83 Days

Today is February 2nd, Groundhog Day. For most people, it's a day when a grumpy woodchuck is hauled out of a fake burrow into a carnival-like atmosphere and "decides" whether or not we will have six more weeks of winter.

Newsflash, people: we will always have six more weeks of winter after Groundhog Day. The spring equinox isn't until March 20.

Leaving aside the absurdity of trusting a large rodent to predict the weather, Groundhog Day means something else to me. On February 2, 2007, I underwent a total hysterectomy. On February 2, 2007—five years ago today—I got my life back.

I've alluded to the operation before in passing on el bloggo before. I specifically addressed it in one of the first posts I ever made, but I have never discussed what happened to me in the years leading up to my surgery and why I decided on, as my surgeon put it, "definitive management" at the age of 33.

I had a lengthy post partially written about all the trials and tribulations I endured, starting at the very beginning, but I have decided instead to let the 83 days (for perspective, that's 11 weeks and 6 days—almost three months) leading up to my surgery speak for themselves. I wrote these words down elsewhere long ago so I would never forget how horrible those days were. 


A slight bit of background: in the spring of 2005 I began to suspect something was wrong with me, and in October 2005 I went to the first of many doctor's appointments. By November 2006, I had been poked, prodded, procedured, and pill-popped to the extreme, with no relief or explanation. I was having periods that lasted two, three, or four weeks with mere days between bleeding episodes.  I was an emotional wreck from the hormone war inside me (I was on estrogen, progesterone, levornogestrel...). My whole life revolved around what was going on in my nether regions. Everything I did—from what I wore each day (the darker the better) to how long it took me to towel off after a shower to the sheets I chose to put on the bed (never the white ones)—depended on the state of affairs downstairs. My uterus had made my life miserable for a year and a half, and in November 2006 it launched its final assault.

Warning: everything from this point forward may be Too Much Information for some to handle. Proceed at your own risk.

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Day 1 (aka D-Day): November 12 (2006). I run the Ann Arbor Turkey Trot 5K that morning, come home, take a long hot shower, and find the first trace of Aunt Flo. "I've been expecting you," I murmur. What is her visit this time going to be like?

Day 16, November 27. Things have taken a turn for the worse after two weeks of mostly clear sailing. All of a sudden I am a fountain of blood. It's an unstoppable river. Clots galore. It's ugly.

Day 19, November 30. I wake up that morning in a fog, head spinning, so weak and dizzy I can barely stand up. I throw up. I call in sick to work. Go to the doctor. Get some estrogen pills. Am told to take TWO iron supplements per day to offset all the blood I am losing.

Day 20, December 1. A peanut-sized piece of my uterine wall falls out of me today. It is horrible. That is all I wish to say about that episode. (a quick note: The sight of that pinkish-gray blob stuck to the end of my tampon twisted my brain. I could not comprehend what I was seeing. It was like a horror movie. I thought: "My insides are falling apart." I broke down and cried. It would not be the only time I cried in the bathroom at work.)

Day 36, December 17. The estrogen FINALLY seems to be working. The open faucet has slowed to a steady trickle.

Day 37, December 18. I meet with the wonderful Dr. G at the East Ann Arbor Clinic today. I tell her I have been bleeding nonstop for 37 days. I tell her I want a hysterectomy. SHE AGREES. I get an appointment to see a surgeon at the University of Michigan hospital in a month.

Day 55, January 5 (2007). I have another pelvic ultrasound. I am bleeding like a stuck pig. I make a mess all over their sheets. I stand up and blood droplets splash on the floor, my leg, the sheet I have wrapped around me. I am so embarrassed. I say, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I want to die.

Day 58, January 8. Morning: The fresh Super Plus tampon I put in a mere hour ago is saturated. The next one is saturated within an hour and a half. And the next one after that lasts two. I go through five Super Plus tampons in one work day. I am exhausted by the end of the day from blood loss. The entire week is very, very bad. I estimate I lose at least 1/8 to 1/4 cup of blood per day. I give up on tampons and just let blood run freely into the toilet. I watch it. I picture my measuring spoons and cups, blood spilling everywhere, clots, running red, toilet bowl water like some operating room basin, a slaughterhouse.

Day 60, January 10. I realize I have been bleeding for sixty days. I start to wonder just how long it can go on. Now it's a game. A terrible, ghastly game. A game for which I cannot see an end.

Day 61, January 11. I have to get up three times in the middle of the night to change tampons. They are each saturated, rendered useless, in two hours or less. Only the pads I wear at the same time keep my clothing and sheets from being fouled. This goes on for days.

Day 66, January 16. I meet with the even more wonderful Dr. S. at the U of M. I beg her to make it stop. Just make it stop. Give me relief. Give me a hysterectomy. Take it all away. SHE AGREES. I have a surgery date of February 2. (Dr. S. is my hero. I truly believe she saved my life.)

Day 80, January 30. Eighty days. I have now been bleeding for eighty days. How is that even possible? I think back to November 12. If someone had told me on that day that I would still be bleeding at the end of January I would have laughed and told them they were insane, because periods don't last that long. How could a person bleed for 80 days and still function properly?

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Three days later, I had my operation. I will never forget the sensation of returning to consciousness in the recovery room. It was as if someone were slowly turning up the volume on the real world. I heard soft noises gradually getting louder, felt a soothing massaging sensation on my lower legs (anti-embolism cuffs), realized I was warm and comfortable...and...and...then, one thought, crystal clear, pushing all other thoughts aside: It's over. IT'S OVER. I WILL NEVER BLEED AGAIN. The joy and relief I felt at that moment were overwhelming; If I had had the wherewithal to scream, I would have: "IT'S OVER! IT'S OVERRRRRRRRRR!"

I'm sure the nurses would have loved that.

I wrote this a few days after surgery:

Surgery was Friday the 2nd (Groundhog Day...no word on whether or not my uterus saw its shadow upon exiting my body) and took about three hours. I came to in the recovery room at 3:00 and rested there for the next 6 hours as they tried to find me a room upstairs. I was finally moved into a room at 9:00. I had a mostly uneventful night, tried to get some sleep, used my morphine drip button as often as possible, and was woken up every hour for a vital signs check. The next morning my surgeon came around to see me and when she asked me how I was doing I said I was, above all, "relieved." She looked quizzical and I said, "It's over. Eighty-three days of bleeding and it's over forever. I'm just so happy." As I had predicted on the day I had my pre-op appointment with her (January 16) I was indeed still bleeding the day of surgery. 83 days straight. But it's OVER!

She told me that I had two pedunculated fibroids growing outside my uterus that were about three inches in diameter-- about the size of a tangerine. She showed me with her hands. Then she showed me how big my uterus was. The two fibroids combined were larger than my uterus. Ugh. I am so glad they are gone. I exclaimed, "Well that explains some of the odd sensations I had been experiencing for the past few months!"

I'm just so darn happy that it's over and I can start living normally again. When I took a shower the other day, it was so strange to be able to leisurely towel off instead of madly scrambling to pull on a pair of undies with a pad or shove a tampon into place before I started dripping blood on the floor. I am just not used to NOT having to wear feminine products 24/7. I have to keep reminding myself, "I have no uterus!" It's a wonderful thought. 

The transition to life After Hysterectomy was a wondrous journey. My first post-op shower (mentioned above) was the first in a series of rediscoveries of a life I had all but forgotten, a life that for almost two years had been drowning in a lake of blood.

I am now at day 12 post-hysterectomy and the novelty has not yet worn off. I'll turn over in bed, feel some muscles tense and then relax, and I think, Oh...I better make sure I just didn't have breakthrough bleeding...WAIT A MINUTE. When I used the bathroom in the time B.H. (Before Hysterectomy) it became second nature to perform a quick undie-check to make sure I hadn't fouled up my clothes. I still do it, and each time I give myself a little mental shakedown to remind myself I don't need to do that anymore! That will be a hard habit to break. Everything is so wonderfully NORMAL that I'm still getting used to it.

It took a long time for my sense of discovery and wonder to wear off. Each day in those early A.H. weeks was a revelation, but gradually I grew accustomed to my new life. One of the biggest triumphs I experienced was starting to run again six weeks post-op. Whereas before I had been severely hindered by fatigue from anemia (the 5K I ran on D-Day, November 12, was the limit of my endurance at the time), in the spring of 2007 I began to stretch my legs, so to speak, running farther and eventually faster than I ever expected. In May of 2007 I registered on a whim for the Detroit Half Marathon, and the rest is history.

If you've made it this far (and congratulations on that!) your reward is my discussion of the nuts and bolts of the how, what, and why of my surgery and the conditions that caused it to happen.

I had a laparoscopically-assisted vaginal hysterectomy (LAVH), which means the fabulous Dr. S. made three 1 cm incisions on my lower abdomen, delved into my innards with laparoscopes, and pulled my uterus and its appendages (fallopian tubes and cervix) out through my vajayjay. Having an LAVH meant I did not have to have my stomach sliced open from side to side: the peduncular fibroids clinging to my uterus were not prohibitively large for passage through my vagina. Once all the goods were removed, what was left of the ol' vajayjay was closed into a blunt end. I imagine it as a test tube and affectionately refer to it as "the vadge to nowhere." My ovaries were left behind; there was nothing wrong with them (small miracle!) and Dr. S. made it clear she didn't want me going into menopause at the age of 33. 

I was suffering from a condition called menometrorraghia, which is fancy-speak for "crazy-ass periods with no discernable pattern AND bonus fun awesomeness of massive blood loss!" The menometrorraghia was itself caused by adenomyosis (abnormal thickening of the endometrium) and a nasty little bugger of a submucosal fibroid a mere 1 cm in diameter that was camped out inside the uterine wall. The two pedunculated fibroids hanging off the exterior of my uterus were just there for show.

You've got the how, you've got the what...but what about the why? Why did my uterus sprout benign growths? Why did the interior thicken and grow in weird ways? Why did it happen? I still don't know. The best I can come up with is "it just did," and because I'm a scientist, that really irks me. I want evidence and explanations, and not knowing why my uterus decided to revolt after 30-ish years of peacefully residing inside my body bugs the crap out of me!

Some questions will be left unanswered.

Two more thoughts.

First: When I went to see Dr. S. six weeks after surgery, I thanked her profusely for changing my life for the better. I wish I could say I hugged her, but I honestly can't remember. I do remember, however, when she said:

"When you came here that day [January 16, the day I met her] you knew exactly what you wanted, didn't you?"

I sure as shit knew what I wanted. I wanted to be FREE. She gave that to me, and I will remember what she did for me for the rest of my life.

Finally: I consider February 2 my "second birthday." It is as important a day in my personal history as my real birthday or the day I got married.

Today is February 2. Happy fifth birthday to me!

Double Down

Today I did two things I have not done for a very long time:

1. Ran twice in one day

2. Ran more than 7 miles

This morning I awoke with the intention of visiting my gym, my membership to which I renewed yesterday. My new access tag wold not permit me to enter, however, so I returned home a bit disgruntled. It was only 6:10 am and I was dressed in workout wear. What else to do but go for a run? How could I not, given that it was 43 degrees? It turned out to be a very enjoyable 3.37 miles, despite my frantic dash the final quarter-mile to get home before I had a poop-related catastrophe. I texted the Engineer a bit later: "Nothing like threat of imminent crapping of one's pants to put a little spring in the step."

If you reside in the Midwest, unless you've been living in a cave, you know we are having a ridiculously mild winter. I've been in Michigan since 1998 and, before that, the Cleveland area since 1987 and I don't recall anything like what we're experiencing now. This weather reminds me of winters in the San Francisco Bay Area where I grew up. Today the temperature reached 54 degrees. 54 degrees! In Michigan! In JANUARY! This is craziness!

What it also meant was I had to run again this evening with the group from Running Fit. I couldn't let a 54-degree day pass by unused. Thus, I went out around 6:30 from the store on the west side of Ann Arbor. Even though the sun had gone down, it was still about 52 degrees. Shortly before the turnaround of the out-and-back route, I crossed paths with with a couple of speedy ladies (one of whom recently ran the Olympic Trials Marathon), and they were kind enough to slow down to my pace, which I described as"slow-ass." I could tell we were moving faster as we neared the store, and they ended up pulling me to a 9:19 pace, which these days is enough to lift my spirits. I ran an additional 3.67 miles tonight, bringing today's total to 7.04 miles. The last time I ran that far was the Cleveland Half in May 2011 (the day of the great calf-shredding debacle). My legs are now a little bit "what the hell just happened?"

They need to get used to it, because I plan on running the Dexter-Ann Arbor Half Marathon in early June. So get ready, legs; your lazy days of 2-3 miles at a time will soon be over.

The "11 Random Things/Questions" meme has been making the blog rounds, and I have been ensnared thanks to Raulgonemobile. (As usual, I'm not going to tag anyone. If you're in the running blogosphere, you've probably seen this recently, and you can play along if you want to. Right now I'm not motivated enough to come up with 11 new questions. It's late and I want to go to bed.)

1. Favorite obscure movie? (And why.)
 "Walking and Talking," a 1996 film with pre-stardom Catherine Keener and Anne Heche. I don't know why I love this movie; I just do. Plus the soundtrack includes Liz Phair, which is awesome.

2. Favorite kitchen appliance? (And why.)
My KitchenAid mixer. It's been a trusty workhorse for 13 years. (Close seconds: the coffee maker, because I love the sweet nectar of the bean, and my blender, which kicks ass.)

3. Favorite Olympic sport?
I confess: gymnastics. I love watching small people do crazy shit with their bodies.

4. What method(s) do you use to make time for yourself?
I live alone, so all of my time is my own once I leave work. I can do whatever I want and am beholden to no one. Sometimes that means watching four hours of TV. Sometimes I go see a movie. Sometimes I get into bed at 8:30 and spend 3 hours reading. Sometimes I attend a classical music concert. On the weekends, there's coffee and the New York Times and then the whole day is wide open. Whatever it is, I'm doing it because I want to, not because I have to, and the freedom to decide what I do with my time is wonderful.

5. Favorite alcoholic beverage (if beer, be specific. :) )
Beer: Bell's Two-Hearted Pale Ale or Dark Horse Tres Blueberry Stout.

6. Why do you blog?
It's the natural evolution of the journals I kept throughout high school, college, and graduate school. I've been scribbling down my thoughts since I was 13. The medium may have changed, but the intention is the same.

7. What is one place you've always wanted to travel to, but haven't made it there yet?
The Netherlands, to see if I can track down my great-grandfather's family history.

8. What's your take on reality TV?
UGH. I watch "The Soup" so I don't have to watch any actual reality TV, because most of the people on those shows and their antics make my skin crawl. The stupid...it burns...

9. Favorite band?
My favorite artist has been---for 25 years--- and will always be Depeche Mode. Yes, I am a child of the 80s.

10. Mac or PC?
Currently a ten-year-old PC, but I am looking to upgrade to a Mac in the next few months.

11. Favorite season to work out in?
Fall. Summer's heat and humidity has dissipated, winter's dark, frozen chill hasn't descended, and the leaves are gorgeous.

It Was Fun While it Lasted

The Streak came to an end today after 13 days. 13 days that rekindled my love of running, which had burned down to embers over the past six months.

Today was such a glorious day, too. We had temperatures in the 40s! I wanted nothing more than to come home, throw on my running clothes, and get out the door, but I didn't.

Why? Because of a strange little spot on the front of my shin, a little spot that began troubling me several days ago, a little spot whose arm-waving "here I am, pay attention to me!" quickly became more insistent. When I rubbed and pressed on the spot, located over my tibia, it hurt. Like, yank my fingers away kind of hurt. Like, what the hell is going on here? kind of hurt. Like, why is this hurting when I'm lying in bed? kind of hurt.

I knew better than to keep running on it, but I was caught up in The Streak and I was finally loving running, yearning to run, after so many months of not really wanting to, that I told myself, "it's just shin splints," and kept going.

Of course, I mentioned the tender spot on my bone to the Redhead and she was all "you need to take a few days off. STOP NOW."

Of course, that was not what I wanted to hear, but in all things bone-ache-related I defer to Red because she is an expert in that department.


I suppose I was being overly ambitious with The Streak. I don't think I've ever run for 13 days in a row without a rest day, not even when I was training for the Cleveland Marathon (when my only goal was to qualify for Boston). I just started...and couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop. I enjoyed every run I did, even the ones last week when it was like 25 degrees and the wind was blowing and a few times there was snow or sleet coming down and I wasn't going any faster than 10:30/mile. I was out there, I was hitting the pavement, I was pestering the Engineer to hurry up so we could go run!

Today: reluctant avoidance. Sigh.

I wanted SO SO SO SO SO! badly to run after work that when I left I texted Red and said, "Tell me again I'm NOT to take advantage of this nice day and run when I get home." She advised me to go for a walk or take Brownie out for a ride (poor Brownie, she's been stashed in my garage since September). After a stop at Lowe's and another at CVS, however, by the time I arrived home it was 5:30 and twilight had set in. I elected to label stairclimbing as my exercise for the day and call it good.

I'll stay off my legs for a couple of days, then run again and reassess the spot situation. If it persists, a visit to my sports doctor is in order. I want to err on the side of caution. I do not want to end up hurting myself grievously. I'd like to do some things to be proud of in 2012, not crash and burn like I did in 2011.

On my run after work yesterday, this was on the message rock in a local park:

I want the next one to say "School Of" or "And Roll." Further suggestions can be left in the comments.

Yesterday was also the evening of cats undercover:

Boo in bed with me

Darwin on the couch

Eve on the Ave 5K: Goodbye 2011, Hello 2012!

Saturday evening I gathered with the Redhead, Spike, and the Engineer for a decidedly nontraditional New Year's Eve celebration: a 5K road race. I am old and crotchety and running three miles at 10:00 PM is, to me, a much better way to ring in the new year than getting drunk in a loud bar far from home, staying out until who knows when, and waking up with a terrible hangover the next day. No, at the advanced age of 38 I have embraced my preference for low-key evenings close to home with people dear to me, concluding with fluffy pajamas, a warm blanket, cats, the Engineer next to me, and a sensible bedtime. Oh sure, I had sparkling wine on hand for the big moment when the clock ticked over to midnight...I'm not that much of a curmudgeon.

Anyway. The Eve on the Ave 5K was in downtown Jackson on New Year's Eve, and we congregated beforehand for some conversation and silly pictures with Christmas decorations.

Red and Spike demonstrate why reflective safety vests are so cool.

The conditions for Saturday's race were favorable: clear, dry, and 35 degrees, much better than two years ago when I ran this same race in an ice storm. Spike decided he was going to lead the race for the first 50 meters, so he took off sprinting and yelling while the rest of us hung back. I quickly settled into my cruising pace, which was boosted by the gentle downhill of the first half mile. The route was two loops around downtown Jackson and then a half-mile uphill climb (the start in reverse) to the finish. There were plenty of celebratory revelers on hand to watch the crazy people running in the dark. When late-night race spectators are drunk and bar crawling or standing around on porches with music blaring, the commentary directed at you will be less of the "woo! all right runners!" variety and more like "fucking losers, get off the street!"

All righty, then. I managed to "get off the street" in just over 29 minutes, averaging a 9:19/mile pace, which is as fast as I've run since April 2011. The nasty headwind and long uphill grades nibbled at my pace a little, and the pasta dinner I consumed 2.5 hours before the race was making its presence known in an unpleasant fashion, but I finished the race feeling strong and fresh, sausage-y burps and stomachache notwithstanding.

After Red and Spike finished together about 8 minutes later, we all fled indoors for warmth and to await the results. When they were posted, both Red and I placed second in our respective age groups.

We're number two! We're number two!

Lest ye think this was a fluff race devoid of competition, the top two overall finishers were both female and ran under 18:00 (17:58 and 17:59). The race winner, a local high school senior, recently finished 14th at the Foot Locker Cross Country Championships, thereby earning All-American honors. The second-place female won the Grand Rapids Marathon in 2010. Maybe the second-place lady was a bit off her game Saturday night because she won the Belle Isle New Year's Eve 5K earlier the same day in a time of 16:44?

Sadly, they only awarded homemade pies to the top finisher in each age group, which meant Red and I missed out on some seriously awesome AG swag. Nevertheless, we celebrated our second place-ness with gusto.

Ooooh...shiny!

We parted ways soon afterward and the Engineer and I were back in Chelsea with time to spare to warm up, throw on the aforementioned fuzzy pajamas, and herald the arrival of 2012.

Saturday's race marked nine days in a row of running for me. Yesterday was 10, and today's run made it 11. Eleven days in a row of running. I don't know if that's ever happened. Tomorrow, however, reality returns in the form of work, and I will see how long The Streak lasts once I am back to getting up early. I hope that the momentum I built up over the past week and a half carries me forward.

In other news, I am a devoted player of Words with Friends, and today I conjured up my best (as in highest-scoring) word ever in a game against my good pal Mr. E. (whom I have decided to call the Birdmaster, which refers to his (and my) love of all things avian, and also because of a terrible movie called "The Beastmaster," which is a joke from our shared graduate school past. HAWK VISION!)

BOO YAH! Of course, my next batch of letters sucked. I also need to charge my battery.

Onward into 2012!

Thursday Thoughts: Relaxation!

I am seven days into my 11-day vacation and I couldn't be happier. I am also seven days into my longest streak of running in I can't even remember how long. Yes, every day for the last 7 days I have gotten outside and run between 2 and 4 miles. I am reluctant to put a label on this or turn it into a loftier goal, but...how long can I keep "the streak" going?

I was in my hometown near Cleveland for Christmas, spending quality time with family. Christmas morning we indulged in mimosas.

Champagne and OJ now, running later

I returned to Chelsea on Monday. The Engineer joined me on Tuesday, and Wednesday-- yesterday-- was my 38th birthday. I'm 2 years away from being a Masters runner! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! (shriek of horror)

The Engineer got me an amazing birthday gift: a watercolor painting of sandhill cranes. These impressive birds can be seen in this area (western Washtenaw and eastern Jackson counties) during their spring and fall migrations.

Darwin is not a very good art critic.

In other bird news, today on my run I saw a red-shouldered hawk in the cemetery. It was close enough so I was able to see its glassy black eyes. Awesome!

PLAYOFFS?!

I was pondering how I was going to approach the traditional "end of the year" post. Considering that 2011 wasn't exactly a stellar year for me, I decided to let Jim Mora, former coach of the Indianapolis Colts, do the talking for me.



I remember hearing this rant on the radio in 2001 and laughing my ass off. "Playoffs? Don't talk about playoffs! You kidding me?"

Substitute the word "goals" for "playoffs" and that's how I feel about 2011. Actually...this whole rant describes my year.

"Disgraceful performance."

"In my opinion, that sucked."

"Holy crap, I don't know who the hell we think we are."

"Unbelievable."

"Pitiful. Absolutely pitiful to perform like that."

Yep, that was my year. Pitiful. I didn't do one damn thing worth mentioning except blowing out my right calf in the middle of the Cleveland Half Marathon, after which I ran 7 more miles to finish the race. The best part about that debacle was seeing Red about 2 miles from the finish.

I'll say it again: I love, love, love this picture.

My injury in May set up the rest of the year: three months of physical therapy followed by a very careful return to running. I ran my first full mile at the end of August and I can now run about four miles at once. My formerly-shredded calf is holding up well. No twinges at all.

I got my act together after skipping last year and sent out a holiday card to my friends and family:

This, of course, is a picture from my AWESOME FANTASTIC AMAZING vacation to the Pacific Northwest with the Engineer back in September. This particular picture was taken a few miles from the ruins of Mt. St. Helens. For a geologist, this is one of those "must-visit" locations.

You can see logs lying flat on the ground behind me, indicating the direction of the blast which raked the landscape. The mountain itself, about three miles away, is missing its northern flank, because it blew off and slid into Spirit Lake. A blistering pyroclastic flow spread through the forest, flattening and burning everything in its path. Ash and pumice rained down everywhere. And yet, you can see that the landscape is green after 30 years of healing. Nature is attempting to right itself.

I picked up a few pieces of pumice as souvenirs; I kept several and gave one choice chunk to my nephew. I explained what it was and where it came from (in terms a 3-year-old could understand). Last weekend my brother informed me my nephew would not sleep without his pumice. I replied, "I rule." I think my brother has seen through my nefarious plan to turn my nephew into a geology nerd...

Thursday Thoughts: So Long, Old Friends

Brooks Adrenaline 9: March 2010-December 2011

These are the shoes I wore when I ran the Boston Marathon in April 2010. I also wore them for the Thunder Road Marathon a year ago. In January of this year I got a new pair of Adrenaline 10s because these, my fourth pair of Adrenaline 9s, were completely wasted. Once my new shoes went into rotation, these became my hashing and yard work shoes. They served me well through the spring, summer and into the fall, getting nastier and dirtier all the while. One particular hash was especially brutal from a mud perspective; afterward, I knew the shoes' days were numbered as I didn't even want to put them on my feet anymore. I got my newest pair of shoes in mid-November, which pushed my Adrenaline 10s into the dirty work position...and pushed my cherished Boston shoes into obsolescence.

I should have thrown them away long ago, but I couldn't. These shoes crossed the starting line of the Boston Marathon in Hopkinton and 26 miles later ran down Boylston Street to the finish. My Boston journey from qualification to finishing the race will likely be the pinnacle of my running career, as I don't see myself becoming fast enough to requalify for a long time. Maybe ever. My first Boston could be my only Boston. These shoes were there, man! I can't get rid of them!

Except...despite my propensity for allowing piles of paper to accumulate all over the place (I call it my "Pile Problem") I am not a hoarder. I don't have a problem throwing things away even when they have sentimental value. Worn-out dirty shoes, even if they trod the Boston Marathon course, are still just worn-out dirty shoes. Thus, this morning I carried them downstairs, flipped open the trash can lid, and dumped them inside. I admit I felt a tiny pang of sadness as they fell in with yesterday's coffee grounds and an empty tomato container. Farewell, faithful shoes.*sniffle*

Our shared moment of glory: the finish of the Boston Marathon.

My new pair of shoes are women's Brooks Adrenaline 12s. I wore men's shoes for years because they were roomier than the women's version, and the size I needed in a women's shoe wasn't readily available because I have giant freak feet. However! When I went to Running Fit last month for a new pair of shoes (having decided my old shoes were partly to blame for my aching ankles), they had the 2012 Adrenalines on hand AND THEY HAD A WOMEN'S SIZE 12! I snapped them up immediately and wore them a few days later for the Girls on the Run 5K in Ypsilanti on November 20. Running in them after using my crashed-out, washed-up Adrenaline 10s was like...puffy clouds! drifting raft! feather bed! A THOUSAND COMFY CHAIRS!

Side note: does anyone else think the evil chuckling of the Inquisitors in the video sounds exactly like the evil chuckling of the pigs from Angry Birds?

In other news, this morning when I got up it was 55 degrees. I took advantage of this by running to the gym (almost 1 mile), working out, and then running home. I was accompanied by light rain; it was not enough to dissuade me from running outdoors. 55 degrees in December in Michigan is rare indeed and must be celebrated, because it surely will not last long! Sure enough, temperatures are going to nosedive over the course of the day until we're back to 25 degrees overnight. Sigh.

Thursday Thoughts: Sigh, Ouch

1. Sigh

My backyard on Wednesday morning¹

Do not be fooled by the deceptively attractive appearance of the above scene. This can mean only one thing: winter is here. Yes, I know that winter doesn't technically begin until December 22nd. This is Michigan! Winter prematurely ejaculates on us every year! You think it's still fall...you spend part of the Thanksgiving holiday walking outside in 55-degree temperatures...the sun is shining...and then...

WHAM! You get hit with a big wet mess when you weren't expecting it.

Yes, I am participating in the annual "woe is us" collective groan that arises from the Midwest at this time of year. Most of my Midwest run-blogger buddies have already posted a variation on this theme. WE CAN'T HELP IT! We forget what the weather was like eight or nine months ago. We are lulled into complacency by warm weather and green grass. The memories of those horrible long runs in 15 degrees and four inches of snow recede until we kind of remember that something unpleasant happened in February, but we're not sure what. Our gloves, hats, tights, long-sleeved shirts, and jackets get shuffled to the bottoms of piles and drawers or lost altogether. The long, lazy days of summer stretch on and on...

We know what's coming, but we pretend not to notice the days growing shorter, the temperatures falling. We wear shorts and T-shirts long after a "normal" person would have donned pants and a jacket. We refuse to try on that one jacket that was always a little snug to see if it still (sort of) fits. Maybe we can't find that jacket at all, and that's okay. It's still fall! It's still warm! It hasn't gone below freezing at night yet! I don't have to drive to work in the dark! IT'S NOT WINTER! IT'S NOT! I CAN'T HEAR YOU! LA LA LA LA LAAAAA...

*SPLAT*

That was the big wet mess. HEL-LO! It's winter, remember her?

We sigh, square our shoulders, dig out the gloves, hats, tights, long-sleeved shirts, and jackets. We make sure the battery on the headlamp is fresh and there's a safety vest to wear on those dark, cold mornings. We're relieved to find the close-fitting jacket still fits after all, and that pair of thick tights mysteriously appears in a pile of sweaters. We acclimate to the temperature, embrace the darkness. We run in 30, 20, 10 or zero degrees (not without occasional consequences, however). We run in sleet, snow, wind, rain. We feel like badasses, we consider ourselves hardcore. We are the Michigan winter runners.

2. Ouch

The Redhead and I extended our streak of good luck at Lillie Park with a walk on Monday. However, Tuesday (pouring rain) and Wednesday (snow) were not as kind. In lieu of the park, we elected to climb stairs in the tall building next to my office. Thirteen flights of stairs at 22 steps per flight and four trips up equals 1,144 steps. We were both sweaty and breathless when we finished. My heart was thundering. As relaxing and bucolic as the path through Lillie Park is, it does not equal a true cardiovascular workout. Stair climbing, on the other hand...whew.

This morning when I arose to go to the gym, my calves were like "HEY! What did you do to us yesterday?" I was unable to meet up with Redhead at lunch today, so I climbed stairs by myself. I managed two sets before my calves were all "WHAT THE HELL CUT IT OUT ALREADY!" I spent the rest of the afternoon slowly walking around the building when I had to; my quads and calves were more sore every time I stood up. They were in full-on revolt by the time I left work, screaming "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO US, ASSHOLE, JESUS IT FEELS LIKE WE JUST RAN A HALF MARATHON OR SOMETHING, YOU BETTER NOT FUCKING DO THIS AGAIN TOMORROW! ARRRRRGH!"

Little do they know.

1: In the picture you can see four of my five bird feeders. I am very serious about my bird feeders and bird seed. I have suet cakes, thistle seed, sunflower seed, and a mix. This is calculated to attract the maximum species diversity to my yard.

Thinking Back

Exactly six months ago today—May 15, 2011—I sustained the worst injury of my running career. My plantaris tendon ruptured and took my medial gastroc and soleus muscles down in flames with it six miles into the Cleveland Half Marathon. If you didn't already know, I finished the race. "Did Not Finish" was not an option.

Mile eleven, in excruciating pain, but so happy I got to see the Redhead!

Following a diagnostic ultrasound in early June, I was ordered into Frankenboot. At least Redhead and I got to be miserable together, though my relationship with the boot was more of a short-term fling while hers was long-term and serious.

It's the fashion statement of the summer! All the cool chicks have one.

I embarked on physical therapy after I was released from Frankenboot purgatory. In mid-August I took my first running steps since the day I was injured three months earlier. I did the Run for the Rolls on August 27 and celebrated running one mile totally pain-free. I finished physical therapy at the end of September, turned loose into a Michigan fall. I have run three races since then: the Big House Big Heart in Ann Arbor, the Parkview Pumpkin Run (Columbia City, Indiana), and just this past weekend, the Ann Arbor Turkey Trot in Dexter. All three were 5Ks. All three exceeded 30 minutes. All three I ran with the Engineer. I'm slower than I have ever been.

The Redhead and I have made a habit over the past six weeks of walking together at a nearby park during the work week. We have watched trees clad in red and gold shed their leaves, gradually snowing in the path with drifts of brown which crunch beneath our feet. The forest unclothed, every twig and branch exposed, the dry and dirty smell of decaying leaves, the squirrels noisily rummaging on the ground, the birds in the bushes, the rumble of the freeway just hidden from view...Our lunchtime strolls at Lillie Park will continue until the weather makes it impossible to be outside. We have been fortunate thus far, but we know that winter is coming. (It snowed last Thursday.) On days when we are unable to meet, I walk by myself on a 2.5-mile loop starting at my office. It's not as pleasant as the trail through Lillie Park—it's primarily on the sidewalk next to a busy road—but it does have its own (albeit brief) woodsy charm.

Cranbrook Park trail, short but scenic

I am climbing out of the deep hole I dug with my weight gain and hiatus from running. I still have a long way to go if I want to have anything close to the speed and stamina (not to mention the physique) I had two years ago. Rejoining Weight Watchers last month was a huge step in the right direction; I have lost 10 lbs of the 50 I hope to lose.

Finally, tomorrow evening I am going to sit in a movie theater for four hours and watch a rebroadcast of a Metropolitan Opera performance from a couple of weeks ago. The opera is one that is very dear to me: Mozart's Don Giovanni, in which I performed in 2008 and from which I can sing three arias. This is one of them.

Bugs, Birds, Rocks, and Walks

The Engineer and I went for two epic walks over the weekend. We did six miles on the Falling Waters Trail in Jackson on Saturday and 11 miles on the Lakelands Trail in Stockbridge and Gregory on Sunday. Both paths are converted railroad beds, so they are level and straight. They also pass through some lovely countryside and are uncrowded and peaceful (features on which I place great importance, as I find it more enjoyable to be where crowds are not). The weather was spectacular for Michigan in November and we just didn't want to be indoors!


Here I am perched on a glacial erratic alongside the Lakelands Trail. Erratics are rocks that were left behind by melting glaciers. In Michigan, this occurred during the retreat of Late Wisconsinian glacial lobes from 16,000-10,000 years ago. These rocks are called "erratics" because they do not match the local bedrock; they were scooped up elsewhere and traveled great distances in the embrace of a glacier. In this area, the erratics' most likely provenance is Canada, and a great number of them are granite (such as the one I am sitting on).

Don't take erratics for granite.

OMG GIANT ROCK!

This is a picture of me next to the Madison Boulder (New Hampshire), which is regarded as one of the largest glacial erratics in the world. I convinced my family we HAD to visit the boulder when we were on vacation in nearby Melvin Village in the summer of 1995. My college geomorphology professor had told our class about it. If you suspect I was overcome with glee upon seeing the boulder, you would be correct.

I get excited when I see an unusual bird (the Engineer was there when I saw an indigo bunting for only the second time in my life and I yelled, "HOLY SHITBALLS it's an INDIGO BUNTING!") and even more excited when I find an unusual rock. My hometown friend Ellen has a great story about the time I nearly peed my pants and passed out when I found a GORGEOUS, perfectly preserved rugose coral in a creekbed in her backyard in 1993.

The Redhead could tell you about the time I saw a green heron up close while we were out walking over the summer and I became so animated with excitement I whacked her boob with my flailing hand as I squealed, "oh my god it's a GREEN HERON!". I call this "having a birdgasm." It happens a lot.

At home I have a cabinet devoted to special items, many of which are science-related. There's a whole shelf of important rocks I have collected over the years, including my Favorite Rock of All Time: an oblong hunk of serpentinite I extracted from a western Ireland beach in 1997 during my geology field camp experience

So, yeah, Nature nerd. This is an established fact.

I also like bugs...to a point. I can't stand those nasty-smelling Asian lady beetles that invade my house every year about this time. If I see a house centipede on the floor, that thing is headed for squishville; I don't care how beneficial it is. Spiders indoors? NO.

However, I do love fat, fuzzy caterpillars, like this big guy I found on Sunday:

Eeeee! It's on my hand!

Yes, those are my birdwatching binoculars around my neck.

I later identified the species as the caterpillar of the Giant Leopard Moth.The caterpillar was fun to observe, but I would have been even more excited by the adult moth. Unfortunately, they're nocturnal.

So, yeah. Nature nerd, and proud of it.

Thursday Thoughts: Autumn Splendor

Fleeting fall is here in all its golden glory. We here in the big mitten know that we have but a precious few weeks to enjoy brilliant blue skies, dry air, and colors galore before the inevitable late-October windstorm blows all of the leaves to the ground. Thus begins the long, gloomy five-plus months of dead brown everything interspersed with frozen white everything.

Enjoy it while it lasts.

A path through the woods near my house. It's not very long but it sure is pretty.

Milkweed, daisies and dry grass at the West Lake Nature Preserve near Chelsea.

With a woolly bear caterpillar we found while walking at West Lake Preserve. Photo courtesy of the Engineer.

The above pictures were taken with my new iPhone 4S, which has an 8-megapixel camera. I dare say they are as good if not better than pictures from my 10-megapixel Nikon point-and-shoot.

Oh yeah...my new iPhone 4S? TOTALLY FUCKING ROCKS. It's like when I got my '98 Jeep Grand Cherokee to replace my '90 Ford Tempo, except it's more like upgrading to a Ferrari. If you thought I was in love with/obsessed with my iPhone 3G...well, if my 4S was a person, I would be in jail for stalking it.

In other news, I continue to run in little dribs and drabs. A few times a week I will head out in the crisp darkness before work (I did so today, and got rained on for my trouble). A couple of weeks ago, the Engineer and I ran the Big House Big Heart 5K, one of southeast Michigan's most popular races. Discounting the one-mile Run for the Rolls on August 27th, the BHBH was my first "longer" race since the disaster that was the Cleveland half five months ago.

Five months without a race is a long time. I sort of forgot what I was doing. How do I know this? I left my race bib at home the morning of the race.

D'OH!

I had everything else...even pins for the bib...but no bib. I had left it on the desk by the door. I was completely disappointed and very angry with myself. When we got to the stadium, I took one look at the GIANT MONSTROUS line for the help table and said, "Screw that. I'm going to bandit this race." Yes, I bandited a race I paid for, so maybe it was only a partial banditing.

I have never missed this race. It started in 2007 and I have run it every year. I wasn't going to let something like a forgotten race bib keep me from finishing on the field at Michigan Stadium! NEVER!

I think my finishing time was one of the slowest 5Ks I've ever run. I wasn't running for time. I was running because I finally can, because I was with the Engineer, because it was a beautiful fall day, because I like running through the University of Michigan campus, and because I got to lounge on the field at the stadium!

Sitting on the big "M" in the end zone at the Big House after the race. GO BLUE!

Finally, after a hiatus that began in January 2010, I have restarted the Weight Watchers program. I rejoined on October 11, so this past Tuesday was my first weigh-in after a week back on the program. I lost 5.4 pounds. I was very pleased. I know that a large loss is expected the first week or two, and then I will settle down into the more normal 1.5-2 lbs per week. I'm on my way back, baby!

Friday Thought: I Graduated!

I finished physical therapy yesterday! It lasted exactly three months (my first appointment was June 29). As befitting a graduation ceremony (perhaps of the kindergarten ilk), I received a cupcake at the end of my session.

I need to stop thinking of myself as being injured. I am no longer injured. I have recovered from my injury. I'm healed! This week I have run three times for a total of 9.5 miles, which is the most I have done since the Calf-Shredding Debacle of 2011, aka the Cleveland Half Marathon. My calf muscles did not bother me at all.

Thus begins the long, slow road back to true distance running. My endurance is shot, my speed is nonexistent, and I have gained a depressing amount of weight. I can run about four miles max before my ass starts dragging. Nevertheless, my sights are set on yet another Cleveland half in May of 2012. I want to administer a smackdown to the course which treated me so cruelly four months ago. REVENGE!

Luckily it is now fall, the finest season for running in Michigan. The weather is cool and dry, and the scenery is colorful. Of course...it's now pouring rain again, and I run in the early mornings when it's dark, so...maybe not so awesome after all. But hey, it's not 95 degrees with 90% humidity!

In other news, at the beginning of this month the Engineer and I went on vacation together. We spent nine days in his home state of Washington (and a little bit in Oregon). We put 1,000 miles on our rental car and had many fun adventures.

Wherein I:

Admired scenic mountain vistas (Mt. Rainier)

Loved on some basalt (also Mt. Rainier)

Had a total geonerdgasm (Mt. St. Helens)

 

Relaxed by the ocean (Cannon Beach, Oregon)

And last but not least, enjoyed many fine beers (Elliott Bay Brewing Co., Burien, Washington)

In praise of true friends

It has been three months since the Calf-Shredding Debacle of 2011. Throughout this ordeal there has been one person who I knew would be there to listen to my every gripe, moan, and whine, one person who knew exactly how I felt: the Redhead. Girl, I might not be able to say it properly (what's that? an introvert having trouble expressing emotions? you don't say!), but being able to commiserate with you online and IRL has been the difference between abject despondency and manageable exasperation. I may have put on a brave face...but the past three months have been exceedingly difficult. Thank you so much for everything. WE SHALL OVERCOME.

The girls (Redhead and myself) taking the girls (Leela and Brownie) out for a 14-mile spin in Dexter

Oh yeah, that sexy brown bike in the picture? That's Brownie, my gorgeous girl, my $120 Craigslist find, the bike I've secretly always wanted but never had because I thought people would make fun of me (seriously). She's a 1960s vintage Schwinn Collegiate cruiser, five speeds, a few creaks and squeaks, but she rides smoothly and I love her. I have ridden Brownie more since I got her in mid-July than I rode any bike for the previous 8 years. My new favorite thing is to go out for 4-5 miles in the evenings when the sun is setting and the streets are quiet.

I also look a bit browned up because I was on vacation the last week of July. I went back to Cape Cod with my family. I hoped I would be able to run while I was there; sadly, that was not meant to be. I did, however, attach Brownie to the back of my car and haul her 900 miles so I could ride her, which I did, extensively.

The rest of the time was spent doing this:

I can guarantee you that is not coffee in that mug.

My greatest concerns all week were:

• shifting my beach chair as the day wore on in order to remain in optimal sun-baking position
• getting up to take a swim in the ocean if I became overheated while roasting in the sun
• picking up my mug and discovering it was empty, whereupon I would go into the house and fix myself another vodka tonic (or gin and tonic)

I also plowed through all of A Game of Thrones and part of A Clash of Kings. Reading, bike riding, walking with my mom, drinking beer and other assorted booze, eating fried clams and lobster...it was a wonderful vacation.

Starting out with a bang!

This morning I did something I have not done for three months:

I got up at 6:00 and went running.

I didn't run very far—maybe a mile total—and I took walk breaks every quarter of a mile.

I didn't run very fast—even though I didn't wear Garmy, if I was going faster than 11:00/M I would be surprised.

I ran. I went running. I RAN.

When I got up, I could hear rumblings from an approaching thunderstorm. I left the house as the first rain drops began to fall. I chose to do loops around the block, about a half mile for each one, so I wasn't far from home if the skies suddenly opened up. The storm drew closer as I trotted along; lightning illuminated the sidewalk and thunder crackled in the clouds. The rain began to fall in earnest, and I fought the temptation to run faster. After three months of rehabilitation, the last thing I needed was to reinjure myself by sprinting for home. Even when a flash of lightning lit up the street like a squadron of searchlights and thunder crashed so loudly I jumped and jammed my fingers in my ears, I kept my pace slow and steady. I made it home just ahead of the deluge. I was damp with sweat and rain, breathless, exhilarated. I never thought running one mile would feel so good.


This was a reconnaissance mission of sorts: test out the leg with some light running mixed with walking to assess the progress I have made in physical therapy since early July. I am pleased to report that my calf did not trouble me at all.

I have a looooooong way to go before I can run with the frequency and intensity of even six months ago, never mind a year or two years ago. I may never run like that again for all I know. Right now, at this moment, I'm happy I ran a mile. I ran a mile and it didn't hurt.

I ran today!

In additional milestone news today, not only did I run for the first time since May 15, but the black toenail I gave myself by dropping my glider chair on my foot on May 18 FINALLY FELL OFF!

Forget my running today—my ugly black toenail is gone!

The general state of affairs

This comment landed in my moderation bin:

"Though you end up last in the race, it doesn't mean you failed. It only means that there are people better than you in that field. The important thing is you finished what you have started valiantly amidst aching feet. Good Job Mate! [spam link to sketchy web site redacted]."

Shut the fuck up, spammer. People like you are why I have comment moderation enabled.

In other news, I have begun physical therapy on the mess that is my right calf. At my first appointment last week, I asked the therapist how long it would be before I could resume running.

He said three months. My ruptured tendon could take even longer than that—up to a year— to put itself back together completely.

I wanted to cry; instead I groaned and looked at the ground. Three months. I guess that means the Fort 4 Fitness half marathon at the end of September is out. Maybe I can bounce back in time to squeeze in the Detroit half marathon in mid-October, but I am not optimistic. I haven't run since the tendon-shredding debacle at Cleveland seven weeks ago. My stamina is shot. I will be starting over, when I eventually do start over, as if the previous four years had never even happened. What I have come to think of as my best year—2009—is a distant memory.

Focus. Focus. Concentrate on physical therapy for the next two months.The fall is an indistinct haze. It's not worth getting my panties in a bunchy wad about races I won't be able to run (and thankfully didn't register for), the whole summer wasted, not a lick of training to be undertaken. Ride a bike at the gym, lift weights, do my exercises at home. One day at a time.

The Truth Hurts

Upon viewing the picture of me and the Redhead flashing our awesome lower leg swag yesterday, Spike had this to say:

"Worst three-legged relay team ever."

You should leave the legal profession and go into comedy. I'm serious, dude.

P.S. Way to poke fun at CRIPPLED* PEOPLE!

*not crippled for life, just temporarily. The runners will rise again!

Thursday Thoughts: Meet Frankenboot!

I knew I was not going to get away with doing nothing after the revelation about my plantaris rupture. My usual tactic of "pretend it's not there and it might go away" (hey, it's worked before!) would not suffice.

Two out of two doctors surveyed said:

"You must wear the boot."

Say hello to my little friend

I will be hauling Frankenboot around for two weeks. It's not uncomfortable (yet). It doesn't make my foot sweat (yet). I described the way it feels as "my leg is being hugged." It's not glued to my leg 24/7.

Nevertheless, it is not ideal. I keep telling myself that two weeks of annoyance now means I will be able to run again in the near future. In the meantime, I will be doing some SERIOUS upper body strength training. My arms are going to be RIPPED.

I sent the Redhead an email yesterday when I learned I was going to be strapped into a boot. If anyone would understand, it would be her; she's been carting around Das Boot for a month. The subject line of the email said:

"UGGGHHHHHHHHH"

That pretty much sums it up.

We went out to lunch today, which presented an epic picture opportunity. Even in the midst of mutual disappointment and exasperation, we know how to find a silver lining.

Plastic and velcro are IN for summer! Institutional gray or funereal black, take your pick!

Canal Days 5K: Dead F-ing Last! (And Proud of It)

I have begun a new phase in my running career, or, my running career which is defined by not running for the forseeable future. Thus, I downgraded my desires for Saturday's Canal Days 5K (New Haven, Indiana; small-town festivals RULE) from "running really slowly" to "walking." It turned out I was the only walker. The small field took off at the start and I watched the clump of runners quickly leave me behind. I wasn't alone, however; I had the sweep vehicle accompanying me the whole way. "Vehicle" in this case was a golf cart belonging to the New Haven Police Department, piloted by an amiable officer with whom I made jovial small talk for the duration of the race.

I had vigorously mowed my lawn with my reel mower on Thursday afternoon, and my calf had reminded me all day Friday it was not happy about being treated badly. It was still complaining as I began briskly walking the 5K, and I was forced to limp almost immediately. It was uncomfortable but not unbearable, and I forged onward. The afflicted area sent out a few major bolts of pain, but nothing, nothing like what I had felt during Cleveland or the weeks afterward.

Bringing up the rear in a race was a novel experience. I have finished last in races before, though not since 1989, when I dragged my exhausted ass across the finish line of the OHSAA Cross-Country Regional race on an 85-degree day in late October. This time, however, I wasn't part of a high school team that was trying to qualify for the state meet. I was out for a stroll on a cool, if humid, summer morning.

Law enforcement held up a HUGE line of cars at a major intersection until I passed, which caused me much embarrassment as there were a lot of pissed off motorists waiting for me to hobble by.

I waved and smiled at a lot of people who were waiting for the Canal Days Parade to start in downtown New Haven. I felt like a mini celebrity!

Let me just state for the record: walking three miles seems to take FOREVER. I was glad when the high school came into view and I knew I was almost done. The Engineer was there, too, and when he saw me coming he ran out to meet me and we crossed the finish line together.

I wasn't dejected or mopey about my 50-minute time nor the fact that I had finished dead fucking last nor that I couldn't run. This injury...it is what it is, and I have to accept it as such and look towards rehabilitation and healing.

Another bright spot in the morning was seeing Holly (Rust Belt Runner) again. She told me about this race a while back, otherwise I would not have known about it. I was planning on heading to Indiana last weekend anyway, so the logistics worked out perfectly.

Post-race

At the finish line there was a huge box of free T-shirts for a Craigslist-like service provided by the local newspaper. Since I love random T-shirts (trucks, bacon, Cryptosporidium, particle physics, to name a few) I couldn't resist grabbing a hot pink one. I will now be able to advertise Bobslist in southeast Michigan.

In a few hours the Engineer and I were on our way south to Indianapolis for the Independent Music and Arts Festival. Last year, it was a brutal 95+ degrees and sauna-like humidity. This year, it was MUCH nicer.

Of course, there was beer: first, lunch at the Brugge Brasserie (mussels were eaten), followed by a visit to Sun King Brewing.

I left with one growler filled.

The next item on the running agenda is...well, more not running. Slow rehabbing is where I'm heading, I believe.

Well, this explains a few things

Today I learned about something called the plantaris tendon. I never knew this little strip of tissue existed before 8:30 this morning. Now I know far too much about it.

Lower leg of doom

See that thin blue strip? That's your plantaris tendon. Yours is probably fine.

Mine, however, is ruptured. Oh, and my medial gastroc and soleus muscles are torn. For even more fun, I even have a touch of the achilles tendinitis. Why not toss that onto this steaming pile of crap as well?

I can pinpoint the moment this bad boy let go: mile 6 of the Cleveland Half on May 15. It felt like someone took my right calf muscle and ripped it in two. Like any overly stubborn runner, I powered onward and finished the race. Dropping out for the dreaded DNF is not in my vocabulary, even though I could barely hobble forward. I finished that race in 2:28, my slowest half ever. But I finished.

No wonder it hurt so much! I WAS RUNNING WITH A RUPTURED TENDON AND TORN MUSCLES.

I still haven't run since that day. I was hoping to run this coming Saturday with the Engineer at the Canal Days 5K near Ft. Wayne because my leg has felt great, almost normal, for several days. I mentioned this at my appointment today and the radiologist was like "That's not a good idea."

While I won't need surgery, I may be in for a round of physical therapy. I will see my sports medicine doctor at the end of the month for a follow-up and I will hear what she has to say. Right now, however, the course of action can be summed up thusly:

• No running
• No running
• NO RUNNING!

 I'm in for a lot of elliptical, biking, rowing and strength training. 

These recent revelations make the following picture, taken near the end of the Cleveland race, quite bittersweet. I was in a tremendous amount of pain, and I knew I was almost done. I hadn't seen the Redhead yet and I was worried I had been too slow to see her at mile 7 (I didn't know she never even made it there, having gone the wrong way to spectate). I started to hear some crazy person yelling into a bullhorn and when I got close enough I saw that, yes, it was indeed the Redhead, on the sidewalk at mile 12.  Oh, happy day!

I think this is my new favorite race picture ever

I didn't know it, but this would be my last race for a long time.

Interestingly, this injury (the tendon rupture and accompanying gastroc tear) is colloquially known as "tennis leg" because it happens most often to tennis players. Why it happened to me I have no idea.

I'm holding out hope I will be able to run when I go on vacation to Cape Cod in six weeks. That's all I want: to run by the ocean.

Still LIfe

That's where I am. Life is still. I ran the Cleveland Half Marathon on May 15th and I hurt myself so badly I haven't run a step since then. My right gastroc muscle staged a hostile takeover, a bloody coup, a rebellious revolution. I can pedal a bike at the gym but that's about all. Hence, I have been catching up with my backlog of New Yorkers (and a few trashy gossip magazines) as I sit and pedal to nowhere.

It's okay, though, because there is nothing on the horizon for which I must train. I registered for the Dexter-Ann Arbor 10K (June 5); it remains to be seen if I will be able to participate. My next half marathon is months away. The unofficial start of summer is this weekend (though one might not believe so, because it was 47 degrees when I went to work this morning).

This song came across my radar earlier this week and I've been listening to it repeatedly. I love moody British indie rock!



Have a great long weekend, everyone.

Hope Springs Eternal

For the past two days I have taken walks in the afternoons as I try to shake off an annoying respiratory virus I picked up over the weekend. I feel okay, but I keep coughing up globs of mucus, which isn't pleasant. Walking has gotten me out of the house for exercise; additionally, the weather this week has been lovely and it seemed a shame to while away the hours after work indoors. On my perambulations around town I have made two observations:

One: walking takes forever. My three mile loop dragged on and on and I felt like I would never finish. Running is so much more efficient at getting me from point A to point B!

Two: I notice more when I go slowly. I passed a twig dangling over the path behind the hospital and to my delight I saw the first sure sign of spring:

A LEAF BUD! A LEAF BUD!

Yes, folks who live in warmer climes, we still have no leaves on the trees here. Most of the trees, in fact, don't even have buds. The woods are as bare and transparent as they were in January. This is how it goes in Michigan.

We had a brief blast of summer style temperatures on Sunday, however. It got up to 82 degrees that afternoon. I went running Sunday morning at my parents' and it was 50 degrees. By the time I got home to Michigan it was above 80. I wasn't ready for the warmth. I was wrinkled and sweaty from being in the car, and my house was stuffy. I slept poorly Sunday night, tossing and turning on crumpled sheets in a room that was 10 degrees warmer than it had been in months. Having cats piled up against me like driftwood didn't help, either.

Fortunately things have gone back to normal and nighttime temperatures are back where they should be, i.e. the 30s. Much better. I can curl up in my down comforter again.

My farm share starts in seven weeks. I am so excited. Fresh asparagus and spinach and turnips, oh my!

One year ago I was making final preparations for my trip to Boston for the marathon. This year, I am not going back, and I find myself nostalgic for what was and slightly jealous of those who are running again. Boston was such an incredible experience. I want to run there again, no, I say I will run there again. Someday.

This Saturday the Engineer and I are attending a performance of Mozart's The Magic Flute at the Detroit Opera House. I am super excited as you all know how much I love opera, especially anything by Mozart. I know more Mozart arias than any other composer. I taught myself how to sing "Der Holle rache" long ago, high F and all, but I can't sing it like Diana Damrau.

Meteor 10K

A great day for a run

 I hopped back on the race wagon on Saturday with the Meteor 10K, my first race since the Thunder Road Marathon in December. We all know how badly I got my ass kicked by that race. Let's move on.

I ran the Meteor 10K three years ago, the half two years ago, and now I was back for another crack at the 10K. I knew all of my previous 10K times were out of reach; my goal for this race was to run strong and enjoy the morning. What a morning it was! Clear, dry, and about 35 degrees at 7:30 when the Engineer and I arrived at the race venue for our 8:00 start.

Wearing the best Bondi band ever, courtesy of the Redhead. Now, if only I would stand up straight...

The green and black insanity you see above was part of the awesome bag o' swag from the Redhead, which I received the day before at the race expo.

Spike and I at the expo, representin' Boston and Grand Rapids

After some hobnobbing with my fellow run-nerds, the Engineer and I slid into the crowd near the back of the pack. I was anticipating running 9:45-10:00 miles, an easy, comfortable pace, and so I was pleased when Garmy beeped for the first mile in 9:38. That would be the slowest mile of the race, as I subsequently managed 9:23, 9:15, 9:20, and 9:14 miles. With a mile and change left to run, I decided to pick up my speed a little and see if I could squeeze out a sub-9:00 mile.

The whole race had unfolded smoothly; I kept my breathing under control and felt relaxed and energetic. I crested the final hill and saw the turn to the finish about a quarter-mile away. I cruised down the slope, made the turn, and finished strong. A quick check of Garmy told me I had run 8:49 for mile 6. Official finish time: 57:36. That's more than 10 minutes off my best but I was pleased nontheless.

Heading for the finish

I ran 5.5 miles Tuesday, 4 yesterday, and if the weather cooperates I'll run 3 after work today. The weekend holds 4 miles on Saturday and 9 on Sunday. I'll be in Ohio again for some family stuff, so I'm looking forward to a change of venue. Nine miles isn't enough to lure me to the Towpath Trail, but I'm sure I can string together something around the old neighborhood.