(yes, I know this cover photo has absolutely nothing to do with the post, but WordPress is not letting me upload any new pics right now, so I’m recycling an old photo.  And I like cupcakes).

Under the direction of my PT and my own best judgment, I took 6 days off from running.  This isn’t something that I wanted to do–it was something I HAD to do.  The pain in my knee/leg/calf was getting worse and worse, and was showing up sooner and sooner during my runs.  I crashed and burned last Sunday on my 10 miler.

Since I could trace the reintroduction of this pain (“oh, hi again, pain”) back to around a month ago on a 10 mile run in which about 4 of those miles were done on uneven road shoulders, the PT pretty much locked in on the fact that my pain is due to an inflamed IT band.

I was semi-relieved to hear this, since I’ve never had a formal diagnosis.  My problems have always been chalked up as general muscle tightness and poor mechanics.  The IT band issue is most definitely brought on by muscle tightness and poor mechanics, but at least now I feel like we can identify the source of the pain itself.

Although I didn’t run last week, I made it a point to still sweat a lot.  I spent many (many) miles on the Expresso bike at the gym, (since I don’t have a big girl bike yet), and lemme tell you; that thing is no joke.  On Tuesday, I had a 10 mile run planned, so I spent 20 miles and about 1.5 hours on that damn bike.  My ass was hur-ting on Wednesday.

When I got off of the bike, a gym employee asked me how long I was on it, and then told me I was “insane”.

Not insane, just injured.  So now rather than running my 10 miles outside in crazy fashion, I have to ride 20 on a bike where other people can see me.  And how long I’ve been on it.  Thus, displaying my variety of crazy for all to see.

Does anyone else experience this “you so crazy” phenomenon from non-sweaters?

If so, you know the drill.  This phrase is uttered as they shake their head in amazement.

I don’t mind being crazy, but I wish that I would’ve cashed in my crazy this past week  on running rather than biking.  There was a lot of damn biking.

Today was my first attempt at running since the crash and burn.  I rode 10 miles of moderate rolling hills first on the bike, then walked a mile on the treadmill to get my legs on board with the motion.  After that, I ran 2 miles at about a 10:30 pace.  This is actually pretty fast for me, and I was feeling confident.

It was fun.

But I didn’t want to push it.  Especially since I could feel the twinges in my hip and fibular head…a friendly warning that the pain is about to be brung.

Bring it.

I stopped at 2.25 miles, wishing that I could run farther, but concerned that if I did, my leg might fall off.  I know that I am not going to be better for the marathon–it’s only 20 days from today.  Next weekend is my last opportunity to get a 20-miler in before the taper.   I will be supplementing in some running this week along with a lot of hard-core biking, but I’ve come to terms with my fate.

I’m just going to have to wing it, friends.  Hopefully adrenaline will carry me at least 15 miles–I can crawl from there.

I’m not going to finish in 4:30 like I had originally planned on doing.  I’ll probably be lucky to finish in 6:00.

Although I’m not even slightly excited about coming in at 6 hours, I’ll take any finish I can get at this point.  As long as the sweepers don’t come through and roll me in, I’ll be happy.

Ok.

Maybe not ‘happy’, per se.

Satisfied.

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I had another less-than-stellar run.

This one took the cake–I actually had to ‘phone a friend’ (My Gazelle) at mile 10 (after walking a solid 2.5 miles), and asked him to pick me up. After phoning home, I walked another mile while I waited. It was a long tearful walk. I wanted to get all of the crying over and done with because there’s nothing more that he hates than to see me cry.

I really don’t honestly know what’s going to happen to my marathon plan. I only have one more month, and things seem to be going downhill quickly.

My knee is not impressed with all of the running that I’m expecting of it.

THIS IS SO FRUSTRATING!!!!

I want to finish what I’ve started. Race training (prior to now) is the only thing that I’ve ever been able to “finish”. I am a serial hobbist, remember?

I FEEL LIKE A FAILURE!!!!

I know that none of this is directly my fault, but when my body doesn’t cooperate, I blame myself. I am having a difficult time coping with the idea that I might not be able to finish what I’ve started (the marathon), and also dealing with the fact that my body is not doing what I want it to do.

So, in other words, failure and lack of control. Two things that I have the worst time coping with.

To take my mind off of this horrible day (my Garmin also broke this AM), we went to the bagel shop and got breakfast. Then I came home and took my crazy bird out to play, because she always makes me laugh.

Yes, my bird is chillin on the dining room table. I promise to wash it before you come over for dinner though.

She likes to gnaw on my hair clips. You can’t see it in the pic, but she was eyeballing the clip that I left on the table.  If you ever meet me and I’m wearing a chewed-on hair clip, you’ll know why.  I try to salvage them for as long as I can before I finally throw them away.

Then, something exciting happened. Hanni approached my Cashew Cookie Larabar.

She was very interested in the Larabar, and it made me happy. I’m sure that her interest was piqued due to the fact that this Larabar is healthy and only contains two ingredients!

I’m sure that it had nothing to do with the pretty orange wrapper.

So, I let Hanni do a video taste test. It’s kind of boring to non-bird peeps, but I love her, and she made me smile after a crappy run. Humor me here, ok?

So, it’s official.  Larabars are good.  Hanni likes them.

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Yesterday, me, my Gazelle, and our furry children ventured out to the Loch Raven Reservoir to relax, eat, and stare at an open body of water for a few hours.

Staring at open water always makes me want to take a nap. It’s kind of like my version of Valium.

The puppies had a ball. Maya has this regal demeanor about her that I’ve never really figured out. She can go from scrapping with Nikko and snotting in his face to this, all in a split second.

(Disclaimer: I know that every picture in this post sucks, because I left my big girl camera at Jen’s house over a week ago.  I’ve been trying to avoid posting pictures because of this, but I just love sharing so I can’t avoid it any longer.  Sorry.  Hopefully you are not so disturbed by the iPhone quality that you stop reading.)

She has a calm soul. She knows when to relax and just take in the scenery.

This one, on the other hand.

I love the hairy little guy to pieces, but he acts like he ate crack for breakfast. he does not relax. His favorite part about the trip was the “leaving” part. Oh, and when he got to eat his dinner on a bed of seaweed.

What did I realize during our little family excursion?

I realized that I really flocked up my knee during Sunday’s wicked athletic 18.7 mile WOG.

In order to arrive at our desired picnic and zone out area, we had to hike for roughly 852 miles, which included hopping, skipping, and jumping. And thorns. Lots of thorns.

It also required many slopes and hills. It was the downhill periods when I the fact that my knee was really jacked up actually hit me. Just imagine a dagger, jabbing into the outside of your leg; just below the knee, on that little boney knobular thingy that sticks out. It’s called a Fibular Head.

Mine doesn’t like me right now.

Last night when we got home from our excursion, I painstakingly wrapped little Fib in epsom salt, said a little prayer, and watched a terrible movie. When I unwrapped everything, the pain was magically gone.

I’ve decided that my new purpose in life is to make it through this marathon in one piece, and hopefully live to tell about it after. And continue running for many years to come.

Step #1: On my lunch break, I purchased the largest carton of epsom salt that I could find, a knee brace, an (un-pictured) ACE bandage and 2 washcloths.

Step #2: I mixed the epsom salt with water, and proceeded to spill the murky water all over my pretty desk. Oops.

Step #3: I inserted wet epsom salt into the washcloths, wrapped up the parts of my leg that don’t feel right…my Fibular Head, and the exterior part of my ankle, then secured everything with the ACE bandage.

It looks kind of suspect, but if it works, I don’t give a sheet. It also helps that the pant leg of my jeans conceals it nicely

P.s…please ignore my granny CROCS. I love them.

Step #4: Call PT and proceed to schedule at least one appointment per week between now and 2 weeks following the marathon.

We’ll see how it goes…

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This morning, I “ran” 18.7 miles.

Which wasn’t really running.

It kind of wasn’t even really jogging.

The first 10 miles were so much fun. I literally smiled most of the way, despite a little knee twinge. I tweeted much of the first 10 miles (complete with pictures), and it reminded me why I love jogging so much. I was exploring places that I had never been on foot, and that is one of my favorite things about running.

So, it all began with 13 miles of calm trotting, with some walking thrown in the mix.

Then, it was 3 miles of walking and limping, which gave way to 2.7 miles of crawling and crying.

Ok, that part is a lie. But, if I could’ve curled up in a ball on the side of the highway without any risk of being admitted to the nearby psych ward, I probably would have. Definitely would have.

I considered hitchhiking a few times, and for those of you who know the non-virtual me, that is serious business considering my fear of all things kidnapping and murder.

Downhills seem to be irritating my knee to no end these days, so I made a decision early on that I was going to walk most of the downhills. I planned on being on my feet for a very long time due to this extra planned walking.

I didn’t, however, plan on being outside for roughly 5 hours, battling the blazing inferno that is an open highway at 12PM. There.is.no.relief. The sun just blazes. And blazes. And my fingers swell from the dehydration. Then, my calves seize up like the transmission in my 1983 Ford Escort hatchback.

Brown 2-tone with red interior, of course.

(Which was like the coolest car ever. I miss wearing skirts to my fancy courthouse internship, then having to climb through the hatchback because the door locks on the car didn’t work. Classy!)

Anyway. I was more thankful to be home after my 18.7 miles than I have ever been in my entire life.

So, the Good: I was on my feet for 18.7 miles. Feet time is still feet time, regardless of speed or perceived effort.

The Bad: I was seriously a hot mess. It was a really lackluster performance, but I’m trying not to focus on that part.

The Painfully Sunburned:

Ouch.

I see unreasonable amounts of aloe in my future.

* Have you joined my Facebook Group yet?

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