Last week during an episode of Jeopardy, there was a rare three-way loss: every contestant got the Final Jeopardy clue wrong, and had bet everything they had. I'm not even going to pretend that it was a coincidence that I happened to be watching when this unusual turn of events went down. Jeopardy airs at 7:30 pm where I live, and we're almost always watching it because a) it's usually on while I'm making dinner, and b) I am, and have always been, about 75 years old on the inside. The category was state capitals, and the clue was "A 1957 event led to the creation of a national historic site in this city, signed into law by a president whose library is there now."
One can imagine the satisfaction I derived at nailing the answer immediately: Little Rock, Arkansas. And then the thrill of watching the answer stump all three of those contestants and send them packing? People, this is the stuff that dreams are made of. I'm not a trivia buff, and in fact have a pretty lame memory for facts and figures, so I don't generally do very well at Jeopardy. But having just been to Little Rock four weeks prior to run the Three Bridges Marathon, I had also just visited the Clinton Presidential Library, and the historic site at Little Rock Central High School. This was where nine courageous black teenagers (the Little Rock Nine) faced an angry mob and a blockade by the Arkansas National Guard as they integrated the previously all-white high school in the wake of the Supreme Court's historic Brown v. Board of of Education ruling, a pivotal moment in the early civil rights movement.
Running gives me so much. It has kept me strong and energetic as I've crossed over into my fourth decade. (Wait, I guess technically I'm now in my fifth decade?) It keeps me sleeping well at night, and ensures a healthy appetite and (mostly) stable moods. And racing in marathons all over the country has given me even more. It's taken me to important places in our nation's history that I might have otherwise missed, like the Oklahoma City National Memorial & Museum. It's reminded me that art and beauty can be found anywhere, including Fargo, North Dakota. It's given me running friends who live all over the country, and countless delicious new foods to try. From the Cuban coffee and guava pastry in Miami, to the beer brats and Bloody Marys of Wisconsin, to the glorious cheese steaks of Philadelphia .... this land was made for you and me.
I'm currently wrapping up week six of rehabilitating that calf muscle that tore in mile six of the Three Bridges Marathon in Little Rock, which for reasons that still elude me, I finished anyway. So the bottom line is: yes, you are smarter than a marathoner. This one, anyway.
Rehab update: I walked 10 miles this week (plus the 10 or so that I meander per week with my dog), did some strength training, a mile in the pool, and one gentle session of yoga. The calf is holding up and I am pain free, although I feel it tighten up when I walk uphill, so I know it's still delicate and I am being careful with it. Next week I intend to add a few more miles of walking and some easy cycling into the mix, and I'm currently targeting February 14th as my date to try a first gentle bit of running. Eight weeks from the injury, and the day that we celebrate love. Sounds on target to me.
Sunday, January 31, 2016
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
“It’s a heavy burden to look up at the mountain
and want to start the climb.”
I don’t generally write much about my running. I know that’s weird (and I do realize that this is supposed to be a running blog), but I’ve never really felt I have a lot to offer when it comes to the documentation of my runs, the things that I eat, or the way that I train. As a mediocre-at-best runner, taking my advice just isn’t going to get you very far. Well okay, it might get you a little further, it just won't get you there much faster. And you definitely don’t want to be taking my advice on the subjects of diet or fashionable sports apparel. But after running more days of my life over the last thirty years than I have not, I do know a lot about being a runner. And I love writing about that. Running is more than just the backdrop of my life; in many ways it’s the very canvas upon which the layers of my days get painted.
|It's time to learn a few new techniques|
At the moment, that canvas is looking a little barren. I’m now nearly five weeks out from the nasty calf muscle tear I sustained in my last marathon, and am adapting to a new (and hopefully very temporary) identity as a person who doesn’t run. But I’ve still got a few more weeks without running ahead of me, so I’ve pulled out some new paints and am learning a few new brushstrokes. I don’t have a lot to teach you about the way that I run, but I do have a few words to say about the way that I don’t run. I hope you'll learn from my mistakes, my friends. Muscle strain + marathon = stupid. Just don't do it.
I had to wait for the swelling, discoloration, and pain to resolve before I could start any activity, which took nearly three weeks. I did continue to walk my dog regularly, but did so slowly and with great difficulty, careful to avoid hills or movement that required any real “pushing off” on that calf muscle. I walk about ten miles a week with her, but don’t usually consider it exercise, because we’re moving pretty slowly. I also continued with the weekly yoga class that I attend on Mondays, because it’s restorative and not strenuous, and I can protect that muscle by adapting the poses. But until I could use the muscle without pain, I did nothing during those three weeks that required physical exertion or elevated my heart rate. In short: it sucked.
Last week I was able to add in some additional walking - on my own, dog-free, and at a pace that at least makes me sweat a little. I did this on three mornings, for a total of eight miles, and eventually got used to the feeling of just walking fast for the sake of walking fast – not just a warm-up before breaking out into a run for my “real” workout. I went back to the gym twice, and got in one relatively gentle strength workout (that still left me plenty sore) and a half mile in the pool. I swam in the shallow indoor pool that I usually avoid because it’s kept warm for people with arthritis, figuring this would be easier on the damaged muscle. And in fact, it was really nice to get in and out of the warm water in comfort rather than with the usual blue lips and chattering teeth, and to be able to stand in my lane and stretch out all those happy muscles that had been used for the first time in many weeks. In short: last week sucked a lot less.
|Learning to appreciate the joys of walking.|
This week brings more miles of walking, a little more weight at the gym, more stretching and strengthening of the calf muscle, and a few more laps in the pool. I’m trying to adapt my eating habits to reflect my much lower calorie output, and am doing battle with the negative thoughts and feelings of overwhelm at the mountain of recovery that’s still ahead of me. And this week, I expect, will suck even less than the one before it. Whether I’m running or not, I’m a runner, and I’m ready for the climb.
Sunday, January 10, 2016
Alright, alright. I know I was supposed to do the new year’s resolutions thing a while ago now. Timeliness has never been my strong suit. I’m working on it. I have been jotting down notes to myself for a couple of weeks, however, reflecting on last year’s progress and setbacks, the obstacles I hope to overcome in the year ahead, new habits I want to cultivate, and old habits I want to let go of. And as much as I try to avoid it, the pages are filling with stuff I want to do: Volunteer with a homeless services organization. Read more books. Update my advanced directives. Talk to more strangers. Improve my skills as an educator and a non-profit manager. Visit another national park. Learn some good jokes. See more art. Dedicate myself to a strong rehabilitation from December’s injury, and come back stronger and more flexible than before. Nail a personal record in a fall marathon, and cross off another one of those 50 states.
|Who doesn't love a well-timed fortune cookie?|
The aspect of myself that I’ve been working hardest at over the past year is less doing. That is to say: better alignment between what I value and what I do. Today I have fewer commitments that clutter my calendar and just make me “busy,” and have made a career change that has me doing work that better fits my skills, interests, and professional mission, in an organization that fits my values and my personal mission. With that important transformation now behind me, a lot of free space has opened up in my grey matter, and I need to be careful about what I let back in. I’ve always carved out the time and space for running in my life, and there's always time for a good new joke. The rest of it will take some planning.
So while I’ve been doing all of this thinking about the things I’d like to do in the coming year, I’ve also given a lot of thought to the time that it would all require. Everything needs to fit, not only within my existential personal framework (who I am, who I’m becoming, who I want to be, blah, blah, blah), but let’s be real: it also just needs to fit within your basic 24-hour day. So I did a little math, and here’s how it all breaks down:
Sleeping and working account for nearly two-thirds of my life, but as luck would have it, I really love doing both of those things. Another fifth of my life is spent doing other grown-up things like eating (listen: food and who I eat it with is important to me, and thoughtful preparation and enjoyment takes time), grooming (which in addition to your basic personal hygiene also includes things like ironing my clothes, getting the occasional haircut, and trimming those nasty runner toenails), chores-ing (laundry, cleaning, shopping, and errands), and walking my aging but still-high-maintenance dog. And in an average week, it turns out I have the gift of 31 precious hours with which I am free to do as I please.
I don’t have kids, I’m not in school, and I don’t need to work a second job to make ends meet. I’m not caring for an aging parent, or dealing with a personal health crisis. Life changes quickly, though, and for now I’ve got an enormous gift in that time and freedom, and I know I’d better use it wisely. Thirty-one hours (which breaks down to 2.5 hours of free time per average work day, and 9.2 hours of free time per average weekend day – what can I say? I love Excel spreadsheets) is not nearly enough time to do all of the things I’d like to do, no, so I need to make some choices. But I’ve got the time for more volunteer work, Sunday mornings spent with good books, and time spent in beautiful places. And – no excuses – I’ve got the time to get to the gym and get this calf muscle healed, hit the road (once it’s ready) and build my mileage back up, and rock an awesome marathon this year.
So, who’s got a good joke?
Friday, January 1, 2016
January 1st. The perfect day for a shift in perspective.
Almost everyone who passed us gave us a wave or a hello, moods surely elevated by the sunshine and all of the promise of the first day of a new year. One woman took a long, smiling look at Norma, reclining in the grass and soaking up the ear scratches, and then looked over to me and said: "What a life: sunshine and love." She certainly didn't know that we were taking our moment of pause because Norma has a bum leg. And frankly, in that moment, Norma probably didn't know that either. Sunshine and love were the name of the game. After we'd rested for a while, she was back up and walking normally, and trotted happily home.
While walking my dog in Balboa Park this morning - a blue skied and perfect 63-degree morning - the old girl quit on me. Norma is an eleven year old terrier mix that we adopted from a shelter a decade ago, and while she's gotten old and gray, she's still got some pretty good energy. She walks several miles a day, chases a ball or a stick or anything you throw for her, and can do a mean "sit pretty" for anyone that she thinks might have a treat. But she's definitely slowing down and, like me, her aging joints give her occasional moments of grief.
Today, a mile or two into our slower-than-it-used-to-be stroll through the park, she stopped. I felt the tug of the leash and looked back to find her sitting with one paw lifted, clearly in some discomfort. I gave her a quick check to see if something was stuck in her paw, and finding nothing, moved us off of the walking path and into a soft, sunny patch of grass to just give her a few minutes of rest (which usually does the trick). She limped over to me, laid down, and we sat together and watched the walkers, runners, families, and dogs go by. No one walking by would have known that she was in pain. I love dogs, and their infinite toughness.
|The old girl, in her happy place|
I saw my doctor this week, and got a sports medicine consult to check out that calf muscle I damaged two weeks ago during the 3 Bridges Marathon. I received the best possible news: no tendon damage, and a moderate tear that will likely require 6-8 weeks of rest, but that is already healing nicely. The pain and swelling are nearly gone, and in another few days I can start stretching and strengthening my leg, gently. Come February, I should be able to start running again. It will be slow, and I'll need to avoid hills and speed work for quite some time. I'm not sure when I'll be able to start training again, but I know that I will start training again, and I'll keep that happy thought on my horizon. I can choose to be frustrated by my bum leg and the setback. Or I can just enjoy the opportunity to soak up some sunshine and the love, and call it good.
Happy new year, friends! May you find yourself invigorated and ready for whatever it is you're looking to tackle in the 366 days ahead. And may you also get a break and a good scratch on the ears whenever you need it.