%)(*#$@_!

I am VERY upset.

I ventured downtown yesterday to see what is up with my foot. It has been a month since it started hurting and usually it's resolved by now. Truthfully, the day and a half before (late Sunday and Monday), it felt a lot better. I considered cancelling the appointment but didn't get around to it and there's the ridiculous 24 hour cancellation policy blah blah blah. So I went. I don't like doctors. This clown was arrogant and didn't let me tell him about my foot at all. He only wanted to most brittle skeleton of what the problem was. He was more interested in the fact that I have narcolepsy. HELLO YOU'RE AN ORTHOPAEDIC DOCTOR, FIGURE IT OUT. After the x-ray he said stress fracture (which I am still INCREDIBLY SKEPTICAL ABOUT) and said we have two options: we can boot you or cast you. I wanted to say 'screw you' and leave, but instead I sat there with my eyes bugging out and my jaw on the floor. Any voice I once had booked it out the door and I just sat there silently, thinking many things: THIS IS A MUSCULAR ISSUE I AM SURE OF IT. All I need is some PT to get it ultrasounded away and slowly re-strengthened back to normal. Honestly-- the history does not support the diagnosis: comparatively to what I have run in years past, my mileage as of late has been FAR LESS. Shamefully less. RIDICULOUSLY less. There has been essentially no 'stress' on my 5th metatarsal. If I were going to get a stress fracture I would have gotten it when I was running 50 miles a week. The thought crossed my mind at one point but I quickly came to my senses and dismissed it like any half-way intelligent individual would and SHOULD. HELLO. At some point during my catatonic state he decided boot over cast (lucky for him, I woulda REALLY snapped if he tried plastering my leg, my WORD). I remember shaking his hand (and the hand of chipper med student that was there without my permission-- whatever, I would have said yes if he asked, but it's the principle) and then they left. A nurse-- a very kind nurse, came in a few minute later as I slowly thought about returning to the land of speaking and showed me the HIDEOUS thing called a boot. Patiently she explained it. I am grateful that she gave me a small insert for my opposite shoe, as this ungodly large hunk of plastic raises me significantly higher than my shoes, so the insert will even it out a little and hopefully save my back. I remember thinking 'I hate being the patient.' The teaching she was doing was incredibly similar to what I do at work: go teach parents how to put a tube down their baby's nose so it can be fed, teach parents how to give antibiotics to their child via a central line, teach parents how to give injections to their kids... The patient (or parents) have just been dealt a life-altering diagnosis (big or small) and are trying to deal with it, get around it, change it, deny it in any way possible. It's so hard to absorb anything that is being said to you. Even if it is 'how to use the velcro on your boot.' I couldn't absorb it at all. Fortunately for me it is a rather simple contraption. Anyways. For three weeks I'm stuck with this absolutely unnecessary thing. It was supposed to be four but I lied to the rescheduling lady and said three (only when I was walking out did I regain some of my fight). I don't know what this means. Can I take it off to ride my bike? Can I still swim? Can I spin? How am I supposed to do the leg press with this thing? 6 Pack attack with a sumo-leg? Can I take it off then? I went to work for four awful hours yesterday-- that was a treat. Try being quiet around a sleeping baby with what essentially is a club foot. I was so grumpy at work and then I got the CRAPPIEST assignment ever and of course was up for first admission which happened two minutes and thirty seconds after getting report on my other kids. Then of course the new admission needs an IV started right away and labs sent. Another nurse was kindly in there to try to help speed things along and filled the tubes with the blood and lo and be hold not long after they were sent the lab calls and says "there was not enough sample to run the test, please redraw." YOU go in there and STICK THE BABY, clown! UGH IT WAS THE WORST NIGHT EVER. AND when I got there the manager says 'hey can you stay until 11?' I said 'sure' because the only plans I had were to go home and mope. So mentally I was there for 8 hours instead of 4, then at 6 she comes up to me and says 'Nevermind you can go home at 7.' WTF. Fine, I won't beg to stay at work, but when you have 8 hours you plan your evening very differently than if you have 4. So I was running around like a crazy lady trying to get everything done, meds given, charting completed, bags hung, rooms clean and organized then all of the sudden two of the night shift nurses were waiting for me. I HATE THAT. Usually I get everything ready, check the chart to make sure everything was signed and accomplished, update the kardex, get everything super organized and ready because it is the worst to start your shift amidst chaos. And chaos is what I handed two of my friendly co-workers. Ugh. I could go on, but I will refrain as I am sure this has gone on for far too long.

I am so angry and there is nothing anyone can say or do to make it better.

A new foot for Thanksgiving, please.

There are three runs I've seen on calendars that I want to participate in:

1) Turkey Trot in Lincoln Park on Thanksgiving
2) Jingle Bell something or other
3) Cascade Half Marathon in Oregon on January 11th.

If my right foot weren't so useless I'd register right now for all three. However, it is a sad excuse for a foot and isn't serving me properly.
On Tuesday, after my appointment with some doctor to figure out my foot, I'll decide about the Turkey Trot. I'm determined to do the Jingle one and as long as my foot isn't anything serious, the half marathon, too.
I ran that race last year on my birthday, and despite the fact that I died at mile 11.5 and experienced extreme disorientation due to low blood sugar, it was good. Honestly the best way I've spent my birthday ever since an awesome rainbow icecream cake when I was like six. That's a lie, I had some awesome birthdays in high school-- surprise party for 16th, surprise gathering for my 18th and an Arthur cake-- perfection. I don't think I'm a big birthday person. I liked running that race on my birthday because I like running.

I figure if I'm really going to do a half ironman next year I need to get more comfortable with running 13 miles. The only reason I was able to putz through the 6 miles at the end of Accenture is because running six miles wasn't a big deal before hand. Had I just started running with training for the triathlon, or if six had been a big deal, the run leg would have been more dismal than it actually was. I need my stupid foot to figure it's life out so I can start slowly but surely building my mileage and make 13 miles a regular thing in my life. Maybe once or twice a week? I don't know. This is why I need a personal trainer or a training program for a half ironman. A legit one that won't just get me to the finish line but one that will get me to the finish line in a decent time, one that will challenge me to do my absolute best.

So, we'll see. Pray for my foot. It kills.

Sure, that'd be great.

Today for work we had a class-- PALS (Pediatric Advanced Life Support) which I was sure would get me fired, as when I studied I learned that I'd need to be able to insert an ET tube, IO catheter and other heinously crazy things that are so far beyond my scope of practice I couldn't even think about pretending to fake my way through them. So the whole week I'd conjured up a peptic ulcer as I obsessed over the fact that I would be 'that girl' who obviously shouldn't be a nurse and somehow slipped through every crack possible from day one in nursing school to being hired at the esteemed institution of which I am an employee.
My alarm went off this morning, but lo and behold I didn't hear it. Anticipating this event (as it has happened frequently over the past months), I'd asked a friend to text me to make sure I was up. Why I heard the "beep" followed by a buzz from her text and not the train whistles, crowds applauding, and bells ringing for the entire hour before is beyond me. I figured it was an appropriately awful start to what would be an awful and humiliating day-- first confirmed by the fact that as I biked my heart out down busy rush hour Chicago streets, I realized I'd forgotten my lunch.

However, as the day went on, I was pleasantly surprised.

In my anxiety I studied for this class a lot. More than I studied in nursing school. Well, maybe not, but after so long of not studying it felt brutal. So I actually knew what they were talking about. So refreshing. And apparently I don't have to know how to do crazy things such as ET tubes and IO's... but I still got to practice putting an IO in on a chicken leg-- just to 'know what it feels like and know the process' in case I ever help with one or something. (PS chicken legs are sick and they smell awful). I was still bummed about my lunch, though, and decided to just go with some people to where they were eating (because they said 'Kristin, do you want to come with us?' and in my head I said 'OMG YES. YES I DO. I WOULD LOVE TO GO WITH PEOPLE. ANYONE. ANYWHERE.' but I actually responded with 'Sure, that'd be great'). On our way to some restaurant with the word 'pig' in it, we passed a woman handing out cards on the sidewalk. Usually I try to do an about-face and walk around the block the other way to avoid interactions with solicitors, but our group of four was less than sly like that. She handed us these coupons and said "Do you want a free sandwich?" YES. I mean, sure-- that'd be great. A new Mediterranean restaurant opened right across the street from the hospital and they wanted people to come try their food (there are about 8,000 restaurants within an eighth of a mile of the hospital.. I imagine business is pretty competitive..) So we decided to nix the pig (praise the LORD), and head over to Nesh (the new place). As I read the coupon it said it was good for a free Schwarama (sp?) sandwich. I read what that was-- lamb or chicken on pita. Awesome. So I just asked if I could have a different sandwich with the coupon (vegetarian options are always cheaper than meaty options anyways) and the guy said yes. HOORAY. Free lunch and nice people to eat it with. YES PLEASE.
We went back to the class after our glorious hour of eating (yes a whole hour, compared to two minutes here, five minutes there working on the floor). We went through stations and what not then got out at 3:15-- an hour and 45 minutes earlier than we were supposed to! YES PLEASE.
So I decided to go to the gym and at least lift-- I've been slacking so much in anything regarding exercise, and lifting is one I can't rationalize. And it is painfully obvious that I need to pick that up again. So I went, kind of reluctantly because that's a very busy time for the place typically. However, it was quieter than I anticipated. Wonderful. I lifted and dodged GI Ponytail (who has converted in to GI Bun) SIX TIMES. Seriously this lady stalks me or something. I was done lifting and contemplating running. My foot kills. I can't even get over it. When I have to talk myself into running, there is a problem. I have an appointment to get some medical advice (if they say ice and advil I'll kill 'em) but that's not til the 25th! So that leaves a solid week and a half. I decided to look at the group fitness schedule and lo and behold there was a spinning class coming right up. So I did that. It was the second spinning class I've done at this gym. The first wasn't awesome (hence the lack of follow through) mainly because the instructor was really unenthusiastic and not super great at spinning herself so, for me, that makes it hard to like feel good about it. I don't know. So I was warming up and the same instructor walked in and my heart sank. I decided to stay, though, because I needed to exercise, and this was my only real opportunity if I wanted to save my foot a little bit. It was a lot better than the one before. She's still not awesome (and I still miss the Courthouse more than words can ever articulate-- shoutout Heidi and Audra-- they're PHENOMENAL spinning instructors), but I felt better than I would have if I'd skipped cardio. It felt good to do a challenging workout that didn't make me want to amputate my dominant foot.

So that's that. My foot hurts and it's not getting better. I ran 2 miles yesterday and had to stop because all I could visualize was my fifth metatarsal breaking more and more with each step. I let my imagination get the best of me sometimes, I'll admit it. But it hurts so much and takes any endorphins or good feelings that come with running and kills them. Very sad. Even the fancy new shoes didn't help! =(

All in all, a better day than I'd anticipated. However the test for this class is tomorrow afternoon, so I guess we'll see how that ends up then. Maybe the instructor will say 'no, you don't need to take the exam, you're super smart.' To which I'd think in my head 'HA! you're crazy, but okay sucker!' but I'd actually respond 'Sure, that'd be great.'

Brrrrrr

I surprisingly held up my 'won't run till my new shoes come' statement. I swam and biked a lot over those four days. My new shoes came in their pink and orange glory (these are the color I wanted originally, but the store didn't have when I bought a pair awhile ago for the triathlon). So the next day I ran after work. Then I ran the next morning and my foot still hurts. A lot. WHYYYYY. It seriously irritates me when something hurts bad enough to limit me from what I want to do. After I ran for the first time, it wasn't awful, but after running the next morning it was. So maybe I just need to ease back into it or something..? I hate that. Frustrating.

When I ran Saturday morning, it was with the Fleet Feet Fun Run. A group meets at Fleet Feet- Lincoln Square every Monday and Wednesday evening, and Saturday mornings to go on a run that can be 3,4,5, or 6 miles. I'd like to go with them more often. I popmpously thought 'Oh pacing won't be a big deal, I might be towards the front of the pack,' remembering TNT training. But 8 people showed up to run (a fair turnout considering the freezing weather-- well almost, it was 38, feels like 8). But no one there was slow. I guess people who go on fun runs are usually good runners. Shoot. But I can see it being good motivation to go running as that has been hard to come by lately. And if you go to 10 runs, you get a free shirt. Yes please.

The weather is getting colder. I walked to church this morning (the whole block and a half) and there were snow flurries. I hate it when it gets cold, and the coming of winter has solidified my plan to move away from this city next October. I kinda wish I could leave now.

I chopped my hair off. I'd wanted to do it since June, but didn't want to endure the triathlon with short hair that couldn't be contained, then the same applied for the half marathon a week ago. So now that it's over, I found a salon that would cut it for free if I donated 10 inches to Locks of Love. I'm broke as a joke (not a funny one at that), so I jumped on the opportunity. It's hard to run with short hair. There aren't enough clips in the world to contain my mop. Shoot. It isn't ponytail length despite my very clear and specific instruction to 'maintain ponytial length.' What can ya do, good thing it grows, eh? That has been the latest development in my absolutely THRILLING life.

People keep asking me what big race I'm going to do next and I don't know what to say to them.
There aren't a lot of races happening because it's freezing, and to be honest, my foot hurts. I can't really train for something right now because if I run my foot hurts and that is not conducive to anything good. I'm pretty sure I still want to do a half ironman next year (which one, where, every necessary detail, I dont' know) I think it's what I'd like to do. I'd need a training program, though. TNT does one in Michigan-- Steelhead, but I don't know if I can fundraise again. Fundraising for Accenture taught me a lot and I saw a lot of cool things happen, and I wouldn't change that experience for the world, but I don't know how I feel about hitting up people for money all the time. Even if it doesn't go to me, asking people for money is the last activity I'd choose... ever. So we'll see I guess. I kinda don't like it when people ask me what I'm training for because then I feel like I should be training for something and then when I admit 'nothing' I feel like I'm not doing as much as I could be or something.

I just want to leave Chicago. I want to go to California, and yes for the nice weather. Call me lame and whatever because I am just like every other shallow clown out there, but I seirously cannot handle this cold. And it's still in the 30's which is TROPICAL compared to what it will be soon.
Pray for me.

Lesson Learned.

Well, I'm alive.

I made it to Indianapolis around 11pm on Thursday. I had a great time visiting my friend. Friday we picked up our packets, enjoyed a free Einstein bagel (one of the only cool coupons in the packet!), and then embraced some good ole fashioned Halloween fun. We went to two gatherings that were rather dramatically different. The second one we were to attend required costumes to be allowed in. (Note: I'm really just not a costume person and only agreed to this activity if my host would figure out my costume-- within reason). So I ended up being.... a soccer player. How anti-climactic. I was secretly grateful for the lack luster costume, though, because it was comfortable and essentially what I wear every day... haha. Whatever. Anyways, so our first little party was with my friend's church young-adult group. THIS event, however, was NOT a costume party. So we were definitely the only clowns dressed up at all (she was a cowgirl). We explained that later in the evening we'd be heading out to a costume party, but it's definitely awkward to be a) a new person and b) in costume. Whatever-- the beauty of those situations is that you'll never see those people again. I actually had a great time there and met some guy that wants to start doing triathlons, so I told him he should do Chicago next year and he seemed sold. He was talking to his wife saying things like 'we can cut our food budget $30 a month to get a gym membership, right?' I don't think SHE liked me. But there were a couple of triathlon enthusiastic individuals present and it was really good to have something to talk about instead of being bored to death. To my dismay, it soon got later than we thought and we had to go to our next destination. This party was on the other end of the spectrum from church bonfire with s'mores and fellowship. It was your traditional Halloween party where girls jump at the opportunity to have an excuse to look skanky and boys... well, are just boys. The house we went to, though, was decorated really well. It was done by a guy that my friend works with, and apparently he started getting ready at the beginning of September. I was rather impressed-- it really looked like a haunted house. So mad props there. It was good to meet my friend's friends and co-workers. I couldn't help but think 'holy toledo, we are racing at 7:30 in the morning, in a race that I'm already not ready for!' Someone came up to my friend and said 'aren't you guys running in the morning?' and she nodded, then the person was like 'WHY ARE YOU HERE' to which I mouthed 'THANK YOU,' and we left soon after. We arrived back to her apartment around 12:30am, which was earlier than I thought we'd get back. We immediately went to sleep and all too soon-- at 5am-- my alarm was blaring in my ear. Here.we.go.

I'd laid out all my clothes and what not the night before, anticipating extreme sleepiness upon waking. However, I just couldn't decide WHAT I wanted to wear, so I made a 'definitely' pile, a 'maybe' pile, and an 'after-race' pile. I danced around what the weather would be like, how hot I'd get, what would be most comfortable, threw fashion out of the decision (...a long time ago to be honest), and ended up just putting clothes on and thinking 'I'll just change later.'
Remember those triathlon shoe laces, Yankz? Those caused some stress. When I was parading about parties as a soccer player, I wanted my shoes to be loose, so I unlaced the shoe laces you're not supposed to ever have to unlace, and threaded them through like normal shoe laces so they could be loose and 'cooler'. But, when I went to re-lace them (at 5am) how I was used to them for running purposes, I couldn't remember how it worked. It might have been because it was before dawn, it might have been because they're a silly contraption, but I couldn't get it and I was getting super pissed off! You know when you're super anxious or stressed about something and then completely let out all of that steam on something really small and almost unrelated? That's what happened. As my friend tapped her toe and said "...so are you ready to go?" I just sighed and put lace-less shoes on my feet and resorted to figuring it out later... maybe when I changed my clothes.
Off we drove to the race, which was held in downtown Indianapolis. Despite her residence there, my friend doesn't know where anything is. I was grateful for a third party in the car (a friend of her's), who had a map and some knowledge of where we were going, but lacked a 'pair' and didn't want to say 'turn here' or 'this is where we should go.' So we silent-frantically drove around downtown-- it was kind of tense, understandably. At this point it was 7:04 and we still weren't parked, my shoes were half heartedly laced, and I still wanted to change my clothes, go to the bathroom, hit gear-check, and mentally prepare for the ensuing debaucle all before the 7:30 start horn. Yea right. Magically we found a parking garage (which we later learned only accepted cash payment upon exit), and wound all the way up to the third level which took forever (no duh, all the last minute clowns are trying to parade in here), and finally found a spot. 7:14. I realized gear check wasn't going to be an option and I'd just have to wear what I was wearing then-- shorts and a t-shirt (no under armor, not a long sleeved t-shirt...) and that my shoe laces were of top priority. One can run cold, but they (or at least I) can't run with whacked out shoe laces. I decided I'd just have to treat them like normal shoe laces, even though they're essentially elastic string and laced them up as best as I could, but they were always too tight. It took a couple of tries to get them satisfactory. Luckily the other clowns were dawdling, too. Finally got everything in the trunk, was SHIVERING, and we scurried down and out to the porta-potties, conveniently by the start line. As I hovered, I heard an announcement "Welcome blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah... it is now 7:25am blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah half marathon start time at 8:00am." Whaaaat?! Apparently the stupid thing started at 8:00, not 7:30. I was halfway relieved and half way annoyed. I could have worn my under armor, I could have slept a little longer, I could have breathed a little more when we were finding parking... but I was glad that it was a later start instead of hearing the start horn mid tinkle! Shoot.
So we went back into the stairwell of the parking garage where it was a little warmer and waited.
A while later, we went back out and my pre race panic flourished. I get hyper-verbal when I'm with people I know and at the starting line-- waiting. 'What if...,' 'I wonder....,' 'I forgot.....!' 'Look at......,' it's really ugly. I hadn't really stretched and that fact dawned on me when there were so many clowns packed in a small space around me (which really helped the situation). Despite our sardine like conditions, I decided to try to stretch my quads at least. It's always fun kicking people when they're in your personal space and masking it with the 'Dude I need to stretch' excuse. =) So I was tight and freezing and honestly freaking out. Generally in races they play the national anthem, say a few words about the race, or at least give a 'ready, set..' before the GO. Not at this race, my friends. Before I even had my earphones in my ears, the start horn blew. Luckily, there were like 4,000 people in front of me and it's always a slow start with a lot of people. So I yelped when the horn went off and quickly earphoned, pushed play and I was off.

I really enjoy the first few miles of a race. Dodging people and seeing people cheer along the sides make them go by quickly. I noticed the mile 3 marker, and that is also when my hip flexor decided to make its presence and disapproval of this Saturday morning activity known. I had a moment of mental panic: ARE YOU SERIOUS?! It's THREE miles in and my hip flexor is already acting up?!' Then I decided to scold it--'Don't you dare, you have ten miles to go sucker so figure it out!' It didn't get better, but it didn't get worse. I missed the mile 4 marker, but saw mile 5. A few minutes later there was a SHOOTING pain in my right foot. Excruciating, I even stutter stepped a couple of times. Along the outer edge of my foot it felt like that bone was breaking in half with each step. 'Dammit.' I limped along to mile 7 and the pain stayed there but also spread to the bottom of my foot. I've never had plantar fasciitis, but it felt like how people have described it. Every step was honestly excruciating and I couldn't stop thinking 'my foot is going to fall off, I am going to die.' Given, I may have been exaggerating with the death part, but it honestly hurt that bad. I am a stubborn mule, though, and refuse to quit these things. I know I should have. If someone else had told me they had this experience, I would say to them 'You shouldn't have run that race you moron.' But I paid $60 for it and I wasn't about to let that go to waste no matter how illogical of a decision it was. Whatever. So don't take this as me complaing or fishing for 'poor-you's', simply my recouting of events.

The roads we ran on seemed to be dramatically ...curved. You know how a road is higher in along the center line and then slopes down for each of the side lanes (that's a weird description)? It seemed like these were really slanted and it made my foot hurt more. I was seriously dying and I looked the part of 'that idiot who didn't train but decided to run anyways.' Humbling. I waddled along. I was not running, I was shuffling without grace. I was stiff and tense and swearing under my breath every other step. Each mile marker, I thought, got father and farther apart. As I debated whether or not the race gods were trying to sabotage my life, I crossed mile 12. One more mile, I think I might actually finish this. As I glanced at my watch my stomach did an extra flop-- I was going so incredibly slow. I was already one minute over my time in the last half marathon I did, but I still had a whole 1.1 miles left. I briefly mourned the loss the hope for a decent time (I really deep down knew this wasn't going to be a PR performance, but you can never silence that little voice that says 'just maybe...'). Still mad at everything-- my hip, my FOOT, mySELF, my lack of training and motivation over the past month, my poor showing at this race, my super slow time... I decided that I had 1.1 miles left to try and make something good happen. So I decided to try to go faster. (seriously, you would think I would just like surrender to my shuffle and think 'better luck (planning) next time' but no). My waddle/shuffle/limp intensified when I tried to lengthen my stride and increase my turnover rate. Ugly. The last mile was back in the heart of down town and there were a lot of turns. I thought at each corner 'just around this turn is the finish line-- YES' but then was sorely disappointed to see bare sidewalks and cones, not a roaring crowd and giant clock. THREE times that happened! When I reached the pinnacle of my exhaustion and irritation and pain threshold, I saw it: the beautiful finish line. I 'strode' towards it-- again, ugly in every way, but I went and I crossed it and then stopped immediately and picked my bum foot up and just stood on my left leg. I didn't want to move. I wanted to stay there one legged forever. My right foot was throbbing and it was somewhat mentally reassuring to know that it was safe in the air, away from the ground where inevitably it would have to bear all my weight while 'ole left swung forward. My brief immobility break was all too soon interrupted when I was nudged from behind by other finishers. Jerks. I hobbled to receive my metal and my aluminum-foil-esque blanket. I got water, powerade (which tastes AWFUL by the way, even after sweating my guts out, it's gross), and a half a bagel. I went to stand and wait for my friend and her friend. On one foot. I nibbled at the bagel, but was nauseous after the powerade. I tried to wrap the blanket around me because I got cold really quickly (I have a theory on long distance running... and that after a while of maintaining the same pace, your body settles and isn't really working hard anymore... it's a rough theory... but it would explain why two minutes after I was done I was freezing... whatever). At some point I realized I'd dropped my bagel and that I'd been just staring into oblivion. I moved into a patch of sun and resumed my flamingo stance. Then I realized I should just sit down. Getting down wasn't easy, but I propped my foot up on a flower pot and waited. I reunited with the other two and they dilly dallied while I shivered. Ten minutes later I said "so what's the plan?" and we went back to the car.

One of the least fun races I've ever run solely due to my choice to just go out and run 13 miles instead of slowly building up to it. Lesson learned. Too much too fast isn't a good idea and my puffy and painful right foot is cold hard proof.

After we showered and ate, we went to a mall and I bought new running shoes. I can't help but think that the ones I had were a factor (small, but present) in the whole foot equation. I found my shoes on sale at a store, but of course they didn't have my size. So they are sending them to me. Pray they get here soon, as I've decided to stick to spinning and maybe swimming (if I can find a pool) until they arrive.

All in all a lesson learned. A good weekend no matter what. I like the racing environment and even though I have never won, probably never will win, it's fun and people are generally nice and it's just a good activity. I'm not there to win anyways (not saying I would't be ecstatic with a victory), but I really compete with myself as far as times go. And even though this is my worst time EVER, it just leaves that much more room for improvement.
I'm nervous about my foot, I won't lie-- especially since I work a 12 hour shift tomorrow, Wednesday and Thursday. But I have faith in the RICE philosophy.

Moral of the story: train appropriately.

Fee fiii fo fum... Indianapolis, here I come.. (gulp)

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 30TH, 2008

Double decker busses make me think of England for some reason. It always seems like movies set there have a giant, red, double-decker bus filled of tourists dawning sun visors and cameras. So, I’ll type all of this with a British accent—as I am currently aboard a double decker bus (albeit purple..), on my way to Indianapolis for the Monumental Half Marathon. There is actually a wireless connection on my British vessel, however, I think I just got a virus from it, so I’m choosing to say no thank you to an internet connection for now. (Don’t worry, dad a virus scan is running). Anyways, I’m absolutely mortified about the motivation of this journey. This past week has only allowed my already nauseating anxiety flourish. I went for a 6 miler today in an effort to ‘get loose’ but I just can’t stop flipping out! My mind is not my own, I swear. After last Saturday’s escapade, I’ve been super sore. My hips, knees, and foot have told me that new running shoes are in order. It’s a shame there isn’t enough time (or money, let’s be serious) to obtain them before the rapidly approaching event that will rob me of any confidence, pride, dignity, and mobility. I worked three night shifts in a row in order to have these four days off (Thursday through Sunday). I kind of liked working three in a row—it allowed a sick and twisted sense of routine for those three days, even if the night shift WAS the routine. And now I have several days of no night shift to have a regular person routine, and that is very exciting. I have gotten the ‘we frown up on working three in a row’ vibe from my employer which is upsetting. Yes a person will be tired on the third night, but let’s get serious folks, who won’t be tired at 4 in the morning no matter how many shifts you’ve worked before it. As I create my own schedule I will sign up for 3 shifts at a time until I’m told to stop. If they’re going to make me work at such ungodly hours, they’ve gotta give me SOMETHING. Shoot.

As I’ve been spastic about this race, it has made me think more about my half-ironman aspirations for the spring/summer. Thirteen miles is a long way to run no matter how you look at it. In a half-ironman, the thirteen miles that is about to kill me will be run after a crazy long bike. During Accenture I thought I was going to kick the bucket during a piddly 6.2mile run after a 24.8 mile bike. How can I possibly (more than) double both and feel at all successful? I still don’t know. I’d like to have a personal coach. Someone who can help ME train without sixty some other clowns to worry about. TNT was a fantastic experience and prepared me well for my first triathlon. But now I want more out of a program. I want to know more than the details of race day and what not, I want to know how to be GOOD on race day. I don’t want my goal to be to finish, I want to finish the absolute best I can. It’s a shootin’ shame that coaches, trainers, whatever you want to call them cost money—and cost a lot of money at that. I think I have the desire and discipline enough to be really successful with a coach or trainer, but I don’t have the cash. Honestly, even if I did, I’d have a hard time forking it over—it seems stupid to have to pay for that stuff. Then again, where do you find somebody who is legit and will do a good job that will put forth the time and energy for free? Sadly never. Pah.

Originally I’d thought that this race would be my first step in preparing for a half ironman, but oh how that thought has changed. I wanted to get up to a fast and strong 13 miles, then maintain it while incorporating biking and swimming. So much for that plan, eh? I guess I have time still to figure it all out. But I’m disappointed at my lack of diligence. Despite my lack of endurance, I’m excited for the trip as I am staying with a friend from Anderson (where I went for college for one painfully long semester before I transferred). I always enjoy catching up with old friends, and I have been rather hermit-ish lately, so a little socializing might do me some good.