right as rain, come again

Last weekend I was supposed to run my 20 miler, the first of three, but my foot was hurting, so I thought I’d just give it a rest, and hope it got better.  It didn’t really get worse, and somewhere along the line I figured the more I focused on it the more it hurt, so just ignoring it was the way to go. So I ran 6 miles on Tuesday and 5 on Friday, did a cross-train day in there and was ready to hit another cross-train day yesterday with a bike ride and set myself all up for a 20 miler today. I was feeling great. I had mopped up the foot issues, the hip was feeling strong. I was ready to go and Sunday the weather was going to be a bit cooler, so Sunday was definitely going to be the 20 mile day.

Then Saturday morning I had the brilliant idea to shave my legs while in the shower. If I’m going to sport running shorts, I like to be considerate to others. So I thought I would clear-cut the forest clean up.  This would all have been fine if somewhere around 3/4 of the way through the job my back hadn’t had some sort of spasm, which I could hear, and twanged. Like a guitar string breaking.  I could barely straighten up. But I did, and managed to finish shaving. I had to hike my leg up and prop it up on the wall, but at least I’m not a Neanderthal. I did, however, do a mental version of whistling as you walk through the forest at night. It goes something like this “Nothing serious has happened, this is fine, just a little twang, right as rain, nothing to see here, move on.”

It was some A plus wishful thinking, but I decided to just go ahead with the errands I needed to run (aside from running my 20-miler, I’m baking a wedding cake for next weekend, so I had some things to pick up). Even before the first errand to the cake supply store was over, I knew I was in serious trouble. Mr. Bump tried to shore up my spirits with some frozen yogurt, but when I sat down in the REI without buying anything we both knew I was seriously hurting. I spent some portion of Saturday sitting, leaning over, or lying down. Standing is pretty painful, and after about a block or so of walking, my posture is odd and painful, trying to protect my lower back. Mr. Bump suggested I take a Benadryl as a mild muscle relaxer, and gave me a little back massage and put the heating pad on my back. Which was horrid because it was 97 degrees and here I was with a heating pad on my back.  But the Benadryl did the trick in terms of letting me get some sleep. I sort of passed out around 8:30 and slept for about 10 hours.

Today I’ve been popping ibuprofen and hobbling around baking cakes, but it wasn’t the way I wanted to spend my Sunday. I keep wondering if I’m playing mind games with myself, a little self-sabotage. But nobody trains for a marathon against their will. And I really want this. I’m scared. I’m scared that I’m not going to be able to run Portland. I’m scared I won’t be able to just shrug this off and run my normal mileage this week. I think this was just a freak thing, not related to my running. It happened to me once years ago when I was bending down to pick a book of the bookshelf. But for whatever reason it happened, it did. And it’s hard to think about running when you can’t even stand up straight or go for a walk to the mailbox without stopping to lean on the rock wall a half a block from home.

This training cycle has been fraught with injuries, none of which have been terribly significant in itself, but the hip, the foot, now the back? It’s beginning to making me doubt my training plan. I know I’m able to do this, so why has it been so hard this time? Too much? Too long? Too fast? Maybe all of those things. The last few weeks I’ve been trying to hold back and get myself feeling good, but it’s made me miss a few runs. And I just keep thinking that I just want to run again. I don’t care how fast it is, and how long it is, I just want to run. It’s frustrating to not feel like I should.

I keep thinking that maybe I should try and go for an experimental trot. That maybe if I just don’t focus on this it won’t prevent me from continuing my training. I can’t even freak out about it, because it feels like if I freak out about it, I’ll be admitting that it’s something serious. And it can’t be something serious. It just can’t.  it doesn’t feel broken, just stiff and sore, so I think it will get better. Any second now.

talk about neverminding

So somehow, according to Google Analytics, I've managed to rid myself of any and all visits to my blog. I'm now officially audience-free.  Bring on the curse words and oversharing!

Love,

(Your) Lonely Mrs. Bump

** UPDATE: It appears that it was Google Analytics script that disappeared, rather than my faithful readers. Ah, hell. I'm going to pretend that didn't happen and curse and overshare like a motherfucker!**

it's easier not to

There comes a point where it's been so long since you blogged that you begin to wonder if you should even bother anymore. Like you just get out of the habit and after a while, it's a muscle that hurts to use. It takes effort, and energy, and it's easier not to. I can't believe I haven't blogged since December, but then again it's been a rough few months. Busy too. Roughy. Busough.  Whatever.  

So Italy happened. And about 3 wonderful weeks and 4 pounds later, we came home.  Two days later we hosted a party at our house. There may have been way too many wrappers from Halloween candy in the trash. This may or may not have resulted in Mr. Bump hiding the Halloween candy from me. Not because he didn't want me to eat any, but because he didn't want me to eat IT ALL.  Then when we recovered from that (but still not really recovered from having to come home from Italy--see Halloween candy consumption above), it was suddenly Thanksgiving. I ran a Turkey Trot 5K by myself in the freezing frigid Thanksgiving morning after having only run a few times since before Italy. I had to work the day after Thanksgiving, which is just about the suckiest day to have to work, I'd say. So sucky I promised my coworkers I'd make brownies as a salve. I needed some of that salve myself.

The very next weekend Mr. Bump and I flew out to San Diego to see some of our favorite people. It was wonderful and way too short, as always. And there was In-N-Out, as always.

Just as we got home from San Diego, I got sick. There's no better way to cap off a lovely long weekend than with a little mucus!

And before I could get well, my parents were in a car accident.  Yeah, that happened.

The car was totaled, and my dad was ok but Mom got pretty banged up. She broke her wrist, some ribs, and sprained an ankle.  I got the call from my brother as I was getting off the bus from work. I walked in the door, packed a bag, kissed Mr. Bump goodbye and drove to the hospital an hour north of Denver. I spent most of the following week doing my best to manage that situation, which was hard, and lonely, and scary.  Mom's ok, really. But there's something about seeing your parents injured, and frail. It's so world-rocking, earth-shatteringly scary. I'm at my best when there's something I can do, so I just kept moving.  Looking back on it now, I was moving away from dealing with how scary the whole thing was. As if I could dodge that thought by keeping busy. Cooking and freezing meals, cleaning, helping Mom shower and do her hair, making sure she had clothes she could easily pull on and off (broken ribs on one side, broken wrist on the other make it surprisingly hard to pull up your pants), trying to make my father feel a little less helpless.  I remember some chocolate peanut caramels so good that I may have eaten a whole container of them.  As I was inhaling them one after another, I knew I was binging. I knew I needed to step away. But I didn't. They were really good.

So that was December.  December was spent driving back and forth to my parents house an hour away, baking somewhere around 10 dozen cookies for my World Famous Cookie Plates, working a full time job, and oh yeah, that thing called Christmas. That happened too.  There may have been a total lack of even caring about what I was eating, coupled by the extravaganza of "once a year" treats that you have to eat because they won't be back for another 12 months, right?

January? What I remember about January at this point is that the jeans were too tight.  And a lot of panic about that. And that sweet cycle of diligent dieting and failure binging.  Swinging in and out of control like a trapeze artist.

This month I've been better. Less crazy. I'm trying to pull things back to center.  Just slowly, carefully circling the calorie consumption, trying not to startle it.  I see my willpower? self worth? diet-self?? is a quaking mess right now. Any sudden moves and it just goes nuts with the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Hearts (Now 1/2 price!). I don't know if this makes any sense, but it's how I feel.

All this is the consumption side of the equation, which is the real struggle right now. I can run and run. I can cycle and elliptical and yoga. But I can't seem to keep the eating under control. Or even under 2,000 calories. Some days I can't keep it under 3,000!   I'm feeling less panicked about my current weight (although the number hasn't really changed since we got back from Italy, one way or the other). Part of me really wants to be somewhere between 10-20 pounds lighter than I am right now. And part of me just says fuck it.  There are no easy losses at this point. I have to work really hard for every pound. In 2010 I was more focused running than on weight loss, and it's pretty rough to try and train for a marathon (and I trained for 1 and 1/2 trained for another!) and try to lose weight.

But like all weight loss, no matter what your goals or your circumstances are, it's just easier not to do it. Straight up, that's it.  It's easier not to. And the truth is, in 2010 I maintained a weight loss of 50 pounds in the previous year, and 100 pounds since 2004.  In 2010 I ran a marathon.  It would have been easier not to do that either.

I know I'm going to figure it out.  It's always going to be about going back to the formula that works for me, I know this. It's always going to be counting calories, recording exercise, being accountable. It's always just the question of when I'm going to get back on track. It's easier not to do it today.

Hence the cagey circling of my diet-self.  I'm trying to lull it into some sense of security before I jump it and hog tie it.

This post has gotten way too long, and it is barely funny. I'm going to try lighten things up around here.

I solemnly swear that my next post will be funny. Also it'll be All About Running...stay tuned!

coming around again

Man oh man am I struggling at the moment. Kind of, well, all over the place. Work is hard at the moment. That's about all I can say about that, but I spend 9 hours of my day there, so you can imagine how that might be spilling over into the rest of me. Running has been a struggle like it never has been.  Part of that might be the heat. But I had a moment during my 16 mile long run last Sunday where I thought:

I don't want to do this anymore. Why am I doing this?

I've never never said that before during a run. Sure, I've wanted to be done with it, or walk the rest of the way, but not about quitting all together. So I'm not sure if it is the heat (it's been over 90 more days than not in July so far), burnout (maybe back to back marathon training cycles wasn't a good idea?), or just the Charlie Brown Raincloud I've got going on at the moment.

This morning I had planned a 7 mile run into work. It would have been cooler, would get it out of the way early on a Friday, all good stuff.  I set an alarm for 5:00, got up, got my clothes on, brushed my teeth, etc.  I sat down on the edge of the tub to put my shoes on, and just sat there for about 5 minutes. I couldn't do it. 

Often the hardest part of the run is getting out the door--we all know that. But I just couldn't do it. I seriously sat there shouting at myself in my head. There was a little shouting match back and forth between warring factions in my head. 

Ultimately I stripped off my running clothes and crawled back into bed for another half an hour, and then got up to go to work like normal, but I'm disappointed in myself.  I hope to redeem myself with a 14 mile run this weekend. Sometimes if I take a couple of extra days off I have more energy and a better run. That was part of the arguments raised by the devil on my shoulder this morning.

I had a bad 8 mile run on Wednesday night, too. It was hot, it was hard, and it resulted in mexican food and ice cream for dinner. And I'd had gelato after lunch on Wednesday. Two (hefty) servings of ice cream in one day? What is the matter with me? In no way, shape, or form is that healthy eating.

So that's another piece of the puzzle. My eating has been out of control. I've pretty much been eating whatever I want since March or April. Which was fine when I was running 25-30 miles a week. But thus far I've run 8, in one go. Ice cream twice, crazy snacking, bowls of cereal after dinner (what? I have weaknesses). Some clandestine eating, some defiant eating, some misery-stuffing eating. Part of the reason I started this second marathon training cycle was so I could continue to eat what I want.  And I haven't really gained any weight. But it isn't healthy. It isn't a good training diet. And it isn't helping matters.

So what should I do? I'm stuck in this rut, and I'm not sure if I should quit the marathon training, try other forms of exercise? I haven't really gotten back off the bike since my recent flight off it. Mr. Bump thinks I become a miserable Debbie Downer when I don't run regularly. And maybe he's right. But I've been half-full of feeling ugly and icky all the time, when I'm running, at work, at home. I find myself every morning trying to contrive some illness so I don't have to go to work. I come home, shed my work skin, and plunk myself down in front of the tv or my laptop to watch something to try and lift my spirits. (Right now that's Arrested Development seasons 1-3, if you're interested.) In bed, in the dark, headphones on and completely checked out of myself.

I feel like I've got this soundtrack of whine playing in the background: "But I don't want to!" What's that about? I don't know. I'm not sure how to fix it. Do you?

big huge major

So this week made the mistake (mistake! dumb, dumb dumb) of sending out a mass email inviting all and sundry to come and cheer me on on Sunday.  I know it would really help me if my loved ones popped up along the way.  But then came the "I can't make it" emails.  Which is fine.  I wasn't expecting everyone to come.  If no one came, would I still run the race? Yes, because I'm not doing it for anyone else but me.  But it was a dumb idea because now I feel worse that I invited people and they're not coming than I would have if I hadn't invited them and they weren't coming, if that makes sense.  I am high up on the "self-obsessed" scale of personal self-interest. I get that. Also, high up on the "I must control every tiny aspect of my life" chart.

Sometimes I just can't help myself.  You know how something happens to you, or you plan something and it totally and completely takes over your life?  Where you have moments where you shake your head at other people because don't they KNOW that your flugelhorn recital is on Saturday?  This is a big huge major deal for me, but for me. Not anyone else.  I'm obsessed with it because I've spent the past four months' worth of weekends running for hours at a time.  Weeknights of 7 and 8 mile runs, in rain and snow and dark. I have clothes with Gatorade stains (and man, that stuff can stain).  I am sunburned and freckled and on my second pair of running shoes for the year.  I'm closing in on 400 miles logged on my Garmin. So yeah, big huge major.  But aside from Mr. Bump and a couple of close friends, no one else is bound to get it. It's day after day of not just the runs themselves, but planning runs, researching gear and fuel, and stretching. Oh the stretching.  And if you didn't have a ringside seat for all of it, picking me up with a cooler full of ice packs and chocolate milk, making dinner because I don't get home from my after-work run until seven o'clock, always asking me "How was your run?" and buying me pepper spray after that one dodgy by the train tracks run--well then of course you don't get it.  My marathon is just way too early and too far away and right smack dab in the middle of your Sunday morning.

But that's ok. Because I know your trip to South America or your dog training class or Mother's Day aren't on my radar, but they're your big huge major deal.  And I probably won't appreciate how hard you've worked, or how much energy went into your big huge major. Maybe because you haven't told me about it, or I haven't listened well. It may even be that we haven't connected lately enough to know what's going on with each other. And that's just how it goes.

Just so you know, Mr. Bump will be there, Mrs. Bump my mother-in-law will be there.  My parents will be there.  Mr. Bump's aunt will be there.  I'll get plenty of love and cheers.  And every single person I've heard from that can't come? They've all promised to keep me in their thoughts Sunday morning.  The security guard at work who's from Boston and has run the Boston Marathon 3 times?  He's going to be thinking about me and wondering how I'm doing. My co-worker the triathelete? She's going to remember me when she's out on her Sunday morning run. And you all--I'm sure you will too.  So what am I whining about?  I have absolutely no idea.  

I'm glad we had this talk.  I feel so much better.

no thanks, i'll stand

I'm calling it. It's official. I have a running injury. And it's humorously placed in my--wait for it--hiney. Dead center in the right quadrant. Guess what makes it hurt the most? Sitting. Guess what my whole day involves at work? Again, sitting.

Wanna see where it hurts?  Here's a rendering:

Note:  rendering is not to scale

 I will admit that it was a stupid idea to try and run last night, but I am stubborn, and goal-oriented. Also task-driven. It hurt yesterday, but I decided to do a brief run anyway. I ended up doing 4 1/2 miles Shut up, I know that's not brief. But! It felt ok when I was running! And I'm obviously stupid.

I must also admit that I was crossing my fingers that I'd make it through this training without an injury. But that ship has apparently sailed. So I'm mainlining and alternating Advil and Tylenol (not really helping so much, sadly).  Last night I did a bunch of gentle stretching after my run, and iced my butt.  And still it woke me up at 3:30.  So I found that sleeping on my back with my knees bent is the best posture.  It really seems to be a pressure thing.  Probably the stretching/tightening the muscle in any way isn't helpful.

So, let's take a poll--is it insanely crazy to run 14 miles tomorrow, or just crazy?  I'm really afraid that this won't go away, and I think that I should probably just rest it for a few days and see how it does.  But it doesn't hurt when I'm running, only when I'm sitting.  So maybe I should run and not sit for a few days?  Yeah, I'm not even really convincing myself.  But I was really excited about this run.  The weather is supposed to be lovely.  I've never run that far before, which feels like a Big Deal.  I'm all for Big Deals. 

Also, I'm really task/goal-oriented. I want to be on track, and stay there.  I don't have a lot of leeway in terms of "make-ups" for my long runs.  I don't know what to do.

Actually, I do know what to do, but I just don't want to.  Wah!  Boo!

This is just another good reason to hate my rear.

the Charlie Brown Effect

You know how some weeks you can just sail through, executing perfect pirouettes and smiling like a beauty queen?  Weeks where everything works the way you'd like it to, and each small success you achieve gets wrapped in a pretty ribbon and thrown on the Yay Me! pile?

Yeah, this isn't one of those.  I'm struggling this week, just to get through every day with some shred of sanity.  I have a Charlie Brown raincloud over my head and I just can't seem to shake it.  And yeah, I am aware it is only Tuesday night.

All I can say is I'm working on it.  And now that I've eaten the rest of the chocolate cake left over from this weekend, maybe working on it will get a bit easier.  It just wouldn't stop tempting me.  Now maybe we'll all get some sleep around here.  That chocolate cake was like the telltale heart, I'm telling you!

I will leave you with a lovely image of the baklava I made tonight, which is one thing that I can wrap a pretty ribbon around and check off my list.  I'll take what I can get.  This is not for me (see above re: chocolate cake--I've learned my lesson on that), but the fulfillment of an order for a co-worker.  I can't let you smell it or taste it, but it looks pretty good, right?