this was the sign i stared at and read over & over again during my solo one hour pool run.
it was look at that sign, or look at the clock.
and i could not look at the clock.
do not look at the clock. do not. look at that clock.
oh for the love of god, what did you look at the clock for?
ok, if the next time you look at the clock it’s on temperature,
you have to do 3 more laps before you can look again.
i’m all alone.
my pregnant pool running buddy went and had her baby.
sheesh. the nerve.
i’m surprised she didn’t have it in the pool last week … she did a little groan, went underwater for a minute & the lifeguard got out of his chair and stood at the edge of the pool watching her … and looking back, i wondered if that would have disturbed the lifeguard – having to deliver a baby.
so i know going into the workout that i’m on my own.
and i’m optimistic that it won’t be so bad.
and this is against my nature – to be optimistic.
so i get in the pool and I daresay it was chilly …
not the butt warm bath it has been in recent weeks.
and i play games with the clock
and i figure out how many words i can get out of the word PLEASE!
and i count the pennants in the banner hanging over the pool.
and i wonder what the lifeguard thinks, because i think i must look like a freak.
i think my optimism paid off.
it wasn’t the lonely misery i thought it would be.
turns out, i can really entertain myself.
but still. it’s really nice to have company.
a pool running partner.
so maybe, with all the money I am saving on massage,
this could be my new partner.
Aug 22, 2007
Aug 20, 2007
scarlet letters
i cheated on my massage therapist today.
on the advice of my coach a few months back, while still well ensconced in the pain in the ass (pun sort of intended) that was my injury & in an effort to get out of it … i went to see his massage therapist.
and i totally fell in love.
i never really thought I’d be one for massage – but I also don’t mind admitting I was wrong. once you’ve had one, you can’t go back to that place again where you never had them. so i’d go see her – and wince in pain as she twisted the ropy muscles in my back that sent shooty pains down my ass. and i’d hold back the tears while she dug her elbow into my quads & hip … & i’d do that deep find-your-happy-place-find-your-happy-place breathing because it all hurt. in that hurt so good sort of way.
but she was expensive. i wanted to go more often.
i wanted to see her all the time. it was massage love.
but until I can get sponsored for this running habit, i just couldn’t justify it.
so my pool running buddy tells me about her girl & how I must go see her … and I ask how much and I almost drowned when she told me – a good $20 less and she’ll cut you deals the more often you go! I did the math (not my strong suit – doing math while running in pool recovering from sticker shock – the good kind) … I could do 2 visits with new girl for the price of one with old girl. omg… the heavens opened & the angels were singing.
give me her number.
so, today i meet my new girl. i fill out the form. why am I here? Uh … marathon maintenance. yeah. Marathon maintenance – that sounds perfectly good.
i go in, we chat – she wants a little background … I’m feeling guilty already … I’ve gone over my background with my first girl – she already knew everything. Its’ so hard to start over, to tell your stories all over again. it’s a new relationship, but without that flutter of newness … she’s too perky for me. it throws me off. i’m not good in the face of perkiness. there isn’t the instant connection i had with my first love. but my muscles and my wallet tell me to just do this. i go over all my banal hip, back, leg shit – but am quick to say that it is all fine now i have been running pain free for at least 6 weeks thank you very much I am just here to keep everything in a happy place.
and i don’t say; mostly i am here because you are cheaper.
she asks what type of massage i want – i’m thinking huh?
i have a choice? what kind of place is this?
she clarifies to explain – do I want more of a relaxing massage or therapeutic.
i say, i’m not here to relax … so i guess i want the therapeutic.
she asks what my threshold for pain is … i say high.
5 minutes in … i wonder when she’s really going to get down to business, cause my toes don’t really need any loving right now. and whatever she is doing to my calves is so not gonna cut it. i’m regretting that i am cheating on my other girl … cause I know by now her elbow would be digging into my quads … and i’m about to say something when she asks, how’s the pressure?
you could go harder.
how’s this?
harder.
this?
little harder
….and this makes me feel a little slutty.
and she’s talking. to me. about her. and i think, i’m not here to chat. so unless you have something to say about one of the muscles that you are finally wrenching under your elbow, i don’t want to chat. my other girl would know that once we’re 15 minutes in – i’m done with the chit chat. i am missing her.
but now that she’s really doing what i am paying her to do and i can wince and deep breathe my way through this - it feels good and is in fact relaxing and i forget that i’m cheating. i mean, she’s doing all the same stuff. if only she’d stop talking i could just pretend it’s my first love.
bottom line – she’s cheaper which means i can do this every other week. so even without the running sponsorship I can justify this.
until of course, I bump into my first massage girl who lives at the end of my street & my slutty shameful feelings all come back.
i feel like i should have a shirt with big red words “massage cheater” on it.
on the advice of my coach a few months back, while still well ensconced in the pain in the ass (pun sort of intended) that was my injury & in an effort to get out of it … i went to see his massage therapist.
and i totally fell in love.
i never really thought I’d be one for massage – but I also don’t mind admitting I was wrong. once you’ve had one, you can’t go back to that place again where you never had them. so i’d go see her – and wince in pain as she twisted the ropy muscles in my back that sent shooty pains down my ass. and i’d hold back the tears while she dug her elbow into my quads & hip … & i’d do that deep find-your-happy-place-find-your-happy-place breathing because it all hurt. in that hurt so good sort of way.
but she was expensive. i wanted to go more often.
i wanted to see her all the time. it was massage love.
but until I can get sponsored for this running habit, i just couldn’t justify it.
so my pool running buddy tells me about her girl & how I must go see her … and I ask how much and I almost drowned when she told me – a good $20 less and she’ll cut you deals the more often you go! I did the math (not my strong suit – doing math while running in pool recovering from sticker shock – the good kind) … I could do 2 visits with new girl for the price of one with old girl. omg… the heavens opened & the angels were singing.
give me her number.
so, today i meet my new girl. i fill out the form. why am I here? Uh … marathon maintenance. yeah. Marathon maintenance – that sounds perfectly good.
i go in, we chat – she wants a little background … I’m feeling guilty already … I’ve gone over my background with my first girl – she already knew everything. Its’ so hard to start over, to tell your stories all over again. it’s a new relationship, but without that flutter of newness … she’s too perky for me. it throws me off. i’m not good in the face of perkiness. there isn’t the instant connection i had with my first love. but my muscles and my wallet tell me to just do this. i go over all my banal hip, back, leg shit – but am quick to say that it is all fine now i have been running pain free for at least 6 weeks thank you very much I am just here to keep everything in a happy place.
and i don’t say; mostly i am here because you are cheaper.
she asks what type of massage i want – i’m thinking huh?
i have a choice? what kind of place is this?
she clarifies to explain – do I want more of a relaxing massage or therapeutic.
i say, i’m not here to relax … so i guess i want the therapeutic.
she asks what my threshold for pain is … i say high.
5 minutes in … i wonder when she’s really going to get down to business, cause my toes don’t really need any loving right now. and whatever she is doing to my calves is so not gonna cut it. i’m regretting that i am cheating on my other girl … cause I know by now her elbow would be digging into my quads … and i’m about to say something when she asks, how’s the pressure?
you could go harder.
how’s this?
harder.
this?
little harder
….and this makes me feel a little slutty.
and she’s talking. to me. about her. and i think, i’m not here to chat. so unless you have something to say about one of the muscles that you are finally wrenching under your elbow, i don’t want to chat. my other girl would know that once we’re 15 minutes in – i’m done with the chit chat. i am missing her.
but now that she’s really doing what i am paying her to do and i can wince and deep breathe my way through this - it feels good and is in fact relaxing and i forget that i’m cheating. i mean, she’s doing all the same stuff. if only she’d stop talking i could just pretend it’s my first love.
bottom line – she’s cheaper which means i can do this every other week. so even without the running sponsorship I can justify this.
until of course, I bump into my first massage girl who lives at the end of my street & my slutty shameful feelings all come back.
i feel like i should have a shirt with big red words “massage cheater” on it.
Aug 16, 2007
she who runs with big dogs
still.
i can still run with the big dogs.
after a 14 week hiatus of running with this group, i didn't know this would be the case. i had freaked myself out (this is a recurring theme - i can freak myself out like nobody's business) --worrying about the paces i had heard they were running; and thinking about my last run with the group, a week after the mini marathon - which was less than stellar ... and the following week of having to bow out, knowing that if i went, my leg/hip/back might never speak to me again. i had no idea that day that it would be 14 weeks before i would run with this group again. by then, my nameless injury was in full force - trying to keep up with the big dogs was not an option & the runs were officially off my schedule.
a big dog run is an ass-kicking, shit hard workout. for me. a race pace run, every thursday at 5am ... the runs were a blur of trying to keep up, wanting to stop, cry or both ... but always happy at the end that for the most part - save for that elusive last mile or so, i could keep up a pace that i would never do on my own - and i didn't drop dead doing it. so as much as i dreaded this run & whined about it every wednesday night, i totally missed it when i wasn't there. they made me work harder and they made me faster.
when my coach first told me i'd be running with "the big dogs" (they have another name, but this is how he first referred to them, so in my head - they are the big dogs) ... i almost hyperventilated. like the heartrate monitor, it was another rite of passage, but one i felt that i was not ready for. and one that i didn't really want, but at the same time was secretly flattered by the invite. i just imagined that the group was so far out of my league; there was no way i deserved to be running with them. i would joke that i'd need a paper bag to breathe into in the car on the way there ... but after a few weeks of running with them -- i kept up a little longer. i got a little faster. i realized i could run with the big dogs. the performance anxiety was gone.
until last night. after 14 weeks off, it came back with a vengeance & i wanted the paper bag ... to breathe into on the way to run & to throw up in on the way home.
but i didn't need it.
i can still run with the big dogs.
ok, maybe i wanted to throwup a little when i got home.
but i think that was the heat.
nothing a little nap couldn't take care of.
because it still kicked my ass & i fell into an hour and a half stupor.
i can still run with the big dogs.
after a 14 week hiatus of running with this group, i didn't know this would be the case. i had freaked myself out (this is a recurring theme - i can freak myself out like nobody's business) --worrying about the paces i had heard they were running; and thinking about my last run with the group, a week after the mini marathon - which was less than stellar ... and the following week of having to bow out, knowing that if i went, my leg/hip/back might never speak to me again. i had no idea that day that it would be 14 weeks before i would run with this group again. by then, my nameless injury was in full force - trying to keep up with the big dogs was not an option & the runs were officially off my schedule.
a big dog run is an ass-kicking, shit hard workout. for me. a race pace run, every thursday at 5am ... the runs were a blur of trying to keep up, wanting to stop, cry or both ... but always happy at the end that for the most part - save for that elusive last mile or so, i could keep up a pace that i would never do on my own - and i didn't drop dead doing it. so as much as i dreaded this run & whined about it every wednesday night, i totally missed it when i wasn't there. they made me work harder and they made me faster.
when my coach first told me i'd be running with "the big dogs" (they have another name, but this is how he first referred to them, so in my head - they are the big dogs) ... i almost hyperventilated. like the heartrate monitor, it was another rite of passage, but one i felt that i was not ready for. and one that i didn't really want, but at the same time was secretly flattered by the invite. i just imagined that the group was so far out of my league; there was no way i deserved to be running with them. i would joke that i'd need a paper bag to breathe into in the car on the way there ... but after a few weeks of running with them -- i kept up a little longer. i got a little faster. i realized i could run with the big dogs. the performance anxiety was gone.
until last night. after 14 weeks off, it came back with a vengeance & i wanted the paper bag ... to breathe into on the way to run & to throw up in on the way home.
but i didn't need it.
i can still run with the big dogs.
ok, maybe i wanted to throwup a little when i got home.
but i think that was the heat.
nothing a little nap couldn't take care of.
because it still kicked my ass & i fell into an hour and a half stupor.
Aug 14, 2007
big red button
its simple, really. just push the big red button.
ok. simple for normal people. but me?
lets just say that i have mastered the art of user-error.
i've been using my coachs' watch & heartrate monitor for about a year. its' taken me about that long to figure the damn thing out. not much to figure out really. just push the big red button. i can take user-error to new levels. but now that i've got it down. it's dead. well, not dead yet really ... it may just be a flesh wound. but it is definately headed towards dead.
when coach gave me the watch & monitor it was like a rite of passage. he said something to the effect of: its a whole new level of insanity. i was all excited. i had graduated to heartrate monitor level of running. this was big. to me. he was right - i love geeking out over all the numbers & there is now more to obssess about. i am very good at obssessing. and the day i actually stopped running to take the monitor off; and lick it - in plain daylight - so it would register; was the day i realized it is indeed a whole new level of insanity. i mean, i was standing at an intersection licking my monitor. what the hell had happened to me?
pre-coach & official training, i'd run without a watch. it was more zen that way. i could just run for the sake of running. but once i had the watch on my wrist, i'd come back from runs completely confused & perplexed by my time ... i'd hit the stop button by mistake, or i'd hit the big red button twice. or i wouldn't hit it hard enough. suddenly, mid run - usually after a water or loo stop i'd realize it wasn't clocking me anymore because i forgot to start it again. i'd complain about the watch & be completely incredulous as to why it didn't work & everyone would say "just hit the red button!"
but now the watch has gone completely wiggy on me. really. its the watch this time. not me. it has started a little death march. a few weeks ago while on my 11 mile long run. i heard a bleep. and then another. and another. the watch was recording .06 second splits all on its own. i thought, this could be a fun game - i'll try to run faster for each .06 second split. it was a fun game for about .06 of a second ... and then i got all confused over the rules of the game and how would i actually know i was going faster if each split was .06, so i had to stop. i mean, i could have counted how many splits it recorded & then compared the distance somehow on gmap, but really - who has the time for that? you'd have to be really crazy.
there was the time it just wouln't stop timing. for 6 hours. there was the time it just wouldn't even start. or the time my heartrate registered so high i should be dead.
and today, on my mile repeats - i'd stop. but the watch wouldn't. i'd hit the red button to get my split. nothing. now i was desperate. it was still going. i was calling it a f*cker. i was begging.
push big red button.
wtf? stop!
push big red button.
pleasepleaseplease ... please tell me if i got even remotely near target pace!!
push big red button
stop ticking!
push big red button
i'm done. can't you see that!
push big red button
the excrutiating mile is over! how fast was i?
push big red button
oh dear god, how am i ever going to record this in my little spreadsheet thingy if you don't tell me my exact splits!
push big red button
good god, how does a girl get to boston if she doesn't know her splits?
push bug red button
omg! stop you mofo watch! please! stop!
oh. finally.
i wonder how many seconds i should subtract.
how long was i yelling at you?
ok. look at that - recovery almost over.
now where's my water bottle?
ready to try this all over again? let's go!
push big red button
ok. simple for normal people. but me?
lets just say that i have mastered the art of user-error.
i've been using my coachs' watch & heartrate monitor for about a year. its' taken me about that long to figure the damn thing out. not much to figure out really. just push the big red button. i can take user-error to new levels. but now that i've got it down. it's dead. well, not dead yet really ... it may just be a flesh wound. but it is definately headed towards dead.
when coach gave me the watch & monitor it was like a rite of passage. he said something to the effect of: its a whole new level of insanity. i was all excited. i had graduated to heartrate monitor level of running. this was big. to me. he was right - i love geeking out over all the numbers & there is now more to obssess about. i am very good at obssessing. and the day i actually stopped running to take the monitor off; and lick it - in plain daylight - so it would register; was the day i realized it is indeed a whole new level of insanity. i mean, i was standing at an intersection licking my monitor. what the hell had happened to me?
pre-coach & official training, i'd run without a watch. it was more zen that way. i could just run for the sake of running. but once i had the watch on my wrist, i'd come back from runs completely confused & perplexed by my time ... i'd hit the stop button by mistake, or i'd hit the big red button twice. or i wouldn't hit it hard enough. suddenly, mid run - usually after a water or loo stop i'd realize it wasn't clocking me anymore because i forgot to start it again. i'd complain about the watch & be completely incredulous as to why it didn't work & everyone would say "just hit the red button!"
but now the watch has gone completely wiggy on me. really. its the watch this time. not me. it has started a little death march. a few weeks ago while on my 11 mile long run. i heard a bleep. and then another. and another. the watch was recording .06 second splits all on its own. i thought, this could be a fun game - i'll try to run faster for each .06 second split. it was a fun game for about .06 of a second ... and then i got all confused over the rules of the game and how would i actually know i was going faster if each split was .06, so i had to stop. i mean, i could have counted how many splits it recorded & then compared the distance somehow on gmap, but really - who has the time for that? you'd have to be really crazy.
there was the time it just wouln't stop timing. for 6 hours. there was the time it just wouldn't even start. or the time my heartrate registered so high i should be dead.
and today, on my mile repeats - i'd stop. but the watch wouldn't. i'd hit the red button to get my split. nothing. now i was desperate. it was still going. i was calling it a f*cker. i was begging.
push big red button.
wtf? stop!
push big red button.
pleasepleaseplease ... please tell me if i got even remotely near target pace!!
push big red button
stop ticking!
push big red button
i'm done. can't you see that!
push big red button
the excrutiating mile is over! how fast was i?
push big red button
oh dear god, how am i ever going to record this in my little spreadsheet thingy if you don't tell me my exact splits!
push big red button
good god, how does a girl get to boston if she doesn't know her splits?
push bug red button
omg! stop you mofo watch! please! stop!
oh. finally.
i wonder how many seconds i should subtract.
how long was i yelling at you?
ok. look at that - recovery almost over.
now where's my water bottle?
ready to try this all over again? let's go!
push big red button
Aug 12, 2007
the post run stupor.
this is my favorite part. the stupor of a nap that i fall into after a long run.
i crash on the couch ... and just before nodding off,
i think - this is a mistake, i should have something to eat first. i will regret this. it doesn't take long to fall into that place between sleep and awake. i can hear everything. but can't speak.
i hear my daughters crying over how their computers are 'lagging', or won't turn on, or some other computer catastrophe. and i try to speak & call to my son to go help them ... only i know nobody can hear me. and they come up to me & put their faces right up to mine & ask where is daddy? and i try to say, he's on a bike ride, he'll be home in a minute. i hear them saying they are hungry & i think i mutter get some cereal. and then i dream that my husband came home & moved the piano out of the house all by himself & i am impressed. i know there is one child on the couch with me. then another is trying to squeeze in. then apple jacks are falling on my face. and so i get up & move to another couch, saying - "i'm almost done sleeping. almost, but not yet". and i get to the other couch & the dog comes with me. and the sun is beating in that window and the couch is too hot & i realize if i want to save this day at all, i must get up and eat something. daddy comes home & fixes computers while still in his biking gear. so i can eek out every extra second.
but,
i need coffee.
i need gatorade.
i need to get out of this sweatshirt.
nap is over.
ahhhh ... long run mornings.
i love these mornings.
week 5 of training is over.
10 more to go.
i crash on the couch ... and just before nodding off,
i think - this is a mistake, i should have something to eat first. i will regret this. it doesn't take long to fall into that place between sleep and awake. i can hear everything. but can't speak.
i hear my daughters crying over how their computers are 'lagging', or won't turn on, or some other computer catastrophe. and i try to speak & call to my son to go help them ... only i know nobody can hear me. and they come up to me & put their faces right up to mine & ask where is daddy? and i try to say, he's on a bike ride, he'll be home in a minute. i hear them saying they are hungry & i think i mutter get some cereal. and then i dream that my husband came home & moved the piano out of the house all by himself & i am impressed. i know there is one child on the couch with me. then another is trying to squeeze in. then apple jacks are falling on my face. and so i get up & move to another couch, saying - "i'm almost done sleeping. almost, but not yet". and i get to the other couch & the dog comes with me. and the sun is beating in that window and the couch is too hot & i realize if i want to save this day at all, i must get up and eat something. daddy comes home & fixes computers while still in his biking gear. so i can eek out every extra second.
but,
i need coffee.
i need gatorade.
i need to get out of this sweatshirt.
nap is over.
ahhhh ... long run mornings.
i love these mornings.
week 5 of training is over.
10 more to go.
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