Spartan Shape-Up, Day 511:
Getting back into workouts in the early morning (AT the gym for 6:15am) is the bane of my existance. I'm not a morning person. It just doesn't go well for me.
Thankfully, I have an excellent gym buddy (rule #1 of sustained training!) who drives to my house and picks me up - I don't even have to be awake enough to drive... just clad in my sneakers and spandex and stumbling out of the house. .... which, is pretty much all I'm capable of at that time of day. It's not even light out when I leave my house, these days; that's something that's really difficult for me, as I am a S.A.D sufferer (lack of light issue).
Nonetheless, Tuesday morning found Stacey beeping in my driveway, and I tumbled out the door (banana in hand!) and grunted an intelligble "good morning."
Crossfit consisted of not one, but TWO WODs...
First WOD:
EMOTM (Every minute on the minute) for 10 minutes:
7 Kettlebell swings
7 box jumps
max pull ups
Yeahh..... That was an ugly time. I tried the first two minutes as prescribed, but while I'm fast and competent on the KB swings (using the RX weight for women), the box jumps were slowing me down something fierce. Once I got through 7 of them, I didn't have time to get in my pull ups. Basically, I'm paranoid about the box jumps, because I do start feeling them in my shin a little bit. It's totally fine, but I'm leery of aggravating it again, so I'm being extra cautious - resulting in me stepping down, rather than a more time efficient jump down.
Nonetheless, I was doing work, so it was time to figure out how to scale it. What I ended up doing for the remainder of rounds was:
7 KB Swings (I was killing those bad boys!)
3-4 box jumps (depending on the time I had)
2-3 pull ups (with a heavy duty band)
This was pretty cardio heavy (KB swings and box jumps), and I am feeling the extra weight that I have put back on and the lack of training during my injury times. I got through it and I pushed the whole time, but I was aware that I really need to get back to it.
The Second WOD:
This one was an ugly AMRAP (as many rounds as possible) for 10 minutes.
21 Wall balls
15 push ups
4 laps bear crawing
...... yeah. Again, I TRIED the first round. I did the 21 wall balls, I was good there. But the bear crawls were killing me. My arms and shoulders just don't have the oomph to do push ups and then support me for all that time doing bear crawls.
Again, I had to swallow my pride at not being able to do WOD as written, and modify it down.
15 Wall balls (14#)
9 push ups (on my knees)
2 laps of bear crawls
and BOY my ass was handed to me. Bear crawls have officially begun to rival burpees as my least favorite exerices.
Having said that, I reminded myself that I'm just getting back into Crossfit. I have to have a little patience with myself. Also, I have to think about the way I approach these things... we were doing these WOD's AFTER doing a warm up that included Ski/Row sprints, 30 burpees and situps. My WARMUP really was (as the saying goes) more difficult that most people's typical workouts.
That said, the victory was that I was THERE, in the gym, at the crack of dawn, taking another step in the right direction. The battles that lead toward ultimate victory are won in these small moments... not big giant leaps.
So, today, I'm sitting here, with the worlds stiffest quads (it is not great to sit at an office job, after doing a lot of KB swings! lol), stretching and anticipating my next WOD. I think this weekend will be some climbing, some stretching yoga and an easy paced run.
While it's a battle and I've lost a little ground, one must always remember - it's a lifestyle change, not an event you train for or a finish line you cross. You're not done. You're never done. But are you happy with the direction you're moving in?
Showing posts with label Ouch. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ouch. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Determine never to be idle. No person will have occasion to complain of the want of time who never loses any. It is wonderful how much may be done if we are always doing. —Thomas Jefferson
Spartan Shape-Up, Day 490-497:
Ah, Holiday Time, BlogLand... Traditionally, this is a time for stuffing my face full of carb-tastic awesomeness, lounging on the couch, drinking spirits and generally lazing about in a haze of "Holiday".
Not so this year. (Aja 2.0, remember?)
Tuesday, I had a surprise come in the mail: "Biggest Loser: The Workout, Weight Loss Yoga." ... yes, there was a yoga DVD in my mailbox, and yes, I did actually order it (and a second one, actually!). Here's the thing, I've had a few injuries here and there over the course of the last couple of years that the treatment was "more stretching". I have an ankle that I need to work on mobility, to ensure it's continued health. How do you do that? "More stretching". I always feel tight in my legs, which causes more problems down the line... the solution... you guessed it. MORE STRETCHING. My GT has told me this, my PT has told me this, my Dad is a huge fan of yoga, many of my Spartans recommend it... basically, it was time to stop ignoring the voice inside my head that knows better, but was avoiding yoga because it is hard, and I'm not good at it.
After much research, I settled on this DVD (and also one by Jillian Michaels), because 1) it was short, with a workout in the 30-35 minute range, 2) it was made for beginner, not-bendy people and 3) it was not shot on some beach, with a bunch of beautiful people in bikini's Ohm'ing into the sunset. I hate that. This DVD is actually REAL people, in a studio, struggling just like I struggle.... and the best part - Bob provides modifications for all the moves. My biggest problem with traditional yoga DVD's is that I legitimately just can't do the moves. I don't bend like that (yet) and I can't physically do it. But then, they don't seem to provide you any options, or progression on how to get there. Bob, in this DVD shows you how to scale any move. It reminded me of CrossFit - allowing you to be successful and complete each move, in a progression toward greater things in the future. Also, this DVD included several workouts - geared towards a progression every couple of weeks, to keep you challenged, as you got better at it.
I begrudgingly put it in and got ready to roll my eyes and whine about having to do yoga. However, we had a nice stretching warm up and I was feeling pretty good. Bob isn't obnoxious to listen to, and the music in the background was unobtrusive. So far, so good. On to the main part of the "workout". So, this part was an easy 20-25 minutes long, but had my warmed up and stretching in ways that I typically would not. Or not for the length of time that I should. Downward dog, Triangle, Warrior. I was warm, getting a little sweaty, but it was gentle enough that I didn't not have sweat dripping down my face. Honestly, before I knew it (I hadn't gotten to whiny!), we were done and on to the cool down. I had done all the moves (some with more success than others...), and - wonder of wonders!!! - my legs felt great. They were loose, stretched out and not stiff.
Well. Hell. Everyone was right.
When I texted the GT to inform him of this he simply replied with a picture that said:
"If at first you don't succeed, try doing what your trainer told you to do the first time." and a note, "How was yoga?"
.... touche, GT, touche.
So, BlogLand, it would seem that I do not *hate* yoga... I just hate feeling unsuccessful at things. SO, many the lesson is I hated P90X yoga, because it was an hour and a half long, I was sweating like a crazy, and I couldn't do half of the moves. This Biggest Loser Weight Loss yoga allowed me the benefits I was looking for - gentle stretching, mobility, flexibility - in a nice, half hour ish workout that I can fit into my schedule several times a week, and *gasp* actually intend to. I feel some success coming on!
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Then, thanks to a little holiday scheduling, I managed to make a Wednesday night CrossFit class, with my favorite CF trainer, Shannon. Shannon, like my GT, just doesn't let me get away with half-assing it. He calls me out when the weight looks too light, or it appears that I am not nearly dying.
Stacey and I rolled into CF feeling pretty good and cheerful about the impending holiday... only to find one heck of a WOD. It sounds really simple in a way - Dumbbell snatches. We did some skill work, and then on to the WOD...
5 rounds of:
Ah, Holiday Time, BlogLand... Traditionally, this is a time for stuffing my face full of carb-tastic awesomeness, lounging on the couch, drinking spirits and generally lazing about in a haze of "Holiday".
Not so this year. (Aja 2.0, remember?)
Tuesday, I had a surprise come in the mail: "Biggest Loser: The Workout, Weight Loss Yoga." ... yes, there was a yoga DVD in my mailbox, and yes, I did actually order it (and a second one, actually!). Here's the thing, I've had a few injuries here and there over the course of the last couple of years that the treatment was "more stretching". I have an ankle that I need to work on mobility, to ensure it's continued health. How do you do that? "More stretching". I always feel tight in my legs, which causes more problems down the line... the solution... you guessed it. MORE STRETCHING. My GT has told me this, my PT has told me this, my Dad is a huge fan of yoga, many of my Spartans recommend it... basically, it was time to stop ignoring the voice inside my head that knows better, but was avoiding yoga because it is hard, and I'm not good at it.
After much research, I settled on this DVD (and also one by Jillian Michaels), because 1) it was short, with a workout in the 30-35 minute range, 2) it was made for beginner, not-bendy people and 3) it was not shot on some beach, with a bunch of beautiful people in bikini's Ohm'ing into the sunset. I hate that. This DVD is actually REAL people, in a studio, struggling just like I struggle.... and the best part - Bob provides modifications for all the moves. My biggest problem with traditional yoga DVD's is that I legitimately just can't do the moves. I don't bend like that (yet) and I can't physically do it. But then, they don't seem to provide you any options, or progression on how to get there. Bob, in this DVD shows you how to scale any move. It reminded me of CrossFit - allowing you to be successful and complete each move, in a progression toward greater things in the future. Also, this DVD included several workouts - geared towards a progression every couple of weeks, to keep you challenged, as you got better at it.
I begrudgingly put it in and got ready to roll my eyes and whine about having to do yoga. However, we had a nice stretching warm up and I was feeling pretty good. Bob isn't obnoxious to listen to, and the music in the background was unobtrusive. So far, so good. On to the main part of the "workout". So, this part was an easy 20-25 minutes long, but had my warmed up and stretching in ways that I typically would not. Or not for the length of time that I should. Downward dog, Triangle, Warrior. I was warm, getting a little sweaty, but it was gentle enough that I didn't not have sweat dripping down my face. Honestly, before I knew it (I hadn't gotten to whiny!), we were done and on to the cool down. I had done all the moves (some with more success than others...), and - wonder of wonders!!! - my legs felt great. They were loose, stretched out and not stiff.
Well. Hell. Everyone was right.
When I texted the GT to inform him of this he simply replied with a picture that said:
"If at first you don't succeed, try doing what your trainer told you to do the first time." and a note, "How was yoga?"
.... touche, GT, touche.
So, BlogLand, it would seem that I do not *hate* yoga... I just hate feeling unsuccessful at things. SO, many the lesson is I hated P90X yoga, because it was an hour and a half long, I was sweating like a crazy, and I couldn't do half of the moves. This Biggest Loser Weight Loss yoga allowed me the benefits I was looking for - gentle stretching, mobility, flexibility - in a nice, half hour ish workout that I can fit into my schedule several times a week, and *gasp* actually intend to. I feel some success coming on!
-----------------
Then, thanks to a little holiday scheduling, I managed to make a Wednesday night CrossFit class, with my favorite CF trainer, Shannon. Shannon, like my GT, just doesn't let me get away with half-assing it. He calls me out when the weight looks too light, or it appears that I am not nearly dying.
Stacey and I rolled into CF feeling pretty good and cheerful about the impending holiday... only to find one heck of a WOD. It sounds really simple in a way - Dumbbell snatches. We did some skill work, and then on to the WOD...
5 rounds of:
- 10 pull ups
- 5 DB snatches (left hand)
- 5 DB snatches (right hand)
- 15 box jumps
Well, you know my thoughts on pull ups. I was using a huge band and struggle after the first 7-8, resigning myself to sets of 2-3 after that. By the last round, I was down to sets of... one. Yes. One. BUT, the key, BlogLand, is just to keep going. Even if it's slowly.
I did the DB snatches *almost* at the prescribed weight. Prescribed was 35#, but I was pushing a 30# and made it through the WOD. My left arm in particular thought this was cruel and unusual punishment, but EFF you, Left Arm.
The hardest part, actually, was the box jumps. Jumping is still a little weird on my post-shin-splint leg, so I'm more tenative. And box jumps are really just kind of a cardiovascular killer. Thankfully, as my jump was waning in the last couple of rounds, Shannon came around and threw some words of motivation at me, challenging me to push a little harder. WOD done. Pre-Turkey Day calorie burn, complete.
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As Thanksgiving dawned, unlike any other before, I was dragging myself out of bed early and pulling on Spandex. Yep. I've become a Turkey Trotter. I signed myself up for a little local "Wobble Gobble 5K" just to get some mileage and to give myself some incentive to MOVE on the holiday, not just stuff my face with mashed potatoes.
It was cold, but Stacey and I were suited up in our Under Armor and ready to go. We're Vermonters, cold means nothing (other than layersssss!) to us.
With almost no warning ("Ready?" *GUN*), we were buzzing off the first leg of the course. Immediately, I knew I was in terrible trouble. My legs were.... tired. Probably an intense session at CrossFit, the night before, including lots of box jumps and snatches (which use your legs to lift!), were not my best plan. But still, I thought to myself, it's JUST a 5K. No problem.
I pushed. My legs felt like nothing. Literally. They had no gas. No go. No oomph. Suddenly, there was a little hill.
BlogLand, I tried. So hard.
I had to walk. It felt horrible, like admitting defeat. I haven't WALKED in a 5K race in a year. It killed me. But my body had nothing. With some encouragement from Stacey (who somehow managed to still be shuffling along!), I got trotting again. I thought I would die. I just.... couldn't. I admit, for a split second, I pondered if this is the race I would have to quit. That's how bad it was.
BUT ( I can't stress the importance of running buddies and training buddies enough!), Stacey was right with me, not letting me quit. As I trotted at the top of the hill, with a pained expression and empty legs, I recall admitting outloud, "Stacey, I need help. Motivation. I've got nothing."
What followed was nothing short of miraculous. She told me exactly why I wasn't quitting. As we trotted down a long downhill, she reminded me where I had started, how far I had come, why I do these things, and EXACTLY how we were going to finish (whether I liked it or not). We'd done harder things, and I wasn't going to be defeated by a 5K turkey trot.
I wanted to die, or cut my legs off, but we pressed on, leap frogging past Red Tights Girl and her Dad, who were running together. Red Tights Girl (RTG) appeared to be about 15-16 and suffering like me. Her dad was sticking with her, but she was having a hard time, taking short walk breaks too. Nonetheless, after we passed the indication that we only had like a 1/4 mile left, she picked up the pace, determined to finish strong.
Thank god I'm competitive. I summoned some sort of phantom energy and managed to get by her (my legs are longer!). However, when we could SEE the finish line, a ways down the sidewalk, RTG made a sprint for it. It would be a long sprint, but I couldn't let her beat me after all this.
I pulled a sprint out of somewhere. I have never felt more like throwing up in all my life. I passed her, as she dropped to a walk, but I had to settle back to a slow trot, trying not to regurgitate my banana all over the enthusiastic spectators. I trotted through the finish, as Stacey whizzed in front of me - a sprint to the finish, like ever good race should end!
I have never been so happy to get to stop. Seriously. A local 5K, with an easy course, nearly was the death of me. Thank god for Stacey's motivation and RTG for me to chase. I tracked her down at the end of the race and thanked her for a great race, and that I had chased her/been motivated by her chasing me, the whole time.
My time was an even 33 minutes... definitely not a PR, but still squeaking in under an 11 minute mile. It was no amazing feat, but for the day after a CF wod, on dead legs, I'll take it. What I'll also take away from this is the accomplishment that I was UP, sweaty and moving (with a calorie deficit!), all before 10am on Thanksgiving.
I was (am.) Thankful that my life has changed so dramatically for the better.
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You would think I'd earned a little rest... and I sorta did...I ate and made merry, then slept late on Friday... but then it was off again, with the CG to a rock climbing competition in NH. We were bring some demo shoes for the climbers, and spectating... and as an added perk, we get to do some climbing. This particular gym in Manchester - Vertical Dreams - is a cool atmosphere. It's a laid back, community oriented sort of place. The competition announcements were made by a heavily pierced and tattooed guy sitting on a tall railing, while everyone sat around on couches. 'nough said.
Since my series of recent injuries, I haven't been doing much climbing. At all. It hurt. Now that I'm recovered, I'm hoping to get back at it, to continue to help me build up my upper body (and I'm really enjoying the challenge of it!). Clipping in and getting back on the wall these first few times back were real ugly. I felt like I'd never climbed before, everything felt 4x as hard, and I felt uncoordinated. But, again, a speed bump in the road, and I'm back to training now.
The highlight of the visit though was the converted elevator shaft, which made a 4 story - 75 FOOT - vertical climb. I won't lie, BlogLand, this was a bit intimidating. There was an "easy" route for me to try... but it was long and strictly vertical. I started up, got stumped a few places and had to rest, but over all, I had a good time. The CG egged me on from the bottom, projecting directions up the shaft, whenever I started to freeze up and get "stuck". But, thanks to a few previous climbs and some raging sore arms from the CrossFit workout a couple days prior, right around the 60ft mark, my arms were done and I had to quit. Still, 60 ft!!! How cool is that?! I know it's nothing like climbing outside or anything, but it was awesome to try a different wall and see what a significant height would feel like. It's a little nerve wrecking when you look down..... but maybe that should serve as a lesson - don't look back at the past... keep your eyes forward and up on where you're going!
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Saturday found me a complete rest day. I mean complete rest. Sleeping in. Didn't do much more than cook some tasty healthy food and wander around in my jammies. I'm pretty sure I showered, so Ha! There's some motivation for you.
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The soreness in my arms had been building the last few days, and on Sunday, it really reached the height of unpleasant. My biceps and forearms were so tight that I just wanted to cut my arm off at the shoulder. I couldn't straighten my right arm - my bicep when hanging "relaxed" still kept my arm engaged and at an angle. When I reached for something, I had to make ouchy faces and whine, quite a lot.
This indicated to me it was time for a lot of water, a ridiculous amount of Tiger Balm..... and more yoga.
With The Soprano's on in the background, I cleared a spot and settled in for an easy 35 minutes of yoga with Bob. Again, I will say, it got me warmed up, stretched out and feeling 100% better, by the time I was done. It was an excellent active recovery to get my body moving, but nothing too taxing.
I went to bed hydrated and stretched out and not quite ready to get back to work on Monday (oh, Holiday Weekends, why are you so short?).
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And finally, the holiday weekend had drawn to a close... and Monday found me running around like a crazy person trying to do all the errands and such that I hadn't done for the last 3-4 days.
My Workout consisted of carrying laundry bags and walking back and forth in the office. But hey, sometimes, life happens.
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Thankfully, I crawled out of bed for Tuesday morning CrossFit today. SO. DAMN. EARLY.
It's getting more challenging, as the winter gets darker and colder... but this winter, I've built in an accountability system - Stacey. Stacey (who's quite a bit better at getting up early than I) was at my house at 6:03 am, waiting for me to jump in her (semi-warm) car and be carried off to CrossFit. It's pretty hard to argue with that. All I had to do was get some sneakers on and fall into the car.
Today's WOD looked like this:
We did some time doing skill work on Double Unders. I tied my previous PR of ...... ONE.... double under. Yes, Blogland, ONE. But, again, I suppose that one is better than none. I just can't seem to find the rhythm to get in that allows you to get past that first glorious one. And, the concussion of my over-exuberant not-light thumping on the floor (I can't think of jumping lightly and turning quickly, at that hour of the day), started to make my leg feel a little funny. I eased up on that and decided I better save that learning curve for another day.
Moving on, the main part of our Wod was:
- 20 Chest to bar pull ups (with a big black band, for me!) as a buy in, then:
As many rounds as possible in 7 minutes, increasing reps:
- 1 dead lift
- 1 hang clean
- 1 Overhead press
(second round is 2, 2, 2, third round is 3, 3, 3... etc.)
Wielding a 65# bar, I managed a respectable 6 complete rounds, completing the 7 dead lifts. I was finding the limiting factor to be my arms first (unhappy that we started with pull ups!), and then my ability to continually hang clean that weight. Blargh. But, the fact that I can do it at all, with a decent weight, made me happy.
After those 7 minutes, we did a minute of Burpees Over Bar. Here's how it goes: face your bar, do a burpee, jump over bar, turn and face bar, do burpee. Repeat. I managed a decent 13 complete burpees with a bar jump. Not too bad.
Here's the kicker... you know how CrossFit cools down, Green Mountain Style? Yeah, we play crab walk soccer. Ever seen 6 adults trying to crab walk (crab run?) around the gym, kicking multiple balls into goals? Yeah. It's a pretty awesome way to start your morning.
... and all before 7:15 am!
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So, I'm successfully still "on track" after holiday schedule interruptions, and I feel like I did a pretty good job of taking a different approach to an big Eating Holiday this year. My, how things have changed?
I guess when it comes down to it, it's all about making a decision to be different and keeping those goals just on your horizon - far enough away that you need to keep working to chase them, but close enough that they constantly remind you of their presence.
Monday, November 12, 2012
It's not that I'm so smart, it's just that I stay with problems longer.
Spartan Shape-Up, Day 482:
Well! It's a relatively optimistic day in Get-My-Spartan-Ass-Back-On-Track land. I went to physical therapy this morning to see what they had to say about the latest in the saga of ouchiness....
First, there was an intern. Poor guy. They assigned him to shadow with my PT for my case, because it sounded like it should be "simple" shin splints, typical presentation and then all would be well, giving me some standard exercises and sending me on my way. In true Aja-fashion, NOTHING is simple.
They poked. They prodded. They stretched, they manipulated, they twisted, turned and generally did all sorts of craziness to my legs. Only to figure out the "problem" is actually like a perfect storm of 20 problems in one. Poor, poor Intern.
The cool thing about this visit was that, because of the intern, the PT thought outloud and went through her reasoning trains and what not so that he could see how she was making conclusions, etc. Very cool, because with a pretty extensive anatomy/science background, etc. I was able to keep up and understand what was going on.
Funny Moment of the Day: As part of the testing/evaluation phase, the intern is having me move my leg this way and that, and push against his hand. "Don't let me push your leg down," he says, in one instance. "Okay....." I think to myself. This is where I should tell you that "Intern" was a 6'4" athletic looking dude, who despite hearing me say that I had finished 10+ Spartan Races, including the recent 14 mile Beast, and a half marathon, apparently wildly underestimated me. I held my leg up. He pushed down.
He leaned into his hands, to get his body weight over his shoulders and push down.
I held my leg up.
His arms began to shake (I couldn't make this up!) with the exertion, before HE gave up and told me to put my leg down.
His reaction: "Okay. Wow. So. There is no problem with leg strength.... HOW do you train!??!"
(... didn't I tell him I was a Spartan? ;-) )
Anyway, the conclusion is this... I'm going to live to race another day!
I have had many, many ankle rolls over the course of my life, and one particularly bad one around age 19, where I was pretty sure I knew better than the doctors and didn't follow directions on how to let it heal. I didn't stay off it, I didn't ice it, etc. and it healed.... but with a significant loss of mobility. Since then, I've rolled in once or twice more and most recently, at the Amesbury Spartan Race (resulting in my First DNF...). So, here we have very limited ankle mobility, a (relatively) recent injury that I was again compensating for in my gait (on top of the compensation I already did for a weaker, less mobile ankle), continued training, chronically tight leg/calf muscles that I don't stretch enough, and a recent half marathon... All was fine (my body is a beast, sometimes!) for a couple of weeks... But I did a lot of sitting at my desk at work, and not a lot of stretching and foam rolling and appropriate recovery. Then, we had the trigger: I needed a pair of shoes to wear, and dug an old, worn out pair out of the closet. Went shopping and running errands. 6-8 hours later, my shin threw up it's hands in despair and seized, giving into shooting shin splints for the next 4 weeks.
FOUR (four plus, actually) weeks of nothing lower body. As you may have been reading along, I haven't been in the most awesome frame of mind. But hey, set backs, cancelling races and feeling limited will do that to you.
That said, after some awesome deep-heating and inflammation reducing (and scar tissue breaking?) ultrasound therapy, a crazy awesome shin/calf massage and a hearty lecture about stretching more (yoga, what?), the PT cleared me to run.
Yes. Run. While my ankle mobility still needs a lot of work, I haven't been in pain the last few days and it's time to test it out a bit. More importantly, PT said that her determination on my ability to do Fenway is directly related to how my leg handles an easy 5k jog.
Wasting no time, I got my running buddy on the line and scheduled an "easy 5k" (man, everything I say that, I am suddenly reminded of the days that 5K was the Big Goal... not a wee test run. Perspective.) for this evening.
I'm not going to lie, BlogLand, I was scared. Yep, scared to go for a run. I was considering things like, What if it flares up again? What if I can't run more than a block? Will I have to cancel Fenway? If it's not better after 4 weeks, will it ever get better? Am I going to be out of activity for the winter? Will I need to cut my leg off? Learn to walk on my hands? ... you know, the absolutely nonsensical worse-case scenario stuff.
Suited up in my spandex, including some hot pink calf compression sleeves to remind my shins to keep themselves in check, I headed out the door like I've done a thousand times... after stretching (did I mention I'm supposed to be doing a crazy amount of stretching 1200 times a day? Hold on. I'll tell you about that, right after I finish stretching...).
I won't bore you with a play by play of tonight's 5K, but here's the important stuff:
There was no pain.
Granted, my ankle/leg felt a little fatigued from all the manipulation they did today, but there were absolutely no shooting/stabbing pains in the shin. YES.
I pretty much wanted to die. While I was totally psyched I was running with no pain, being completely off for 4 weeks (despite your GT giving you LOTs of other options that you could be doing and not aggravating your shin, while you just choose to wallow in your self-pity...) really takes it toll. First, I'm pretty sure I've put on a chunk of weight in the last month or month and a half. More weight does not make running any easier. Second, I was huffing and puffing like an effing asthmatic. Seriously, it was ridiculous. Third, my legs were like lead, as if we'd never run before.
Where a 5K is usually a warm up for me, this one - my "triumphant" return to training - was anything but. This was ugly, heavy, hard and not a ton of fun (thank god for running buddies!). As I pushed through the last quarter mile, I tried to reflect on all the things I'd done this year.... this was certainly not the hardest, even though it felt like it, at that moment.
Sitting home and stretching (yep. stretching.), I got a little moody. Feeling the pulling in my legs as I forced my calves to stretch, reminded me of how much make-up work has to be done. My conditioning has suffered a back slide a bit. Running was hard. My breathing was all wrong. I gained weight.
I won't tell you I have a completely sunshiny outlook on this situation, but I think that's actually a good thing. Old Me might've accepted the status quo and become complacent again, satisfied with the "good enough." Aja 2.0 is pissed that I've lost ground and is refocused, having had a hard slap in the face with reality in a sweating, huffing and puffing evening run. Aja 2.0 is NOT satisfied with the good enough, because I have big goals to meet going forward, and I won't meet them standing still, here, where it is comfortable.
Time to get down to business and get back to doing work.
So, here I am BlogLand, drinking my water and doing the alphabet with my toes (great for ankle mobility!) while I type. I've stretched some more, soaked in a hot bath, then iced the leg. Tomorrow, I'll be walking on my breaks at work, eating like I should and logging whatever goes into my mouth.
No matter how tiny the steps, remember, just keep moving.
With that, and the ever so distinctive aroma of Tiger Balm filling my nose (and tingling on my leg!), I leave you with some words of wisdom, recently passed on by my Yoda-like GT:
Well! It's a relatively optimistic day in Get-My-Spartan-Ass-Back-On-Track land. I went to physical therapy this morning to see what they had to say about the latest in the saga of ouchiness....
First, there was an intern. Poor guy. They assigned him to shadow with my PT for my case, because it sounded like it should be "simple" shin splints, typical presentation and then all would be well, giving me some standard exercises and sending me on my way. In true Aja-fashion, NOTHING is simple.
They poked. They prodded. They stretched, they manipulated, they twisted, turned and generally did all sorts of craziness to my legs. Only to figure out the "problem" is actually like a perfect storm of 20 problems in one. Poor, poor Intern.
The cool thing about this visit was that, because of the intern, the PT thought outloud and went through her reasoning trains and what not so that he could see how she was making conclusions, etc. Very cool, because with a pretty extensive anatomy/science background, etc. I was able to keep up and understand what was going on.
Funny Moment of the Day: As part of the testing/evaluation phase, the intern is having me move my leg this way and that, and push against his hand. "Don't let me push your leg down," he says, in one instance. "Okay....." I think to myself. This is where I should tell you that "Intern" was a 6'4" athletic looking dude, who despite hearing me say that I had finished 10+ Spartan Races, including the recent 14 mile Beast, and a half marathon, apparently wildly underestimated me. I held my leg up. He pushed down.
He leaned into his hands, to get his body weight over his shoulders and push down.
I held my leg up.
His arms began to shake (I couldn't make this up!) with the exertion, before HE gave up and told me to put my leg down.
His reaction: "Okay. Wow. So. There is no problem with leg strength.... HOW do you train!??!"
(... didn't I tell him I was a Spartan? ;-) )
Anyway, the conclusion is this... I'm going to live to race another day!
I have had many, many ankle rolls over the course of my life, and one particularly bad one around age 19, where I was pretty sure I knew better than the doctors and didn't follow directions on how to let it heal. I didn't stay off it, I didn't ice it, etc. and it healed.... but with a significant loss of mobility. Since then, I've rolled in once or twice more and most recently, at the Amesbury Spartan Race (resulting in my First DNF...). So, here we have very limited ankle mobility, a (relatively) recent injury that I was again compensating for in my gait (on top of the compensation I already did for a weaker, less mobile ankle), continued training, chronically tight leg/calf muscles that I don't stretch enough, and a recent half marathon... All was fine (my body is a beast, sometimes!) for a couple of weeks... But I did a lot of sitting at my desk at work, and not a lot of stretching and foam rolling and appropriate recovery. Then, we had the trigger: I needed a pair of shoes to wear, and dug an old, worn out pair out of the closet. Went shopping and running errands. 6-8 hours later, my shin threw up it's hands in despair and seized, giving into shooting shin splints for the next 4 weeks.
FOUR (four plus, actually) weeks of nothing lower body. As you may have been reading along, I haven't been in the most awesome frame of mind. But hey, set backs, cancelling races and feeling limited will do that to you.
That said, after some awesome deep-heating and inflammation reducing (and scar tissue breaking?) ultrasound therapy, a crazy awesome shin/calf massage and a hearty lecture about stretching more (yoga, what?), the PT cleared me to run.
Yes. Run. While my ankle mobility still needs a lot of work, I haven't been in pain the last few days and it's time to test it out a bit. More importantly, PT said that her determination on my ability to do Fenway is directly related to how my leg handles an easy 5k jog.
Wasting no time, I got my running buddy on the line and scheduled an "easy 5k" (man, everything I say that, I am suddenly reminded of the days that 5K was the Big Goal... not a wee test run. Perspective.) for this evening.
I'm not going to lie, BlogLand, I was scared. Yep, scared to go for a run. I was considering things like, What if it flares up again? What if I can't run more than a block? Will I have to cancel Fenway? If it's not better after 4 weeks, will it ever get better? Am I going to be out of activity for the winter? Will I need to cut my leg off? Learn to walk on my hands? ... you know, the absolutely nonsensical worse-case scenario stuff.
Suited up in my spandex, including some hot pink calf compression sleeves to remind my shins to keep themselves in check, I headed out the door like I've done a thousand times... after stretching (did I mention I'm supposed to be doing a crazy amount of stretching 1200 times a day? Hold on. I'll tell you about that, right after I finish stretching...).
I won't bore you with a play by play of tonight's 5K, but here's the important stuff:
There was no pain.
Granted, my ankle/leg felt a little fatigued from all the manipulation they did today, but there were absolutely no shooting/stabbing pains in the shin. YES.
I pretty much wanted to die. While I was totally psyched I was running with no pain, being completely off for 4 weeks (despite your GT giving you LOTs of other options that you could be doing and not aggravating your shin, while you just choose to wallow in your self-pity...) really takes it toll. First, I'm pretty sure I've put on a chunk of weight in the last month or month and a half. More weight does not make running any easier. Second, I was huffing and puffing like an effing asthmatic. Seriously, it was ridiculous. Third, my legs were like lead, as if we'd never run before.
Where a 5K is usually a warm up for me, this one - my "triumphant" return to training - was anything but. This was ugly, heavy, hard and not a ton of fun (thank god for running buddies!). As I pushed through the last quarter mile, I tried to reflect on all the things I'd done this year.... this was certainly not the hardest, even though it felt like it, at that moment.
Sitting home and stretching (yep. stretching.), I got a little moody. Feeling the pulling in my legs as I forced my calves to stretch, reminded me of how much make-up work has to be done. My conditioning has suffered a back slide a bit. Running was hard. My breathing was all wrong. I gained weight.
I won't tell you I have a completely sunshiny outlook on this situation, but I think that's actually a good thing. Old Me might've accepted the status quo and become complacent again, satisfied with the "good enough." Aja 2.0 is pissed that I've lost ground and is refocused, having had a hard slap in the face with reality in a sweating, huffing and puffing evening run. Aja 2.0 is NOT satisfied with the good enough, because I have big goals to meet going forward, and I won't meet them standing still, here, where it is comfortable.
Time to get down to business and get back to doing work.
So, here I am BlogLand, drinking my water and doing the alphabet with my toes (great for ankle mobility!) while I type. I've stretched some more, soaked in a hot bath, then iced the leg. Tomorrow, I'll be walking on my breaks at work, eating like I should and logging whatever goes into my mouth.
No matter how tiny the steps, remember, just keep moving.
With that, and the ever so distinctive aroma of Tiger Balm filling my nose (and tingling on my leg!), I leave you with some words of wisdom, recently passed on by my Yoda-like GT:
Thursday, November 1, 2012
"This too shall pass." - King Soloman
Spartan Shape-Up, Day 469:
Happy to be climbing back in the saddle, I headed off to CrossFit to get my sweat on, while the lingering rains from Hurricane Sandy passed over Vermont.
Our small class of four settled into some foam rolling to warm up the muscles then a couple of sets of 200m rows and 5 "inchworm complexes." Yeah, I didn't know what an inchworm complex was until the other day, either, Blogland... but let me just tell you, it is a new kind of hell.
It goes like this, from a standing position.
- Bend at the waist, hands toward the floor.
- Walk your hands from your feet out forward, until your body is in a plank position
- Do a push-up (Oh, you bet I was dropping to my knees!)
- While still in plank position, bring right leg forward into a lunge/mountain climber position.
- Switch and bring left leg forward to lunge/mountain climber
- Back to plank position
- Side plank right
- Side plank left
- Do a push up
- Walk your feet up to meet your hands
- Stand up.
.... That's ONE. During this warm up, I couldn't help but think of that T-shirt that says, "My Warm-Up is your Workout."
Next, we were on to Handstand Practice. Not one of my strong suits, since I do have the tiny T-rex arms to contend with. Never the less, Stacey and I (the only two ladies in the class!), did our best and worked down from tall boxes to short ones, practicing positioning and getting our feet up. Not easy, at all, it seems. I have a very long way to go on this particular skill set!
Then it was on to the main event, today's WOD. Today's WOD was brought to us by the Tabata concept. For those of you not in the know, Tabata is a style of training that involves 20 seconds of (usually max effort) work, followed by 10 seconds of rest. Repeat 8 times.
Our task:
- Tabata Pull ups (me, using a huge thick band)
- Tabata Push ups
- Tabata Sit Ups
- Tabata Squats
(Count your total number of reps. Me: 230)
As soon as the clock started and we were off, I had on focus face. This particular WOD would work a lot of my really weak points, and after our inchworm warm up that had worked our core, I was thinking this was going to hurt.
Pull ups were a familiar ugly beast. Yes, I can kind of do them with the band, but about round 5 or so, I was down to 3 at a time, little break, 3 more. I'm determined that I will do ONE pull up before the new year, however. It's going to happen. I'm working my arms at climbing, getting back to crossfit.... I'm going to get there. Since I can't really work my legs right now (eff you hard, Shin Splints!), I have no excuse, right?
Tabata Push ups... right after pull ups... My arms were feeling like jelly, but I got into position (knee push ups) and just went to work, doing what I can. I think the thing to remember here, BlogLand, is that ONE push up is better than no push ups at all. If your arms give out mid-push up, at least you were trying to go forward. My arms burned, my back muscles were weeping and I was watching the clock for every long second, as I eeked out my push ups.
... You know your workout has gone wrong when your tabata butterfly sit ups feel like a relief.
On to something that is typically right up my alley - tabata body weight squats. Today, I approached them not with my usual zeal, but with caution and a tiny bit of dread. Last class, weighted squats made my shin splint flare up to crippling. I had to take it easy on these. I did my squats and put in some solid work... but no where near the speed and feeling of strength that I usually expect from myself here. Instead, I felt tentative and sore. *sigh*
Managed to get the WOD done with a respectable number of reps. Pull ups were definitely my limiting factor, despite how much I was careful at squats. Pull ups are the new focus move, going forward.
----------
It's two days after Crossfit and I have to admit, my arms are useless. DOMS (delayed onset muscle soreness) is attacking my biceps like crazy. My co-workers have been laughing at me, because when I try and straighten my arms to my sides, it's accompanied by Ouchie-Face and groans. Try reaching for the salt with sore biceps. NO. GOOD. Owwwww.
Perhaps this is where I am supposed to learn a lesson. Maybe I have been focusing on the strength in my legs too much, because it comes more naturally. Maybe now is the time, forced on me by the great Shin Splint Saga, to concentrate on whipping this sad little upper body into shape. Getting that pull up. Getting some really not-on-knees push ups. (and abs, thank you for also making your presence known... I won't neglect my core-workouts either!).
I have been struggling, of late, with this limiting injury. It is hard to pull yourself out of races and put question marks on upcoming ones. It doesn't feel good at all. I'm supposed to be chasing down those finish lines, not backing away from them. However, I have a sense of reason and I know that some time "off" now is better than permanent injury with much bigger physical limitations later. Time off it is, until I'm healed and good to go.
As a former Fat Chick, though, I'm afraid. Being limited like this, has sort of derailed my usual patterns, and I'm afraid I'm going to backslide. I'm afraid I'll lose progress. I'm afraid of all those silly irrational things you think when you're unhappy with what's going on, and your brain has hit Worse Case Scenario mode.
BUT.
Where there is a will, there is a way, and I'm a Spartan, Damnit. I have an appointment for X-rays on Monday, and Physical Therapy to go to the following Monday. It's cutting it a little close to Fenway... but I'm going to keep CrossFitting, stretching, foam rolling, icing, tiger balming and whatever else I can think of to help this along... and we'll just have to keep our fingers crossed.
Now, I'm off to slather some Ultra Tiger Balm on my biceps, do a little more foam rolling, and drag myself off for a loooooong sleep.
Happy to be climbing back in the saddle, I headed off to CrossFit to get my sweat on, while the lingering rains from Hurricane Sandy passed over Vermont.
Our small class of four settled into some foam rolling to warm up the muscles then a couple of sets of 200m rows and 5 "inchworm complexes." Yeah, I didn't know what an inchworm complex was until the other day, either, Blogland... but let me just tell you, it is a new kind of hell.
It goes like this, from a standing position.
- Bend at the waist, hands toward the floor.
- Walk your hands from your feet out forward, until your body is in a plank position
- Do a push-up (Oh, you bet I was dropping to my knees!)
- While still in plank position, bring right leg forward into a lunge/mountain climber position.
- Switch and bring left leg forward to lunge/mountain climber
- Back to plank position
- Side plank right
- Side plank left
- Do a push up
- Walk your feet up to meet your hands
- Stand up.
.... That's ONE. During this warm up, I couldn't help but think of that T-shirt that says, "My Warm-Up is your Workout."
Next, we were on to Handstand Practice. Not one of my strong suits, since I do have the tiny T-rex arms to contend with. Never the less, Stacey and I (the only two ladies in the class!), did our best and worked down from tall boxes to short ones, practicing positioning and getting our feet up. Not easy, at all, it seems. I have a very long way to go on this particular skill set!
Then it was on to the main event, today's WOD. Today's WOD was brought to us by the Tabata concept. For those of you not in the know, Tabata is a style of training that involves 20 seconds of (usually max effort) work, followed by 10 seconds of rest. Repeat 8 times.
Our task:
- Tabata Pull ups (me, using a huge thick band)
- Tabata Push ups
- Tabata Sit Ups
- Tabata Squats
(Count your total number of reps. Me: 230)
As soon as the clock started and we were off, I had on focus face. This particular WOD would work a lot of my really weak points, and after our inchworm warm up that had worked our core, I was thinking this was going to hurt.
Pull ups were a familiar ugly beast. Yes, I can kind of do them with the band, but about round 5 or so, I was down to 3 at a time, little break, 3 more. I'm determined that I will do ONE pull up before the new year, however. It's going to happen. I'm working my arms at climbing, getting back to crossfit.... I'm going to get there. Since I can't really work my legs right now (eff you hard, Shin Splints!), I have no excuse, right?
Tabata Push ups... right after pull ups... My arms were feeling like jelly, but I got into position (knee push ups) and just went to work, doing what I can. I think the thing to remember here, BlogLand, is that ONE push up is better than no push ups at all. If your arms give out mid-push up, at least you were trying to go forward. My arms burned, my back muscles were weeping and I was watching the clock for every long second, as I eeked out my push ups.
... You know your workout has gone wrong when your tabata butterfly sit ups feel like a relief.
On to something that is typically right up my alley - tabata body weight squats. Today, I approached them not with my usual zeal, but with caution and a tiny bit of dread. Last class, weighted squats made my shin splint flare up to crippling. I had to take it easy on these. I did my squats and put in some solid work... but no where near the speed and feeling of strength that I usually expect from myself here. Instead, I felt tentative and sore. *sigh*
Managed to get the WOD done with a respectable number of reps. Pull ups were definitely my limiting factor, despite how much I was careful at squats. Pull ups are the new focus move, going forward.
----------
It's two days after Crossfit and I have to admit, my arms are useless. DOMS (delayed onset muscle soreness) is attacking my biceps like crazy. My co-workers have been laughing at me, because when I try and straighten my arms to my sides, it's accompanied by Ouchie-Face and groans. Try reaching for the salt with sore biceps. NO. GOOD. Owwwww.
Perhaps this is where I am supposed to learn a lesson. Maybe I have been focusing on the strength in my legs too much, because it comes more naturally. Maybe now is the time, forced on me by the great Shin Splint Saga, to concentrate on whipping this sad little upper body into shape. Getting that pull up. Getting some really not-on-knees push ups. (and abs, thank you for also making your presence known... I won't neglect my core-workouts either!).
I have been struggling, of late, with this limiting injury. It is hard to pull yourself out of races and put question marks on upcoming ones. It doesn't feel good at all. I'm supposed to be chasing down those finish lines, not backing away from them. However, I have a sense of reason and I know that some time "off" now is better than permanent injury with much bigger physical limitations later. Time off it is, until I'm healed and good to go.
As a former Fat Chick, though, I'm afraid. Being limited like this, has sort of derailed my usual patterns, and I'm afraid I'm going to backslide. I'm afraid I'll lose progress. I'm afraid of all those silly irrational things you think when you're unhappy with what's going on, and your brain has hit Worse Case Scenario mode.
BUT.
Where there is a will, there is a way, and I'm a Spartan, Damnit. I have an appointment for X-rays on Monday, and Physical Therapy to go to the following Monday. It's cutting it a little close to Fenway... but I'm going to keep CrossFitting, stretching, foam rolling, icing, tiger balming and whatever else I can think of to help this along... and we'll just have to keep our fingers crossed.
Now, I'm off to slather some Ultra Tiger Balm on my biceps, do a little more foam rolling, and drag myself off for a loooooong sleep.
Monday, October 29, 2012
"It is not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves."
Spartan Shape-Up, Day 464:
After a really full racing season, a few set backs, detours and Life in General, it is time to get back to a schedule. I plateaued a little bit in the last few months, because my schedule was all crazy and I was trying to do too many things... so, I recognize, it's time to get back to basics.
1) I'm tracking my food intake again (GROAN). This time, I'm attempting to use My Fitness Pal, to take a better look at the calories. I've cleaned out my diet to a mostly-paleo state, but now it's time to work on EXACTLY what is going into my face. I've got about 30 more pounds to go and I'm on a mission, BlogLand.
2) Back to a strict training schedule. Crossfit at least 2x a week, Climbing at least 1x a week, and (as soon as my leg is good to go!) running again. 5-6 days a week of concerted movement. This is the goal.
In light of that, Thursday was my first day back to the CrossFit routine. I was a little worried about how this stupid shin splint was going to respond, but I figured I'd be careful and take it easy, as needed. I couldn't stand just sitting around and waiting for it to fix itself any more (who thought I'd ever say THAT!?).
My Beast-in-Training buddy, Stacey came to pick me up at the crack of dawn (just before 6am) so we could make it to the 6:15am class. BlogLand, my soul was crying at this time of day, but thankfully, my brain wasn't awake enough to know what was going on, so in the car I went.
After a few creaking minutes of foam rolling, filled with the snap-crackle-popping of not-awake joints, we moved onto our warm up:
inchworms, bear crawls, high knees, butt kicks, high skips - all down the length of the gym and back (which results in like 10 inch worms, for reference). I felt nicely warmed up, shin wasn't hurting, though I was aware it was there, and on we moved into the strength piece of the WOD:
That doesn't seem so bad, does it? It's not.... but let me tell you what IS really exciting. After hitting the deck for your first burpee - a move that you are practically a professional at - you feel an uncomfortable twinge in your shin. Down for the second burpee and it becomes all too clear that using your right leg for burpees is not going to be a do-able plan. However, I didn't feel like NOT completing this WOD was a doable plan either.
Well. One-legged burpees it was. Stand on both feet, down and kick out and land only on one (touching down the right toe only for a little balance), one footed jump back to center, gentle two-footed hop up. You know, because burpees didn't suck enough to begin with.
Having to modify my burpees like this definitely slowed me down and by the end, even doing the back squats with that 55# was painful on the leg. My frustration level was running high as I headed home to ice it and get my compression sleeve on to continue the day.
After a day of rest, where my leg decided it felt okay again, I found myself at a fun rock gym in Worcester, MA with the CG. After taking care of his actual business there, we got to sneak in some climbing. I was stoked - these walls were twice the height (some more than that!) of the ones I've been practicing on. Leg taped and feeling good, I harnessed up and away we went.
I'm not afraid of heights, but I won't lie, the first time I got halfway up the wall, I had a bit of nervous moment. I had to take a second to remind myself that I was securely harnessed in and it was just the same as I was used to.
Here's yet another instance where part of this life transformation thing, where I'm trying new activities and stretching my limits, is actually more mental than physical. Stacey gave me a great quote the other day that is perfect here:
Just after I'd quickly rallied and pushed on another couple of moves, I had to bail and get lowered down. The leg made itself known, again. I came down, stretched out some more, rested and resolved to try again.
After a couple more attempts (resulting in one, long, steeper than usual, successful climb), I had to quit. By the end of the last climb I was gritting my teeth to finish, because the knife-stabs in my shin had taken over, every time I put any pressure on my right leg. ARGH! I also discovered that walking on soft surfaces (like the padded floor of a climbing gym) are decidedly not awesome once the shin splint gets angry. *sigh* Total climbing for the day? Maybe about 20 minutes, versus the usual 2+ hours.
I can't explain to you the tantrum my inner 5 year old had/is having over this injury. I'm doing all the right things to get it to heal, but the waiting is killing me. I can't run. I can't squat, I can't climb... what's left? Just weeks and weeks of pull ups?? (For the love of God, NOOOOO!!)
My T-Rex arms are quaking in fear and wishing my leg a really speedy recovery.
It is hard not to feel discouraged at a time like this, BlogLand. I'm back to being limited in the things I can do - something I haven't really felt since I was 284# and struggling to walk up the stairs. I've had some minor delays along the way, but nothing like this stupid Shin Splint. This one has me down for the count and really wracking my brain to try to find ways to keep up the training without making it worse.
However, my GT is keeping me in line and reminding me of the things to focus on. Maybe this is a REALLY excellent time to refine my nutrition. My CG has been reminding me that there are other things to work on - like my t-rex arms - in the interim.
All is not lost. Yes, I had to pull out of the half marathon... but there's always next year. Yes, Fenway is in a little over 2 weeks... but 2 weeks is a long time. One day at a time, and I'm going to get better.
SO. Chin up, BlogLand... whatever your stumbling block right now - money, a plateau, an injury, whatever - there's a way around if you think hard enough.
Now... I'm off to do some more stretching and foam rolling before bed.....
After a really full racing season, a few set backs, detours and Life in General, it is time to get back to a schedule. I plateaued a little bit in the last few months, because my schedule was all crazy and I was trying to do too many things... so, I recognize, it's time to get back to basics.
1) I'm tracking my food intake again (GROAN). This time, I'm attempting to use My Fitness Pal, to take a better look at the calories. I've cleaned out my diet to a mostly-paleo state, but now it's time to work on EXACTLY what is going into my face. I've got about 30 more pounds to go and I'm on a mission, BlogLand.
2) Back to a strict training schedule. Crossfit at least 2x a week, Climbing at least 1x a week, and (as soon as my leg is good to go!) running again. 5-6 days a week of concerted movement. This is the goal.
In light of that, Thursday was my first day back to the CrossFit routine. I was a little worried about how this stupid shin splint was going to respond, but I figured I'd be careful and take it easy, as needed. I couldn't stand just sitting around and waiting for it to fix itself any more (who thought I'd ever say THAT!?).
My Beast-in-Training buddy, Stacey came to pick me up at the crack of dawn (just before 6am) so we could make it to the 6:15am class. BlogLand, my soul was crying at this time of day, but thankfully, my brain wasn't awake enough to know what was going on, so in the car I went.
After a few creaking minutes of foam rolling, filled with the snap-crackle-popping of not-awake joints, we moved onto our warm up:
inchworms, bear crawls, high knees, butt kicks, high skips - all down the length of the gym and back (which results in like 10 inch worms, for reference). I felt nicely warmed up, shin wasn't hurting, though I was aware it was there, and on we moved into the strength piece of the WOD:
- Back Squats: 4 rounds of 5 reps to get to about 70% of your 1 rep maximum.
It's been a while since I've been squatting, and the doc told me to take it easy on squats with the leg all angry, so I started low and kept it easy. My progression looked like this: 45#, 65#, 85# and 100#. At 100# I was annoyed; back squats are a strong lift for me (YAY Clydesdale legs!), but the tiny-gnomes stabbing knives into my shins had started again. My ration side kicked in and informed me that we didn't want to make this injury worse, so I stopped at 100# and continued onto the main part of the WOD for the day.
Today's WOD was short and sweet, taking me exactly 5 minutes to complete.
- 3 rounds, for time, of:
- 5 Back squats (55# for me)
- 10 burpees
That doesn't seem so bad, does it? It's not.... but let me tell you what IS really exciting. After hitting the deck for your first burpee - a move that you are practically a professional at - you feel an uncomfortable twinge in your shin. Down for the second burpee and it becomes all too clear that using your right leg for burpees is not going to be a do-able plan. However, I didn't feel like NOT completing this WOD was a doable plan either.
Well. One-legged burpees it was. Stand on both feet, down and kick out and land only on one (touching down the right toe only for a little balance), one footed jump back to center, gentle two-footed hop up. You know, because burpees didn't suck enough to begin with.
Having to modify my burpees like this definitely slowed me down and by the end, even doing the back squats with that 55# was painful on the leg. My frustration level was running high as I headed home to ice it and get my compression sleeve on to continue the day.
After a day of rest, where my leg decided it felt okay again, I found myself at a fun rock gym in Worcester, MA with the CG. After taking care of his actual business there, we got to sneak in some climbing. I was stoked - these walls were twice the height (some more than that!) of the ones I've been practicing on. Leg taped and feeling good, I harnessed up and away we went.
I'm not afraid of heights, but I won't lie, the first time I got halfway up the wall, I had a bit of nervous moment. I had to take a second to remind myself that I was securely harnessed in and it was just the same as I was used to.
Here's yet another instance where part of this life transformation thing, where I'm trying new activities and stretching my limits, is actually more mental than physical. Stacey gave me a great quote the other day that is perfect here:
"It is not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves."
Just after I'd quickly rallied and pushed on another couple of moves, I had to bail and get lowered down. The leg made itself known, again. I came down, stretched out some more, rested and resolved to try again.
After a couple more attempts (resulting in one, long, steeper than usual, successful climb), I had to quit. By the end of the last climb I was gritting my teeth to finish, because the knife-stabs in my shin had taken over, every time I put any pressure on my right leg. ARGH! I also discovered that walking on soft surfaces (like the padded floor of a climbing gym) are decidedly not awesome once the shin splint gets angry. *sigh* Total climbing for the day? Maybe about 20 minutes, versus the usual 2+ hours.
I can't explain to you the tantrum my inner 5 year old had/is having over this injury. I'm doing all the right things to get it to heal, but the waiting is killing me. I can't run. I can't squat, I can't climb... what's left? Just weeks and weeks of pull ups?? (For the love of God, NOOOOO!!)
My T-Rex arms are quaking in fear and wishing my leg a really speedy recovery.
It is hard not to feel discouraged at a time like this, BlogLand. I'm back to being limited in the things I can do - something I haven't really felt since I was 284# and struggling to walk up the stairs. I've had some minor delays along the way, but nothing like this stupid Shin Splint. This one has me down for the count and really wracking my brain to try to find ways to keep up the training without making it worse.
However, my GT is keeping me in line and reminding me of the things to focus on. Maybe this is a REALLY excellent time to refine my nutrition. My CG has been reminding me that there are other things to work on - like my t-rex arms - in the interim.
All is not lost. Yes, I had to pull out of the half marathon... but there's always next year. Yes, Fenway is in a little over 2 weeks... but 2 weeks is a long time. One day at a time, and I'm going to get better.
SO. Chin up, BlogLand... whatever your stumbling block right now - money, a plateau, an injury, whatever - there's a way around if you think hard enough.
Now... I'm off to do some more stretching and foam rolling before bed.....
Sunday, October 28, 2012
“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains.” ― Seth Grahame-Smith, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies
Spartan Shape-Up, Day 459:
You may have noticed, Blogland, how quiet I've been over here... Here's the thing: SHIN SPLINT. Holy Pain in the Leg, Batman. Long story short, I wore a crappy pair of old sneakers one day and BAM. Set of an inflammation that every runner dreads - shin splints. I'm pretty sure there was/is a tiny gnome stabbing a knife into my shin every time I try to flex my foot, run, squat or otherwise engage the front of my leg (you'd be suprised at how often you do this). Admittedly, I had quite an internal temper-tantrum about being "benched" again and not able to run for (possibly) WEEKS. Thanks to this injury, I've had to back out of the half marathon I was schedule to run in a week or so, and I'm just crossing my fingers that I'm going to be okay to run by the time the Fenway Spartan comes up. Ugh. BUT, I'm following doctor's orders and treatments and I've got my head back in line so I'll be doing what I CAN do, not focusing on all the things I can't.
SO, per the Doc's clearance and the fact that the pain in my leg had receded, I decided to try a local Zombie 5K with my long-time (and upcoming Spartan!) friend, Tim in honor of his birthday. Because really, who doesn't want to get chases by Zombies on their birthday?
My inital impression of this run was that it was definitely the first-time attempt at organizing and event like this. Having experienced many of the more established organizations that put on mud runs and races, the Zombie Run group has a little ways left to go; BUT, as I said, I hear it was their first year, so I'm happy to cut them some slack on the little things (like getting your t-shirt prior the the race, not having a bag check, and having to go find the waiver table, when you are automatically directed to registration FIRST, but can't register without a waiver....).
We were funneled into our 11:30 wave and provided our belts and flags. Our flags were our "lives" and the goal was not to lose them to the Zombie hordes (seems easy enough, right?). Our group was given a briefing at this time at the rules (No. Please do not punch the Zombie if he pops out and scares you...) and then corralled to await our start time.
When it was time to go, we were walked as a group by all the Spectators, which felt a little bit like Gladiators parading to the arena. We were here to do battle with Zombies, who knows if we'd come out alive. Releasing us to the race, we ran through some empty pathways on the Champlain Valley Fairgrounds (which, Zombie Run made a good point, is a little creepy when it's not filled with people and rides, etc.).
Before we saw any Zombies, we did see a crab-apple tree, that many people were picking up apples from. You see, we were told that an Apple was the "secret botanical" that could bring us across the finish line "Alive" even if we had lost all our flags. However, I'm pretty sure that this incidental crab-apple tree was not exactly what the organizers had intended (we later learned that there was actual big pretty apples to be had later on...). I did grab my crab apple and off Tim and I went, with our tiny apple safety nets tucked away in our spandex - just in case.
At this point, I have to admit, I was feeling the fact that I hadn't been able to run for 2 weeks prior to this. I had gotten over this god awful respiratory cold and what not, and I still wasn't feeling 100% on the running, but I was keeping up with the masses and all seemed to be well.
Our course took us on a cool detour through a big empty building, where the Zombie make up was being applied. Incidentally, Zombie Run, you get a HUGE A+, gold star on the presentation of the Zombies. Nightmare VT (who did the make up), did an exceptional job, in my opinion.
Warm up over... it was down to business, all of a sudden. We were funneled through a flat field, littered with zombies and big barrels to further obstruct our path. Further, the only way out was through a reallllllllyyyy small opening, gaurded by not one, but TWO zombies.
It is worth noting, as we dived into the fray, that there are actually two kinds of Zombies to be encountered.... slow zombies, who are basically stationary, or slow shuffling, reaching obstacles and Fast Zombies (think Zombie Land!), who are running you down.
Losing my first flag in the bottleneck gate, I encountered my first Fast Moving Zombie (FMZ), who seemed to come out of no where and set his undead gaze on me, only. And FMZ lived up to his name and was a SPEEDY mo' fo. We Zigged, we Zagged and I ran my little tail off, trying to not only out run and out maneuver him, but to avoid the Slow Moving Zombies (SMZ) that swayed and reached like seaweed in an ocean current.
Finally out running FMZ, suddenly thankful for all that Sprint work that the GT had assigned me, I walked in the empty grassy area and attempted to catch my breath. It seems that I had VASTLY underestimated the psychological response to being concertedly chased. Not only do you run faster than you thought, motivated by crazy adrenaline and a desire to save yourself, but you go completely tunnel vision on moving forward and getting away. I may have forgotten about my team-mate, Tim, in the craziness and spun around to make sure he'd come out the other side. Tim jogged over, smiling and energized and hopped up on adrenaline and on we trotted.
Right about here... maybe 1/2 mile into the roughly 5K race, the pain in my leg started to make itself known as a bit of a dull ache. Nothing I couldn't power through. Slow jog and on the lookout for the undead, we pressed on.
While this wasn't billed as an "obstacle" race per se, we did encounter a couple along our way. There was a series of three hay bale pyramids to get up and over, each time a little higher and with many zombies waiting to snatch your precious flags on the other side. Thankfully the majority of them were SMZ. I made it out of these alive (thanks to my Spartan perspective on attacking obstacles)... but lost my second flag to a FMZ masquerading as a SMZ until my unsuspecting self passed a little to close. It was interesting, the hay bales were not a hard obstacle, but the anticipation of the Zombie chase on either side of them definitely provided an additional level of heart-pumping action to keep them interesting.
Here's the point that I had a few complaints with Zombie Run... this first stage of the race was pretty good: more challenging than I'd expected and packed together at good distances (close enough to stay engaged, but far enough apart to be able to catch your breath). Once we got by that initial segment, though, things got a little thin. We had some long stretches (flat, thankfully), where there was nothing - no obstacle, no zombie - that were then followed by areas that funneled you into a TON of zombies that were impossible to get out of alive. Much to our dismay, Tim and I were out of flags by about the halfway point of the race.
At this point, I was frustrated at my body. The leg was really painful and I was speed-walking with a pronounced limp. After what - a mile and a half?! ARGH. We hit a out and back on a paved road, where we were promised water at the end of it. As I attempted to trot along it, I brought up short in my tracks, as the hard surface really exaggerated the shooting pain in my leg. No jogging. Just walking. Noted, Body. I would like to note, this was a decent distance out and back on this paved road that literally had zero point (no obstacles, no zombies), other than to add distance to the race. Where this was an untimed race, I'm not sure what the point of this was, Zombie Run? (again, you're forgiven, as this is your first organized race. A minor infraction.)
Power-Limping (I'll be damned if I would have a DNF on a tiny, flat 3K course!) on, we got to a cool point in the race - a station where you could earn a life back! All you had to do was take that paintball gun there and nail one of those zombies taunting you over there. With my three shots I racked up three epic misses, but Tim (an experienced paintballer) tagged one of those zombies right in the forehead, to win himself another flag.
As we went on, now with renewed purpose (the zombies TRY to get you if you have a flag... without a flag, you're not of much interest to them...), we hatched a game plan. I would run interference and we would do whatever possible to keep Tim "alive" with his flag. I ran at zombies, ducking and weaving and using my body as a block, trying to give Tim (who proved to be speedy and nimble!) any possible opening to get out of the groups unscathed. Having said that, it became clear to me that in these Zombie races, the bigger your team, the better. With me as the only blocker, it was near impossible to be everywhere that was needed to protect the flag-carrier. Next year, we need to roll into this race with an entourage at least 4-5 deep.
Meeting with some success, we were funneled into a corral, where we met the only other actual "obstacles" of the day: a large circle of downed farm gates, in various configurations, that required you to low-crawl through the mud to get through them. Here's my critique... I wasn't sure of the point. Basically, you came off the path, crawled (or rolled! Thank you Spartan Race for teaching me that!) under at least 15 of these things in a big circle, then went on your merry way. Without any officials to moderate this, we saw many racers just skip the extra effort and continue on the path. Not one to skip an obstacle, Tim and I did every single one and braved the Zombie again to push back out onto the course.
With our one precious flag still remaining, we hit the biggest challenge of the day: the Barn. Picture this: a U-shaped barn that you had to go through, infested with SMZ that wanted your flag. Bad. Here's where the big-team would've come in handy. Tim and I turned into our Ninja Alter-Ego's, and ducked and weaved and spun, but their numbers were just too many. In a valiant display of effort, we were ultimately thwarted - the LAST (!!!) Zombie managed to snag Tim's flag on the way out.
As we Limp-walk/trotted the rest of the uneventful course, we were comforted by the fact that we did still at least have our secret saviors: apples tucked away in our spandex! We'd be bringing ourselves home muddy and limping, but ALIVE!
Finish line in sight, I rallied and we ran over a tiny little Fire Jump, where I chose the Spartan Route - jumping over and landing square into the puddle on the side. SADLY, it appears the camera man was not there to capture that moment, as I'm thinking it would've made a cool picture. (As a side note - again, a product of it being their inaugural year - there definitely weren't enough photographers. The pictures that were taken seem to be very limited, compounded by a very expensive price tag. Eh.... C- on this part, Zombie Run.)
As we finished and pulled out our apples triumphantly, we were greeted with water and a pretty cool finish medal. To me, as a complete bling-'ho, I LOVE it when I get another medal to add to my collection. A muddy number and a T-shirt are nice... but a medal, that's some hardware (even if it's not of the highest quality). A+ in this area, Zombie Run... many other races of this level would've just stuck to the T-shirts. Good choice.
Tackling the last obstacle of every mud run, Tim and I laughed and joked while enduring the cold hose-off (which feels much colder at the end of October! Whoa!).
At the end of the day, there were WAY worse ways to spend a Saturday morning than having a fun little challenge with your BFF and earning a t-shirt and some race bling.
My official review of the race? Well, I'm going to give them another chance, and probably try it again next year, but there are definitely some areas that need improvement. Long stretches with nothing to do are not all that fun, when you're running a "Zombie Run". Conversely, having the Zombies grouped SO heavily at other areas that there is no WAY you can come out alive, also not so fun. Next year, I think spreading them out a little, and having more random areas for them to surprise attack, etc. might be a better strategy. Also, having a few more areas where you could earn/win back a flag would be cool, as the race turns into just a plain 5K pretty quickly when the Zombies are no longer interested in a runner without a flag! The pricing was a little steep for this years product.... but there was major potential here - a great location, AWESOME zombies, they got the t-shirts and medals right - so I think a similar price next year, with some adjustments to the strategy, would be reasonable for this kind of event. I think maybe I'd give this Zombie Run an overall grade of like a B-.
Personally, I had a pretty damn good time and am glad I checked it out. Ultimately, I must admit, I'm glad it turned out a bit easier than expected, as my leg was NOT at ALL happy with my efforts and I was in a whole lot of pain by the time we got in the car to head out.
But Zombies beware... Tim and I took notes this year, and will be tackling the next one with a strategy!
You may have noticed, Blogland, how quiet I've been over here... Here's the thing: SHIN SPLINT. Holy Pain in the Leg, Batman. Long story short, I wore a crappy pair of old sneakers one day and BAM. Set of an inflammation that every runner dreads - shin splints. I'm pretty sure there was/is a tiny gnome stabbing a knife into my shin every time I try to flex my foot, run, squat or otherwise engage the front of my leg (you'd be suprised at how often you do this). Admittedly, I had quite an internal temper-tantrum about being "benched" again and not able to run for (possibly) WEEKS. Thanks to this injury, I've had to back out of the half marathon I was schedule to run in a week or so, and I'm just crossing my fingers that I'm going to be okay to run by the time the Fenway Spartan comes up. Ugh. BUT, I'm following doctor's orders and treatments and I've got my head back in line so I'll be doing what I CAN do, not focusing on all the things I can't.
SO, per the Doc's clearance and the fact that the pain in my leg had receded, I decided to try a local Zombie 5K with my long-time (and upcoming Spartan!) friend, Tim in honor of his birthday. Because really, who doesn't want to get chases by Zombies on their birthday? My inital impression of this run was that it was definitely the first-time attempt at organizing and event like this. Having experienced many of the more established organizations that put on mud runs and races, the Zombie Run group has a little ways left to go; BUT, as I said, I hear it was their first year, so I'm happy to cut them some slack on the little things (like getting your t-shirt prior the the race, not having a bag check, and having to go find the waiver table, when you are automatically directed to registration FIRST, but can't register without a waiver....).
We were funneled into our 11:30 wave and provided our belts and flags. Our flags were our "lives" and the goal was not to lose them to the Zombie hordes (seems easy enough, right?). Our group was given a briefing at this time at the rules (No. Please do not punch the Zombie if he pops out and scares you...) and then corralled to await our start time.
When it was time to go, we were walked as a group by all the Spectators, which felt a little bit like Gladiators parading to the arena. We were here to do battle with Zombies, who knows if we'd come out alive. Releasing us to the race, we ran through some empty pathways on the Champlain Valley Fairgrounds (which, Zombie Run made a good point, is a little creepy when it's not filled with people and rides, etc.).
Before we saw any Zombies, we did see a crab-apple tree, that many people were picking up apples from. You see, we were told that an Apple was the "secret botanical" that could bring us across the finish line "Alive" even if we had lost all our flags. However, I'm pretty sure that this incidental crab-apple tree was not exactly what the organizers had intended (we later learned that there was actual big pretty apples to be had later on...). I did grab my crab apple and off Tim and I went, with our tiny apple safety nets tucked away in our spandex - just in case.
At this point, I have to admit, I was feeling the fact that I hadn't been able to run for 2 weeks prior to this. I had gotten over this god awful respiratory cold and what not, and I still wasn't feeling 100% on the running, but I was keeping up with the masses and all seemed to be well.
Our course took us on a cool detour through a big empty building, where the Zombie make up was being applied. Incidentally, Zombie Run, you get a HUGE A+, gold star on the presentation of the Zombies. Nightmare VT (who did the make up), did an exceptional job, in my opinion.
Warm up over... it was down to business, all of a sudden. We were funneled through a flat field, littered with zombies and big barrels to further obstruct our path. Further, the only way out was through a reallllllllyyyy small opening, gaurded by not one, but TWO zombies.
It is worth noting, as we dived into the fray, that there are actually two kinds of Zombies to be encountered.... slow zombies, who are basically stationary, or slow shuffling, reaching obstacles and Fast Zombies (think Zombie Land!), who are running you down.
Losing my first flag in the bottleneck gate, I encountered my first Fast Moving Zombie (FMZ), who seemed to come out of no where and set his undead gaze on me, only. And FMZ lived up to his name and was a SPEEDY mo' fo. We Zigged, we Zagged and I ran my little tail off, trying to not only out run and out maneuver him, but to avoid the Slow Moving Zombies (SMZ) that swayed and reached like seaweed in an ocean current.
Finally out running FMZ, suddenly thankful for all that Sprint work that the GT had assigned me, I walked in the empty grassy area and attempted to catch my breath. It seems that I had VASTLY underestimated the psychological response to being concertedly chased. Not only do you run faster than you thought, motivated by crazy adrenaline and a desire to save yourself, but you go completely tunnel vision on moving forward and getting away. I may have forgotten about my team-mate, Tim, in the craziness and spun around to make sure he'd come out the other side. Tim jogged over, smiling and energized and hopped up on adrenaline and on we trotted.
Right about here... maybe 1/2 mile into the roughly 5K race, the pain in my leg started to make itself known as a bit of a dull ache. Nothing I couldn't power through. Slow jog and on the lookout for the undead, we pressed on.
While this wasn't billed as an "obstacle" race per se, we did encounter a couple along our way. There was a series of three hay bale pyramids to get up and over, each time a little higher and with many zombies waiting to snatch your precious flags on the other side. Thankfully the majority of them were SMZ. I made it out of these alive (thanks to my Spartan perspective on attacking obstacles)... but lost my second flag to a FMZ masquerading as a SMZ until my unsuspecting self passed a little to close. It was interesting, the hay bales were not a hard obstacle, but the anticipation of the Zombie chase on either side of them definitely provided an additional level of heart-pumping action to keep them interesting.
Here's the point that I had a few complaints with Zombie Run... this first stage of the race was pretty good: more challenging than I'd expected and packed together at good distances (close enough to stay engaged, but far enough apart to be able to catch your breath). Once we got by that initial segment, though, things got a little thin. We had some long stretches (flat, thankfully), where there was nothing - no obstacle, no zombie - that were then followed by areas that funneled you into a TON of zombies that were impossible to get out of alive. Much to our dismay, Tim and I were out of flags by about the halfway point of the race.
At this point, I was frustrated at my body. The leg was really painful and I was speed-walking with a pronounced limp. After what - a mile and a half?! ARGH. We hit a out and back on a paved road, where we were promised water at the end of it. As I attempted to trot along it, I brought up short in my tracks, as the hard surface really exaggerated the shooting pain in my leg. No jogging. Just walking. Noted, Body. I would like to note, this was a decent distance out and back on this paved road that literally had zero point (no obstacles, no zombies), other than to add distance to the race. Where this was an untimed race, I'm not sure what the point of this was, Zombie Run? (again, you're forgiven, as this is your first organized race. A minor infraction.)
Power-Limping (I'll be damned if I would have a DNF on a tiny, flat 3K course!) on, we got to a cool point in the race - a station where you could earn a life back! All you had to do was take that paintball gun there and nail one of those zombies taunting you over there. With my three shots I racked up three epic misses, but Tim (an experienced paintballer) tagged one of those zombies right in the forehead, to win himself another flag.
As we went on, now with renewed purpose (the zombies TRY to get you if you have a flag... without a flag, you're not of much interest to them...), we hatched a game plan. I would run interference and we would do whatever possible to keep Tim "alive" with his flag. I ran at zombies, ducking and weaving and using my body as a block, trying to give Tim (who proved to be speedy and nimble!) any possible opening to get out of the groups unscathed. Having said that, it became clear to me that in these Zombie races, the bigger your team, the better. With me as the only blocker, it was near impossible to be everywhere that was needed to protect the flag-carrier. Next year, we need to roll into this race with an entourage at least 4-5 deep.
Meeting with some success, we were funneled into a corral, where we met the only other actual "obstacles" of the day: a large circle of downed farm gates, in various configurations, that required you to low-crawl through the mud to get through them. Here's my critique... I wasn't sure of the point. Basically, you came off the path, crawled (or rolled! Thank you Spartan Race for teaching me that!) under at least 15 of these things in a big circle, then went on your merry way. Without any officials to moderate this, we saw many racers just skip the extra effort and continue on the path. Not one to skip an obstacle, Tim and I did every single one and braved the Zombie again to push back out onto the course.
With our one precious flag still remaining, we hit the biggest challenge of the day: the Barn. Picture this: a U-shaped barn that you had to go through, infested with SMZ that wanted your flag. Bad. Here's where the big-team would've come in handy. Tim and I turned into our Ninja Alter-Ego's, and ducked and weaved and spun, but their numbers were just too many. In a valiant display of effort, we were ultimately thwarted - the LAST (!!!) Zombie managed to snag Tim's flag on the way out.
As we Limp-walk/trotted the rest of the uneventful course, we were comforted by the fact that we did still at least have our secret saviors: apples tucked away in our spandex! We'd be bringing ourselves home muddy and limping, but ALIVE!
Finish line in sight, I rallied and we ran over a tiny little Fire Jump, where I chose the Spartan Route - jumping over and landing square into the puddle on the side. SADLY, it appears the camera man was not there to capture that moment, as I'm thinking it would've made a cool picture. (As a side note - again, a product of it being their inaugural year - there definitely weren't enough photographers. The pictures that were taken seem to be very limited, compounded by a very expensive price tag. Eh.... C- on this part, Zombie Run.)
As we finished and pulled out our apples triumphantly, we were greeted with water and a pretty cool finish medal. To me, as a complete bling-'ho, I LOVE it when I get another medal to add to my collection. A muddy number and a T-shirt are nice... but a medal, that's some hardware (even if it's not of the highest quality). A+ in this area, Zombie Run... many other races of this level would've just stuck to the T-shirts. Good choice.
Tackling the last obstacle of every mud run, Tim and I laughed and joked while enduring the cold hose-off (which feels much colder at the end of October! Whoa!).At the end of the day, there were WAY worse ways to spend a Saturday morning than having a fun little challenge with your BFF and earning a t-shirt and some race bling.
My official review of the race? Well, I'm going to give them another chance, and probably try it again next year, but there are definitely some areas that need improvement. Long stretches with nothing to do are not all that fun, when you're running a "Zombie Run". Conversely, having the Zombies grouped SO heavily at other areas that there is no WAY you can come out alive, also not so fun. Next year, I think spreading them out a little, and having more random areas for them to surprise attack, etc. might be a better strategy. Also, having a few more areas where you could earn/win back a flag would be cool, as the race turns into just a plain 5K pretty quickly when the Zombies are no longer interested in a runner without a flag! The pricing was a little steep for this years product.... but there was major potential here - a great location, AWESOME zombies, they got the t-shirts and medals right - so I think a similar price next year, with some adjustments to the strategy, would be reasonable for this kind of event. I think maybe I'd give this Zombie Run an overall grade of like a B-.
Personally, I had a pretty damn good time and am glad I checked it out. Ultimately, I must admit, I'm glad it turned out a bit easier than expected, as my leg was NOT at ALL happy with my efforts and I was in a whole lot of pain by the time we got in the car to head out.
But Zombies beware... Tim and I took notes this year, and will be tackling the next one with a strategy!
Sunday, October 7, 2012
"You're running on guts. On fumes. Your muscles twitch. You throw up. You're delirious. But you keep running because there's no way out of this hell you're in, because there's no way you're not crossing the finish line. It's a misery that non-runners don't understand." -Martine Costello
Spartan Shape-Up, Day 446:
Another check mark in my Bucket List of new, awesome, active things to do... I finished a Half Marathon.
13.1 miles.
Yeah.
A lovely Columbus Day Long weekend brought the Leaf Peepers Half Marathon to my race schedule. It was supposed to be a great race - 70% not on pavement - and right at peak foliage. The weather was brisk and overcast, just the way I like it to run. Low 50's had me comfortable in a long sleeve running top and a fall breeze promised that I wouldn't be too hot.
I would, however, be a snotty mess.
A couple days leading up to the race, I wasn't feeling so hot. Allergies, I tried to assure myself... but then, it became inevitable: I had a cold. As the simple head cold morphed into a monster of a coughing, sneezing mess, I sat on Saturday night before the race in great conflict. I really wanted to do this race - it was a "big" race, I had a lot of people coming to spectate, a lot of support of other people I knew running, the course was good.... but I felt awful. I wanted to cry in frustration. I didn't know what to do, what the smart decision was, and on top of that I was, in no small part, worried about my ability to actually run 13.1 miles.
I've trained for this, I've done longer, more brutal Spartan Races... but that's not a 13.1 mile road race. In a road race, it's you, the road and your body... there's no obstacles to break it up, no varying challenge. The challenge stays constantly between you and your brain and your body. And I'd never tested this particular limit before. I also didn't really want to test it out the first time while sporting a doozy of a head cold. Argh. What to do.
Like many of my generation, I threw my frustration to FaceBook, where my Spartan's answered and gave me the kick in the ass that I needed; so what if I needed to walk, theoretically, I've done much harder things (I finished the grueling VT Spartan Beast, which had a finish rate of like 38%!), and so what if I'd be a snotty, spitting mess. Get it done... "With my shield, or on it." as one reminded me.
So, with a new determination, I ate some handcrafted, goodness filled chicken soup that my CG made me, drank inordinate amounts of tea and honey, continued hydrating and dosed up on some NyQuil for a solid night's sleep.
I woke up feeling... less bad. Took my DayQuil (figured I'd need all the help I could get to keep this cold at bay), ate a good breakfast, drank a small Dunkin' Donuts coffee (om nom nom!), and wriggled into my CW-X (if ever bionic legs were going to be needed...).
Registering for this race was interesting. We got our nice long-sleeve t-shirts and pasta sauce. Yep. Pasta sauce. Now, I've gotten medals from races, energy bars, t-shirts, pint glasses... but never pasta sauce (as it turns out, one of the sponsors was a local Italian restaurant that makes their own).
Then, I began the nervous process. I definitely was not feeling anywhere close to 100%. My muscles felt okay, which was the only thing keeping me at that starting line. I was just praying that my breathing would be cooperative.
In no time, the gun was going off and my race-pace buddy April and I trotted off. The plan was to start easy, as we did have 13+ miles, and then we'd separate as our abilities diverged. I was seriously not sure how this was going to go and I knew that April was strong over this distance, despite this being her first Half.
The first 3-4 miles were no problem at all. Our easy pace allowed my body to warm up, all my sinus' to open (the cold air helped too!), and after a ridiculous amount of spitting out the nastiness (I'm sorry fellow runners! I stayed to the side and spit in the grass!), I was feeling pretty good. 4-5 miles is a comfortable distance for me these days and the dirt road that we had hit was not too bad on the joints. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.
Leaf Peepers had great organization and wonderfully positive volunteers at each water stop, at every 2 miles. I resolved that would be the way I'd run the race - from water stop to water stop, without thinking too far ahead. April and I reached the halfway (6 mile) water stop in pretty good shape, having not walked for more than 15-20 seconds at each previous water stop just to be able to swallow our water. We allowed ourselves a 30-45 second walk to chew down some energy chews (I'm loving the Clif Blox, Margarita flavor, with extra salt!) and were right back at it. All was looking pretty promising. I was still holding a steady, even pace, despite it not being breakneck, I estimated we were holding a solid 11 min/mi. I would be happy finishing that way.
Here's where I should mention that this course was not flat. It wasn't a Spartan Race by any means and I hadn't been struggling with the frequent short rolling hills, to this point. In fact, they had been strong point for me, often passing people on hills, as I was able to keep a steady pace, while they fell back. There were a few shining moments I was proud of, in that respect. Clydesdale Legs, for the win.
However, at the quick 15-20 second walk break at mile 8, April and I both remarked that it was becoming more of an effort to start back up. I noted I was struggling more than usual and my legs weren't feeling quite as burly as I'm used to... but we were way more than half way. Finish was the option.
Mile 9ish, or 9.5 saw the first time that I really had to admit that I wasn't running at 100%. We were facing a decent hill and I didn't have the breath or oomph in my legs to run it. Telling April I needed to walk, I gave her the green light to go on with out me, as I didn't want to slow her down. As I walked up the hill, I noticed that my breathing, where it had previously been pretty full and steady, had become more labored and I'd developed a wheeze. Either the cold meds had worn off, or the cold was catching up with me and reminding me that I was, in fact, human.
At the top of the hill, maybe 20-30 seconds later, I picked back up into a trot and pushed on until the mile 11 marker.
Then, my race got ugly. Real Ugly.
The whole time April was with me, I'd had a buddy to chatter on with, and keep my mind off my body. Also, someone to push me on and encourage in the moments when things are sucking (when you're running that distance, things sucking is inevitable). Now I was alone and very aware of my compromised state. My breathing was not doing well at all, and I was starting to feel some stiffness really set in my hips - not a problem I'd run across before. There was a dull ache in my ankles from the concussion of tired footfalls back on the pavement and I was running alone; which meant the war was just me and my brain, now.
Miles 11-13 were some of the longest of my life. I fought. I knew I was at the back of the pack of finishing, but I was determined not to be last. Around mile 12, as I pushed myself into a trot ("just until that sign"), I wanted to cry, at the discomfort that surged through my legs and the amount of argument my body threw back at me.
I trotted just past the sign. I feel back into a brisk walk, hoping to stretch out whatever the hell my hip was doing. I pushed back into a slow, labored trot for another sign, or telephone pole or two, and screamed inside with a feeling of defeat every time my body dragged me back down to a brisk walk. It was quitting on me.
That was something I'd never felt before. I've trekked 14+ miles of black diamond ski trails of over 5000 ft elevation gains and 35+ obstacles that challenged every part of my body, and I've never felt this feeling.
I wondered if my body COULD run to the finish. Apparently, sickness had taken more out of me than I'd allowed myself to feel. I wheezed. I felt my shoulders slump and my head hang a little lower, as my walk "breaks" became more like Walks, with run breaks.
I wanted to be done. I wanted it to be over. I was no longer having fun. But I had passed mile 12, which meant I was ALMOST there, and my head rallied around the fact that DAMNIT, I would earn the right to say I completed the half marathon this day, to the best of my ability.
There was a guy in a light blue shirt in front of me. Coughing and struggling, I hauled my legs into a slow, shuffling trot, that I intended to keep up - no matter how I felt - until I passed him. I got 10 feet by him, and back down to a walk. He was struggling and walking. But I was past him. I felt him creeping up on me. I closed my eyes, winced at the pain in my hip and demanded my muscles trot a little more. Just to the end of the bridge. Back to a walk.
Somewhere around this point, maybe just over a half mile from the end, my Stepmom and step sister came across me walking and wheezing. They gave me some much needed company and distraction from my body, as well as a few sips of cool water, as I power walked a bit more.
I saw the traffic lights that signaled the turn to the quarter mile-ish home stretch. With resolute determination I decided that, no matter what, I'd run from those lights across the finish line - regardless of the pain, or how slow I had to run.
I hit the corner and started trotting. It certainly wasn't pretty. My body was in full rebellion.
With not too much left to go, Light Blue Shirt Guy suddenly comes running out of nowhere, I glance to see him immediately on my left and coming in strong.
Oh. Hell. No.
I'd worked to beat him - if no one else - and he wasn't going to take it from me in the last 30 seconds.
My body got in gear, shoving the pain and discomfort into some deep dark well in my brain for later, and powered forward. I wouldn't say it was a sprint, but it was the fastest I'd moved for many miles, and it was at least a strong, brisk run.
My legs carried me at that pace across the finish line, allowing me to finish in 2:47.
I felt so many things, as I shuffled to a stop after my chip stopped the timer: Immediate relief that I was now "allowed" to just stop. Raging disappointment in my body and the time that it had forced me to settle with. Pride that I'd finished. Grateful for the mass of people that was gathering around me, after cheering me over the line, now passing me bananas and recovery shakes and congratulations.
2:47. 13.1 miles. The goal in my head had been under 2:30. I was nowhere NEAR that. But, I'd gotten to the start line, despite being under the weather, and I'd crossed the finish line, despite wanting to cry, rip my legs off, and just quit. Yeah, I'd pondered flagging down the bike medic and letting him take me off course.
My disappointment was pushed aside as I was brought back to reality as my legs screamed at me. I had done exactly what you should not do at the end of something like this - I'd crossed the line, and stopped moving. I'd stood still for a decent amount of time, talking to my friends, chewing down a banana and part of a bagel and generally not moving. My legs were seizing. I was coughing. Now I was getting cold.This was only getting uglier.
It was time to hobble back to the car and I refused to let the CG bring it closer to get me, as I knew - in some rational, sensible part of my brain - that I needed to walk this out a bit. I hobbled a really slow 3/4 of a mile back to the car, in the most searing pain I've ever been in, after or during a run/race. My hips were crying. Every time I tried to bend my knee or lift it over a curb, tiny invisible daggers shot into my leg. Ahh yes, my leg muscles had seized, after the exertion.
Tears welled into my eyes, but I made it back to the car and sat down for the first time in over 3 hours. I can't tell you how much I appreciated the following 20 minute car ride, just then. Just to not have to move of my own power.
Before we went out to a recovery-meal (I look forward to those. Never does food taste quite this good.), I stood in a blazing hot shower for a solid 20 minutes, coughing out all the cold air, breathing in the steam and trying to soothe and stretch my legs.
That hot shower finally allowed me to feel a little more human (and I think the Ibuprofen may have started kicking in), and let me evaluate what had happened, with a clearer thought process.
It hadn't gone well. Particularly the last two miles. However, I truly believe that was not for lack of training, or preparation, or fueling... simply that my body was already stressed fighting a sickness that was more serious than I thought.... and to run 13.1 miles, you're pushing your body to your limits (at least I am).
My time was horrid. But I did finish. I fought the urge to quit, I still ran over the finish line, and I didn't give up - even when I had every good reason to.
I need to pay more attention at the end of these hard races - don't. stop. moving. I know better than that. I was in raging pain, partially because I'd over taxed a body that was not at 100%, and partially because I'd stopped moving and dismissed warming down my muscles, in favor of what felt good at the moment: stopping.
I declared at the end of this Half Marathon that I hated it and didn't think I ever needed to do this again, now that I'd crossed it off my bucket list.
That assessment may have been a little severe and colored by the pain I was in at the time.
Granted, I am very sure, particularly after this race, that I am not in love with road races. Nor am I particularly in love with distance running. My strength is short bursts - 5-10K runs, sprints, lifting heavy weights... but not sustained endurance runs like this. That does not, however, mean I'm not going to do them. In fact, that may be why I continue to put them on my schedule - at least once a year. One must always push to improve their weaknesses.
This, too, was probably not the best way to evaluate my feeling about half marathons, because I'm thinking that being sick made this one a lot more grueling than it might have been under other circumstances. I know my body can usually handle much, much more than that.
Therefore, in about a month, I'll be keeping my registration to run the All Women and One Lucky Guy half marathon in Newburyport, MA, with two of my favorites - Peyton and Stacey. Peyton's a veteran, but it will be Stacey's first half, and I'd like to think, my first real solid effort at a half - I don't want this Leaf Peeper finish to count.
After that, I'll make a better evaluation about distance running. As of right now, I'm a firm believer that every distance over 5K should have a big mud puddle, something heavy to move and something to climb.
With that, BlogLand, I'll leave you to ponder this quote which encompasses the feelings I'm trying to solidify about my performance in this race:
Another check mark in my Bucket List of new, awesome, active things to do... I finished a Half Marathon.
13.1 miles.
Yeah.
A lovely Columbus Day Long weekend brought the Leaf Peepers Half Marathon to my race schedule. It was supposed to be a great race - 70% not on pavement - and right at peak foliage. The weather was brisk and overcast, just the way I like it to run. Low 50's had me comfortable in a long sleeve running top and a fall breeze promised that I wouldn't be too hot.
I would, however, be a snotty mess.
A couple days leading up to the race, I wasn't feeling so hot. Allergies, I tried to assure myself... but then, it became inevitable: I had a cold. As the simple head cold morphed into a monster of a coughing, sneezing mess, I sat on Saturday night before the race in great conflict. I really wanted to do this race - it was a "big" race, I had a lot of people coming to spectate, a lot of support of other people I knew running, the course was good.... but I felt awful. I wanted to cry in frustration. I didn't know what to do, what the smart decision was, and on top of that I was, in no small part, worried about my ability to actually run 13.1 miles.
I've trained for this, I've done longer, more brutal Spartan Races... but that's not a 13.1 mile road race. In a road race, it's you, the road and your body... there's no obstacles to break it up, no varying challenge. The challenge stays constantly between you and your brain and your body. And I'd never tested this particular limit before. I also didn't really want to test it out the first time while sporting a doozy of a head cold. Argh. What to do.
Like many of my generation, I threw my frustration to FaceBook, where my Spartan's answered and gave me the kick in the ass that I needed; so what if I needed to walk, theoretically, I've done much harder things (I finished the grueling VT Spartan Beast, which had a finish rate of like 38%!), and so what if I'd be a snotty, spitting mess. Get it done... "With my shield, or on it." as one reminded me.
So, with a new determination, I ate some handcrafted, goodness filled chicken soup that my CG made me, drank inordinate amounts of tea and honey, continued hydrating and dosed up on some NyQuil for a solid night's sleep.
I woke up feeling... less bad. Took my DayQuil (figured I'd need all the help I could get to keep this cold at bay), ate a good breakfast, drank a small Dunkin' Donuts coffee (om nom nom!), and wriggled into my CW-X (if ever bionic legs were going to be needed...).
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| The crew from my work, (l-r), Me, Kim and PJ |
Then, I began the nervous process. I definitely was not feeling anywhere close to 100%. My muscles felt okay, which was the only thing keeping me at that starting line. I was just praying that my breathing would be cooperative.
In no time, the gun was going off and my race-pace buddy April and I trotted off. The plan was to start easy, as we did have 13+ miles, and then we'd separate as our abilities diverged. I was seriously not sure how this was going to go and I knew that April was strong over this distance, despite this being her first Half.
The first 3-4 miles were no problem at all. Our easy pace allowed my body to warm up, all my sinus' to open (the cold air helped too!), and after a ridiculous amount of spitting out the nastiness (I'm sorry fellow runners! I stayed to the side and spit in the grass!), I was feeling pretty good. 4-5 miles is a comfortable distance for me these days and the dirt road that we had hit was not too bad on the joints. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.
Leaf Peepers had great organization and wonderfully positive volunteers at each water stop, at every 2 miles. I resolved that would be the way I'd run the race - from water stop to water stop, without thinking too far ahead. April and I reached the halfway (6 mile) water stop in pretty good shape, having not walked for more than 15-20 seconds at each previous water stop just to be able to swallow our water. We allowed ourselves a 30-45 second walk to chew down some energy chews (I'm loving the Clif Blox, Margarita flavor, with extra salt!) and were right back at it. All was looking pretty promising. I was still holding a steady, even pace, despite it not being breakneck, I estimated we were holding a solid 11 min/mi. I would be happy finishing that way.
Here's where I should mention that this course was not flat. It wasn't a Spartan Race by any means and I hadn't been struggling with the frequent short rolling hills, to this point. In fact, they had been strong point for me, often passing people on hills, as I was able to keep a steady pace, while they fell back. There were a few shining moments I was proud of, in that respect. Clydesdale Legs, for the win.
However, at the quick 15-20 second walk break at mile 8, April and I both remarked that it was becoming more of an effort to start back up. I noted I was struggling more than usual and my legs weren't feeling quite as burly as I'm used to... but we were way more than half way. Finish was the option.
Mile 9ish, or 9.5 saw the first time that I really had to admit that I wasn't running at 100%. We were facing a decent hill and I didn't have the breath or oomph in my legs to run it. Telling April I needed to walk, I gave her the green light to go on with out me, as I didn't want to slow her down. As I walked up the hill, I noticed that my breathing, where it had previously been pretty full and steady, had become more labored and I'd developed a wheeze. Either the cold meds had worn off, or the cold was catching up with me and reminding me that I was, in fact, human.
At the top of the hill, maybe 20-30 seconds later, I picked back up into a trot and pushed on until the mile 11 marker.
Then, my race got ugly. Real Ugly.
The whole time April was with me, I'd had a buddy to chatter on with, and keep my mind off my body. Also, someone to push me on and encourage in the moments when things are sucking (when you're running that distance, things sucking is inevitable). Now I was alone and very aware of my compromised state. My breathing was not doing well at all, and I was starting to feel some stiffness really set in my hips - not a problem I'd run across before. There was a dull ache in my ankles from the concussion of tired footfalls back on the pavement and I was running alone; which meant the war was just me and my brain, now.
Miles 11-13 were some of the longest of my life. I fought. I knew I was at the back of the pack of finishing, but I was determined not to be last. Around mile 12, as I pushed myself into a trot ("just until that sign"), I wanted to cry, at the discomfort that surged through my legs and the amount of argument my body threw back at me.
I trotted just past the sign. I feel back into a brisk walk, hoping to stretch out whatever the hell my hip was doing. I pushed back into a slow, labored trot for another sign, or telephone pole or two, and screamed inside with a feeling of defeat every time my body dragged me back down to a brisk walk. It was quitting on me.
That was something I'd never felt before. I've trekked 14+ miles of black diamond ski trails of over 5000 ft elevation gains and 35+ obstacles that challenged every part of my body, and I've never felt this feeling.
I wondered if my body COULD run to the finish. Apparently, sickness had taken more out of me than I'd allowed myself to feel. I wheezed. I felt my shoulders slump and my head hang a little lower, as my walk "breaks" became more like Walks, with run breaks.
I wanted to be done. I wanted it to be over. I was no longer having fun. But I had passed mile 12, which meant I was ALMOST there, and my head rallied around the fact that DAMNIT, I would earn the right to say I completed the half marathon this day, to the best of my ability.
There was a guy in a light blue shirt in front of me. Coughing and struggling, I hauled my legs into a slow, shuffling trot, that I intended to keep up - no matter how I felt - until I passed him. I got 10 feet by him, and back down to a walk. He was struggling and walking. But I was past him. I felt him creeping up on me. I closed my eyes, winced at the pain in my hip and demanded my muscles trot a little more. Just to the end of the bridge. Back to a walk.
Somewhere around this point, maybe just over a half mile from the end, my Stepmom and step sister came across me walking and wheezing. They gave me some much needed company and distraction from my body, as well as a few sips of cool water, as I power walked a bit more.
I saw the traffic lights that signaled the turn to the quarter mile-ish home stretch. With resolute determination I decided that, no matter what, I'd run from those lights across the finish line - regardless of the pain, or how slow I had to run.
I hit the corner and started trotting. It certainly wasn't pretty. My body was in full rebellion.
With not too much left to go, Light Blue Shirt Guy suddenly comes running out of nowhere, I glance to see him immediately on my left and coming in strong.
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| Running to the finish, Chicking the Guy In Blue! |
Oh. Hell. No.
I'd worked to beat him - if no one else - and he wasn't going to take it from me in the last 30 seconds.
My body got in gear, shoving the pain and discomfort into some deep dark well in my brain for later, and powered forward. I wouldn't say it was a sprint, but it was the fastest I'd moved for many miles, and it was at least a strong, brisk run.
My legs carried me at that pace across the finish line, allowing me to finish in 2:47.
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| Rear View of my finish, coming up on my throng of amazing supporters! |
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| Post-Race Banana BLISS! |
My disappointment was pushed aside as I was brought back to reality as my legs screamed at me. I had done exactly what you should not do at the end of something like this - I'd crossed the line, and stopped moving. I'd stood still for a decent amount of time, talking to my friends, chewing down a banana and part of a bagel and generally not moving. My legs were seizing. I was coughing. Now I was getting cold.This was only getting uglier.
It was time to hobble back to the car and I refused to let the CG bring it closer to get me, as I knew - in some rational, sensible part of my brain - that I needed to walk this out a bit. I hobbled a really slow 3/4 of a mile back to the car, in the most searing pain I've ever been in, after or during a run/race. My hips were crying. Every time I tried to bend my knee or lift it over a curb, tiny invisible daggers shot into my leg. Ahh yes, my leg muscles had seized, after the exertion.
Tears welled into my eyes, but I made it back to the car and sat down for the first time in over 3 hours. I can't tell you how much I appreciated the following 20 minute car ride, just then. Just to not have to move of my own power.
Before we went out to a recovery-meal (I look forward to those. Never does food taste quite this good.), I stood in a blazing hot shower for a solid 20 minutes, coughing out all the cold air, breathing in the steam and trying to soothe and stretch my legs.
That hot shower finally allowed me to feel a little more human (and I think the Ibuprofen may have started kicking in), and let me evaluate what had happened, with a clearer thought process.
It hadn't gone well. Particularly the last two miles. However, I truly believe that was not for lack of training, or preparation, or fueling... simply that my body was already stressed fighting a sickness that was more serious than I thought.... and to run 13.1 miles, you're pushing your body to your limits (at least I am).
My time was horrid. But I did finish. I fought the urge to quit, I still ran over the finish line, and I didn't give up - even when I had every good reason to.
I need to pay more attention at the end of these hard races - don't. stop. moving. I know better than that. I was in raging pain, partially because I'd over taxed a body that was not at 100%, and partially because I'd stopped moving and dismissed warming down my muscles, in favor of what felt good at the moment: stopping.
I declared at the end of this Half Marathon that I hated it and didn't think I ever needed to do this again, now that I'd crossed it off my bucket list.
That assessment may have been a little severe and colored by the pain I was in at the time.
Granted, I am very sure, particularly after this race, that I am not in love with road races. Nor am I particularly in love with distance running. My strength is short bursts - 5-10K runs, sprints, lifting heavy weights... but not sustained endurance runs like this. That does not, however, mean I'm not going to do them. In fact, that may be why I continue to put them on my schedule - at least once a year. One must always push to improve their weaknesses.
This, too, was probably not the best way to evaluate my feeling about half marathons, because I'm thinking that being sick made this one a lot more grueling than it might have been under other circumstances. I know my body can usually handle much, much more than that.
Therefore, in about a month, I'll be keeping my registration to run the All Women and One Lucky Guy half marathon in Newburyport, MA, with two of my favorites - Peyton and Stacey. Peyton's a veteran, but it will be Stacey's first half, and I'd like to think, my first real solid effort at a half - I don't want this Leaf Peeper finish to count.
After that, I'll make a better evaluation about distance running. As of right now, I'm a firm believer that every distance over 5K should have a big mud puddle, something heavy to move and something to climb.
With that, BlogLand, I'll leave you to ponder this quote which encompasses the feelings I'm trying to solidify about my performance in this race:
"You also need to look back, not just at the people who are running behind you but especially at those who don't run and never will... those who run but don't race...those who started training for a race but didn't carry through...those who got to the starting line but didn't in the finish line...those who once raced better than you but no longer run at all. You're still here. Take pride in wherever you finish. Look at all the people you've outlasted."
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
The best way out is always through. - Robert Frost
Spartan Shape-Up, Day 398:
It's official. I'm a runner.
I don't just run, but I'm a runner.
HOLY SHIT. (sorry. excuse me.)
Oddly enough, it was this stupid ankle injury that has allowed me to come to this realization, BlogLand. All week long I've been nursing this ankle, icing it, taking ibuprofen, trying to stay off it and getting it to heal. Admittedly, I've had a few freak outs at the people close to me in my life, because of the fear that this injury was going to put me far behind in my training and take me out of the game for some of the big races I'd planned on this season.
I won't lie, I had some real fear about "going back to the way I was." Now, I don't mean just gaining weight back, but slowly becoming more complacent with life, letting it pass by, and not being the best version of me. As I sat on the couch, night after night, with ice, unable to go out and do things, this was the cloud of fear that sat with me. What if it just happened? What if my ankle took a long time to heal and I just never got back on track?
Thankfully, I have a lot of amazing people in my life who mentally bitch-slapped me into my right mind. I had Spartans everywhere telling me what I COULD do (upper body WODs, say what?!), I had the CG encouraging me and reminding me that injuries heal and it was temporary, and I had the GT lay it out for me, "You're not the same person anymore. You've changed. You look forward to working out and being active and go stir crazy when you can't. You can't go back. It's too late."
... Which I took as a nice way of telling me to STFU. I'm losing my mind just because I can't do the things I want to do, and the fact that I want to do them so badly is indication that there is no longer "old me" to go back to. While "Old Me" may be a voice in the back of my head sometimes, it's not a way of life I could ever, or will ever just fall back to. Once you Spartan Up, BlogLand, it's irreversible.
This point was reinforced to me tonight. My ankle has felt better and better. The swelling has been minimal, I've been walking on it and feeling okay.... I needed to get out and try a run. I NEEDED to. I drove home from work with the rock music blaring, psyched up and looking forward to go meet up with Stacey to try "an easy 5k." (Remember when 5K was a goal distance? Oh my.)
It was really silly, BlogLand. I got home, buzzed around my house gathering my Spandex and munching a little pre-run snack. There was a moment, as I applied my Kenesio Tape to my ankle (as a cautionary measure of support and to hopefully prevent worse swelling) that I was struck with a little bit of worry. I think it was applying the tape. Subconciously, that implies injury and all the things that come with that. What if I got half way down the block and the ankle WASN'T better. I was afraid of what was going to happen when I stepped out that door....... but was DYING to step out that door.
As I finished tying the laces on my favorite pair of Inov-8's, Stacey popped in the door, ready to roll. A deep breath had me stepping out the door, with the one concession that we'd only do 5K and we'd keep it slow and flat.
My first few strides were tenative... I was really just internally praying that all would be well. When I wasn't feeling anything in the ankle but a little stiffness, a wave of relief crashed over me and I got down to the business of running. I did, at this point, have to remind myself that I still wasn't 100%, so it would probably not be a bad idea to keep the speed down a bit and go easy.
... but my lungs were burning (it's been a while since I've really been able to run!), I felt the sweat start to bead up on my forehead and the kinks work out of my quads, as the blood started flowing.... I FELT AWESOME.
I felt awesome.... running. Hmm.
Now, there were a few questionable steps here and there where I hit some uneven sidewalk, or was forced onto the grass thanks to inconsiderate pedestrians, but over all, it was a pain-free run. It felt a little bit "tight" towards the end, but that seems to have been solved with the subsequent icing I did later in the evening.
Trotting to the finish line of our 5K with Stacey, I was smiling. I had gotten to go out and run. I had completed a decent run with no pain in my ankle, and in a decent time. Everything was going to be okay.
I'd MISSED running.
My internal self was stirred with confusion.
Plopping down on the couch with my ice pack, I was smiling, as I set about texting a few key people with the great news. I had run! YAY!
I was happy about it.
I stopped in mid-text at one point, like I'd been hit in the face with a cold hose.
....... I may be carrying a big extra tire of weight, I may not look like a racer, I may still eat too many tasty things some days, I still hate getting up early, but I'm not the "Fat Chick" that I once was. It has nothing to do with my outside appearance, but the internal shift that I seem to have made.... The GT was right... I had changed. There is no going back.
I'm a runner.
I belong to a set of people that look forward to lacking up their favorite pair of sneakers and attacking the sidewalk. People that run to get rid of the stress of the day, to see what's around that next corner, to test their will to make it one more mile. I am now one of those people that measure their success in the amount of sweat soaking into their shirt, or by the extra tenth of a mile I eeked out. Runners are people that put the mild discomfort of the run out of their mind and hold on to the euphoric feeling at the end and notion of accomplishment. I look forward to the pouring rain, and step squarely in the puddles. And yes, I stand still and glare angrily at the crosswalk light.
Yes. My lungs burned. My quads screamed..... I didn't notice.
I was having fun.
Running.
Wow. When the EFF did that happen!?!?!
I'm so glad to be back in the game (albeit a little slowly), and getting down to business. Two weeks until the Spartan Super in NJ and four SHORT weeks until The BEAST .... After that, we focus to my two half marathons... it's a big end of the season BlogLand, and I fully intend to be present and accounted for for all of it.
It's official. I'm a runner.
I don't just run, but I'm a runner.
HOLY SHIT. (sorry. excuse me.)
Oddly enough, it was this stupid ankle injury that has allowed me to come to this realization, BlogLand. All week long I've been nursing this ankle, icing it, taking ibuprofen, trying to stay off it and getting it to heal. Admittedly, I've had a few freak outs at the people close to me in my life, because of the fear that this injury was going to put me far behind in my training and take me out of the game for some of the big races I'd planned on this season.
I won't lie, I had some real fear about "going back to the way I was." Now, I don't mean just gaining weight back, but slowly becoming more complacent with life, letting it pass by, and not being the best version of me. As I sat on the couch, night after night, with ice, unable to go out and do things, this was the cloud of fear that sat with me. What if it just happened? What if my ankle took a long time to heal and I just never got back on track?
Thankfully, I have a lot of amazing people in my life who mentally bitch-slapped me into my right mind. I had Spartans everywhere telling me what I COULD do (upper body WODs, say what?!), I had the CG encouraging me and reminding me that injuries heal and it was temporary, and I had the GT lay it out for me, "You're not the same person anymore. You've changed. You look forward to working out and being active and go stir crazy when you can't. You can't go back. It's too late."
... Which I took as a nice way of telling me to STFU. I'm losing my mind just because I can't do the things I want to do, and the fact that I want to do them so badly is indication that there is no longer "old me" to go back to. While "Old Me" may be a voice in the back of my head sometimes, it's not a way of life I could ever, or will ever just fall back to. Once you Spartan Up, BlogLand, it's irreversible.
This point was reinforced to me tonight. My ankle has felt better and better. The swelling has been minimal, I've been walking on it and feeling okay.... I needed to get out and try a run. I NEEDED to. I drove home from work with the rock music blaring, psyched up and looking forward to go meet up with Stacey to try "an easy 5k." (Remember when 5K was a goal distance? Oh my.)
It was really silly, BlogLand. I got home, buzzed around my house gathering my Spandex and munching a little pre-run snack. There was a moment, as I applied my Kenesio Tape to my ankle (as a cautionary measure of support and to hopefully prevent worse swelling) that I was struck with a little bit of worry. I think it was applying the tape. Subconciously, that implies injury and all the things that come with that. What if I got half way down the block and the ankle WASN'T better. I was afraid of what was going to happen when I stepped out that door....... but was DYING to step out that door.
As I finished tying the laces on my favorite pair of Inov-8's, Stacey popped in the door, ready to roll. A deep breath had me stepping out the door, with the one concession that we'd only do 5K and we'd keep it slow and flat.
My first few strides were tenative... I was really just internally praying that all would be well. When I wasn't feeling anything in the ankle but a little stiffness, a wave of relief crashed over me and I got down to the business of running. I did, at this point, have to remind myself that I still wasn't 100%, so it would probably not be a bad idea to keep the speed down a bit and go easy.
... but my lungs were burning (it's been a while since I've really been able to run!), I felt the sweat start to bead up on my forehead and the kinks work out of my quads, as the blood started flowing.... I FELT AWESOME.
I felt awesome.... running. Hmm.
Now, there were a few questionable steps here and there where I hit some uneven sidewalk, or was forced onto the grass thanks to inconsiderate pedestrians, but over all, it was a pain-free run. It felt a little bit "tight" towards the end, but that seems to have been solved with the subsequent icing I did later in the evening.
Trotting to the finish line of our 5K with Stacey, I was smiling. I had gotten to go out and run. I had completed a decent run with no pain in my ankle, and in a decent time. Everything was going to be okay.
I'd MISSED running.
My internal self was stirred with confusion.
Plopping down on the couch with my ice pack, I was smiling, as I set about texting a few key people with the great news. I had run! YAY!
I was happy about it.
I stopped in mid-text at one point, like I'd been hit in the face with a cold hose.
....... I may be carrying a big extra tire of weight, I may not look like a racer, I may still eat too many tasty things some days, I still hate getting up early, but I'm not the "Fat Chick" that I once was. It has nothing to do with my outside appearance, but the internal shift that I seem to have made.... The GT was right... I had changed. There is no going back.
I'm a runner.
I belong to a set of people that look forward to lacking up their favorite pair of sneakers and attacking the sidewalk. People that run to get rid of the stress of the day, to see what's around that next corner, to test their will to make it one more mile. I am now one of those people that measure their success in the amount of sweat soaking into their shirt, or by the extra tenth of a mile I eeked out. Runners are people that put the mild discomfort of the run out of their mind and hold on to the euphoric feeling at the end and notion of accomplishment. I look forward to the pouring rain, and step squarely in the puddles. And yes, I stand still and glare angrily at the crosswalk light.
Yes. My lungs burned. My quads screamed..... I didn't notice.
I was having fun.
Running.
Wow. When the EFF did that happen!?!?!
I'm so glad to be back in the game (albeit a little slowly), and getting down to business. Two weeks until the Spartan Super in NJ and four SHORT weeks until The BEAST .... After that, we focus to my two half marathons... it's a big end of the season BlogLand, and I fully intend to be present and accounted for for all of it.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
"Never let your head hang down. Never give up and sit down and grieve. Find another way. And don't pray when it rains if you don't pray when the sun shines." - Leroy "Satchel" Paige
Spartan Shape-Up, Day 387-388:
The New England Spartan Sprint, Amesbury, Ma.
Race Weekend dawned like any other, BlogLand. I was up early, pulling my pink spandex tank over my head (Spartan Chicks, represent!), and heading down to the hotel breakfast to get some good fuel in me to get me through the trials ahead. As I noshed my cakey blueberry muffin, a rare carby indulgence saved just for race weekends, I had no idea that in less than 3 hours, I'd be down for the count and earning my first race DNF ever.
As I drove past the race grounds that morning on my way to parking, I saw an awesome sight that got my adrenaline running for the day: a small army of black-clad Spartans violently and triumphantly cresting the top of the Amesbury hill and careening down the other side, smoke billowing around them, mud everywhere. I later found out that this was the Hurricane Heaters finishing up their almost 4-hour time, getting to know the course with their team mates, in a way that can only be experienced and not described. An Epic Sight to start the day, I let out an AROO! in my head and headed to find my own teammates.
I was running that day with Spartan First-Timer, April, who was psyched and ready for the challenge. Having run several road races with April, and having her as a regular motivator at Sprint Night Hell, I knew she had phenomenal tiny-person speed (seriously, the tiny-people are super human, I think.). I was excited to see what kind of time we were going to make through this course, as Saturday Morning's goal was to push myself and do my best to run for time. As much as I thought I'd be guiding April through her first Spartan, I knew she'd be pushing me to run a little more or a little faster. I was stoked. Through the columns and smoke, Dropkick Murphy's resounding through air, we were off, running steadily up the hill - Spartan Race's idea of how to start a race (warm-up, what?!).
In the theme of pushing ourselves, we kept running up the hill, until we hit a bottle-necked wall of walking people, that forced us to a walk at the steep part. My lungs were super grateful to the walkers that prevented us from running through, but I felt accomplished to know that I could've continued it right to the top. My legs were feeling great. Yes!
The obstacles are a little out of order in my head at this point... shoulder-high mud pits, low walls, over-under-throughs, cargo nets, sandbag carries, muddy swamp walks... Spartan Race was in fine form, here in Amesbury. I was having a BLAST. I felt in shape, strong and in great company. April and I laughed, joked, sweated and ran, enjoying every moment.
My highlight of the day came as we broke into a clearing in the woods to the Hercules Hoist (hoist a large cement weight up to the top of a large pulley and gently put it back down). The Men's weights were empty, but there was a long line for the women's (maybe half the weight?) pulleys. Standing in line, but eager to continue our race, I eyed the Men's Weights. Heavy lifting is my specialty and I was reasonably confident that I could do the Men's weight... egged on a little by April, I decided to go for it. With a big mental AROO! I grabbed that rope and squatted a powerful force of determination and strength against it. Hand over hand, using well-practiced body weight squats to help pull the rope, with a couple of grunts of exertion, I found myself slowly lowering it back down. Success! I suppose there is something to be said for being a burly Amazonian... I may not be able to delicately leap walls, but I'll be damned if I can't hoist that men's weight!
My burpees of the day had found me at my usual enemies... the rope climb, the traverse wall (AH!!!! two moves from the end, when a foot slipped!) and the monkey bars. Damn you, monkey bars. I tried, BlogLand. I was prepared... but no matter how prepared you are, monkey bars are evil when your hands are freshly wet and muddied. There was just no holding these bars. My first valiant swing sent me sliding right to the ground and trudging over to do my penalty burpees. Grr. SOMEDAY, Monkey Bars!!!
Finishing up my burpees at the rope climb (Let me just take this moment to say that April BEASTED up that rope climb and hit that bell!! Yes!), April and I began our steady trot (still feeling strong!) towards the tall walls that we could see not too far ahead.
My steady left, right, left, right rhythm was suddenly interrupted as my right foot found a hole hidden in the grass... I felt my leg buckle underneath me and heard a stomach-flipping, POP! as my ankle rolled and sent me sprawling. Sitting up, April remarked that she, too had heard the pop, and was I okay!? No stranger to ankle injuries in the not too distant past, I sat there for a moment, assessing the situation. Maybe I'd just tweaked it and it'd be okay in a second and I could stand up and continue on. No sooner did I finish this thought that the sickening wave of pain shot through my ankle and up my leg. I bit my lip, holding back the tears and taking deep breaths to abate the throbbing in my ankle, mentally wrestling with the decision I knew I was going to have to make... there was no way I was going to be able to finish on this ankle.
As I sat on the ground, clutching my ankle and trying to remain the picture of Spartan Strength, numerous Spartans checked in with me on their way by. Sending April to grab the (thankfully close by!) volunteer with a radio, I came to the horrible realization: I'd be letting my new-spartan down, unable to finish with her. However, no sooner did I finishing thinking that, Sparta answered. Jessica, the very first Spartan Chick I ever met in person, happened to trot by. She took it on as her personal mission to make sure April finished, just as she knew that I would've. If that isn't the Spartan community showing it's tight-knit nature, I don't know what is. Jessica and April had never met prior to briefly that morning, but Spartans help each other when in need regardless, and I felt relieved to know that I had left April in good hands.
The burly EMT guy roared up on his 4-wheeler, making jokes about needing to amputate my leg and helped me on to the back of his ride. I accepted the inevitable as he navigated us back down the mountain and away from the course, trying to keep a neutral face and grit my teeth as the pain surged with each bump. He told me that hey, I should be proud that I made it through 70% of the course. I won't lie, BlogLand, my first thought was, "DAMN IT. I was almost to the end!!!" However, he made an excellent point. I had mentioned to him that this would'e been something like my 6 or 7th Spartan finish line... and he remarked that given the nature of the sport and the training that goes into it, it was amazing that I had gone this long without serious injury. I guess when you train hard to race hard, to just live out loud hard, eventually fate is going to slow you down every once in a while. Clearly, it was my turn.
Getting helped off the four-wheeler and into the First-Aid tent, I was greeted by the most fabulous honorary Spartans out there. I'd like to take this moment to give a heartfelt AROO! to the staff of that first-aid tent, who made a really rough moment for me as painless as it could be. An experienced EMT handled my ankle delicately as he peeled off my mud-dripping sock and shoe. He delivered some excellent news - my ankle wasn't broken. I felt my body relax a half a degree at this news, as broken bones are a long process to come back from. I knew how to deal with a rolled ankle... that, at least, is a known evil. He then proceeded to employ a technique that I am totally stealing; he plastic-wrapped the ice pack to my ankle. With cling wrap. Yep. Saran-wrap. When I commented on this in awe of the ingenuity, he informed me that the key is to get the real stuff - not the cheap imitation. I just doesn't stick the same.
With professional efficiency, I was escorted to a shady chair to elevate my ankle for a minimum of 15 minutes, while I was to eat this banana and drink this water. With the immediate situation resolved, I sat in the chair to let it all sink in. I bit my lip in frustration. I hurt. I knew I would be out of commission for several weeks while this healed. I hadn't finished. I didn't have my medal. I was currently alone and it would be quite a while before my friends realized I hadn't finished, and April would carry the news across the finish line with her. I was alone with my not-happy thoughts and throbbing ankle. This, BlogLand, is never a good place to be.
Again, Sparta answered. Sitting down next to me was another spartan chick, knee immobilized in a temporary splint, waiting to go for x-rays at the local hospital. She struck up a conversation and we compared battle notes. As it turns out, this was her first Spartan and she was really disappointed about not finishing. Lucky for me, though, she was there and we were able to chat a bit and keep ourselves out of our frustrated, pained minds for a little while. Not only that, but her friends, after coming to check on her, even brought me an ice-cold beer in solidarity. To my fellow injured Spartan lady, THANK YOU for our chat and my beer. I'll see you next year and would be happy to return the favor!
It was not too long before April had finished and come to find me. Helping me hobble to the line for the hoses, she gave me the low down on the rest of the course. It sounded awesome, and I felt hot frustration burning in my stomach as I stood in the line of muddied Spartans, beaming with their accomplishments. It was right then that I heard my name over the noise of the crowd. Looking around, I didn't see any faces I recognized, but then Kelly from the Spartan Chicks came up and introduced herself. I had been on a mission to meet as many Spartan Chicks as possible this weekend, and was thrilled that Kelly had spotted me and said Hello. With muddy hugs and a quick explanation about my stupid ankle, we parted ways to get cleaned up. It was great, though, to be able to put another name to a face and see the triumphant muddy smiles of another Chick chasing down the finish line.
The rest of the afternoon was a little bit of an ouchy blur. I hobbled around the festival a bit, saying hello to my GT (rockin' the very-important-looking earpiece of a staffer!) and taking a brief moment to get the "Rest. Ice." instructions. I'm sure he's brewing up a series of appropriately evil upper-body centric WODs for the next few weeks. *gulp*
I winced and whined alone in the car as I drove the 10 minutes over to meet up with my CG, and rock-solid support of the weekend, at the rock climbing competition where he had been showing some shoes. The weight of the day was starting to catch up with me. My ankle hurt like crazy (driving wasn't helping!), and I hadn't crossed the finish line. I definitely wouldn't be able to run on Sunday with a whole bunch of people, as per planned. In fact, I probably wouldn't be running at all for weeks. Plural. I have big races coming up in not too long, and I felt my training time ticking away. I wanted to cry. Hard. However, I had just pulled into the parking lot full of people, and now was not the time. A deep breath and I pushed it back. It was time to try and look at this differently, not as a defeat.
The New England Spartan Sprint, Amesbury, Ma.
Race Weekend dawned like any other, BlogLand. I was up early, pulling my pink spandex tank over my head (Spartan Chicks, represent!), and heading down to the hotel breakfast to get some good fuel in me to get me through the trials ahead. As I noshed my cakey blueberry muffin, a rare carby indulgence saved just for race weekends, I had no idea that in less than 3 hours, I'd be down for the count and earning my first race DNF ever.
As I drove past the race grounds that morning on my way to parking, I saw an awesome sight that got my adrenaline running for the day: a small army of black-clad Spartans violently and triumphantly cresting the top of the Amesbury hill and careening down the other side, smoke billowing around them, mud everywhere. I later found out that this was the Hurricane Heaters finishing up their almost 4-hour time, getting to know the course with their team mates, in a way that can only be experienced and not described. An Epic Sight to start the day, I let out an AROO! in my head and headed to find my own teammates.
I was running that day with Spartan First-Timer, April, who was psyched and ready for the challenge. Having run several road races with April, and having her as a regular motivator at Sprint Night Hell, I knew she had phenomenal tiny-person speed (seriously, the tiny-people are super human, I think.). I was excited to see what kind of time we were going to make through this course, as Saturday Morning's goal was to push myself and do my best to run for time. As much as I thought I'd be guiding April through her first Spartan, I knew she'd be pushing me to run a little more or a little faster. I was stoked. Through the columns and smoke, Dropkick Murphy's resounding through air, we were off, running steadily up the hill - Spartan Race's idea of how to start a race (warm-up, what?!).In the theme of pushing ourselves, we kept running up the hill, until we hit a bottle-necked wall of walking people, that forced us to a walk at the steep part. My lungs were super grateful to the walkers that prevented us from running through, but I felt accomplished to know that I could've continued it right to the top. My legs were feeling great. Yes!
The obstacles are a little out of order in my head at this point... shoulder-high mud pits, low walls, over-under-throughs, cargo nets, sandbag carries, muddy swamp walks... Spartan Race was in fine form, here in Amesbury. I was having a BLAST. I felt in shape, strong and in great company. April and I laughed, joked, sweated and ran, enjoying every moment.
My highlight of the day came as we broke into a clearing in the woods to the Hercules Hoist (hoist a large cement weight up to the top of a large pulley and gently put it back down). The Men's weights were empty, but there was a long line for the women's (maybe half the weight?) pulleys. Standing in line, but eager to continue our race, I eyed the Men's Weights. Heavy lifting is my specialty and I was reasonably confident that I could do the Men's weight... egged on a little by April, I decided to go for it. With a big mental AROO! I grabbed that rope and squatted a powerful force of determination and strength against it. Hand over hand, using well-practiced body weight squats to help pull the rope, with a couple of grunts of exertion, I found myself slowly lowering it back down. Success! I suppose there is something to be said for being a burly Amazonian... I may not be able to delicately leap walls, but I'll be damned if I can't hoist that men's weight!
My burpees of the day had found me at my usual enemies... the rope climb, the traverse wall (AH!!!! two moves from the end, when a foot slipped!) and the monkey bars. Damn you, monkey bars. I tried, BlogLand. I was prepared... but no matter how prepared you are, monkey bars are evil when your hands are freshly wet and muddied. There was just no holding these bars. My first valiant swing sent me sliding right to the ground and trudging over to do my penalty burpees. Grr. SOMEDAY, Monkey Bars!!!
Finishing up my burpees at the rope climb (Let me just take this moment to say that April BEASTED up that rope climb and hit that bell!! Yes!), April and I began our steady trot (still feeling strong!) towards the tall walls that we could see not too far ahead.
My steady left, right, left, right rhythm was suddenly interrupted as my right foot found a hole hidden in the grass... I felt my leg buckle underneath me and heard a stomach-flipping, POP! as my ankle rolled and sent me sprawling. Sitting up, April remarked that she, too had heard the pop, and was I okay!? No stranger to ankle injuries in the not too distant past, I sat there for a moment, assessing the situation. Maybe I'd just tweaked it and it'd be okay in a second and I could stand up and continue on. No sooner did I finish this thought that the sickening wave of pain shot through my ankle and up my leg. I bit my lip, holding back the tears and taking deep breaths to abate the throbbing in my ankle, mentally wrestling with the decision I knew I was going to have to make... there was no way I was going to be able to finish on this ankle.
As I sat on the ground, clutching my ankle and trying to remain the picture of Spartan Strength, numerous Spartans checked in with me on their way by. Sending April to grab the (thankfully close by!) volunteer with a radio, I came to the horrible realization: I'd be letting my new-spartan down, unable to finish with her. However, no sooner did I finishing thinking that, Sparta answered. Jessica, the very first Spartan Chick I ever met in person, happened to trot by. She took it on as her personal mission to make sure April finished, just as she knew that I would've. If that isn't the Spartan community showing it's tight-knit nature, I don't know what is. Jessica and April had never met prior to briefly that morning, but Spartans help each other when in need regardless, and I felt relieved to know that I had left April in good hands.
The burly EMT guy roared up on his 4-wheeler, making jokes about needing to amputate my leg and helped me on to the back of his ride. I accepted the inevitable as he navigated us back down the mountain and away from the course, trying to keep a neutral face and grit my teeth as the pain surged with each bump. He told me that hey, I should be proud that I made it through 70% of the course. I won't lie, BlogLand, my first thought was, "DAMN IT. I was almost to the end!!!" However, he made an excellent point. I had mentioned to him that this would'e been something like my 6 or 7th Spartan finish line... and he remarked that given the nature of the sport and the training that goes into it, it was amazing that I had gone this long without serious injury. I guess when you train hard to race hard, to just live out loud hard, eventually fate is going to slow you down every once in a while. Clearly, it was my turn.
Getting helped off the four-wheeler and into the First-Aid tent, I was greeted by the most fabulous honorary Spartans out there. I'd like to take this moment to give a heartfelt AROO! to the staff of that first-aid tent, who made a really rough moment for me as painless as it could be. An experienced EMT handled my ankle delicately as he peeled off my mud-dripping sock and shoe. He delivered some excellent news - my ankle wasn't broken. I felt my body relax a half a degree at this news, as broken bones are a long process to come back from. I knew how to deal with a rolled ankle... that, at least, is a known evil. He then proceeded to employ a technique that I am totally stealing; he plastic-wrapped the ice pack to my ankle. With cling wrap. Yep. Saran-wrap. When I commented on this in awe of the ingenuity, he informed me that the key is to get the real stuff - not the cheap imitation. I just doesn't stick the same.
With professional efficiency, I was escorted to a shady chair to elevate my ankle for a minimum of 15 minutes, while I was to eat this banana and drink this water. With the immediate situation resolved, I sat in the chair to let it all sink in. I bit my lip in frustration. I hurt. I knew I would be out of commission for several weeks while this healed. I hadn't finished. I didn't have my medal. I was currently alone and it would be quite a while before my friends realized I hadn't finished, and April would carry the news across the finish line with her. I was alone with my not-happy thoughts and throbbing ankle. This, BlogLand, is never a good place to be.
Again, Sparta answered. Sitting down next to me was another spartan chick, knee immobilized in a temporary splint, waiting to go for x-rays at the local hospital. She struck up a conversation and we compared battle notes. As it turns out, this was her first Spartan and she was really disappointed about not finishing. Lucky for me, though, she was there and we were able to chat a bit and keep ourselves out of our frustrated, pained minds for a little while. Not only that, but her friends, after coming to check on her, even brought me an ice-cold beer in solidarity. To my fellow injured Spartan lady, THANK YOU for our chat and my beer. I'll see you next year and would be happy to return the favor!
It was not too long before April had finished and come to find me. Helping me hobble to the line for the hoses, she gave me the low down on the rest of the course. It sounded awesome, and I felt hot frustration burning in my stomach as I stood in the line of muddied Spartans, beaming with their accomplishments. It was right then that I heard my name over the noise of the crowd. Looking around, I didn't see any faces I recognized, but then Kelly from the Spartan Chicks came up and introduced herself. I had been on a mission to meet as many Spartan Chicks as possible this weekend, and was thrilled that Kelly had spotted me and said Hello. With muddy hugs and a quick explanation about my stupid ankle, we parted ways to get cleaned up. It was great, though, to be able to put another name to a face and see the triumphant muddy smiles of another Chick chasing down the finish line.
 |
| T-Rex, Representing the Mud Mafia! |
I winced and whined alone in the car as I drove the 10 minutes over to meet up with my CG, and rock-solid support of the weekend, at the rock climbing competition where he had been showing some shoes. The weight of the day was starting to catch up with me. My ankle hurt like crazy (driving wasn't helping!), and I hadn't crossed the finish line. I definitely wouldn't be able to run on Sunday with a whole bunch of people, as per planned. In fact, I probably wouldn't be running at all for weeks. Plural. I have big races coming up in not too long, and I felt my training time ticking away. I wanted to cry. Hard. However, I had just pulled into the parking lot full of people, and now was not the time. A deep breath and I pushed it back. It was time to try and look at this differently, not as a defeat.
"Everything is still possible."
After many internal temper tantrums, each time I tried to step on my foot and pain ran through my leg, I started to find a slightly calmer center. I wasn't happy with this. I wasn't going to be happy with this situation. But it was the reality, at the moment. Time to Spartan Up.
On the upside, I had not been seriously benched - my ankle was not broken, for instance. This is a familiar injury to me, one that I know how to take care of. I still had use of 95% of my body, if I was careful of my ankle. THAT means 95% of me can still be training, with a little thought and consideration to some different workouts. That also means that I will be focusing on my upper body again, a part of me that could certainly use the extra attention. All would not be lost, it would just be different.
Now, I won't kid you, BlogLand... this was not an easy viewpoint to find, nor can I say it does not waiver slightly every time I am thwarted at doing something mundane (walking around my kitchen, for example!) by this ankle. To get to this point, I lost my mind in my head on and off the rest of Saturday and all of today, and I straight out turned the crazy, frustrated, pained, angry, disappointed waterworks on the poor, unsuspecting CG. Yep, a big 'ol Ugly Cry, BlogLand. A nose-running, sobbing, big teared, chest heaving, air gulping cry.
Here's the lesson there; you can hold it together. You can be strong, you can present the happy face to the world, but you can't help feeling what you feel. Eventually, to move forward, you have to get it (let it) out. It was a cathartic sob-fest this evening, BlogLand. With some very helpful positive words from the CG to help bring around my point of view, I was able to pour out the negativity and work on building a plan - not wallowing in my temporary defeat.
TEMPORARY. Key Word.
It is not the end of the world, or the end of my Spartan journey. Not even the end of my Race Season. Just a temporary detour, involving a lot of ice, tiger balm and upper body WODs. Things have been worse.
As someone commented on my FaceBook status earlier today - at least I incurred this while doing something AWESOME, not just walking across a parking lot. Why's my ankle swollen and taped up? Because I dared cross the Starting Line of my 7th Spartan Race. Because I got up off my couch and was pushing the limits of my life. Because I was chasing my potential to see what I could do. Because I was too busy, covered in mud, smiling and laughing with a friend, while running through a field, after conquering a dozen obstacles, to climb up a 10-12 foot wall, to notice a tiny hole in the grass.
There are worse things, BlogLand.
"If you've had enough of all your tryin', just give up the state of mind you're in: If you want to be somebody else, if you're tired of fighting battles with yourself, if you want to be somebody else.... CHANGE YOUR MIND."
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