Soul Thumping

The Anxious Runner Report - The Disastrous Run

I made a last minute decision to run a 10K on Saturday (ashamedly, I was waiting to see what Mother Nature was going throw down on us).  I've been working on my pace for the last few weeks, thinking it might be possible to beat my time from last year for this same 10K.  I could not have been more wrong.

Apparently, running a good race requires sleep, and I counted 0 sheep the night before.  Not 1 tiny little lamb (I wasn't even near the pasture).  Bedtime is my nemesis.  My adult years have been plagued with erratic sleep patterns and poor habits.  I've had a particularly annoying two weeks in the sleep department and not functioning at 100% (60% is generous).  I proved to myself just how low-functioning I am on Saturday by running my worst race ever.  Not only did I not beat my time from last year, I added 6 minutes to my total.  An entire minute to each mile.

I started out much too fast and I knew it before I got to mile 3.  I was toast.  Day old toast.  I considered throwing myself to the side of the road and wait for Poseidon to report me missing.  I don't know how, but I pulled it together, opting not to look for the nearest ditch.  I was dragging.  My effort was pitiful, but I managed to run the entire 6.27 miles, though the last quarter of a mile was more like a determined-not-to-trip-over-my-own-feet jog.  I've said it before, I'm not fast and my form is never pretty, but oh my, this run takes the cake!

I felt terrible for thinking I could just show up and do this thing, and I thought about literally kicking myself, but I didn't have the energy.  So, now what?

1.  Running a race does require sleep.  OK.  Got it.

2.  I ran 6.27 miles without stopping, knowing my time would be terrible.  How about instead of kicking myself, I give myself a little pat on the back?  Done!  Feeling better.

3.  Shake it off!  I was online this morning searching for my next race.  Anxiety and that nagging fear of failing again is strong, but so am I.  Gordon Pirie (British runner in the 1950s) said, "Any runner who denies having fears, nerves or some kind of disposition is a bad athlete, or a liar."

Post-run. Red, puffy face, but smiling : )

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Our Bikes are in Love

We were flying low yesterday (aka biking).  The weather was perfect and the trails weren't super busy; however, there was a murder.  My bike tire was the weapon.

I accidentally killed a copperhead snake.  He was sunning himself on the bike trail.  I didn't see him and he didn't see me, until it was too late.

These things bother me.  I know copperheads are venomous (though their bite is usually not fatal), but I don't want to be responsible for one's death.  I won't even kill roaches.  I let Poseidon do that.

The further and faster we rode, the better I began to feel, but still bummed at having taken the poor snake's life.

On our return trip home, we stopped off at our usual watering hole for late lunch/early dinner, beer, and football.  Poseidon pushed our bikes together to lock them to the pole, and he said, "Look, our bikes are in love."

He was right!  The bikes appeared to be hugging.  This cheered me right up and made me say, "Awwwwww."  Poseidon has a way of cheering me up and he usually doesn't even know he has.

I snapped a picture of the two-wheeled lovers so I can remember the day.

 

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The Anxious Runner Report - Running Sick

Waking up with a sore throat on Thursday was not a good sign for the weekend.  I went to work, ignoring the throat, because I had a presentation to give Thursday afternoon.  I fumbled through it, finished up some outstanding stuff, and drove home feeling as though I'd been hit by a truck (or at least a Fiat).  By Thursday night, I was officially sick--I blame it on the nightmare karaoke couple sitting behind us at the Tori Amos concert the night before.

I took Friday off from work, staying in bed all day, and Saturday.  Being 'inactive' for that long is  not something I handle well.  I succumb to restlessnes and I fidget.  Oh, and I can be cranky.  Very cranky.  Yesterday morning, Poseidon took me to the doctor because I wasn't feeling much better.  Fortunately, the flu was ruled out, just a common cold that has to run its course.  The doctor told me to take Monday off and rest the entire day.  On Sunday afternoon, Poseidon was on his way out to the gym while I was watching reruns of Will & Grace from my sick bed and I wanted to wrap my arms around his ankles and beg, "Take me with you!"  I was good.  I stayed in bed.  I wanted to jump on a treadmill.

Today, I stayed home (actually doing what my doctor suggested), but I couldn't take lying on the sofa binge-watching Designing Women.  I decided I must go for a walk for my own sanity.  I laced up and realized it was

No Crocs :)

going to be hard for me to walk because I really wanted to run but I knew my doctor would frown on running.  Running does not equal rest.  I actually considered wearing my pink Mary Jane Crocs on my walk to keep me from running, but talked myself out of it.  I promised I wouldn't run.

I walked to the lake, and started loop number 1.  I passed several runners and grew anxious, and I wanted to wrap my arms around their ankles and beg, "Take me with you!"  I didn't.  I started loop number 2.  I picked up the pace a little, and I grew even more anxious because I just knew I was going to take off running.  But, I didn't!  I walked (and I'm not just saying this because Poseidon will read it...I really did walk).

Back home, and not too tired, and satisfied with a 5 mile walk.  Anxiety gone.  Now, back to my sick bed and binging on Designing Women.

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Will Sprint for Happiness...and Beer

I've never sprinted.  Not once.  Until Sunday.  400 meters (or .262 miles).  On pavement.  Downtown, in the heat.  In my minimal running shoes (which was a stupid idea).  Pacing myself against a kid (a 9 year old).  Also in the race?  A local Olympic hopeful (I won't mention his name).

The "gun" sounded to start the race, and I took off like a bat out of hell, the little kid of front of me.  Twenty seconds into my mad dash and I asked myself, "What the hell are you doing?  You don't sprint!"  I slowed my pace to a neutral jog/run (I'm not 18...or 9 anymore).

The Olympic hopeful  won the race of course, but there was beer at the finish line, and I was running for the joy of running. 

This was my first, and most likely, my last sprint (I say that now, but I have a year to change my mind), but hey, it's one more 'book' I've added to my "ignoring fear and self-doubt offers up a happy life" shelf....custom designed and built by me.

The 9 year old?  He beat me, but it's not like he totally kicked my ass.  I came in 74th.  He came in 61st.  I'll take that.

Amphitrite

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You Can Endure ANYTHING for 30 Seconds

"You can endure anything for 30 seconds!" so said Julia, personal trainer/fit camp instructor/all-around bad-ass.  During the summer of 2008, in Nashville, my sister talked me into attending a fitness 'boot camp' that she had just completed and enjoyed.  I signed up for the next session.  6:00 am, Monday through Thursday for 4 weeks.

Wednesday of each week was "leg day."  Julia took pride in torturing us on leg days.  As we held wall squats (this fit camp was outside, so our wall squats were actually fence squats), legs shaking, 2 seconds from buckling, and 5 seconds away from vomiting, Julia liked to yell, "You can do it!  Come on!  30 more seconds.  You can do anything for 30 seconds!"  Turns out, Julia was right.  You can endure anything for 30 seconds if you really want to.

Fast forward 6 years to this past Saturday.  Julia's 30 second rule was my mantra during our bike trip.  You see, there is one particularly steep, nasty hill that has been my Achilles heel on our bike rides.  I just cannot make it to the top without getting off and walking my bike.  That walk of shame ended Saturday.

As I started the climb, I focused my gaze downward, to the ground just in front of me.  I didn't want to see the hill.  I wanted to keep the steepness of it out of my mind.  I just needed to feel the incline, and switch gears accordingly, and as I did so, I repeated to myself, "You can do anything for 30 seconds."  I began counting, "1 and 2 and 3..."  At 30, I was in 1st gear and struggling.  "See, you can survive anything for 30 seconds!"  But damn, I was still only 1/3 of the way up that hill.  I started over, "1 and 2 and 3...you can survive anything for 30 seconds.  You can do this"  I made it to 30, and I didn't die!  Wait, double damn.  I still haven't reached the top.  So, again, I counted to 30.  I did it!  A minute and a half, and I made it to the top of the hill without having to get off and walk my bike.  I made it to the top without dying!  I kicked my Achilles heel's ass.

There was no containing my ego after that.  I was on fire.  Fierce!  Poseidon and I stopped off for lunch, then biked around NCSU campus for an hour or so.  I took him to the tunnels on campus.  My inflated ego decided I could recreate a photo of me from 1996, holding myself up in one of the tunnels.  I tried.  Poseidon snapped a picture.  I wasn't able to get my 2nd arm up without a nagging feeling that a face plant was imminent (I did have my bike helmet on though), so I aborted the mission.  My goal, before the end of the summer, is to work on my arm strength and nail that pose from 18 years ago.  Not only nail it, but hold it for 30 seconds.

 

My tunnel pose 1996

 

 

My tunnel pose 2104

 

 

Amphitrite

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Sunday's Bike Ride Brought to you by The letter "H"

There is nothing like biking in hot temperatures; humidity so high even the 1970s-style sweatbands I wear on my wrists won't help.  But as Isak Dinesen wrote, “The cure for anything is salt water - tears, sweat, or the sea.”

Sunday was one of those days.  We biked to the North Carolina Museum of Art, and thanks to the miles and miles of amazing bike trails, courtesy of our city (which can sometimes be a big, dumb city), Poseidon and I can bike from our driveway all the way to the museum, without having to rack up the bikes and drive.

The museum trail isn't an easy trail, and we get a crazy mad workout, but it's scenic (except for the pedestrian bridge over the belt line...traffic isn't a pretty thing to see from any height).  Oh, and shortly after pedaling over the bridge, my front bike tire got up close and personal with a black snake.  Fortunately, he was faster, so no harm done to either one of us.  I had expected to implode when I first saw the slithering thing.  Poseidon didn't even see it!  He was busy tree-gawking and I was busy ground-watching.

When we arrived at destination NCMA, we decided we hadn't had enough torture from the sun, so we continued on to Reedy Creek.  Our inaugural Reedy Creek trail ride!  After a confusing start, we got it in gear (pun intended), and made it to Umstead Park where we took a breather, meaning, we drank the hell out of some water.

Our return trip was outstanding (except for that excursion down Edward's Mill Rd...we won't be doing that again).  We stopped to snap pictures of some horses (I can never resist a horse), and one was curious enough to walk over and say, "Howdy."  We stopped for a beer and a late lunch at a tavern on our route, then we began our winding trek through the woods back home, when we spotted the blue heron.  My friend T and I saw him several weeks ago on a bike ride.  Blue herons don't usually get this far from the coast, so I'm hoping he isn't hurt and unable to fly east.

Horsies, a heron, and humidity.  Fantastic summer ahead!

 

 

Amphitrite

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The Anxious Runner Report

I bought a ridiculously overpriced girly running skort last summer as a "reward" for having survived neck surgery (survival apparently wasn't enough, I needed a pressie, damn it).  The reward wasn't actually for surviving the surgery, it was for surviving the 3 months post-surgery with no exercise.  I was allowed to walk, but no running or gym visits for 3 months.  I did what I was told and followed every command given to me by my neurosurgeon.  I didn't think I would ever run again.

Before my first run, I was consumed with irrational worry.  Creepy thoughts like, "What if I go for a run, and I trip, and land on my head, and the screws in my neck get all wonky?"  Seriously, looking at the x-ray of my neck, after the surgery, made me feel strange and anxious, like I now have to take care of this piece of plastic holding my C5 and C6 together.  It could come undone, work its way loose.  My head could fall off!  Snap like a twig.

 My hysteria wore off when I took my first run.  It was a little baby trip.  Half of a lap around the lake, just over a mile.  The next trip was a full lap around the lake, 2.5 miles.  I've said it before, I don't run fast, and I don't run far.  My form isn't pretty, but it's consistent.

Six months after my surgery, I ran my first race, a 4-miler (4 on the Fourth, July 4th).  In October, I ran my first 10K.  On Thanksgiving morning, I ran an 8K.  During the long-ass winter this year, I ran 3 days each week at the gym on the treadmill, a minimum of 4 miles, at a steady pace.  Two weeks ago, I ran a 5K with a friend, my first race since November.

Yesterday, on a fantabulous spring Sunday morning, in that overpriced girly running skort (which is now a size too big), I ran the best run of my life.  5 miles, two laps around the lake.  It wasn't my longest distance or my best time, but I was my most steady and confident, post-surgery, and it was perfect.

--Amphitrite

endorphins are the star player in knocking the wind out of anxiety and depression. - See more at: http://www.soulthumpingblog.com/soul_thumping_blog/anxiety-and-depression/page/2/#sthash.kk32O8J5.dpuf"

Cool, Happy Christmas Gifts for Cool, Happy Folks

This sweet birdie yarn bowl is the gift I've asked Santa to consider dropping down my chimney this Christmas.  I took up knitting earlier this year, and I'm happy with my progress, but I manage to drop my yarn on a regular basis, and even the cats are no longer amused. 

 

Fitbit.  Poseidon and I have the Fitbit One™ and this little activity tracking gadget is a fitness motivator, for sure.  I wear it everyday, and try to push myself to get in at least 5000 steps/day.  During the day, I'm motivated to move more (which is great for the neck and back).  The One™ tracks steps (even when biking or on an elliptical at the gym), stairs climbed, calories burned (including "existence" calories, calories you burn breathing, blinking, moving in your sleep, etc.), and miles traveled.  This will make a great Christmas gift for folks looking for an extra push to stay healthy and active.  The Fitbit One™ can also track sleep habits, but I don't use that feature.  I already know I sleep.

 

If you know someone who lost a pet this year, consider giving them the gift of making a donation in memory of a pet.  There are many charities out there.  Petsmart Charities is one example.  This precious angel is my own Kat, from December of last year.  She wanted to help us wrap Christmas gifts, and she did a great job.  Our apologies to everyone for the cat hair stuck in the tape.

 

 

Know anyone traveling in the near future?  I bought a set of these Herb Lester maps for Poseidon two years ago (for our future European trips).  The artwork is super, and these maps feature off-the-beaten-path sorts of things for major  cities.  A map devoted specifically to donut shops in New York.  Paris for single travelers.  Untamed London.  The description they give for their Clandestine London map makes me giggle:

"The desire to see and be seen is not shared by all. For those who prefer to conduct business away from prying eyes, this map is for you.

We list 31 places with hidden alcoves and easy exits, neglected restaurants, unreconstructed wine bars, ancient pubs and even natural isolation. In these locations discretion is assured, it's entirely up to you to decide how you make use of that."

 

 

 

 

While I'm on the topic of travel,  my passport expired in May, and I have to renew.  I can't believe how expensive this is going to be!  I might add this passport holder to my Christmas list for next year.  More birds.  I would have expected the whole bird motif thingy to be dead by now.  It's a slow death.

 

I can't even believe I'm going to post these, but I can't help myself.  Poseidon sent me a link to these several months ago (I'm not ever going to ask what is was he was searching for when he found them).  Gnome shoes.  These are neither in my budget nor my heel range, but so adorable (and sold out by now).  For the cool, happy person who has everything (and a gifter who has too much), perhaps some gnome shoes for Christmas?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Amphitrite

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Combining three of our favorite things:  Biking, football, and great beer.  We biked 9.5 miles from our driveway to Sadlacks Heros (before they shut their doors in December), had a couple of beers and watched football, then walked next door to Schoolkids Records, spent $60 in CDs, then biked back home.  What a gorgeous day!  What a gorgeous week.  The highlight of this week?  My newly active self (after neck surgery in January) is now at the weight I was in 1995 (this picture was taken last week at the Hopscotch Music Festival 2013):

 

Giving up the Ultimate Fashion Accessory...The Neck Brace

Long story short, but 6 weeks post neck surgery and I got the thumbs up on Tuesday from my neurosurgeon!  X-rays show everything is healing properly, the screws are still in place and I can now raise my arms above my head again, which is something no one should take for granted, not ever.  Imagine, if you will, not being allowed to lift your arms above your head, or bend your neck forward for 6 weeks.  All I can say, right now, is that my hair is in desperate need of the best shampooing of its life.

I can do most things again without fear of keeping my neck as straight as the proverbial arrow.  I have had a weird feeling for the past 6 weeks, a feeling that if I turn my head too quickly or too far in one direction (you know, like an owl) that the plastic plate in my neck with snap, and the  two screws holding it in place will float around on the inside of my body.  Impossible for sure, but creepy to think about (even creepier if you've seen my x-rays).

So, now that I'm officially on the mend, and can begin incorporating more strenuous exercise back into my routine, I'm one happy girl.  On a sad note (dripping with sarcasm), I no longer have to wear my beautiful neck brace.  That thing can just about walk on its own now anyway...a turn through the washing machine would have been nice.  I'm thinking a funeral for the neck brace may be a good idea, like a symbolic step toward normalcy.  That and I'd be putting it out of its misery.

--Amphritite

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