#SWATED

I am just going to squeeze under the July wire with this post, which is mostly going to be about something that happened in June. A few days after my last post (June 16) I flew to New York City and from there I traveled up to northern Vermont for my third running of the Green Mountain Relay.

My team, Slow White and the Eleven Dwarves, didn't field a team at last year's race. It had been two years since I took in the scenery of rural Vermont and I was very excited to return. There were familiar as well as unfamiliar faces at the van rental place on the morning of June 22. I knew over the next 48 hours I was going to make some amazing new friends.

The most notable thing that happened on the ride to St. Albans was I joined Twitter after staunchly refusing to do so for a long time. The peer pressure finally got to me and I caved in about halfway there. The title of this post refers to the hashtag for our team...and boy, did we get a LOT of use out of that hashtag over the weekend.

I had a wonderful time, ran faster than I expected, and my team won our division. These two pictures capture the experience the best:

Rocks. There were rocks everywhere. This is a big piece of schist.

Rural scenery. You can't beat that.

The weather was perfect, the company was awesome, and I can't wait to do it again next year.

On July 4 I departed the US for the first time in ten years for my vacation to...

SCOTLAND!

I saw fantastic rocks, drank a lot of beer, went hashing, ate some of the most delicious food I've ever had (including haggis), visited whisky distilleries, and...well, had one of the best times of my life.

It wouldn't be a trip to Europe without at least one ruined church (Elgin Cathedral)

...and it wouldn't be a trip for me anywhere without good beer. Brew Dog Brewery, Aberdeen. I'm enjoying a Sink the Bismarck barleywine, at 41% ABV one of the world's strongest beers.

Ullapool harbor

I haven't been writing about running, because since the Green Mountain Relay, there hasn't been much running happening. I'm not training for anything, but I still get out the door a few mornings a week. It's not enough to say anything profound about. Soon enough, I will be back on a training schedule, this time for the Detroit Half Marathon in early October. Summer is half over, time to look forward to fall (and maybe some relief from this heat).

Make Way For Ducks

While I was out for a ten-mile run this morning, this handsome quartet crossed my path.

Dexter-Ann Arbor Half Marathon: Redemption!

As many of you already know, I suffered a catastrophic injury during the Cleveland Half Marathon on May 15, 2011. The summer that followed was a complete wash, filled with no running, Frankenboot, and physical therapy. When I finally did resume running in August, it was as if the previous four years had never happened. I was literally back where I had begun--fitness-wise, weight-wise. It was a depressing few months as I struggled to rebuild my base and lose weight. I gradually rediscovered the joy of running, which culminated in The Streak: 13 straight days of running in late December-early January. Even though The Streak came to an end, it was enough. Enough to set me back on track and focused on a goal: to run another half marathon in the spring. I wanted to return to Cleveland to give that race a smackdown for what happened to me a year earlier, but it conflicted with my 15th college Reunion. I decided to run the Dexter-Ann Arbor Half Marathon instead.

I whipped up another spreadsheet based on Hal Higdon's Novice II half marathon training plan and got down to business at the end of March. Things moved along smoothly and I found myself doing unexpectedly well in a few local races, including one where I took home my first age group win in FOREVER.

I was feeling confident. My last two long runs were stellar and I was, like, "BRING IT" to the Dx-A2.

I was ready to give the finger to my calf injury, to last summer's lack of running, to Frankenboot, to weight gain, to the races I wanted to run but couldn't, to the runs where I felt like I was dying after two miles, to everything that brought me low over the previous year. I was ready for a comeback.

Race morning yesterday was crisp and dry. I was oh so thankful considering the weather a week earlier: 90 degrees and humid. I ran a bit on Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday and each run was like a waterlogged death march. I despaired that the weather for the half marathon would bring more of the same misery. Not so! 58 and clear were the order of the day.

A quick trip to Ann Arbor, park the car, hop on the bus, and 20 minutes later the Engineer and I were in Dexter almost an hour and a half early for the start of the race. A lot of sitting around ensued before we were ready to join the crowds at the start.

My strategy for the race was to join with the 2:05 pace group, stick with it as long as I could, and either fade back (boo) or stay fresh and finish under 2:05 (yay). I've never purposefully latched on to a pace group before, so this was new territory. The race got underway and I shuffled forward with the rest of the mob, finding my feet, easing into my stride, until I was cruising along at a nice comfortable pace. I forced myself to slow down and stay behind the pace group despite my legs wanting more. The sun played hide and seek behind some clouds, and the course rolled and dipped on the terrain adjacent to the Huron River. I managed the hills with less trouble than usual, and enjoyed the shade provided by the trees when it was available. The miles slid past effortlessly: 5, 6, 7, 8, 9...I drank Gatorade and poured water on my head, ate a couple of Gu packets...soon enough, we were at mile 10 and I thought, all right, let's see what's what and gave my legs a bit of gas. I moved in front of the pace group and that was the last time I saw them. At mile 12 as we rounded the sharp curve to the south and merged onto Main St., I said to the Engineer: "Here we go." One mile left, and most of it uphill. Time to see what my legs could do after running further than I had in a year. I pressed onward and the final half mile uphill loomed. I chugged along, and with the finish line banner in sight and about 400 meters to go my legs suddenly turned to mush and I felt as if I were being dragged down. Oh, for fuck's sake! I gritted my teeth and willed myself to put one foot in front of the other as the finish drew closer. And then it was over. Garmy said 2:04:22, so I had beaten my goal of 2:05. Even though my time was well off my best (1:43:01), I was happy. I had exceeded my goal and done better than I had in Cleveland a year ago.

Once the race was over, there was only one thing left to do:

BEER! Arbor Brewing Company, Ann Arbor, MI.

Long Weekend Long Run

I didn't set my alarm when I went to bed last night, trusting that the early hour of my retiring (10:00 pm) would result in awakening with enough time to complete my long run before the heat of the day made it difficult. I anticipated I would wake up naturally around 6:30 am and be out the door around 7:00.

My cats decided 6:00 am was a great time to play "Thundering Herd of Elephants," thereby taking the place of my alarm. I got up.

The instant I set this on the bed, Boo laid down on it. I can almost hear him saying, "Yo, 'sup?"

I waited for the passage of a small rain cloud before leaving at 7:15. The morning was overcast, blissfully cool, and peaceful. I had twelve miles to cover, and I chose my favorite loop route in the country, one I've been using for long runs since my very first half marathon training cycle in 2007.

Yesterday my workplace released us from bondage two hours early. I took this gift and ran with it to lunch at the Ravens Club in downtown Ann Arbor. I had been to the restaurant several times for dinner, but I had never tried their lunch offerings. By the time I arrived it was just after 2:00 and I was starving; breakfast was a distant memory from 7:00 that morning. I quickly ordered a beer, white bean hummus with pita wedges, and a grilled chicken-eggplant panini. The beer came first.

Original Gravity (Milan, Michigan) 2 Wheeler Witbier. Reading material: Book two of the Wheel of Time series.

Lunch was as delicious as I had anticipated. All hunger pangs were eliminated.

My view of the world was obscured by trees until mile four of my run. That's when I made a turn to the north and had a clear view across an open field.

Dramatic clouds are dramatic

"Uh oh," I mumbled. "I'm going to get rained on." It was just a matter of time. I soldiered on.

Around mile 5 I passed by "Psycho House," which is a creepy old farmhouse that brings to mind the manor house from the movie Psycho. Its clapboard siding has not a shred of paint on it; the wood is a dull, weathered grayish-brown. The house is a shambles, with pieces of it missing or falling off and a general air of neglect and disrepair. I've been running past this house for years and it has always looked the same: CREEPY. Today, however, I realized it could smell it. Whatever is contained inside that house stinks. It was an odor I imagine some of the houses on "Hoarders" have: mold, animal waste (or human??), spoiled food, FUNK and DECAY. It was nasty. I wish I had taken a picture.

I stopped for a Gu, and not long afterward a woman on a bike pulled up next to me. It was one of my Running Fit 501 training group partners from the summer of 2009. She was out for a ride and was trying to beat the rain, which had become imminent as the dark clouds from the above picture moved in. I didn't stay dry for much longer as a light drizzle began to fall. It wasn't bad; in fact, it was refreshing. The hat I was wearing kept the water out of my eyes and my iPhone was safely stashed in my CamelBak, so I didn't care if I got a little wet.

Shortly before mile 7 the earbud dislodged from my left ear. I had to stop and fumble around with it, getting more and more annoyed as my slick fingers, wet hair, ear, and earbud refused to work well together. When I finally got moving again, I forgot to restart Garmy...which I didn't figure out until about ten minutes later when I looked down at my wrist and realized it still said "6.81."

FFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKK...

Sigh. I knew I had run close to a mile, so I tacked that on to what Garmy said and pressed on. It was a bit of a boost to realize I was at mile 8 instead of mile 7 and that I only had 4 miles left to cover. Then 3. Then 2...turning onto the homestretch back into Chelsea on Cavanagh Lake Rd...then 1 as I passed the city limits sign at Chelsea's western edge...and then it started raining in earnest, and what little of me remained that wasn't wet quickly got drenched. I could feel water streaming off my hat and down my back. I stopped Garmy at 11.12 miles and knew I had met or even slightly exceeded my 12-mile goal.

I got out of my wet clothes as quickly as possible and into dry ones so I could stretch. First I put my legs up on a wall, and being down on the floor at cat level meant only one thing.

Darwin helping. There was much sprawling and rolling and purring.

My final long run is out of the way. The Dexter-Ann Arbor half marathon is June 3, one week from tomorrow. These last two runs--the 11 miles I did in Massachusetts last week and today's 12 miles--have been great confidence-boosters. They felt relaxed and easy in the best of ways. I'm ready!

Over Hill, Over Dale, Over River

Since my last post three weeks ago, I have been busy. First there was the Road Ends 5 Mile trail race in the Pinckney Rec Area about 7 miles from my house on April 29. The following weekend was the Heart and Sole 10K right here in Chelsea; I was able to do a warm-up jog to the start from my house. May 12 was the Dances with Dirt Gnawbone 50 Mile Relay. Finally, I was away in Massachusetts for my 15th college reunion this past weekend, where I fit in two runs during the three days I was there. The Dexter-Ann Arbor Half Marathon is quickly approaching (June 3!) so the final long runs on my schedule are vital.

Road Ends 5 Mile Trail Run with the Engineer. If you're wondering why we were dressed for winter on April 29...it was 27 degrees when the race started. I eventually took off the gloves and the hat, but was glad for my Sugoi Firewall jacket.

My outfit for the Dances with Dirt 50 mile team relay. We were a team of hashers. This was at the start area before the race. I'm drinking coffee (it was early). Beer came later.

The Northampton Bikeway, where I did my 11-mile long run on Friday morning. Gorgeous.

The Norwottock Rail Trail bridge over the Connecticut River, where I did part of my 5-mile run Sunday morning with BFF Sara

Yesterday Cleveland hosted its marathon and half marathon. This was the first time since 2008 I haven't been on hand to participate (see aforementioned college reunion). In 2009 I qualified for Boston. In 2010 I paced my Dad to a sub-two-hour finish in the half. Last year...that was the year of the Great Calf-Shredding Debacle. A year has passed since that injury. While my leg is rock solid, I haven't returned to the level of fitness I brought to the starting line of the marathon in 2009. I may never get there again and I've come to terms with that. I'm getting older, and the amount of work required to reach peak conditioning doesn't appeal to me. I am embracing my status as a nearly-middle-aged, middle-of-the-pack recreational runner. The occasional surprise age group award might slide my way, but I have the distinct feeling that my days of setting personal bests are over.

However, my fitness level is such that I am able to get out and run eleven miles on a pretty trail on a beautiful day, enjoy nature, and love the feeling of propelling my body over the earth, which is what this has always been about, from the very beginning.

Why Hello There, Age Group Win!

The Redhead asked me last week if I would be interested in running a little 5K race not far from her home in Howell. I said, "sure!" The Engineer was on board as well, and thus early Saturday morning we drove to the Redhead's place. The three of us did a warmup run of about a mile to the race venue, which was probably a very good thing, as the temperature Saturday morning was about 37 degrees. This was a low-key local race in its purest form: about 150 participants, no chip timing, teenagers working the bullhorn, lots of little kids, a dog on foot, start and finish at the local high school. The "go" signal was a 3-2-1 countdown, and then we were off.

My race "strategy" was to run comfortably hard for the first mile, assess how I felt, and press on or modify from there. Well...my first mile was an 8:05.

8:05?!?! What the hell? I hadn't run that fast in who knows how long...years, probably. Okay, I thought. I feel good, let's roll with this. Mile 2 was an 8:14; I had slipped a little but that was still far beyond my expectations. At mile 3 I decided to let it all hang out and push with as much as I was capable of. I don't know what my 3M split was, but I finished in 25:35 (8:15/M). It was my fastest 5K time in 2 years. I was pleasantly surprised. I hadn't been trying that hard, just running at a pace that seemed appropriate but not punishing.

Even better, when awards were handed out about 30 minutes later (a time period during which it started SNOWING), all of us won age group awards--the Redhead and I took home age group wins, and the Engineer took second in his age group. He had the misfortune of being in the same age group as the winner of the race...who ran it in 15:59. Overachiever!

Yes, we were dressed like this on April 28.

We ran back to the Redhead's place, warmed up a little, and departed. The Engineer and I went straight to Ypsilanti to the Wurst Bar, where we enjoyed a couple of brews and some yummy food.

This race has given me confidence that I may yet regain the speed I had three years ago. My weights loss (25 lbs!) and more focused training have yielded concrete results. I improved my 5K time on Saturday by more than three minutes over what I ran at the Shamrocks and Shenanigans on March 10. My next race is Saturday at the Heart and Sole 10K right here in Chelsea. I can walk to the start from my house! It's the Holy Grail of race venues!

Obligatory Cat Picture:

Bouhaki watching Game of Thrones. He is my little TV addict.

Geology!

I had three miles on the schedule yesterday. At some point (perhaps on the walk from my office to my car) I decided that three miles was not enough. I needed to run longer to take advantage of the perfect weather. One does not simply waste 59 degrees and sunny on a mere three miles.  Not when it can be snowing one day and 80 degrees two days later.

I headed into the country west of town on my 5.2-mile loop. I was feeling okay, not especially energetic, but enjoying the sunshine and cool, dry air. I made the northward turn onto Conway Rd. and shortly after Garmy chirped for two miles, I saw it. It was lying in the middle of the road, a dark circle. I was curious. My first thought was, is that a turtle? I went over to it and picked it up. It was not a turtle. It was something so, SO much better.

BEHOLD!

I recognized it instantly: banded iron formation. I said, "Oh...oh my god." I have been lusting after a piece of this for so long, but it's very hard to come by. Any random chunks that turn up around here were transported from Canada or Michigan's Upper Peninsula by glaciers, and the best source of cool rocks like this are gravel pits, where glacial till is sorted into piles by size. (A cobble heap at an unsecured gravel pit—much like the one near where I used to live—is a gold mine for a rock-starved Michigan geologist.)  I was nowhere near a gravel pit. Where had this rock come from? Why was it just lying there by itself in the middle of the road? WHO FREAKING CARES, IT'S A PIECE OF BANDED IRON FORMATION! I hugged it to my chest. My very own BIF!

And now, for a geology lesson...

Banded iron formations (BIFs) are some of the earliest evidence we have for the presence of oxygen in the Earth's atmosphere. Only with oxygen can one get the red of iron oxide, as you can see in the photo above. BIFs are extremely old rocks; most are between 1.8–2.5 Ga (that's "giga-annum," a geologist's way of saying "billions of years"). Yes, that's right: the rock I'm holding in my hand is more than a BILLION YEARS OLD. That rock was around when the only lifeform on the planet was cyanobacteria (blue-green algae).

What do algae have to do with BIFs? EVERYTHING. Algae lived in near-surface waters of the Proterozoic oceans. Algae did then what they do now: photosynthesize. Life is pretty simple for algae. Take in sunlight, produce oxygen. The waste oxygen combined with free iron ions present in the ocean water to form an iron oxide mineral, most commonly manganite (Fe3O4). The oxidized iron sank to the sea floor and formed the red layers in a BIF. The dark gray layers are iron-poor, fine-grained silica (chert), which may have formed when the algae experienced mass die-offs. As the algal biomass expanded beyond the capacity for the available iron to neutralize the waste O2, the oxygen content of the sea water rose to toxic levels, resulting in large-scale extinction of the algae population and the accumulation of the iron-poor layer of silica on the sea floor. As time passed and algae populations re-established themselves, a new iron-rich layer began to accumulate. Repeat this scenario for a few hundred million years and you have a banded iron formation.

After I recovered from my initial shock and surprise at finding such an amazing rock, I nestled it into my hand and resumed running. The rock felt heavy (I later weighed it: 4 lbs) so I shifted it from hand to hand as my arms grew tired. You wouldn't think four pounds is a lot...until you have to carry it for 3 miles. Toward the end of the run I was moving it once a minute. It felt like it weighed ten pounds. I was so glad to finish my five miles. I immediately put water on the rock for the picture, because all rocks look better when wet.

In hashing, something one picks up on trail is "trail treasure." This was trail treasure of the best kind. Better than the Michigan hat, better than the big reusable bag that holds my farm share, better than the end of an aluminum billet. This is as great a rock find as the serpentinite I dug out of a Western Ireland beach when I was at field camp. This almost makes up for my ex-husband taking my rocks with him when he moved out. (Almost.)

My BIF will go into my special rock display area (what? you mean you don't have one?) with my serpentinite from Ireland, lava from Hawaii, jasper from Lake Superior, biotite from Bancroft, Ontario, fluorite from Colorado, and sea urchin shell from Maui.

BIF...you're my new BFF.

Yard Work: Substitute for Strength Training

Sunday morning, the Engineer and I cranked out a seven-mile run on one of my favorite country road routes north-northeast of town. The weather was PERFECT...and least until we hit the turnaround point and ran smack into a brisk western headwind. Despite the windy slogging, I couldn't really complain. The sky was a brilliant blue, the sun was shining, and it was about 56 degrees, which was perfect for shorts and a T-shirt. We finished the run in the cemetery and enjoyed a pleasant cool-down walk back to my house.

I made peppered bacon and a scrambled egg-onion mix for breakfast tacos; this post-run brunch was paired with Jolly Pumpkin Bam Biere from the growler we filled at the brewpub in Ann Arbor the night before. Beer for brunch? Why not!

I allowed myself a cruelly brief period of relaxation before returning outside to tackle the weekend's most onerous task, one which is unavoidable if you own a home:

YARD WORK.

The mild winter and warm spring coupled with recent precipitation had allowed my lawn to grow long, thick, and lush in enough areas that a mow job was a must. Various other plants in my yard had sprouted up earlier than usual, and last fall's dead leaves and other debris was still thick on the ground. The overall effect was "unattractive tangle." Action had to be taken, because today is curbside brush pick-up day; thus, all the trimmings and yard waste had to be stacked or bagged and placed next to the street.

The Engineer mowed while I raked, yanked, and bagged. Two hours later, the yard was much improved, and three big brown bags stuffed with debris sat next to a pile of branches at the curb. Mission accomplished.

A few hours later every muscle in my back was begging for mercy. I had pulled perhaps a bit too energetically at some of the young trees I had uprooted, including one which required my squatting down almost onto my heels and straining backwards with all my strength (I got that bastard, though. Ha!). All the pulling coupled with countless repetitions of bending over and straightening up had wreaked havoc on my lower back. The Engineer and I went out for Indian food in the evening and when we got up to leave the restaurant, I couldn't even stand up straight. I took a painkiller from my emergency stash after we got home and immediately crashed out on my bed.

My hamstrings and hips have joined the pity party today and my back is still wrecked, but damn, my yard looks good.

Obligatory Cat Picture:

Darwin out for a walk in the long pre-mowed grass

Moist

For the record, I hate that word (also: "panties." UGH). However, it is the most accurate description of my run this morning. Fog hugged the ground and the ceiling of clouds hung low. A few random raindrops fell on my hair and face, and I felt as if I were in a grocery store mister; it was delightfully cool and refreshing. I managed 5.3 miles of my planned 6, cutting it short because of a bathroom emergency: the Beast of the GI Tract awakened around mile 4. Rain began coming down much harder as well when I had about 1/2 mile left, and cemented my decision to break for home sooner than expected. I felt much stronger than I did last week even though my pace was glacial. At least I didn't want to curl up on the floor when I got home.

I'm in my Ohio hometown for the weekend to celebrate my little nephews' birthdays. Yesterday was the big party, after which my parents and I visited a local beer-and-burgers establishment for dinner, where I enjoyed a Bluegrass Brewing Bourbon Barrel Ale (pictured). I decided I deserved it for surviving 3 hours of stampeding, shrieking, crying, whining, yelling little kids.

I finally got my training plan for Dexter-Ann Arbor typed up and printed out. All in all, it's just another spreadsheet on the wall. Ten weeks to the race!

I'm Melting!

There are some things that just aren't right. Pauly D's hair. Jeggings. Tea-flavored beer.

I would like to add to that list: 80 degrees in March. In Michigan. We're supposed to have snow on the ground. I'm supposed to be wearing flannel pajamas to bed. It's not supposed to be EIGHTY DEGREES!

Nonetheless, today was Run Day with Red. I packed shorts and a tank top and even put moisturizer with sunscreen on my face after my morning shower. Five miles on tap.

Let me preface this by saying that last week I came down with some awful rhinovirus which knocked me flat and after I struggled through four days at work I cried "uncle" and took Friday off. I then spent three days hunkered down in bed or on the sofa plowing my way through all three of the "Hunger Games" books. Next week I will be making a trek to the Hunger Games movie, of that you can be sure.

Anyway, over the course of five days I lost 8 pounds because I had zero appetite. Having no sense of smell and thus no sense of taste killed my desire to eat, so I lived on tea and oatmeal for several days. Saturday I forced myself to eat a scrambled egg because I knew needed protein. When Sunday rolled around I was essentially back to normal, but the rapid weight loss and minimal food intake wreaked havoc on my stamina. I went out for a run Sunday morning and after 1.5 miles I knew I was toast. My planned four miles contracted to two as I found my way back home, defeated.

Two days later (today) I was more optimistic. I felt even better, I'd had one more day to rest, and I was finally eating again. Red and I and her coworker Fabulous started on the edge of the Michigan campus and worked our way west into downtown Ann Arbor before turning back. Normally I would be thrilled to run around my home city, but today I began fading after only 2 miles. The heat felt oppressive and my legs refused to respond. I was determined to see this run to its conclusion, so I plodded grimly onward even as my pace slipped almost to brisk walking speed. Stinging sweat was in my eyes, my legs felt wobbly, and my head was starting to spin. It was so hot. So goddamn hot. Why was it so HOT? It's MARCH! It's not supposed to BE LIKE THIS! At 4.5 miles, at the final hill, I gave up and walked. I felt like ass and I wasn't "running" any faster than walking pace, so I walked. I cursed my wasted legs, cursed the stupid hill, cursed the blazing sun. Oh, accursed sun! Go away! Give me a few more weeks of 30 degrees before you unleash your summer soul sucking awfulness upon me!

When I got back to work and changed, I peered at my forehead and shoulders in the mirror...yep, sunburn. Just a touch, but it was there. I like getting my color while I'm relaxing on the sand oceanside on Cape Cod in JULY, not running around Ann Arbor in March.

In other news:

The only good thing about losing 8 lbs in less than a week?

I HIT 20 POUNDS LOST AT WEIGHT WATCHERS!

Thursday Thoughts: March Onward!

Howdy, folks.

Yes, I admit it's been a good long while since I last posted. There's too much to say, so I shall simply show.

Cat antics: Boo "helps" me fold laundry. SOCK ATTACK!

More cat antics: Darwin beats up on his favorite cat toy.

I reorganized my entire T-shirt collection. This one is from a cross-country invitational my sophomore year in high school (which my team won, by the way). Of COURSE I kept it...it's a priceless relic!

I did the American Lung Association Fight for Air Stair Climb at the Renaissance Center in Detroit for the third time. 1,035 steps in 12:28!

Red and I have done many midday runs together. We started with a mile on the University of Michigan track and are now running 3.5M on the sidewalk. The weather has been very cooperative.

Many delicious beers were consumed. These are two different IPAs at the Corner Brewery in Ypsilanti. I also visited a new brewery in South Lyon, Witch's Hat, for the first time.

I have hashed more in the last month than I have in a long while. I am now up to 66 hashes with my home kennel. This picture of me and the Engineer was at a weekday evening hash in Toledo.

In other news:

• I have lost about 15 pounds on Weight Watchers thus far
• I am running four to five days a week, perhaps 20 miles a week total.
• I registered for the Dexter-Ann Arbor Half Marathon on June 3.
• I am finally starting to feel like a "real runner" again.

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.