Better Late Than Never

When I did the Chicago Triathlon way back in August, one person (previously mentioned life saver Kirsten) and her husband came to watch the festivities. And of course she brought her camera. Life took over and I figured those pictures were as good as gone since six months had gone by and I hadn't seen any of them. However, as I checked my email this afternoon, I saw one from Facebook stating: "Kirsten Havens has tagged you in 6 photos." Enjoy!

I had no idea she was already snapping photos..

So excited to see a familiar face!

So excited to be DONE!

Hooray, we're friends!

Going home Chicago-style... hauling the Ironhorse up to the El platform was such a treat.

Definitely losing my balance on the wild ride. And feeling AWESOME in Spandex.

Thanks, Kirsten!

Jogging

When planning my come back from my stupid foot shenanigan, I reasoned that since I'd be running shorter distances in order to slowly build and avoid another overuse injury, I might as well run those shorter distances faster. After having comparatively minimal cardiovascular activity for six weeks, this task was more difficult to accomplish than I'd anticipated. It worked well for one mile. Even one and a half miles. But I kept getting stuck at two miles. While at home in January I quickly built up to three miles at the faster pace, but I credit that only to the make of the treadmills at my home gym-- they are at a downhill slant. Sure, one could increase the incline to counteract this unfair advantage... but running three fast miles felt SO good after barely being able to get through two, and after six weeks of sloth. Reality slapped me in the face as soon as I returned to this Arctic tundra-- as rude as the wind chill was the legitimacy of the treadmills. Ever since I've bounced between two miles, three miles, the stomach flu, and back to two miles. On Friday, I was grumpy. I was tired. I didn't want to run. The Shamrock Shuffle, however is drawing closer by the day, and no matter how much I don't want to run on race day, the start gun will fire regardless, and it is my responsibility to make sure I'm ready. So, I resolved to jogging.

jog (verb, jogged, jog⋅ging, noun –verb): to run at a leisurely, slow pace, esp. as an outdoor exercise: He jogs two miles every morning to keep in shape.

run [ruhn] (–verb):
1. to go quickly by moving the legs more rapidly than at a walk and in such a manner that for
an instant in each step all or both feet are off the ground.
2. to move with haste; act quickly

(credit: dictionary.com) --haha my citation skills are SERIOUSLY rusty...

Jogging is not what I want to do. But at this point, running for two miles is not a legitimate workout and I end up leaving the gym more frustrated than when I arrived, and when exercise is supposed to be an outlet for frustration, it then becomes counterproductive. So I dialed the treadmill in to a speed 0.8miles per hour slower than I'd been doing. Maybe I am crazy. Maybe I am paranoid. Maybe I am over analytical. --BUT-- There seems to be a very competitive air in all gyms. I will take ownership in this vibe, as I am a very competitive individual. It always seems that whoever is on the treadmill next to mine is peering at my digital display, no doubt thinking 'how fast is she going?' or 'how far has she gone?' or 'what a pansy, she is done after a measly two miles!' If not peering at the digital display, people will watch your pace to see if it matches, exceeds or is slower than theirs. The social rank of the treadmill section of the gym seems to depend entirely on who runs fastest for the longest. I am 100% guilty of playing a consistent role in this unspoken society. I am quite ashamed to admit it, but it'd be a flat out lie if I denied my membership. That is why regressing a whole 0.8mph is so devastating. I want to wear a t-shirt saying 'Guys... I used to be faster... don't judge me.' Perhaps this is all to teach me a lesson. While I wouldn't say that I was prideful when I could run at a more decent pace, I will say that I felt good about it. Sure, I had aspirations to go faster (hence my idea to get faster during my comeback), but I felt like I got a good workout at the pace I went and that it was something I'd worked hard to achieve. Admittedly, when I would see someone putz along on the treadmill super slow, or jump off after a mere fifteen minutes, I'd question what they were thinking and why they didn't just push through and go farther and/or faster. Cast your stones, think I'm awful, I realize that my thoughts are hardly compassionate and they're nothing I'm proud of. Here comes the lesson. Now that I am the one fighting to make it to twenty minutes and now that I'm the one who might as well skip since I'm going so slowly, I have a bit more sympathy (empathy?) towards my fellow treadmill-ers. It sucks. Karma's a bear.

Anyways, when going slower I go much farther. I was excited on Friday to go 4.2 miles before I looked at the display to see where I was at. I didn't look at the clock when I started and so the whole time I'd been trying to estimate the start time and then gauge a stop time to get in 3 miles (still on my 'buildup slowly' kick). I'd resolved to get to 2:25pm (as watched on the clock NBC provides during the Bonnie Hunt Show), then check the display, anticipating to see that I was around 3miles. When I looked, I was shocked to see that I was at 4.2miles. I lost all focus-- my jaw dropped, the air (what little of it was there) shot out of my lungs as I literally said 'WHAT?!' I was excited, but more confused than anything and sent myself into respiratory distress. So, that jog ended at 4.3miles-- a leap from what I'd been clocking in in past runs. Saturday I swam because my quads were sore (again-- humbling), and my foot was whispering 'Remember meeee?' Swimming's always interesting. I jogged again today-- turning up the speed 0.1mph from Friday-- hold on to your hats. Believe it or not I could feel that slight increase. I went the same distance-- 4.3miles (I refuse to regress when jogging) but it ended up being 1 minute faster than Friday.
I have mixed emotions:
1) Extreme disappointment: after working hard for the past three years to increase my pace, I am back at square one.
2) Shame: I feel like such an ... well... ass for being so pompous before.
3) Hopeful: for the first time since the half marathon in November, I exceeded 3 miles. This is particularly exciting since the Shamrock Shuffle in a few short weeks is 5 miles and I was seriously getting concerned that I wouldn't be able to run that distance-- a whole new can of worms.
4) Dread: yea-- I can jog 4 miles, but I have a LOT of work to do to get back to where I was-- much less improve. It's going to be hard, it's going to hurt, and it's going to take forever.

I have to just remember there will always be somebody faster than me, there will always (hopefully) be somebody slower than me, and my worth as a human doesn't depend on how fast or far I run.

...right?

So we'll see, I guess. Still don't know about the half-ironman. I'm thinking probably not. =(


My hair is still too short to stay in a solid ponytail. Mid jog today I had to reinforce the nub. That was awkward. Maybe it was good I was just jogging-- I can't imagine playing with my hair whilst running... an injury for sure.

blah blah blah blog

This post will be done in bullet points to avoid rambling on for paragraphs on end.

*I typed this post last night (rambling on for paragraphs on end-- going into disgusting detail of my most recent illness), then decided to decorate it with pictures as I have heard over and over that a blog without pictures is boring. I wrote it all out and as I was finishing off with the visual delights, the post got deleted.

*Last Friday morning (at exactly 3am), I woke up to extreme GI distress that caused me to call in sick to work and spend the following NINE HOURS spewing out of both ends of my alimentary canal. My good friend (and consistent life saver), Kirsten, responded to my SOS text and brought me the fluids (GINGERALE, my new love) that would cure the dehydration that robbed me of tears and cramped my muscles with a vengeance. The photo seen here is on Friday evening after sleeping all afternoon and in the depths of fever. While most of the GI activity slowed down that afternoon, a raging fever replaced it until Monday. Nausea hung around for a while and isn't completely out of the picture even six days later, but I am feeling much better. Praise the LORD.

*During my death match with the flu, I barely moved outside of waddling to and from the bathroom. Running was the farthest thing from my mind. The Shamrock Shuffle is in 6 weeks. Yesterday I took advantage of the 40 degree weather and ran outside. I have a lot of work to do in 6 weeks. Because I have done this race for the past few years, I got a seeded start in Corral A. The farther up you start, the faster the people are around you. I'm going to get trampled! Maybe I'll mosey on back to Corral D. Running is dismal. Racing is more dismal.

*During my extended cool down yesterday (meaning I couldn't finish the run route...) I realized that a Half Ironman in August really is impractical. I'm 94% surrendered to this fact. While I won't slam and lock the door on the idea, I won't count on it anymore. Very disappointing, I won't lie.

*Next Tuesday I will start the night shift. Enough said. If there were any way to not work the night shift, I'd jump on it. Enthusiastically.

*It has been nine months since I graduated... and I have nothing to show for it. While my job is awesome and I'm genuinely very grateful for employment, it seems like I should have more to show for the four years of mayhem (and millions of dollars) it took for me to get to this point.

Give Me Boca or Give Me Death

Well, there hasn't been much to write about, hence my lack of writing.

I signed up for the Shamrock Shuffle awhile ago. The race is on March 29th (I believe). It's an 8k held in downtown Chicago that I've done for the past three years. 8k is approximately five miles. That is nauseating right now. We'll see how that goes.

I'm still trying to figure out what this summer will look like. I'd LOVE to be able to do a half ironman, but don't want to set impractical goals. Getting back to running is proving MUCH more of a challenge than I thought it'd be, and that is beyond discouraging, especially in regards to super long race aspirations.

I'd been having a love affair with Costco-- solely for its bulk Boca Burgers-- which go for $4.39 for a box of 4 patties anywhere else, but you can get 14 monster size burgers for under $10 at Costco. However, Costco has hidden the Boca's from me, and even worse-- they don't have any staff to ask "Where are the Boca Burgers?" I finally broke and asked a sample lady and she knew where they SHOULD be, but when I said "They're not there, I've looked many times on two different days," she shrugged her shoulders. I may have shed a tear on the empty handed bus ride home-- don't judge me, I am grieving my loss of economical protein. =(

My loans are out of whack. I tried setting up the automatic payment system, but for some reason the private loan company is taking out two (huge) payments a month instead of one, and the federal company is only taking out the payment once every four months. I haven't had the time/energy/motivation to call them and figure it out. I hate talking to customer service people.

I'm all up in a funk and I wish I'd snap out of it already. It seems like that is all winter has been-- a funk. It is one of my more sincere hopes that it will break as winter breaks (in like three more months...) or sooner, because I can't handle this much longer than that. ..I think the worst part is that my funk is completely self-made. I have really no reason to complain other than cold living and the night shift approaching. Of all the bad hands to be dealt... I'll take that one over unemployment, homelessness, poor health, etc any day.