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.

Balls!

I wish I had taken a picture of them: five dirty, lonely bowling balls dumped in a weedy, watery ditch. Where did they come from? Who would do such a thing? I am reminded of another abandoned bowling ball, which was lying on a soccer field near the water treatment plant in Ft Wayne:

Alas, poor bowling ball, I knew it well

What is this epidemic of bowling ball neglect? i demand answers!

I was out pounding pavement after work because my 8-mile run didn't happen yesterday due to a combination of feeling poorly (the Engineer) and rolling an ankle on a railroad tie on Saturday (me)

Why was I running on railroad tracks? Hashing! I was running around New Haven, Indiana, with about 30 other folks, most of whom were dressed (as I was) in a kilt. Yes, we got a lot of strange looks and at least one "What's going on?"

Having an AWESOME time, of course! It was a beautiful day and I ran about 6 miles, which, when added to the 3.4 I ran Saturday morning, put me over 9 for the day. The 3.4 I ran on a path at the YMCA near the Engineer's apartment. I've run on this path several times with the Engineer, because during the winter we could count on it being cleared of snow. However, the other morning I ran with Holly from Rust Belt Runner. Run blogger MEET UP! I love those.

It was FAH-REE-ZING (25 ish degrees) when I went to meet her around 10:00, so I was in full cold weather gear, but I knew I would get warm despite the temperature, and that's exactly what happened. It helped that the sun was out. We did two loops of the path and then walked a bit. I visit Ft Wayne on a regular basis so I anticipate running with her again.

Nine miles on Saturday, none yesterday and thus today I was fidgety and anxious, looking out the window at the bright sunshine, itching to get home and into my running clothes and out on the road. It was as lovely out there as I had suspected. I knocked out the 8 miles and barged through my back door, scattering cats, then said, "Yeah, that's how it's done!"

It wasn't fast, but it was good, and hell, I'll take that.

Thursday Thoughts: Oops...

The only appropriate word, sometimes, is "D'OH." Picture Homer Simpson saying it.

When I went to bed last night I set my alarm for 5:45 am with the intention of getting up to run 3 miles. In the middle of the night I woke up, decided 5:45 wasn't gonna happen (and, by extension, my run) and reset my alarm for 6:45.

The alarm went off, and I laid there listening to NPR for a few minutes and wondering why I still felt so tired. Ah well, time to haul the old body out of bed and into the shower. Freshly scrubbed and dressed a few minutes later, I went downstairs to heat some water for coffee. There was a little kernel of confusion rattling around in the back of my head, however: why was it so dark outside? It was past 7:00 and I should have been able to see the yard by now. I didn't think it was that overcast.

Wait a minute...

I looked at three different clocks, finishing with the one on my iPhone (because the almighty iPhone is never wrong), which confirmed my suspicions: it was only 6:15. I had still gotten up at 5:45, because when I was fumbling around with my alarm in the dark I had accidentally reset the clock an hour ahead.

Sigh.

I wished I had figured out my blunder before I took a shower, because I would have made myself go to the gym or go running. Alas, there wasn't much else for me to do but prepare for the workday. I made my coffee, washed some dishes, prepped my breakfast and lunch, and left for work.

Learn from my fail: don't try to reset alarms in the middle of the night.

This wasn't the only D'OH I have had in the past week. Last Thursday and Friday were spectacular in terms of weather: sunny and high 60s on both days. I opened the windows for the first time in months. The warm breeze and fresh air were enthusiastically welcomed by all members of the household:

Window Kitties!

That window is one of the Prime Kitty Viewing Spots in my house. There are a couple more upstairs, and when I left for Ohio on Friday I left a few windows open for the cats. It was such a nice day, how could I close up the house when they were enjoying themselves so much? It was 65 degrees outside!

Oh yeah, did I also mention I turned off the furnace?

Oh yeah, are y'all aware this is March? In Michigan? No further explanation should be necessary.

Fast forward to Sunday night. I arrived home and my house was 49 degrees. I turned the furnace on and immediately got into bed under my down comforter. The cats were on me like a duck on a june bug. I apologized profusely for my error.

Learn from my fail: DON'T leave windows open when you go out of town for two days in March. Unless you live in a place where it's already 75-80 degrees, in which case, I hate you.

In other news, I was in my ancestral homeland of the Cleveland area in order to attend an opera with my parents (Don Giovanni) and celebrate my nephew's third birthday. I hung out with my brother and sister-in-law on Friday night where I received Extreme Doggy Love:

PUPPEH PILE!

At Fancy French Restaurant Dinner before the opera Saturday evening, when it was time for dessert I bypassed all the gooey, chocolatey, cream-laden offerings and opted for one of my favorite combinations of all time, one I discovered while I was still in graduate school:

Fresh berries and crème fraiche = LOVE

Opera, dogs, awesome food, and family: it was a great weekend.

Situation Rectification

I have done that rarest of things in my runnerdom: I ran on a Friday, my sacred rest day. How could I not, with clear sunny skies and 45 degrees seductively beckoning? The evil that is the "wintry mix" will return tomorrow; it was now or never for one quality run this week. So I went, and it was wonderful.

What Happened?

It's so easy to lose momentum.

Last weekend I did my scheduled runs without fuss, even if the weather and footing conditions were less than optimal.

Monday I was supposed to go to yoga class but I stayed late at work and then went to the Corner Brewery in Ypsilanti with a friend.

Tuesday I felt tired and cranky and sore-throat-y all day so instead of running when I got home, I put on my pajamas, watched four episodes of "Mad Men," and went to bed at 9:30.

Wednesday morning it was pouring rain and I said "no thanks." I had a classical music concert to attend after work so I stayed late again and then had a few pints at my favorite beer bar in Ann Arbor before the concert.

Thursday I did get up early and hit the gym for some upper-body strength training and core work, so today my muscles are not happy. I should have run after work but over the course of the day formulated a plan to hit happy hour with coworkers at a local watering hole (Sidetrack in Ypsilanti). I got home at 7:45, washed dishes, whipped Little Boo into a frenzy by singing opera arias, and settled down to read in bed at 8:30. I had the light off before 10:00.

Now it's Friday...I haven't run all week, and not for any good reasons. There's no excuse. I was lazy, plain and simple. Time to reboot: 4 miles tomorrow, 6 on Sunday.

In other news, earlier this week I won tickets to a concert by being caller number 12. Thus, the Engineer and I will be at the Ark in Ann Arbor tomorrow to hear Eilen Jewell perform. I called in on the spur of the moment after hearing the giveaway announced while I was driving to work. When I won, my first thought was "OK, this is cool, but I have no idea who she is or what her music sounds like." I listened to the songs on her MySpace page and was very relieved when I liked all of them. Yay for awesome NPR stations and free tickets!

Signs of Life

There is hope, people.

Item one: when I left my house to run this morning around 6:15, the eastern sky was light.  The pale blue dawn swelled as I ran, and when I rolled up to my driveway 30 minutes later I had no trouble seeing. When I run after work, even if I finish at 6:30 it is still light. The days are getting longer. We are crawling out of the dark hole of winter.

Item two: after last week's one-two-three punches of snowfall, this week has been kind to both the runner and the daily commuter (I am both). Above-freezing temperatures and a bit of sun have eliminated most of the sidewalk snow and we have had no new snowfall. I probably just cursed us with that statement.

Last weekend I was in Ft Wayne with the Engineer and we completed two runs together: a 4.6-mile slog through snow on Saturday and an easier, if duller, 6.8-mile run on a snow-free, paved path on Sunday. I grumbled and fussed (that's a nice way of saying I was bitching) during the Saturday run until I quit boring a hole through the patch of ground 10 feet in front of me, started looking around, and realized that the scenery was lovely (we were next to the Maumee River on the Rivergreenway) and there was birdwatching to be conducted (seen/heard: chickadee, titmouse, cardinal, mallard, Canada goose, nuthatch, red-bellied woodpecker).

Sunday on the YMCA path we came across this little fellow:

Help me! I'm melting!

Sorry dude, you're not long for this world. Spring is coming!

Notable beers of the weekend: 3 Floyds Black Sun Stout (post-run Saturday) and New Holland Blue Sunday Sour (post-run Sunday).

When Llamas Attack!

There are only two people who read this blog that are going to get this. However, I couldn't resist.

LLAMAS! NO!

For more laughs, see this story.

This might be my favorite picture caption ever: "The llama that went berserk."

Let's all breathe a sigh of relief that we don't live in North Carolina. However, I KNOW SOMEONE WHO DOES...look out, CJ!

In other news, the Engineer and I had the good fortune to spend last Saturday evening hanging with Spike and Redhead. Many laughs were had, and we discovered that we all are equally terrible at pool.

So much for last week's spring tease. Did I not predict the return of winter? The Engineer and I squeezed in two weekend runs before WHITE DEATH version 2 slammed us Sunday afternoon. If we had waited one more hour before starting our run, it would have been a disaster.

And thus it was that I spent yesterday morning doing this:

That's me. Shoveling snow. A lot of snow. A LOT of snow.

Can it be spring now? Please?

You're Not Pinning This One On Me

I cleaned out my Running Command Center last week in preparation for a household renovation project. I drilled through layers of old training schedules, promotional race materials, Gu packets, race bibs, and random odds and ends which had accumulated for years on the surface you see in the picture. At the end, when everything else had been cleared away, this is what was left:

The detritus of a dozen races

Pins. Pins, a racing runner's best friend and bane of his or her existence. Pins on the floor of the car. Pins in pockets. Pins rattling around in the dryer. Pins between the couch cushions. Pins in extremely weird places (I'll leave that one to your imagination).

The small cat-themed container is also packed full of pins. That's my portable pin bin. I take it with me to all major races.

Pins. Gotta love 'em.

After last week's Arctic Blast^TM, this week has seen a considerable improvement in the weather situation. Temperatures vaulted into the forties and fifties, most of the snow melted, and the sun made occasional appearances. However, I have lived in the Midwest for too long to be fooled by this flirtation with still-distant spring. I know that a few days hence there will be fresh snow on the ground and 50-plus degrees will be a fading memory. I took advantage of the favorable yet fleeting conditions by going for three afternoon runs, reveling in the lightness of limbs less encumbered by layers of fabric.

The weekend will bring a return to more typical weather for this time of year, including the dreaded "wintry mix" on Sunday. We're not out of the woods yet, fellow Michiganders. Hang in there.

Collection

You know you are a runner who perhaps has a few too many running clothes when...

...you're moving your clothing stash from one place to another, which entails emptying out various drawers, thereby requiring refolding and rearranging of said clothing so it will all fit into its new home, and you find yourself saying one or more of the following:

"I wondered where that went."

"I totally forgot about this!"

"Ah, the first proper jacket I ever bought."

"Oh yeah...this one."

Additionally, you may revisit triumphs of deep discount sales (hello, Asics Storm Shelter jacket that I got for 50% off), milestone race shirts (Detroit Marathon '08), and questionable purchases (not every piece of gear is awesome).

I am happy to report that all of my stuff is neatly tucked into drawers, and I rotated some neglected items to the tops of piles so I will see them first and therefore be more likely to wear them. 

In other news:

I ran when I got home from work, because the morning temperatures of late have been alarmingly cold. Dangerously cold. Like, wind chills below zero. Having frozen my hands on a subzero run two years ago, I hesitate whenever the ambient temperature dips below ten degrees. Thus, I balked at going out this morning (9 degrees) and pushed my run back to the afternoon when it was a pleasant 25 degrees. I decided around mile 2 to go longer than planned in order to run through the cemetery and take a picture of the sunset, but no sooner had I made that choice than my guts sent out a warning signal of impending doom (seriously, it was like five seconds later) and I knew I would have to go home along my originally scheduled route. The cemetery and the setting sun will have to wait.

Lost Weekend

Friday evening, I was supposed to attend a chamber music concert in Ann Arbor, one of the concerts in my University Musical Society subscription series. I left my house a few minutes after I ideally should have, which, combined with my decision to stop by my bank's ATM, triggered a butterfly effect of events which ended with me, 30 minutes later, back at home and sitting on my sofa.

What happened was this: I left the house, got some cash, then attempted to enter the highway at the nearby interchange. Too late, I saw that he ramps were blocked by a congregation of emergency and law enforcement vehicles. I saw a couple of cars that were badly damaged, one facing the wrong way on the on-ramp. Clearly something major had occurred, and not long before, since a police car pulled up to the accident scene as I drove by. My intended route was not an option, so I elected to travel south until I reached a certain east-west road, then travel it eastward until I found the northbound road which would take me to the next highway interchange.

Well.

I rarely get lost, because I rely on my sense of cardinal direction and the "map in my head"...but Friday evening I found myself driving around for fifteen minutes on pitch-black barely-plowed roads I had never heard of with only a vague knowledge of their layout, until I finally reached the one I had been looking for, the one that would take me north to the highway, and I saw the glimmer of lights through the trees, but as I closed in on my goal I looked at the clock and knew I was horribly behind schedule. I should have been off the highway in Ann Arbor and heading for the parking garage, and I was still bumbling around on country roads three miles from my house. Irritated, frustrated, and defeated, I yelled, "SCREW THIS!" When I finally reached the main road, I drove back to my house, put on my pajamas, made myself a drink and called the Engineer. Then I watched the DVD of the fourth season of "Oz" which had arrived that afternoon from Netflix.

Saturday morning, 6:30: I attempted to roll over in bed and instead of executing this motion smoothly and without incident as I had for the previous 1,000 times I rolled over in bed, I failed to move my head at the precise moment required and a horrible wet crunching ripping sound (I described it to the Engineer as "like crushing a wad of celery") reverberated through my neck and skull. A searing bolt of pain flashed through my neck and I screamed. I laid there, panting, and my first thought was, "Did I just break my neck? Is that even possible?" I wiggled my toes and fingers. OK, so, no damage to vertebrae, all extremities appeared to function normally. I tried to move.

AAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHH...

That didn't work so well. I could feel heat spreading up my neck and over my shoulder and I knew I had to take some ibuprofen and get an ice bag on it ASAP. I held my head with one hand and gingerly rolled over, swinging my feet to the floor, stabbing pain accompanying me the whole way. I took the pills and got the ice bag and laid back down, groaning. I dozed for a while, woke up, briefly contemplated trying to do my run, shifted the wrong way, yelled in pain, ditched the running idea, dozed off again, and finally got up around 10:30 with no idea what I was going to do all day.

What I did Saturday was what I did all day Sunday: sat around in comfortable clothes with various combinations of cats on my lap or next to me, watching copious amounts of TV and aimlessly munching through all the snacks in my house. There was also beer, since my emergency WHITE DEATH! 2011 supply was not gone yet. Oh yes, and the constant, comforting presence of either the ice bag or my hot corn bag on my neck. I powered through the entire first and half of the second seasons of "Flight of the Conchords," watched three movies, read all my backlogged New Yorkers, and tried to move my head as little as possible. When the beer supply dwindled on Sunday to one bottle of Founders Breakfast Stout, I switched to hot Irish whiskies. A weekend trapped indoors is a little more bearable with a (hearty) shot of Jameson, hot water, a lemon slice, whole cloves, and sugar.  Especially when you have, like, five of them.

I was going to run the Super 5K in Novi Sunday morning, but after a restless and uncomfortable night spent shifting endlessly trying to find the elusive configuration of arm, shoulder, and neck that would allow me to fall asleep without too much pain, I decided it wasn't meant to be. I still had to support my head with a free hand if I wanted to get out of bed; how on earth was I going to drive 80 miles to and from the race, much less go running?

Phooey.


I'm feeling good enough that I will most likely go running tomorrow as planned (3 miles). Saturday and Sunday were the first runs I've missed on my current training schedule, and the inactivity is grating on me. That and the massive amounts of carbohydrates I consumed over the weekend have left me feeling sloppy and sluggish. Enough is enough.

Attention Residents...

To those of you who have promptly and thoroughly cleared your sidewalks: You rock. I love you. On behalf of walkers and runners everywhere, I thank you.

To everyone else: Go to icy hell, and have your shoes be filled with five pounds of snow!

White Death!

Not quite death...more like a really bad cold, perhaps?

The Blizzard of 2011 has come and gone, depositing significantly less than the much-hyped amount of "UP TO FIFTEEN INCHES AAAIIIEEEZOMG!!!11!!!" but enough to cause my workplace to shut down because of the weather for the first time since 1978 (and only the second time since I've worked there; the other time was the Mega Blackout of 2003). When I called the special hotline number for work this morning and heard the words "The Ann Arbor location is closed," I was thrilled. A snow day! For adults! I haven't had a snow day since I was in high school!

I lounged around in my pajamas, had oatmeal and coffee, watched a movie, shoveled snow, ate mac & cheese, drank some beer, moved more snow around with my neighbor's snow blower, took a shower, and relaxed. I was supposed to do a 30-minute tempo run today but I decided several hours of snow removal would serve as a substitute. Shoveling by hand certainly raised my heart rate, and pushing a 100-lb snow blower around wasn't easy either. I got my cardio and my weightlifting at the same time!

Alas, the rare treat of a grown-up snow day has come to an end and it's back to work as usual tomorrow. At least I know I'll be able to exit my driveway.

Tuesday afternoon in the cemetery. I decided to squeeze in a short run before all hell broke loose.

Everything one needs to ride out a storm.

Wednesday morning: It's SNOWPOCALYPSE 2011!

Boo and Darwin couldn't care less.

The driveway area pre-clearing. My little snowblower wasn't up to the task, so I borrowed a neighbor's ultra-burly machine. Even so, clearing it took almost 2 hours. Ugh.

Before the Storm

As I write this I am snuggled up in my down comforter in bed. An angry wind is whipping snow against my window and into great billows down the street. It's Snowpocalypse 2011!

It has been snowing for about five hours now, lightly at first, but with increasing vigor in the past 2 hours. My desultory clearing of my back porch has been obliterated. I'm letting my driveway and sidewalk go until tomorrow.

Before Snowmageddon descended, however, I went out for a quick post-work run. I knew tomorrow's conditions would most likely preclude venturing out in car or on foot. It was a pleasant 22 degrees with just a hint of wind when I departed around 4:45. I alternated between road and sidewalk depending on the degree of snow clearance. I paused in my favorite spot, the cemetery, to take a couple of pictures. On my way home I made a final stop at the market for hunker-down supplies: chips, salsa, hummus...and beer.

The outlook for being able to bust out of my driveway tomorrow is poor. I anticipate not going to work. If I'm feeling adventurous I might bundle up and go for a walk around town. It could be fun to be the only person out and about.

Stay warm, folks!

Return of the Spreadsheet

Alternate title: It Came From Excel...TO RULE THE WORLD. Or at least my running for the next 16 weeks.

I have known for a long time that I do my best running when I adhere to a schedule. There is something comforting about having each day's activity planned ahead of time, for weeks on end, culminating in a goal race. There is no guesswork. I do what I'm told and it works surprisingly well (Cleveland, New York).

When I do not use a schedule, the results are...debatable. I winged it for Boston last year, and while I finished the race in 4:11 without major difficulties (other than the predictable late-marathon "why the fuck am I doing this to myself again" thoughts), I still feel like I was undertrained. I attempted to train for Grand Rapids using a schedule, which fell by the wayside after I hurt myself in August, and I never really picked it back up. We all know how that turned out when I ran/death marched Thunder Road in December.

Even though I am not planning on doing a marathon this year (unless I succumb to temptation on February 1), I decided I needed to slide back into the embrace of a rigid training schedule. The goal: the Cleveland Half Marathon on May 15. The training plan: Hal Higdon's Intermediate Half Marathon, which I used 3 years ago when I wanted to run my first sub-2:00 half (which I did). It's a modest schedule compared to others I have put myself through. Having a 12-mile run as my longest run feels sinfully luxurious, almost epically lazy. However, it is exactly what I want-- nay, what I need-- right now. Low mileage, but running multiple days in a row. Strength training. Weekend runs that are primarily less than ten miles, meaning I won't lose half a day getting ready to run, running for two to three hours, and then recovering from running (i.e. sacking out for a nap, waking up at 5:00 and thinking, "oops...").

Thus, I sat down last night and put together one of my dearly beloved but long-neglected training spreadsheets. Oh, how I have missed those tidy black-lined boxes, each little square my taskmaster for the day, ordering me to get off my lazy butt, get out of bed, and GET OUT THERE.

Behold, THE SPREADSHEET (or part of it, anyway):

 Yes, master! I shall obey your every command!

What did my schedule tell me I had to do today? Run 3 miles, and because The Almighty Schedule said I was to run 3 miles, I set my alarm for 5:50, got up, and did it. No grumbling, no pushing my wakeup time back to 7:00 and skipping it, no rationalizations about weather, lingering aches and pains, being too tired, having cats on me whom I did not want to disturb, any of the array of excuses I have deployed over the past far-too-many-months to avoid running. That shit is so over. 

Not only do I believe that getting back on a schedule will improve my running and allow me to cruise through the half with ease (it is awful of me to think, "It's only a half marathon"), I hope it will reverse the creeping weight gain which has been plaguing me. I was perusing old pictures last night, circa first season of marathon training, and my god, people, I was so freaking skinny...I got angrier and angrier with myself for letting that awesomeness slip away. I suppose one could call it Last Straw Moment II, the first and most epic Last Straw Moment being my shock and horror at seeing the pictures of me from Hawaii in 2006 that kick started this whole thing. Cinderella (the hair metal band, not the fairy tale character) sagely said, "Don't know what you've got til it's gone," and that I did not, my friends.

Even before I found myself in a grumpy funk from looking at pictures of my vanished hotness, I went to the store and bought ingredients to make several of the menu items from my Athlete's Plate last week. I was eyeing my heap of groceries on the checkout belt and thought, "This is the food of a health nut. That, or someone with a boring diet." Flaxseed, whole wheat flour, Grape Nuts, bananas, apples, pears, onions, almonds, raisins, black beans, brown rice, chick peas...(and no beer, for once). Well, I am a health nut, or at least I am until I take delivery of this year's haul of Girl Scout cookies. And I don't think I have a boring diet. Yes, I need a shakeup in the breakfast realm (how does four straight years of plain yogurt with fresh blueberries and ground flax meal sound?), which is why my project tonight is homemade granola.

So. Three miles this morning. A quick check of my iPhone weather app (and, yes, I did so while lying in bed....I'm not renouncing all of my laziness at once) revealed that the current temperature was a near-heat-wave-worthy 23 degrees, an enormous improvement over the previous week of industrial-strength meat locker style weather. A meat locker in the Yukon Territory, at that. On the edge of the Arctic Sea. Not today! I was sweating before I finished my first mile. The road edges were free of snow, a rare treat at this time of year. The sidewalks, not as much...when I was forced to use them, it was hard going and I felt even slower and clumsier than ever. Nonetheless, I finished the run (3.18 miles) and, while hanging up my damp clothes, I realized I already felt better and more energetic than I have in far too long. 

Running...it's a wonderful thing.

Thursday Thoughts: Let's Eat!

Some of you may be aware that in addition to my running blog I have a food blog, Una Buona Forchetta. After a flurry of posting when I started it in 2008, my updates became few and far between. I posted to my food blog twice in 2010; the last post was in April.

I have no excuse for neglecting to post more frequently, however, because I have received a boot to the rear, or, as my advisor from grad school would have put it, I've had "a fire lit under my ass," in the form of two externally-based motivators.

One is the Spice Rack Challenge, a monthly food challenge for 2011 organized by my friend and fellow Michigan Lady Food Blogger MK. I posted my response to this month's challenge ingredient, rosemary, earlier this week. My first food blog post in 9 months! Joining the Spice Rack Challenge will guarantee I have at least 12 posts to my food blog this year.

The second is my being featured on The Athlete's Plate today. I was nominated for this week's feature by the Redhead, who had her own menu last week. I now have six meals (both full and snack) created for me by Jason, who mined my blog for inspiration and ideas. It is not a surprise, then, to find I have "kitty litter" granola and pizza (and beer!) as two of my menu items. I will be making and posting recipes from my Athlete's Plate to my food blog, starting with the granola, because I have long suspected homemade granola will be better than anything store-bought, and my breakfast routine has suffered from same-thing-every-day disease. Thank you, Redhead and Jason, for the delicious honor!

In other news:

It's cold here. How cold? Well, how does a high temperature of 14*F tomorrow sound? Bleah. This is "scurry from office to car and car into house" weather for me.

Last Sunday I attended a recital performance in Ann Arbor by soprano Renée Fleming. I indulged in a single extravagantly-priced ticket which landed me seven rows from the stage and smack in the center. I could not have been more perfectly placed for optimum aural and visual satisfaction. The woman may be almost 52 years old and has been hammering on her voice for over 30 years, but she sounded fabulous. I soaked up every shattering high note and tender pianissimo like a dry sponge, choked up a little during one of the encores, and drove home while listening to (and singing along with) her Mozart arias CD. Ach ich liebte, wär so glücklich!

Thursday Thoughts: You Know You're A (insert name of cold region here) Runner When...

You know you're a Michigan runner when 15 degrees and four inches of snow don't bother you.

This morning I actually got up and went for a run before work, which has not happened since before the Thunder Road debacle. It was about 15 degrees outside, so I dressed appropriately (thick Sugoi tights, Jacket of Wonder, gloves, earband). I knew I was going short and slow. Longer miles (and hopefully my erstwhile speed) will come in time. My goal for the rest of the month is to ease back into the routine of getting up to run multiple times during the week.

I have to admit, it was pleasant. Lovely, even. The cold temperature was bothersome for only a brief time; the new snow skritch skritch skritch-ed under my shoes. There was no one else around. A few lazy snowflakes spun down in the yellow glow of the streetlights.

I was forced to prematurely abort my run 0.04 short of 2 miles because I had to make a frantic dash for the bathroom at home. I was trying so hard not to let something unpleasant happen my toes were clenched into little toe-fists inside my shoes.

Speaking of shoes, I have pushed my current pair to the brink of 700 miles. They have endured two marathons with me, a distinguished career, and I believe it is time for them to retire with full honors. This means I will have to shoe-shop for the first time in ages, since I have been cruising with an unbroken string of Brooks Adrenaline 9s for over two years (I am on my fourth pair of the 9s). My last pair of 9s I ordered online almost a year ago. I highly doubt there are any unused pairs of a two-year-old model drifting around. This means I must...change shoes. I could take the easy way out and just make the leap to the current model of the Adrenaline, since my feet get along so well with them. Or at least they do until I wear them well past their retirement age, in which case unfortunate things occur such as nasty blisters which lead to bacterial infections and the falling off of toenails. Yes, while the paronychia has cleared up, my poor beleaguered little toenail, battered and insulted, went into its death throes a couple of weeks ago. I helped it commit assisted suicide.

My family is coming to visit for the weekend, which means running with Dad, a trip to IKEA, a fancy dinner, and the enjoyment of my favorite malty beverage. I was with the Engineer down in Indiana on Monday, and took the opportunity to pick up some brews from Three Floyds Brewing for my dad and I to sample.

Now it is time for me to pick up the lovely Redhead for lunch...stay warm out there, folks! (unless you're from somewhere in the South and claim anything under 40 degrees is "too cold." And you think I'm "nuts" for enjoying running in cold weather.)

The Year that Wasn't...Sort Of

This is how I felt at the beginning of 2010:

So full of hope and promise, ready to take off into the bright blue yonder! Wheeee!

By the end of December, this was me:

Out of air, out of gas, out of...ugh.

I ran two marathons, two half marathons, my cumulative mileage was 1,031 and yet I feel like I didn't accomplish anything. I didn't improve my performance at any distance, I gained weight, and my cavalier attitude toward training came back and bit me hard during Thunder Road in December. I limped and coughed my way into the holidays dispirited, demotivated, and bacterially infected. After three years of improvement and lofty goals realized, I suppose I was overdue for an "off" year. No one improves indefinitely.

As far as running goes, I did only one thing in 2010 that truly mattered:

I ran Boston. I RAN BOSTON. I. RAN. BOSTON!

Even if I never set another PR or run another marathon, I will always be a Boston Marathon finisher.

2010 is over. 2011 is here. Clean slate, fresh start. Now what?

I will be in Cleveland in May to see my dad and the Redhead run the marathon. The Redhead is aiming for a BQ, and y'all know how I feel about Cleveland and BQs because that's where I achieved my dream of BQing in 2009. This year, however, I will run the half marathon again. I registered on Friday, and now I have a goal. As much as I have been enjoying the past four weeks of directionless living, I need something to work toward. I'm hitting the reset button on running and starting over. I'm going back to a low-key training plan, my spreadsheet tacked to the wall in the closet, up and running when I'm supposed to. No more slacking off.

The best non-running-related highlight of the year was my vacation with my mom to Cape Cod in July. Seven days of reading, drinking, running, and sunning. If only life could be like this all the time.

One of those moments where I wouldn't have changed a single thing. Perfection. (Except maybe to have some fried clams at hand.) 

Enough moaning about what's over and done with. It's time to look ahead. Twenty-eleven, here I come!

All You Really Need To Know About Me

Fact: I was in bed at 10:30 last night.

Conclusion: I am an old fart who prefers the comfort and safety of home over staying out too late and getting too drunk to drive home.

Fact: I received this from the Engineer for my birthday (it was December 28) and I am now utterly obsessed with it.

Conclusion: I am a HUGE bird nerd.

(My favorite call so far is that of the Common Eider. Oooooh!)

Happy 2011 everyone!

Aside: what will your moniker of choice be for the new year? Will you say "two thousand eleven" or "twenty eleven"? I'm going with "twenty eleven," myself. If we say "two thousand eleven" we will sound too French, á la "deux mille et onze," and we don't want to sound FRENCH, mon Dieu!