It's the final countdown

Excuse me while I go wretch. I am freaking out. I'm afraid I have ruined my body to save my foot. Maybe "ruined" isn't the correct term, but the fact is, I feel out of shape. I missed 2 long runs and a couple of short runs, too. And after all that my foot was still sore during my 2.7 mile run last night. Still, I am going to be out there Sunday morning, and while the thought of that may cause a panic attack, it still beats the disappointment of not getting out there at all. That would probably be too much to bear.

Anyway, back to my 2.7 mile run. It felt harder than it should have, I think. And yes, I ran faster than I will be Sunday, but it definitely made me even more nervous than I already was (and I didn't think that was possible). Plus my foot started hurting, and worse than it did last week during my 4 mile run. Thankfully it doesn't hurt today, and it didn't hurt last night as bad as it didn't a couple of weeks ago.

I found a couple to run with last night, and I am going to try to stay with them Sunday. Although I have been training for 4 months, I still have essentially zero ability to pace myself. Their pace is something I can probably hang with. Plus, if I spend too much time by myself during runs, I start getting a little nutso, meaning the bad thoughts start rolling in.

Speaking of nutso, I MAY have looked up last year's results to see what the likelihood of me coming in last was. Luckily, I think I will be OK on that front, providing my foot just stops working or something. I say I don't care about my time, and I don't . . .mostly. I really just want to finish, I would just prefer to not come in last.

One thing that is easing my anxiety, at least slightly is that I am hitching a ride with Kyle's mom Sunday morning. She, stepFIL, SIL, and stepSIL are running the relay and they offered to pick me up. One less thing to worry about.

I will be glad when this is all over and I'm holding my finisher's medal in my hot little hand.

Ooh one thing I am very excited about is my running buddy (I still call her that even though she has gotten considerably faster than me recently) is going to do the Hyde Park Blast training group. Woo hoo! I am looking forward to it. I'm even hoping to get my mom out there.

The Agony of The Feet

Well, I can see my crossing of the finish line, super sweet finisher's medal, and 13.1 sticker slipping away. I think my right foot is saying "I don't want to do this half marathon." Unfortunately, I am at its mercy.

It all started 2 weeks ago, during a 10 mile run. Around mile 5, my right foot started hurting. I was able to finish the run, but it was hurting pretty darn bad when it was all said and done. It hurt to walk on it for a good 2 days after the run. Then the pain went away. I've had various aches and pains before, and they've all went away, so I just figured par for the course with this kind of mileage.

Then, last week we were supposed to run 11 miles. About a mile in my foot was killing me. I knew it was going to be a no-go, so I turned around and started hobbling back to my car (when it starts acting up, it hurts just about as much to walk as it does run). I promptly made an appointment with a primary care doctor. He took an x-ray, said it didn't look broken (and I really didn't think it was broken), told me it was a stress/overuse injury, and that he didn't think I'd be able to run the race. However, he also told me to feel free to get a podiatrist's opinion. Several people were singing the praises of this local running podiatrist, and I made an appointment for that Tuesday (this past Tuesday).

I met with the podiatrist, who told me he thinks I have a "cuboid sprain" from my 4th and 5th metatarsals hitting my cuboid bone when I run. He took out his sheet of foam, cut me out some pads, put them in my shoes, and I could instantly tell a difference. He told me to ice my foot every night for a half hour, and I could start trying to run again over the weekend. He felt optimistic I'd be able to do the race, so I felt optimistic as well.

Well, folks, the weekend is here. Yesterday I woke up to foot pain, so I didn't even try it. I iced my foot instead. This morning, my foot felt good to go, so I hit the pavement . . .and experienced basically the same thing as last weekend's attempted 11 miler. About a mile in, my foot started hurting, badly. So, that's why instead of running, I am sitting here with a bag of ice on my foot, watching my dream of running a half marathon slip away.

People keep telling me, yes there will be other races, and I suppose that's true. To be honest, though, I have no desire to train for another half marathon. I enjoy running, but I like it best within the 3-6 mile range. Beside the lack of desire, even though I knew running a half marathon wouldn't be easy, I think I underestimated the time commitment. I feel like running is was a full-time job right now. I was ready for this race to be over with, and have my life back. It was starting to feel tedious, and not fun anymore. Still, I never, ever wanted it to end like this. When I started on this journey nearly 4 months ago, I never expected not to be able to finish. To be sidelined with an injury, especially this close to the big show, is heartbreaking. I get physically ill when I think of everyone else running their race, getting their medal and sticker, feeling that sense of accomplishment. I would give just about anything to be out there with them.

Back in the game

Well, I survived the Heart Mini. It was a less than spectacular showing to say the least, but I wasn't too disappointed. I was just glad I finished, mainly because as more than one of the coaches have said "If you can finish the Heart Mini, you can finish the Pig." That makes me very hopeful.

So, last night for our short run, we were supposed to be doing a leisurely 5ish miles through Oakley (it is a little crazy that 5 miles is now our "short" run--the first time I ever ran 5 miles was mid-February and that was for a long run!). It was pretty warm, and my warm weather running gear is minimal, so I had to leave my Droid behind. I figured it wouldn't be a big deal, I could manually enter my workout into Cardio Trainer later, and I figured I could stay with someone who had a Garmin or a watch to do my intervals.

Well, we took off and I just . . .felt like running. So, run I did. I started at the back of the pack because that's where I end up anyway. I ended up being by myself for about half the run, but I could see people in front of me, so I knew what I was supposed to be doing and where I was supposed to be going. When we finished, I asked the girl who finished just in front of me what her time was. She told me 48 minutes. We ran about 4.8 miles. I was dumbfounded. It normally takes me around 56-57 minutes to run 4-4.5 miles. It's called progress. And it's just what I needed to get my head back in the training.

I've hit a wall

I'm hoping I can break through soon. It has to do with my running (or more often than not as of late, my lack thereof). I started the training group in January with my game face on, determined to kick ass. The first couple runs were nightmarish, but once I got in with the right group, things kept looking up, up, up. I was out there in zero degree temperatures, braving the ice and snow, doing my thing. Of course, back then we were running 3, 4, 5 miles at a time.

Now we're entering the big leagues of half marathon training and the weather is actually getting decent (mostly). I'm doing 9.3 (hilly, hellish) miles on Sunday. And I am dreading it. I've been missing my short runs, because something will happen on Tuesday nights, and then I won't want to go on Wednesdays. I'm not a fan of running with the Kentucky group--they're nice, but they are a very small group and fast and I'm always terrified I will get lost. Kind of like what happened when I had to do the Sunday option run this past Sunday. There were no other slow people so I was all by myself, which was fine at first. I had my iPod and my Droid. Then I got to Eden Park, which I've only ran through a couple of times, and never by myself. The route said to just "run through the park (minus the overlook) and exit onto Victory Parkway." Well I exited, but not onto Victory Parkway. In fact, I ended up having to walk up about 50 steps to get up onto Victory Parkway. By then my rhythm was gone. Thank God for my Droid or I'd probably still be wandering around Eden Park. I finished, but I ended up walking quite a bit. It was a crappy run.

I feel like all my longer runs have been crappy. The 10K went fine, but any distance after that has been a nightmare, and that scares me. I was SPENT after that race. I definitely wasn't like hey, let's go run 3 more miles. Then I start beating myself up. I think it's becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy at this point. I'm starting to be all WTF was I thinking. I need to get out of this funk and get re-focused, but I just don't know how.

I'm hoping the Heart Mini isn't a complete freaking disaster, because I'm worried if it is I will be retiring my running shoes.

Walking through a winter germland

That's what it feels like. We had been so, so lucky with Logan. The child does did not get sick. He's never (ever! :::knock on wood:::) had an antibiotic. I used to be lucky, too. Logan and I were blessed with hulking immune systems--which have apparently went on strike. Or vacation. Because the two of us have had colds or remnants of a cold since Halloween. We're keeping the fine folks at Puffs in business, yo. I have been sick more in these past few months than I've been in the past five YEARS. I say that in all seriousness. Between the colds, the bonechilling temperatures, and all the ice and snow making driving and running hell, I am SO over winter. I would be eternally grateful to Mother Nature if she'd bring on the spring!

My cup runneth over

Bedtime has been mostly nightmarish as of late. Logan fights me every step of the way, and then stays up way too late. It's just no fun at all. Tonight though, my heart completely melted. My voice is gone due to some mysterious illness, so I told Logan he would have to read to me. So he did. He read me 4 books--a pop-up Mickey Mouse Clubhouse book, a couple of stories out of his Dora book, "Cat in the Hat", and "Hand, Hand, Fingers, Thumb." I was quite impressed actually. He knew the Mickey, Dora, and HHFT books almost verbatim (it helps that we've read them about a million times each). He knew a few exact lines from Cat in the Hat, but the rest he ad-libbed and it was just so adorable. Next, he sang me "Jingle Bells", made me "look like a princess" (this is where he piles all of your hair on top of your head like a crown) and then I kissed him goodnight and put him in his bed.

I hope I never forget this evening, what a sweet moment with my amazing little boy.

Lessons Learned

So I finally went and got my teeth cleaned today. The last time was, oh, September 25, 2008 (our 4th wedding anniversary). Logan was 3 months old and snoozed in his infant seat the entire time. Today that did not happen. I should have went over the summer or Christmas break (or ahem, last year's summer break), but I didn't. I tried to find a day where I would have someone to watch Logan, but they had no openings. The receptionist assured me it would be fine to bring him. I thought, maybe it won't be so bad. It wasn't bad, it was worse than I could have imagined. My little psycho tried to grab the hygenist's tools, moved her lamp, turned on the water fountain, and ran away during my x-rays, among other things. Then to add insult to injury the dentist told me I had "a couple" cavities. By "a couple" she meant 6. AYFKM?? 6?? I got my first cavity when I was 22. A teeny, tiny one. Then in 2008 I had 2 more. Now, in just one measly visit I had 6? I was devastated. She informed me that 2 of the cavities weren't my fault, that they were in grooves where microscopic particles get in. The other 4 were due to my lack of flossing regularly. ::::hangs head in shame:::: I do floss, but I certainly can't call it regularly. Well, that ends today. I am officially becoming a flossing mo-fo. And I'm never taking Logan to one of my cleanings again. Trust me, I am taking my lessons learned today to heart.