you love my special stories.
I got up early to go to my first physical therapy appointment in Boulder. I have never been to a PT before. What should I wear? How should I smell? I chose yoga pants. Black ones. I grabbed some coffee and a Clif Mojo bar (love those things), and headed out by 7:00 a.m., kids and husband still snug in their beds.

I was excited! PT will help me heal, recover, meet my goals.
On the way into town I dropped a piece of the Mojo bar. I worried a bit because these bars have chocolate chips in them and we all know what happens when a stray chocolate chip gets lodged in a warm place, like a crotch. It melts.
I couldn’t find the fallen piece, so I forgot about it. I stopped to get gas and while waiting for my tank to fill, I noticed a huge skid mark of chocolate on the front seat. “Shit.” I thought. “If chocolate is smeared on the seat, I can only imagine what my ass looks like.”

Sure enough I had a giant smear of chocolate, looking very much like the outcome of a shart, all across the seat of my pants going into the crotch. I know enough about physical therapy to know that my body would probably be maneuvered in all directions and mostly likely my ass and crotch would be seen. I panicked. I didn’t want the PT to think I had crapped my pants. Seriously, I didn’t.

Aha! I thought. I always carry a small thing of Huggies wipes for emergencies. Yes, those kind of emergencies. I’d just clean up that way. I grabbed the small packet of wipes out of my console only to find they were empty. I remembered Emma had used the last one to clean her hands before piano after she ate a huge glazed donut.

Shit. So, I did what every person in my situation would do. I propped my leg up on the seat (I’m quite flexible), leaned way over so I could see between my legs,  licked my fingers and tried to wipe off the mess that way. I made some progress. It was about then I realized that several people also pumping their gas were staring. It occurred to me I looked like a cat cleaning myself. If I could have licked my own pants, I would have.

This is the moment when you have to not care what people think.  You just have to get the job done.

I cleaned myself up pretty well and headed to the PT appointment.
Here’s where the story takes a turn from funny/weird to tragic.
After giving the PT the abbreviated version of my injury, she asked what future plans my doctor and I had more me. She knows my doc, they all work together at the same clinic.

Me: “I have started running this week and am going to run the Boston Marathon in April.”
PT: *crickets* silence
Me: Nervous laugh.
PT: “I don’t know about that. You probably don’t want to hear this. But, I don't think it’s a good idea.”
Me: “Yeah, I don't want to hear it.” Nervous laugh again.

Bombshell. Dropped. On me.

Then we went on to test my strength and do some exercises.

I’ve already had my confidence blasted this week by how crappy my two 8 minute runs have felt. And, now I have a professional telling me I can’t run the BM (not bowel movement) in April. That I won’t be ready.

I left the clinic feeling somewhere between defeated and, “LET ME PROVE YOU WRONG!”
Mostly, her tentativeness only makes me that much more determined. More yoga! More strengthening! More exercises! More pussy posse time! 

But, I am slightly deflated and sad.

I am a realist and don’t live in a fantasy world. Of course there is a chance my body just can’t do it. However, I have made a decision. To not give up. I moving forward AS IF.

As if I can run 26.2 miles in April. As if my body will heal and strengthen. As if I can make leaps and bounds by having  strong mental fortitude. As if she was wrong.

Only time and hard work will tell.

Is she wrong? I really need you guys today. Not to tell me what I want to hear, but to give it to me straight.

Living as if,

SUAR