Well hello, endorphins!

I finally had an almost satisfactory run on Sunday. For the past week or so, I've been runninng immediately after lifting (to try and consolidate my # of trips to the gym because I can't afford to go multiple times per day), and I'm starting to think it has inhibitted progress. I do more arm lifts than anything (due to their overall weakness and the fact that my stupid knees can only handle so many leg activities). So by the end of lifting my shoulders and back are super... tight and tired. Despite the goofy looking stretches I'll do to try and get loose, I feel instantly tense as I start running which leads to fatigue much quicker than usual. If it were a normal day in the land of exercise for me, this wouldn't be a problem. But, these days are far from normal as I have yet to regain running endurance ever since the whole boot shenanigan. On Sunday, I didn't lift before I ran (my new plan is to not lift on weekends solely due to the fact that the gym is crowded ALL DAY on weekends whereas it is slightly more managable in the late morning on weekdays). While I hardly went far on Sunday, I went farthER than I have since I've been back, which is progress, so I'll take it. For the first mile (ish), I even felt.. good. 'I am going to go far today,' I thought. 'Finally I can go far again!' Then I hit mile two and returned to the real world and had to wring out every ounce of my being to finish a little farther than the day before. Despite my lack of follow through in my distance aspiration, I am encouraged at feeling good for the first mile. For the past.. too long.. those first 6 or 7 minutes have been filled with panic-- I can't breathe! How could I have kept this up for so long before! How will I finish this! AAHHHHHH! But Sunday was good and I felt like I could handle it and that is a step in the right direction. Finally. Upsetting is the fact that the next morning I felt my foot again. I am clinging onto the fact that it is more of a sore muscle pain than the pinpoint, dull (yet piercing) constant pain. We'll see. I decided to not run yesterday because I would rather take one day off running than spend another chunk of my life in a boot.
Instead of running yesterday, I swam again, and it was fantastic. The day I collided with Chippy was my first day back in the water since... early December, so I haven't been expecting fantastic things-- just getting used to the water again. Considering my lack of running endurance, I especially didn't expect to be swimming my normal workout. But I have been-- no problem... (a whopping twice... but whatever). Dare I say I've enjoyed the workout even DURING it? With running, it is usually a fairly miserable experience until about three minutes after it's over-- that is when my lazy endorphins start to kick in and the euphoria of the potent natural drug begins. But the last two times I've swam, endorphins met me within 500 yards. My shoulders feel strong and each lap is far from a struggle, more of a party-- woohoo I am SWIMMING! I am STRONG! I am FAST! This is FUN! I wish I could have those endorphins WHILE running! Shoot.
I don't expect my love affair with swimming to last long, as all good things must come to an end. I will probably get somewhat bored with the 'long swim' sooner than later and embrace written workouts again which always are more challenging mentally and physically. For now, however, I will love the endorphins as they greet me so early in the water.
If they haven't already, they should really figure out a way to bottle these things called endorphins. It'd be beneficial because a) it could solve our current economic crisis by selling them and b) I think the world would be a MUCH happier place.
Just sayin'.

Swimming with Chippy

I swam on Saturday. It was refreshing and nice to avoid another treadmill defeat. I am sore from said swim. Being sore is always bittersweet. It is obviously bitter because I can't move without cringing, however sweet because I know I worked some muscles that obviously needed working.
There's something about the monotony of swimming that I love. Maybe it's the only quiet environment to let my thoughts run rampant, under the counting of course... twen-ty-five, fi-i-fty, seven-ty-five, one-hun-dred, one-twenty-five, one-fif-ty, one-seventy-five, two-hun-dred... etc., each syllable a stroke, every three strokes a breath, each length a new number. I like the repetition. I like that there are no surprises. I like that unless I wimp out, each lap will require the same amount of strokes and will look essentially identical to the one before. Somehow in that safety I am able to lose my mind in itself and it's okay. I think I will start swimming more often.
One thing I don't like about swimming is lane-sharing. I have whined about it before, but nothing has changed. When I swam the other day, it was more crowded than I'd anticipated. Ironically I'd thought on my way there 'I hope I'm not the only one, I hate it when the lifeguards watch.' Then go figure the whole pool was full. What can ya do. I actually started with my own lane, but 750 yards later a chipper old man flagged me down. We decided to split the lane (vs. circle swimming) and that was that. The first time we passed each other, no big deal. I decided to embrace this as an opportunity to practice my stupid sighting stroke and every now and then to look forward and gauge where Chippy was to avoid collision. During lap two I looked up twice and didn't see him, and figured he must be behind me. Then out of NOWHERE we collided. I'd been essentially hugging the lane line as I swam, I don't like to touch strangers-- especially those that are 90% naked. Chippy, however, was sprawled out in the lane, recklessly flapping his arms as if he were trying to beat Michael Phelps' world record(s). I was very flustered by the impact and started treading water to make sure he was okay (slash passive aggressively express my disapproval of his technique). However, this incident was very much a hit and run as Chippy continued on as if nothing had happened. That just pissed me off. It's an appropriate place to get mad, though... I just used it and swam the rest of my workout a little faster. Fortunately on one of his breaks, Chippy found another lane. I only enjoyed another 500 yards of my own lane before some girl came, then a different girl after her. I don't like lane sharing, but there's really nothing I can do about it. And despite being so close to naked strangers, I am glad I went.

Return of the Iron Horse

In protest against the fare hike put forth by the Chicago Transit Authority, I brought the Iron Horse out of hibernation. I haven't been back here for a week, but I've already spent $26 on transportation. Unacceptable. The reunion with the 'ole girl was bittersweet. I do enjoy riding my bike places-- it's a win for everyone-- the environment, my wallet, my heart, etc. However, her sabbatical did not bring any healing to her ailing gears. Every third or fourth pedal stroke her gears slip. I guess she's still ride-able. Just not quite as steady or efficient as I'd like. I was surprised at my temperature during said bike ride. It was a warm 20-something outside, and I was wearing my fantastic new winter coat, so I guess it's not shocking that I wasn't hypothermic.
While I've missed IH, the ride to the pool tonight (which by the way ended up being closed for an intramural swim meet-- those are good things to post on the website, folks!) just confirmed that I need a new bike. I've been saying that I want to do a half ironman this summer (August 1st), but with my new inability to run more than 3 miles and my continuous lack of a race-respectable bike... my hopes of said race are slowly sinking. We'll see, I guess. I know I need this new bike, but I don't even know where to start looking for it! Who would have thought it'd be this overwhelming?

And just for the record, I know I chose to live in Chicago-- fully aware of its weather patterns. The thing that is different now than the previous winters I've endured here is that I am no longer on a college campus where everything I need is within a quarter mile of where I reside. I work 4 miles away, my gym is 3.5 miles away, the grocery store(s) are hardly a short walk. While these are rather short distances in the grand scheme of things, without a car they become quite the hike. Before, I could make a mad dash and be outside 5.. maybe 10 minutes until I reached the desired destination. Now any outing is an event. And I have learned that I don't like it; that I am not cut out for cold climates. It is unfortunate that this epiphany came when there is still so much of winter to endure.

phew

first day back to work was okay which is a huge relief because if it'd been 'one of those days' there is no telling what drastic one-way plane ticket i would have purchased. (...well there is a way of telling-- i would have gone home).

one day at a time.

the temperature has risen to the balmy 20's. sadly, i'm grateful.

off to work! i'm grateful for the twleve + hour distraction.

I Almost Lost My Hands.

I have regained sensation in my fingers.
But they still hurt.

I am eternally grateful for my fantastic new coat. It literally saved my life yesterday. I was nice and toasty in Portland. Even in Salt Lake City during my extended layover, I was thermally content. The plane ride to Chicago seemed cold, but I think that was more mental than anything. Before I even stepped off the plane I could see my breath. I got into the airport and was disgruntled by the reality of the weather. I knew it was coming, but once in it, the full weight of it finally dawned on me. I fished out my $2 snow cap and knit gloves. What a joke. I was okay in the airport, and even okay on the El. From the airport to the El is a long haul, but it's all covered and for the most part there are heat lamps along the way, which are far from a cure-all to cold, but they make it a bit more bearable. I transferred from the Orange Line to the Brown Line-- hauling my 43lb suitcase full of birthday-booty up the stairs and over the tracks, then back down the stairs to get on the correct side. Fortunately, the train came within seconds of when I landed on the correct platform. This is when I got cold. There was only a seat open and it was near the door. So there is where I sat. Each stop with the opening and closing of the door was a harsh reminder of the climate I willingly came back to. We finally arrived to my stop and by then my hands were very very cold-- tingly cold. I live about a quarter mile (ish) from the El stop. Within that quarter mile, I experienced the worst cold-related pain of my life! Halfway through I was trying to scout out a store I could stop in to regain circulation in my poor phalanges. Nothing was open. Not only was it less than 20 below, it was also 10:30 at night. I coached myself each block.. 'come on, come on, almost there, come on.' At the alley behind my apartment I broke. I HAD to stop and put my hands in my armpits (Superstar style). But that was to no avail. By this time, my hands were NUMB. I jumped around and whimpered and tried to shake life back into them and realized that it was just going to get worse the longer I stayed there. I couldn't move my hands, they were foreign objects attached to my shrinking stump of an arm. I used my KNEES to make my fingers wrap around the handles of my suitcases then sent out the signal 'squeeze' praying that the ice cubes would respond. I started walking and was pleasantly surprised to hear my luggage rolling behind me. I tried running then slipped and caught myself. After eternity I reached the back door of my apartment. Using my teeth, I took the knit glove off of my hand to find a shriveled blue, white and red thing staring back at me. I shoved it into my pocket and heard my keys jangle. By the grace of God alone, I got the door open. It took at least four full minutes. I felt like I was losing consciousness. Somehow my suitcases ended up inside the back door and I raced up to unlock the door to my unit. I spilled into the dining room, panting and trying to shake life back into my hands which were SO numb except for a deep throbbing pain. My poor roommate who was trying to welcome me back was witness to my frantic-ness. I muttered something about being so cold, left the back door open, and scurried to my bedroom. As my hands warmed they hurt SO BAD. SO SO BAD. I danced around, shook them, tried to move my fingers. Nothing was helpful. I needed a distraction, so I went back for my luggage. It was still very cold (duh). I finally got everything into my bedroom and just started crying! I don't want to be here! I don't want to be cold! I don't want to go back to work! There is NOTHING for me in this city! Fortunately, I quickly tired and after letting my family know I had survived the journey, I went to bed. I was so exhausted, but again couldn't sleep. I had no trouble sleeping at home. NONE. I think I can't sleep in Chicago.
If it hadn't been for that coat, I would have frozen to death. Thanks, Dad.

I woke up today and started researching my options. We'll see what comes of it.

All in all an anticlimactic post, but I am overwhelmed by the trauma of the journey.

How SAD!

I'm in the airport on my way back to Antarctica. I got home from spinning last night and my dad said 'let's go get you a winter coat.' This is very unlike him; while he is an incredibly generous man, he is a determined father, too.. teaching me to be independent and to use my resources wisely so that I may live safely and healthily. I've lived in Chicago for over four years now, and perhaps the message was finally received, I won't buy a winter coat, even if it means being super cold. Stubborn? Maybe. But I knew/know the consequences and developed coping mechanisms regardless of how effective they were. I guess he looked up the temperature in Chicago and it is supposed to be NEGATIVE TEN degrees before windchill. That flushes my coping mechanisms down the toilet and laughs at me. So at 8pm the night before I leave, we ventured out to get a coat. And a fine coat we got-- on sale, no less!

That being said-- it's negative ten degrees which means it's negative 20 something when windchill is factored in and I don't care who you are-- windchill is very real and deserves reverence and respect. I may have been desperately hoping for something dramatic to happen that would prevent my return. Nothing yet. Keep your fingers crossed.

One of the best things about the Portland Airport is free wireless.

I went to the gym this morning and when I scanned my card it alerted the desk attendant that today is the last day of my temporary membership. "Oh! How SAD!" She said. I don't really know this one, but I was taken aback at how genuine she seemed. I replied with a groggy 'tell me about it.' As I left, she made a frowny face at me and said 'Well... goodbye, then.' Very odd. Yet incredibly appropriate because it IS very sad to not be going back to that gym for a while. It is absolutely fantastic.

I have a layover in Utah (could this trip BE any worse?! (to be said in a Chandler Bing tone)). So I'm sure I'll have something to say by then.

Home Sweet Home

I breathe easier outside of the city. Literally.

I am enjoying being home. I enjoy the 50 degree weather a lot. I'm trying not to ruin my time here by thinking about how much I don't want to go back. But each day that passes brings the inevitable closer.

I LOVE the gym here. It's ridiculous, every time I come back I like it more and more. I even considered (for maybe thirty seconds) moving back to this city so I can use it regularly. There are apartment complexes RIGHT by it, and when you sign a lease there you get a free membership. And there's a bus stop close by so if I worked at the hospital here then I could just hop a ride. But the hospital here leaves much to be desired. Rats. Do I work for a great hospital or do I live somewhere where the rest of my life is in order? Bah. Everyone is very friendly at this gym, but not to the point where they're invading your life. I went to spinning and luckily it was with my favorite instructor ever. For the first time in far too long I've enjoyed exercising again. And it's not over crowded. Sure, there's the after-work rush blah blah blah, but it's not to the point where one can't function. That perhaps is key.

The idea of living in a big city is more exciting than actually doing it. The excitement, hustle and bustle, and potential for opportunity is enough to make one say 'the cold is worth it.' But it's not. There really is no excitement unless you can afford it, people hustle and bustle because they WILL freeze to death if they don't, and potential for some opportunity is so wishy washy. I like the city for the fact that it's known. When I say "I live in Chicago," I don't have to add on '...it's an hour south of here' or '...it's close to this bigger-cooler place.' People know Chicago. But whatever impresses them about it doesn't negate the factors of day to day life there that make it disgusting to me.

I want to say that if I had a car, everything would be different. I would be able to get places without dancing with hypothermia, I'd be much more independent, and could do what I want without consulting the bus and train schedule and my pocket book to see if there's El fare (which increased with the new year-- $2.50 a ride now, by the way). But I know when one focuses on one thing, saying 'if only I could get this one thing, life would be awesome,' then it always leads to disappointment. So I know a car won't solve my problems and that inevitably it'd create new ones, but hiking to the El and jogging in place on the platform and searching for cash are all things I could live without.

Family gathering in t minus three hours. It's good to be home. And I don't want to go back.

Get Me Outta Here!!

I don't care if I chose it-- I am not loving living in Chicago.

I realize that no location will ever be perfect, but other locations won't be this cold-- and from the frigid temps stem all of my discontentments with this city.

Fortunately I am leaving it for nine glorious days.

I don't have a lot to say. Running is running. It sucks being out of shape. And even when in shape it's a challenge enough to convince myself to run after a 12 hour shift. Being out of shape makes the mountain much steeper and less fun/fulfilling/etc.
Needless to say the 8k in Seattle is out. Makes me angry. Both because I won't be ready for it and because I wasn't taken seriously when proposing the idea of something I'd like to do for my birthday. Whatever, I aim to please.

Two more work shifts before I go. Phew! I was supposed to be done yesterday, then I'd scheduled PTO because I was supposed to be in Ethiopia... but when that fell through I picked up New Years (holiday pay, please) and then was off from the 2nd-17th. I'm not leaving until the 6th and I couldn't imagine what I'd do between the 2nd and 6th or rationalize taking vacation time to just sit around... so I asked to work the 4th and 5th. Now I'm kicking myself. I wish with all of my being that I could be done for a while... heaven knows I have enough laundry and cleaning/packing to do to keep me occupied for 4 days. Whatever. Might as well put in as much time as possible. It's kinda nice to feel busy again.

On my way to Costco to set up my membership! I'm grateful there is a bus that will drop me off 0.2 miles from the glorious store. I'm somewhat concerned as to how it will be lugging all the bulk-booty back on the bus, but whatever-- no one has a car they'll let me drive and I'm tired of waiting to pal along with someone who'll go with me. Boca burgers and yogurt GALORE, here I come!