Wiped Out

Hal Higdon's Novice 1 Marathon Training Schedule: Week 1, Day 5



Days to Chevron Houston Marathon: 120

Planned activity: Rest Day

All I can say is, "Thank Goodness!"  I've was up from 3am to 4:15 and then slept off and on until 6.   My gut is having a helluva time adjusting to my new BP medication.  I've been fighting with it for 3 days.

However. 

I'm going to stick it (the medication) out.  I'm really going to try.  I BELIEVE I can do this.  I also believe I'll need a nap before going out to dinner with a friend tonight, especially since I have a longish run planned in the morning and I know that rest and recovery is important to being a successful and healthy runner.

Happy Friday, Everyone!



©Michelle Scofield, September 14, 2012 All Rights Reserved

Charged

Hal Higdon's Novice 1 Marathon Training Schedule: Week 1, Day 4

Days to Chevron Houston Marathon: 121
Planned activity: 3 mile run
Completed 3 miles in 33:36    11:15 pace



Time and Temp: 5:20am 73 degrees

Still with mild soreness at my right heel. Icing helps.  That's what I'm doing right now. 

I had company on my run today. 

Two tiny clouds. 
Two puffballs to the East marched along the morning sky seemingly plugged in at the base by electric current that set off fingers of blue and white that laced them with brilliant, silent, and angry (LOOK AT ME!) energy.

I wondered if it was safe to run.  Could I be struck by their lightening?  It seemed to be self-contained.  They were like lava-lamps of the Gods being moved to another room.

No thunder.  No nothing.  Just a funny little display for anyone who was up at that time of day. 





©Michelle Scofield, September 13, 2012 All Rights Reserved

Icy

Hal Higdon's Novice 1 Marathon Training Schedule: Week 1, Day 3

Days to Chevron Houston Marathon: 122

Planned activity: 3 mile run

Completed 3.02 in 35:04

Time and Temp: 5:00am 73 degrees


I'm typing while my foot rests on an ice bag.  It doesn't hurt because I finished my run.  It only hurts when I've been still for any prolonged period of time.  It feels pretty good when I move.  The problem is that I can't be in perpetual motion and I know that as I bump up the miles it's likely to get worse.  I have an appointment to see the fabulous Dr. William M. Jones next week.  It's the soonest I can get in.  In the meantime, I'm going to keep my mileage relatively low and my surfaces flat.  I'll ice and take rest days.

This is as good as I can do people.  My name is Michelle and I am an addict.

On another front but I think (also) needing ice as a response:

Let your imagination tackle this B.S. situation:

Suppose a person entered a lunchroom full of people and was greeted with this:

"Michelle, can you do me a favor?"

"Sure?  What do you need?"

"Could you please eat a sandwich?  You're wasting away!"

W. T. F.

I've worked so hard to lose the pounds I put on when I was out of commission exercise-wise.  I've struggled with my food issues.  I've SWEATED and I've cried.  I've faced my demons.  What if a person had to deal with this shit at work?  From a higher-up?  Sure, maybe it got a laugh but maybe that laugh was gained at the cost of the inner embarrassment of someone who has dealt with food issues her entire adult life.  Sure maybe the butt of the joke might need thicker skin but isn't work supposed to be a safe place?

Isn't it enough to be a stranger (Democrat) in a strange (Republican) land?  Divorced in the land of the married?  Now to be called out for this? For being healthy and thin?  Let's just call a spade a spade.  "You're different.  You're not like us.  We're going to make you feel like an outcast no matter how we have to do it."  That's how it feels. 

I'm a size 10-12.  I'm not rail-thin.  I'm not super-skinny.  I was FAT before I took charge of my out of control self.

My response?  Just a look.   My best friend's proposed response?  Not printable.  I love him but if I followed his advice I wouldn't have the funds to pay entry fees for races nor would we be able to finance our mutual travel addiction.  Some things are best met with icy stares.

Anyway...That's my rant of the day.






©Michelle Scofield, September 12, 2012 All Rights Reserved

Day 2 of Marathon Training

Hal Higdon's Novice 1 Marathon Training Schedule: Week 1, Day 2

Days to Chevron Houston Marathon: 123
Planned activity: 3 mile run  
Completed  3.03 in 33:10
Time and Temp:  5:20am  66 degrees

It's a beautiful morning for a run.  The stars are bright against a deep velvet sky.  I picked out my favorite guy up there, Orion, reclined lazily away from the chipper crescent moon.  I didn't use music or any playlist of talk radio today.  I wanted to hear my footfalls.  I'm trying to figure out where I'm landing on the planet.  My right foot is still nagging at me.  I may make an appointment with my orthopedic guy and see about getting a cortisone injection to nip this thing early (while the nipping is good).  Yes, yes...I've rested it, I've iced it, I've NSAID'd it, I've rolled it.  Short of STOPPING running, it's not going away.  It feels better when I'm running.  It only hurts when I'm stationary.  Classic fascitis.  I'm one stubborn bitch.   *This is me smiling while I type.*

ANYway...I kindof sortof raced a guy this morning.  He was on one side of Lexington Street and I was on the other.  I decided I didn't like that he was about 20 yards ahead of me so I caught up to him and passed him.  Guess he didn't like that and he passed me.  And so on and so on for about a halfmile.  It was fun.  Then it was time for me to turn around and head home.  I waved, he waved.  Happy Tuesday.

Oh, Jacque.  I'm remembering where we were in April.  Trip of a lifetime and I'm so glad we spent time at the Memorial.  Never to be forgotten.











©Michelle Scofield, September 11, 2012 All Rights Reserved

Wait For It...

Hal Higdon's Novice 1 Marathon Training Schedule:  Week 1, Day 1   
Days to Chevron Houston Marathon: 124
Planned activity:  Rest

That's right.  I'm supposed to rest.  It's a good thing.  I ran 7 miles yesterday and I'm also nursing a little tenderness in my right heel.  Rest is good.  The thing is, the weather is stunningly beautiful and cool and calling to me with a siren's seductiveness.

I'll be patient and I'll rest.

I'm also going to the grocery store.  I have a copy of the October issue of Runner's World that has some excellent suggestions for my shopping list.  I'm at the end of my planned weight loss foods, having dropped almost 40 pounds and arrived at a BMI of 25.8 which makes me pretty freaking happy.  My clothes fit great.  (At least the ones that aren't falling off of me fit great.)  I know that I'll drop more weight as my mileage picks up even further. 

More good news:  My doctor added another blood pressure medication and it's working.  Even with significant weight loss, I was hovering around 145/90 and that's just not going to work for me.  She was very thoughtful in her choice of a second medication, taking care not to add a beta blocker or a diuretic because she knows that as a runner she could cause me some real grief.  I appreciate her.

I got an email from the Marathon Committee.  They asked me to set a goal time.  I chose 5:20:00.  I have to finish in 6 hours.  That's when they close the course.  I'm running an 11:15 minute mile most of the time now.  That's a very conservative time I sent them.  I kind of feel like I wimped out on it but it's my first marathon so I'm allowing myself to do this.  This one time.  Hell, I was patting myself on the back just for signing up.  It's suddenly real and yet - I know it's going to get even more real each and every step along the way.  More to come.  Wait for it.


©Michelle Scofield, September 10, 2012 All Rights Reserved

Watching It

I'm enjoying my new Garmin Forerunner 110, purchased at the recommendation of my son.  I'm able to see my pace immediately, instead of trying to do the calculation in my head.  I was using Runkeeper on my iPhone and it was adequate to track my mileage but once in a while I'd finish a run and realize that I was out in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico.  Not that that's a bad thing but I'd like to actually BE in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico - say - on a cruise ship.  Instead, I was left confused as to how many miles I'd just clocked.  If I'm going to be confused, let it be on a chaise lounge with a Vogue magazine in one hand and a Pina Colada in the other.

Other recommendations by my son made were taken less heartily by me.  He talked with great enthusiasm about minimal shoes and the book "Born to Run".  OK.  I bought the book.  I'm only a few chapters into the book and so far, so good.  I'm not sure where it will lead me but I know that my feet are another story.  I've dealt with a stress fracture and I healed it and I'm so grateful for that.  It's gone. It's done.  Buh bye.  Don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.  However...

I've had a nagging little bite on my lateral right heel.  I know it's an insertion point of my plantar fascia.   Bugger.  I also know that to "protect" my feet while they I was heeling my forefoot fracture, I wore ubercushioned shoes.  My heels were elevated and I wasn't allowing my plantar fascia to stretch down.  My bad.

I'm paying for it now.

What am I doing?

I'm taking rest days.  I'm doing ankle strengthening with bands and I'm stretching.

I bought new shoes.  Yes I did.  I bought a pair of Nike FreeRun4's.  They weigh 4 oz each and, no, they don't have toes but they're as close to barefoot feeling as I think I can get with shoes.

I spend money on running shoes like I used to spend money on Hooker Heels. 

This morning I went for a short, slowish (11 minute pace) run.  I don't hurt.  I'm a happy girl. 

I've just got to watch it and pace myself.  January is a long way away.  And it's one helluva long run.



©Michelle Scofield, September 5, 2012 All Rights Reserved

I Come From Another Place

Dancing last night with J.  We used to go about once a month or so but things happen and it's been a long time.  Broken feet happen.  Babies happen.  Bad bands happen.  We got out of the groove.  Don't get me wrong.  J and I never lose our grooves.  We're just too damned groovy to lose our groove.

Our old routine went like this: We'd order dinner (lots of chips and salsa) and talk about our families and our jobs. We'd catch up on news about the old gang. We'd share a pitcher of margaritas or have a couple of martinis each. We'd commiserate about the political and social atmosphere of our nation.  Then we'd move on to the dancing venue.


Our new routine goes like this.  We go to dinner and talk about our families and our jobs.  We catch up on any news about the old gang - there's not much anymore.  We might have coffee.  We rarely have alcohol at dinner. We commiserate about the political and social atmosphere of our nation.  If we're both feeling good and we can find anywhere to dance, we move on to that place.  If not, we call it a night and go our separate ways.  Last night, we felt great and we had a plan. 

The lights were low, the wood paneling was dark, and the band was playing when we entered the room.  The music ran all the way through rock and blues to salsa and hiphop. Several couples were already on the dance floor and we found a table not too far away.  It didn't take long before the first drive by occurred.  A man circled our table and didn't stop.  We were being checked out.  I asked J if she'd seen him.  She hadn't.  She never does.  It's something I like about her.  She's there for the music.  I've seen her dance alone many more times than with a partner.

We were served way-too-expensive cocktails and soon were dancing with numerous and varied partners.  I feel lucky that I was asked to dance by a man who happened to be quite good at East Coast Swing and I'm not sure if he had as much fun if I did, but I had a blast.  It's rare to find anyone who knows how to dance that style these days, let alone is a strong but not painful lead.  During a mamba, I feared one older gentleman was having some sort of cardiac event, as evidenced by his profuse perspiration and the way he was mopping his brow with cocktail napkins.  I asked him if he wanted to sit down but he insisted on dancing on.  We danced on.

You'd think all this would be entertainment enough.  But wait.  There's more.  Another girlfriend arrived.  I hadn't seen her in months.  Now picture this.  Three women.  One tall drop-dead gorgeous African-American, one Midwestern brunette, and one tall West-coast looking blonde.  3 women out on the town, dancing with any man who asks, buying their own drinks.  What happens during the band breaks?  Just this.

A man walks over, sits down at our table and says, "So what's the story here?"  He went on to tell two of us that he thought we were quite stunning but "not your blonde friend" - gesturing at her with a shoulder shrug.  He turned his body away from her, oh-so-slightly excluding her from his conversation. He actually insulted her, not once, but twice right in front of us.  I think he saw her talking to someone and immediately decided she was interested in that person so he didn't have a shot with her.  I'm not sure, but his approach was, um, interesting.  He went on to tell us that the "guys at the bar" had been talking about us and there was money riding on him coming over and finding out our story...where were we from, how did we know each other, etc.  He said he might not be very elegant in his questioning because he "came from another place".   Ah!  That's it.  He asked where I came from.  I told him, I also came from another place.  Kansas in Truthistan.

Now, know this.  The entire time I was talking to him, I was smiling.  I was charming.  I was Charm School charming.  I let him tell us his story about the bar bet and then I leaned forward and told him it wasn't very nice, what he said - twice - to my friend.  I continued to smile while I said it.  He kept smiling and he shook my hand.  He stood and he left.

Best part of the evening.  As soon as he left, another man slid right into his seat.  My girlfriends and I just cracked up.  Poor guy.  What was this?  Was someone giving out numbers for that booth position?

I don't want anyone to get the idea that we're three women who go out on a mission to mess with men.  We don't.  It's quite the opposite.  We all had a great time and I think the people we danced with did, too.  We aren't out to hook up.  We aren't out to take advantage.  We're just out being humans, enjoying the music.  Mr. Swing Dancer was kind enough to tell me of some places I didn't know about where I might run into some other dance-lovers my age.  I'll check them out.  In the meantime, I'll keep planning dinners with my girlfriends and remembering where I come from.  Truthistan, the land of smiling honesty.


©Michelle Scofield, September 1, 2012 All Rights Reserved