1:22 am
I'm wide awake and it's... not morning. (Shameless Bright Eyes allusion).
Monday nights before Tuesday Morning runs I barely sleep... constantly worried my alarm will utterly and completely fail me. I toss and turn trying to put ideas of missing the run out of my mind. It comes once a week and I dare not miss it without damn good reason.
4:43 am
I'm awake again. And I have two more minutes before the alarm is off and I am off and eventually - we are off.
The North Carolina Parks and Recreation Department apparently doesn't appreciate our need for an early start and has forewarned that those of us who park outside the locked gates of the Sardis Rd. entrance to McAlpine will be subject to towing. We are worried about obesity in America and yet we can't let people use the public park facilities (for which we pay state tax money) during hours that are conducive to the hectic work schedules demanded by a competitive/capitalistic/pick-yourself-up-by-your-own-bootstraps society.
Alas... our run that began as a beautiful jaunt entirely on a very soft, gravel surface now must start at an unnamed lot farther down the road where we proceed to run on the sidewalk for more than a mile and a half before getting to the gravel. It doesn't sound like a big deal... but to us - three more miles of pavement is definitely a big deal. Every step I take on sidewalks is one more step closer to an injury. I know this.
The Miner's Run began sometime in November... my M/W/F morning running partner told me he had run on a Tuesday morning with one of our other running friends. A Tuesday morning? Why, this was near blasphemy to me... but we decided to give it a try the next week. Our group of 3 grew exponentially each week to the large, ever-changing gathering we now have. The group is unpredictable - sometimes the pace will be stable and conversational... at other times we will be gasping to keep up with each other, one-stepping the whole way. Every once and a while, half the group will split off to do some blistering paced tempo run while the rest of us thank goodness it is not a workout day for us...
The first time the group was really big - about 15 runners - we all kinda fell into to pace together from different directions because some people were late and found different entrances to meet up. Someone watching the approaching mass of runners with headlamps said, "Wow, it looks like a bunch of miners." And that is how this run got its name.
3.30.2010
3.29.2010
Take Notes
I just called a client to remind him of his appointment tomorrow. I was about to hang up with the usual, "Have a great day!" when he asked, "So, what did He make for you this week?"
Well, he made cassoulet last night.
A good portion of the Hoffmann family was there so the boy got to feed quite a few people which is always nice. On Friday he made braised white beans as part of a request from a friend of mine who is obsessed with Zoe's Kitchen's white beans (nevermind that he has never even been to Zoe's.) Finely chopped celery and carrot along with fresh thyme, parsley, s/p and some other seasonings went into the beans that eventually made their way into the cassoulet with tender chunks of chicken. The dish was served in individual iron skillets with crumbled croutons baked on top. Lots of praise was muttered between mouthfuls.
Homemade biscuits as the base for strawberry shortcake were a special surprise from who other than the boy's brother in law. His wife said it was the first thing he ever cooked for her... maybe he was making a throwback to those days? Very sweet... another wonderful thing about food - the memories it preserves and the love that is wrapped up in all of it.
The meal was welcomed after a fun little run with friends at McAlpine Creek Park. The park has quite literally been a staple of my life. In middle and high school my sister and I referred to it as our "summer home." Cross Country practice started at 6:30 pm M-F over the summer. I was always anxious. We would meet up at our coach's truck in the parking lot... leaning on the back of the truckbed and wiping away premature perspiration. We hadn't yet begun the warmup and the muggy heat of a southern summer already had our t-shirts drenched at the nape of our necks. The gathering of sorts was always an opportunity to size up the new freshmen and wonder who was going to be the surprise. Who might just be the one to test your dominance? Shake up the top seven lineup?
Like I said... I was always anxious.
Whenever I go back to the park... especially in the hot heat of summer, I can feel it all come back to me. Ingrained in my head or forever in my veins - I get a little anxious. It brings me back to a time when I lived and died by the success or failure of the day's workout. I would get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as the schoolday drew to a close and I knew we had mile repeats. Or 800s. Or a ladder. Whatever it was, I knew it was going to hurt and I feared it. Bumping along beside my coach on the bus I would pepper him with questions. I always stood on the stairs next to him as he drove to meets... we evaluated the competition together as he talked me through the negativity that was blocking the receptors in my brain. We would get there and I would really begin to fight my demons. Wet tears still stuck in my lashes, I would join the circle with my teammates for the Lord's Prayer. My coach would tie my shoelaces for luck and it was go time. A calm before the storm always settled over me at the starting line before the gun went off. My coach always said he could see it in my eyes - cool - collected - ready. My lungs would burst and scream for air for the entire first mile before the oxygen could catch back up with me... and I never settled into a pace until the back loop or the third mile of the course.
It took time for me to learn that love - not fear - of running would best carry me where I wanted to go as fast as I wanted to get there. I needed both confidence and patience - two things often wanting in teenage girls. Some days were (and are) still harder than others... but eventually I was able to get ahold of myself.
To get it together.
To accept what I could and could not change.
To love my body and all its limitations.
It is an on-going process... one in which I learn when to challenge myself and when to settle down.
When to get ahold of myself.
I told our client that I had already been informed that I would like dinner tonight. He said, "Take Notes."
Well, he made cassoulet last night.
A good portion of the Hoffmann family was there so the boy got to feed quite a few people which is always nice. On Friday he made braised white beans as part of a request from a friend of mine who is obsessed with Zoe's Kitchen's white beans (nevermind that he has never even been to Zoe's.) Finely chopped celery and carrot along with fresh thyme, parsley, s/p and some other seasonings went into the beans that eventually made their way into the cassoulet with tender chunks of chicken. The dish was served in individual iron skillets with crumbled croutons baked on top. Lots of praise was muttered between mouthfuls.
Homemade biscuits as the base for strawberry shortcake were a special surprise from who other than the boy's brother in law. His wife said it was the first thing he ever cooked for her... maybe he was making a throwback to those days? Very sweet... another wonderful thing about food - the memories it preserves and the love that is wrapped up in all of it.
The meal was welcomed after a fun little run with friends at McAlpine Creek Park. The park has quite literally been a staple of my life. In middle and high school my sister and I referred to it as our "summer home." Cross Country practice started at 6:30 pm M-F over the summer. I was always anxious. We would meet up at our coach's truck in the parking lot... leaning on the back of the truckbed and wiping away premature perspiration. We hadn't yet begun the warmup and the muggy heat of a southern summer already had our t-shirts drenched at the nape of our necks. The gathering of sorts was always an opportunity to size up the new freshmen and wonder who was going to be the surprise. Who might just be the one to test your dominance? Shake up the top seven lineup?
Like I said... I was always anxious.
Whenever I go back to the park... especially in the hot heat of summer, I can feel it all come back to me. Ingrained in my head or forever in my veins - I get a little anxious. It brings me back to a time when I lived and died by the success or failure of the day's workout. I would get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as the schoolday drew to a close and I knew we had mile repeats. Or 800s. Or a ladder. Whatever it was, I knew it was going to hurt and I feared it. Bumping along beside my coach on the bus I would pepper him with questions. I always stood on the stairs next to him as he drove to meets... we evaluated the competition together as he talked me through the negativity that was blocking the receptors in my brain. We would get there and I would really begin to fight my demons. Wet tears still stuck in my lashes, I would join the circle with my teammates for the Lord's Prayer. My coach would tie my shoelaces for luck and it was go time. A calm before the storm always settled over me at the starting line before the gun went off. My coach always said he could see it in my eyes - cool - collected - ready. My lungs would burst and scream for air for the entire first mile before the oxygen could catch back up with me... and I never settled into a pace until the back loop or the third mile of the course.
It took time for me to learn that love - not fear - of running would best carry me where I wanted to go as fast as I wanted to get there. I needed both confidence and patience - two things often wanting in teenage girls. Some days were (and are) still harder than others... but eventually I was able to get ahold of myself.
To get it together.
To accept what I could and could not change.
To love my body and all its limitations.
It is an on-going process... one in which I learn when to challenge myself and when to settle down.
When to get ahold of myself.
I told our client that I had already been informed that I would like dinner tonight. He said, "Take Notes."
3.25.2010
Morning
It is 4:48 am.
My eyes are peeking over my feet at the clock at the end of the bed. Green hazy numbers blinking into my existence.
I have 17 more minutes before the low beeping of my alarm goes off and I have to face the morning.
It is this in-between time that defines my running. 75% of me is begging to go back to sleep. To succumb to the warmth of the covers and the comfort of unconsciousness. Fighting the ebbing sleep, I find myself frustrated and pathetic: Why am I doing this? I am consistently amazed that that 25% that knows me best is able to win out in the end.
It is not until my running shorts are on and my shoes are groggily tied that I begin to comprehend why I am awake. I head out down the driveway, one foot in front of the other and the dark night of morning envelops my small frame. I am meeting a running partner at the end of the street and this means - there are no excuses, there is no turning back for the solace of sleep.
The pace and conversation make the run go by swiftly. I feel the easy rhythmic breathing as my stride quickens towards home... my morning is complete. I have accomplished much more than a nine mile run - I have won once again over my doubts and desire for one more luxurious hour in bed.
My eyes are peeking over my feet at the clock at the end of the bed. Green hazy numbers blinking into my existence.
I have 17 more minutes before the low beeping of my alarm goes off and I have to face the morning.
It is this in-between time that defines my running. 75% of me is begging to go back to sleep. To succumb to the warmth of the covers and the comfort of unconsciousness. Fighting the ebbing sleep, I find myself frustrated and pathetic: Why am I doing this? I am consistently amazed that that 25% that knows me best is able to win out in the end.
It is not until my running shorts are on and my shoes are groggily tied that I begin to comprehend why I am awake. I head out down the driveway, one foot in front of the other and the dark night of morning envelops my small frame. I am meeting a running partner at the end of the street and this means - there are no excuses, there is no turning back for the solace of sleep.
The pace and conversation make the run go by swiftly. I feel the easy rhythmic breathing as my stride quickens towards home... my morning is complete. I have accomplished much more than a nine mile run - I have won once again over my doubts and desire for one more luxurious hour in bed.
3.22.2010
From over leaves to leftovers.
So today was Run 2 and a glorious little run it was. We managed to perfectly time the day so that we beat the rain and icky cloud cover that dominated the day. Anne Springs Close Greenway is one of my favorite little spots to run here. There are 30+ miles of trails on a variety of soft surfaces. I always start at the sports complex and take the Blue Star trail because I don't have to worry about scuffles with the mtnbikers who are out there enjoying it as much as I am. This trail has a hiker's only policy and by nature, it is more "rustic" - meaning those root/rock camouflaging leaves blanket the ground more thickly and if it weren't for muscle memory, the trail might be hard to spot.
We took the North Tunnel where our voices sang back to us [hollow and true]. We made a brief pit stop so I could show off a grist mill replica (and to stretch the hammy) before taking my favorite sandy footpath beside the creek for a while - soaking up the sights and sounds falling away as our footsteps took us onward. The rush of the water on the rocks was a beautiful, tranquil reminder that I really woulda coulda shoulda taken a potty break back by the grist mill earlier.
OUTNBACK- pretty self-explanatory. We went about 30 minutes out and turned around to do it all over again. All the downhills now uphills and vice versa. It was getting muggy. But a good muggy. This run felt like such an accomplishment even if it was only an hour. It was pure enjoyment and living in the present and everything I really appreciate about running. Unfortunately we waited far too long to eat a real post-run meal and kinda were beat for the day.
Boy made his Sunday night dinner for the family and I made myself the opposite of scarce. When I walked in, every frying pan was in some stage of use and there was an array of leftovers making their comeback. Roasted pork butt from our dinner with my boss on Saturday, chicken from Thursday(?), corned beef from St. Patty's.... you name it. He likes to call this "goulash." The scalloped potatoes with gruyere cheese were mouthwatering melty goodness but I do believe that the piece de resistance was truly the corned beef's revisiting. Cubed corned beef, chopped onions, red bell peppers, fingerling potatoes with spices and a fried egg on top. Absolutely perfect blending of funky chunky textures and the softness of the egg.
So the next time you dread using up the week's leftovers - just remember to be creative - it could really turn out to be dynamite. Or gross. But let's just be half-fullers and say dynamite.
We took the North Tunnel where our voices sang back to us [hollow and true]. We made a brief pit stop so I could show off a grist mill replica (and to stretch the hammy) before taking my favorite sandy footpath beside the creek for a while - soaking up the sights and sounds falling away as our footsteps took us onward. The rush of the water on the rocks was a beautiful, tranquil reminder that I really woulda coulda shoulda taken a potty break back by the grist mill earlier.
OUTNBACK- pretty self-explanatory. We went about 30 minutes out and turned around to do it all over again. All the downhills now uphills and vice versa. It was getting muggy. But a good muggy. This run felt like such an accomplishment even if it was only an hour. It was pure enjoyment and living in the present and everything I really appreciate about running. Unfortunately we waited far too long to eat a real post-run meal and kinda were beat for the day.
Boy made his Sunday night dinner for the family and I made myself the opposite of scarce. When I walked in, every frying pan was in some stage of use and there was an array of leftovers making their comeback. Roasted pork butt from our dinner with my boss on Saturday, chicken from Thursday(?), corned beef from St. Patty's.... you name it. He likes to call this "goulash." The scalloped potatoes with gruyere cheese were mouthwatering melty goodness but I do believe that the piece de resistance was truly the corned beef's revisiting. Cubed corned beef, chopped onions, red bell peppers, fingerling potatoes with spices and a fried egg on top. Absolutely perfect blending of funky chunky textures and the softness of the egg.
So the next time you dread using up the week's leftovers - just remember to be creative - it could really turn out to be dynamite. Or gross. But let's just be half-fullers and say dynamite.
3.18.2010
3.17.2010
Repeat Performance
Day Five of "time off" and I'm getting a little antsy.
Antsy might be putting it lightly. Driving down Park Rd. yesterday I saw a guy hoofing it on my left, I squinted into the side view mirror to catch his stride thundering down the sidewalk. Guy was moving. And he had the whole midfoot-lean going on too. I pulled up to a stop sign on Queens Road West and there were runners in every angle of my peripheral vision and straight ahead and and and... really? It was a beautiful day and I don't think I could have handled driving down Dilworth without jumping out and joining a pack of runners.
But then I woke up this morning and hopped out of bed to a slightly uncomfortable reminder of why I'm taking this time off. I have to keep in mind the four day break I took in the middle of my toughest last weeks of marathon training. I had been putting in some miles - often pretty quick ones - and everything was running suh-mooth. Then 22 miles went wrong somehow.
I drove over an hour to run a 12.1 mile trail race in Troutman, NC. Got up super early to make sure I wasn't late... had everything ready to roll. I planned it so I would run a 5 mile warmup, the race, and a 5 mile cooldown to get my 22 for the day. Unfortunately when I got there it turned out that the monsoon-esque rains we had had that Tuesday caused the park officials to close the trails. [PAUSE] Silent prayer thanking God I essentially live out of my car and my road shoes were in the backseat. This meant that my planned 22 miles on a soft surface to prevent injury were going to be run on an extremely hilly, paved loop course on the park road.
Life handed me some lemons. But I didn't really have a choice what to make with them. I got on the road and did what needed to be done. My first miles were a decently paced warmup and then I ran the first half of the race really laid back anywhere between 7:15 and 7:20 pace. At the turnaround point I decided I still had over 10 miles to run and a bathroom break was going to be necessary.
Let me remind you, this was a two loop course. Those running the 6 mile race would come around the corner into the chute while everyone in the 12 would make a sharp turn and head back out. As in most races where there are multiple distances, it is not always clear who is running which race. The bathroom happened to be directly beside the finishing chute. You can see where I am going with this. So here I come... pushing the pace veering just outside of the chute and the whole crowd is yelling for me (who they think is winning the race) that the chute is 'that' way. Much to my own humiliation I found myself gesturing wildly at the porta potty and shouting that I was just going to the bathroom. Don't mind me.
With that behind me, I decided it was go time. Started pushing the miles from my comfortable 7:10 marathon pace to 6:45 and then 6:20 and then a little faster and a little faster as I gained on the people who passed me on my potty break.
The cheering section was liking this.
Finally, I had two guys ahead of me and I decided 6:10 was as quick as I safely needed to be going with 7 miles still to go. I hit the last heartbreaker of a hill and finished up - the crowd cheering wildly this time as they knew I was really finishing. My last mile registered a 6:05 on the Garmin. I walked through the chute and turned around... back to the grind. I was in a hurry to get back to the celebration but I had some work yet to do. My legs were starting to burn a bit but mentally I was feeling pretty all together. Some people picking up markers for the course drove beside me for a little while asking me questions. I told them I was doing my longest run before the Thunder Road marathon that was coming up. They were pumped. Told me they were going to look me up in the results. I wonder if they did.
The last 2 miles were somewhat tortuous because I could not get away from the steep grades both up and down. The watch beeped 22 as I rounded the corner into the parking lot and made for the food. I was stuffing my face with a banana and downing two Nesquik's with the way-too-small-to-be-normal straws when a couple women came up.
"You know... if you hadn't gone to the bathroom... you would have beat those guys."
"Yeah, maybe. I just kinda had to go."
They thought that was pretty cool. I did too but I was being humble and trying not to be too geeked out that I just ran 22 miles in 2hr39min on a long run. This would be the workout that sent me the message: you've got this shit.
On the drive home I stopped by the little town of Davidson to get some eats at Toast and then decided to stretch out the legs and walked a few miles out on the trails there. The flooding apparently did not affect THESE trails. Hrmph. I tried to be nonchalant about the ROTC strategy game going on in the woods after I noticed a few camouflaged souls in the bushes staring intently at clipboards. Of course, this awareness came after my "discreet" bathroom break in the woods. Shoot.
The next day my left knee was bothering me but I blew it off as routine soreness from running farther than I had ever run before. My tempo that week was to be 10 miles Marathon Pace and 4 miles "faster." My training partner and I started out at a decent 7:06ish pace and held something around that before dropping the hammer rolling into mile 11. Daylight was winking out halfway through the run and we were going to be finishing in the pitch dark on the greenway. With 3 miles to go I just started running away. Away from every little thing that was on my mind. Every unspoken word. Everything I should and shouldn't have done or said. Running all out, I passed the post that marked my 14th mile and walked it in. O-u-c-h.
I had just PRed in the half marathon. I felt on top of the world.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
And then it all kinda fell apart. The next day it was raining and gross with 20 miles on the calendar. My knee was throbbing and I thought I might just get on the dreadmill and see how far I could go.
I ran four miles and got off. Four. Took a day off. Ran the next day and the pain was getting to the excruciating 8 stage. My boss sent me to our chiropractor friend and we worked something out. I would see them routinely and I would take 4 solid days off and see what happens. This happened to be going on around Thanksgiving - the perfect time for running with family and ingesting more calories than my body knows quite what to do with. I got antsy.
But I waited it out. My first run back was a Sunday run with the crew at Anne Springs. The trail is rocky, rooty, and covered in rock/root-disguising-leaves. Chameleons I tell you. So this was probably a poor choice. My knee felt like it was falling apart 5 minutes in and I pushed on for another 20 before politely excusing myself to go cry alone in the woods. I was so high strung that this was enough to put me over the edge. I ran the three miles back to the car with tears stinging my face - salty, not sweet. I got in the car, laid my head on the steering wheel, and took a deeeeeeeep breath. It was all going to be ok. (But I didn't know it at the time.)
The next morning I hit the greenway and felt terrifically bad after about a 1/4 mile but somehow it started feeling better the more I ran. The clicking in my knee was a little less and after seeing my boss and getting an adjustment that afternoon I thought a few more miles at night would be a good call. Birthday present to myself the next night I ran 5 miles with absolutely no knee pain. It wasn't like magic. The next few days were a little rough and I needed to spend a lot of time concentrating on my gait and not heel striking and doing all the things I was supposed to be doing all along. You know. Like stretching n' stuff. But over the next week - 7 days left on the countdown - I started running relatively pain free. I hadn't done a run over 12 miles in over two weeks so I was getting ready to play it safe on the downhills but I was pretty confident it was going to be all good.
It was go go time. Not go go as in go go girl but go go as in let's get this show on the Thunder Road.
Antsy might be putting it lightly. Driving down Park Rd. yesterday I saw a guy hoofing it on my left, I squinted into the side view mirror to catch his stride thundering down the sidewalk. Guy was moving. And he had the whole midfoot-lean going on too. I pulled up to a stop sign on Queens Road West and there were runners in every angle of my peripheral vision and straight ahead and and and... really? It was a beautiful day and I don't think I could have handled driving down Dilworth without jumping out and joining a pack of runners.
But then I woke up this morning and hopped out of bed to a slightly uncomfortable reminder of why I'm taking this time off. I have to keep in mind the four day break I took in the middle of my toughest last weeks of marathon training. I had been putting in some miles - often pretty quick ones - and everything was running suh-mooth. Then 22 miles went wrong somehow.
I drove over an hour to run a 12.1 mile trail race in Troutman, NC. Got up super early to make sure I wasn't late... had everything ready to roll. I planned it so I would run a 5 mile warmup, the race, and a 5 mile cooldown to get my 22 for the day. Unfortunately when I got there it turned out that the monsoon-esque rains we had had that Tuesday caused the park officials to close the trails. [PAUSE] Silent prayer thanking God I essentially live out of my car and my road shoes were in the backseat. This meant that my planned 22 miles on a soft surface to prevent injury were going to be run on an extremely hilly, paved loop course on the park road.
Life handed me some lemons. But I didn't really have a choice what to make with them. I got on the road and did what needed to be done. My first miles were a decently paced warmup and then I ran the first half of the race really laid back anywhere between 7:15 and 7:20 pace. At the turnaround point I decided I still had over 10 miles to run and a bathroom break was going to be necessary.
Let me remind you, this was a two loop course. Those running the 6 mile race would come around the corner into the chute while everyone in the 12 would make a sharp turn and head back out. As in most races where there are multiple distances, it is not always clear who is running which race. The bathroom happened to be directly beside the finishing chute. You can see where I am going with this. So here I come... pushing the pace veering just outside of the chute and the whole crowd is yelling for me (who they think is winning the race) that the chute is 'that' way. Much to my own humiliation I found myself gesturing wildly at the porta potty and shouting that I was just going to the bathroom. Don't mind me.
With that behind me, I decided it was go time. Started pushing the miles from my comfortable 7:10 marathon pace to 6:45 and then 6:20 and then a little faster and a little faster as I gained on the people who passed me on my potty break.
The cheering section was liking this.
Finally, I had two guys ahead of me and I decided 6:10 was as quick as I safely needed to be going with 7 miles still to go. I hit the last heartbreaker of a hill and finished up - the crowd cheering wildly this time as they knew I was really finishing. My last mile registered a 6:05 on the Garmin. I walked through the chute and turned around... back to the grind. I was in a hurry to get back to the celebration but I had some work yet to do. My legs were starting to burn a bit but mentally I was feeling pretty all together. Some people picking up markers for the course drove beside me for a little while asking me questions. I told them I was doing my longest run before the Thunder Road marathon that was coming up. They were pumped. Told me they were going to look me up in the results. I wonder if they did.
The last 2 miles were somewhat tortuous because I could not get away from the steep grades both up and down. The watch beeped 22 as I rounded the corner into the parking lot and made for the food. I was stuffing my face with a banana and downing two Nesquik's with the way-too-small-to-be-normal straws when a couple women came up.
"You know... if you hadn't gone to the bathroom... you would have beat those guys."
"Yeah, maybe. I just kinda had to go."
They thought that was pretty cool. I did too but I was being humble and trying not to be too geeked out that I just ran 22 miles in 2hr39min on a long run. This would be the workout that sent me the message: you've got this shit.
On the drive home I stopped by the little town of Davidson to get some eats at Toast and then decided to stretch out the legs and walked a few miles out on the trails there. The flooding apparently did not affect THESE trails. Hrmph. I tried to be nonchalant about the ROTC strategy game going on in the woods after I noticed a few camouflaged souls in the bushes staring intently at clipboards. Of course, this awareness came after my "discreet" bathroom break in the woods. Shoot.
The next day my left knee was bothering me but I blew it off as routine soreness from running farther than I had ever run before. My tempo that week was to be 10 miles Marathon Pace and 4 miles "faster." My training partner and I started out at a decent 7:06ish pace and held something around that before dropping the hammer rolling into mile 11. Daylight was winking out halfway through the run and we were going to be finishing in the pitch dark on the greenway. With 3 miles to go I just started running away. Away from every little thing that was on my mind. Every unspoken word. Everything I should and shouldn't have done or said. Running all out, I passed the post that marked my 14th mile and walked it in. O-u-c-h.
I had just PRed in the half marathon. I felt on top of the world.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
And then it all kinda fell apart. The next day it was raining and gross with 20 miles on the calendar. My knee was throbbing and I thought I might just get on the dreadmill and see how far I could go.
I ran four miles and got off. Four. Took a day off. Ran the next day and the pain was getting to the excruciating 8 stage. My boss sent me to our chiropractor friend and we worked something out. I would see them routinely and I would take 4 solid days off and see what happens. This happened to be going on around Thanksgiving - the perfect time for running with family and ingesting more calories than my body knows quite what to do with. I got antsy.
But I waited it out. My first run back was a Sunday run with the crew at Anne Springs. The trail is rocky, rooty, and covered in rock/root-disguising-leaves. Chameleons I tell you. So this was probably a poor choice. My knee felt like it was falling apart 5 minutes in and I pushed on for another 20 before politely excusing myself to go cry alone in the woods. I was so high strung that this was enough to put me over the edge. I ran the three miles back to the car with tears stinging my face - salty, not sweet. I got in the car, laid my head on the steering wheel, and took a deeeeeeeep breath. It was all going to be ok. (But I didn't know it at the time.)
The next morning I hit the greenway and felt terrifically bad after about a 1/4 mile but somehow it started feeling better the more I ran. The clicking in my knee was a little less and after seeing my boss and getting an adjustment that afternoon I thought a few more miles at night would be a good call. Birthday present to myself the next night I ran 5 miles with absolutely no knee pain. It wasn't like magic. The next few days were a little rough and I needed to spend a lot of time concentrating on my gait and not heel striking and doing all the things I was supposed to be doing all along. You know. Like stretching n' stuff. But over the next week - 7 days left on the countdown - I started running relatively pain free. I hadn't done a run over 12 miles in over two weeks so I was getting ready to play it safe on the downhills but I was pretty confident it was going to be all good.
It was go go time. Not go go as in go go girl but go go as in let's get this show on the Thunder Road.
3.15.2010
Hummus Frummus and other friendly figs.
I've been given very explicit instructions to take a few days off. Possibly more than a few days.
You see... I've got this supertubularsomethingorother that has been bothering me lately and I've been just pushing forward in my usual manner. Apparently my turning 24 a couple months ago means business as usual is no longer acceptable. I have been informed that in one's old age stretching and time off between runs are two essential components of running that I have been neglecting. Perhaps because I was unaware that 24 constituted old age. Then again, a couple weeks before my marathon my chiropractor used the "A" word in relation to my knees. Arthritic knees? Really? And then he sealed the deal with, "But that's ok, that's normal for your age." W-o-w.
Alas... I am taking a few days off of running. Don't worry, this does not mean I am taking a few days off of eating. Nope. Not even for one hot minute.
My total mileage for Saturday was a big, gaping 0 but this did not stop me from devouring the good eats at Dinner and Dominoes at the Campbell household. The opener was homemade pita and four spreads. I watched the final stages as the dough was gently rolled out and placed on the baking stone in the oven one at a time - ballooning into an airy existence before being taken out (burning his hands) to become a vehicle for the spreads to reach our mouths.
Four spreads: sun-dried tomato hummus, tapenade, dried fruit medley of goodness, and a more standard hummus with parsley.
The tapenade went first.
The sun-dried tomato hummus was a close second.
And really, we were supposed to have room for dinner after all this? Pita and conversation are a nice combination but the aromas from my mother's cooking were enough to convince us to relocate to the dinner table.
She promised some kind of middle eastern dish... it went far beyond couscous. I wish I could describe the sauce but after cumin I get a little lost. The mixture included apricots, figs, green olives, and braised chicken thighs with more flavor than you could shake a (drum)stick at. The panna cotta for dessert was just a little italian cherry on top.
And shoot. I sandwiched this with a whopping 0 miles on Sunday too. I am convincing myself that this is a necessary evil and as soon as it's all taken care of I can go get it like I've never gone and gotten it before.
Pictures? I know... I'm going to work on that.
You see... I've got this supertubularsomethingorother that has been bothering me lately and I've been just pushing forward in my usual manner. Apparently my turning 24 a couple months ago means business as usual is no longer acceptable. I have been informed that in one's old age stretching and time off between runs are two essential components of running that I have been neglecting. Perhaps because I was unaware that 24 constituted old age. Then again, a couple weeks before my marathon my chiropractor used the "A" word in relation to my knees. Arthritic knees? Really? And then he sealed the deal with, "But that's ok, that's normal for your age." W-o-w.
Alas... I am taking a few days off of running. Don't worry, this does not mean I am taking a few days off of eating. Nope. Not even for one hot minute.
My total mileage for Saturday was a big, gaping 0 but this did not stop me from devouring the good eats at Dinner and Dominoes at the Campbell household. The opener was homemade pita and four spreads. I watched the final stages as the dough was gently rolled out and placed on the baking stone in the oven one at a time - ballooning into an airy existence before being taken out (burning his hands) to become a vehicle for the spreads to reach our mouths.
Four spreads: sun-dried tomato hummus, tapenade, dried fruit medley of goodness, and a more standard hummus with parsley.
The tapenade went first.
The sun-dried tomato hummus was a close second.
And really, we were supposed to have room for dinner after all this? Pita and conversation are a nice combination but the aromas from my mother's cooking were enough to convince us to relocate to the dinner table.
She promised some kind of middle eastern dish... it went far beyond couscous. I wish I could describe the sauce but after cumin I get a little lost. The mixture included apricots, figs, green olives, and braised chicken thighs with more flavor than you could shake a (drum)stick at. The panna cotta for dessert was just a little italian cherry on top.
And shoot. I sandwiched this with a whopping 0 miles on Sunday too. I am convincing myself that this is a necessary evil and as soon as it's all taken care of I can go get it like I've never gone and gotten it before.
Pictures? I know... I'm going to work on that.
3.11.2010
Raining Pigs
Yes. That was a deliberate unsavory pun on "Raining Men" - try not to hate me for being cheesy. (Did someone say cheese? Where, where?)
Last night was a time crunch. Leave work to go by the local running store and talk about what we do here at my place of business as far as fixing people and such. Meet my running partner at 7:00 on the dot to get some miles in and then meet the beau who is to be serving dinner at 8:30. You see, I do this thing where I plan my time as if everything will work like clockwork right down to the minute. My clock apparently struggles at keeping time.
7:06 I steal away from the meeting and change into my running clothes. They understand.
7:19 My running partner who had been peeping through the windows earlier has vanished into the night.
Cue my panic.
Is he coming back? Do I have to run alone now? But it's raining and dark and I'm a lone female in the world. Ok, not lone. I'm not that dramatic. But really... what am I going to do, I'm already off on my plans by 20 minutes and and and...
7:20 "Here he comes to save the day!" and off we go up the hill I hate and onto the sidewalks I equally despise. But at least I'm running. I'll forewarn you, I never said this love affair was always butterflies and rainbows and puppy breath licking your nose. We pass a high school track meet and I'm straining my neck trying to figure it all out. Is that the 3200? Who's winning? And selfishly, would I have beat them back in the day?
The rain starts sweet and innocent, cooling me down from the fresh hot heat of finally moving my body after hours of being relatively sedentary. But then it starts to pelt my face and streak through my eyelashes and blur my vision. We get after it for a bit once we've warmed up and the conversation is flowing... adamantly professing our frustrations and our excitement and the stories of our lives. We round out the run playing frogger with the cars at a busy shopping center. We stop the watch and we walk it in - squeezing ourselves under the small awnings to stretch.
Or should I say, "stretch." My idea of stretching, much to my boss' dismay, is leaning over touching my toes for a few seconds and moving right along. People like me are job security for him. I now have 0 minutes to get anywhere close to presentable so I just head over to eat.
It is very rare that I walk in the door to that house and I don't smell something amazing going on in the kitchen. Pat the dog, grab a quick kiss, and change into my dry work clothes - inside out of course because I'm in such a hurry to figure out what will soon be in my belly.
This is the good part. There are fried pickle spears in the deep fryer (how did I miss those when I got that kiss?) and other goodies leaving all burners on the stove occupied. The fried pickles were amazing to me but not as crunchy as the chef had hoped.
And then he broke out the square plates...
Rutabaga puree with maple. Carrots pureed and mixed with yogurt and raisins. Pork tenderloin lovingly flattened out and spiced up with some s/p and fresh sage and layered with provolone and prosciutto. Plated nicely and all dressed up with some kind of roux drizzled on top.
There is nothing better than sitting down to a mouthwatering, full-flavored hot meal after a run in the chilly rain. The pork was very similar to the first meal the boy ever cooked for me and it (like him) did not disappoint. Next time there will be pictures to illustrate the godly goodness. Which means I might have to let him know that I'm recounting not only my eating but his cooking.
Love Affair
I have two things I love most distinctly in this life:
Running
and
Food.
I'm thankful they work so well together. If my love for running were replaced with a love for my couch we might be in dire straights. (And I mean, dire.) This passion for the pavement and the platter started early on and has been cultivated by those I love, and fortunately, those who love me. I recently (and by recently, I do mean this morning on the way to work) decided I needed to express and recount my love affairs. Neither the running nor the eating grow jealous or tire of the other and therefore... it is a perfect little love triangle if I do say so myself.
So where does one begin such a journey. You should do well with a refresher course of how this all came to be. But perhaps that will come later, for I've got something good on tap.
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