Woe is Achilles

Typically, I don't blog about aches and pains I suffer from running because if I did, it would likely consume the entirety of my blog. I'm not sure why a lot of you come to read me, but I'm pretty certain it's not to hear me bellyache about which part of my body is hurting most recently.

That said, I'm perplexed with my latest self-imposed infliction. If I might be humored to explain what's going on, perhaps some of you may have some suggestions to pass along. You'll at least give me something to chew on until I'm able to get in touch with my physical therapist. (Speaking of which, would it kill him to return an e-mail??)

Last Wednesday, during my photo essay run, I was traversing down a rather rocky hill when I felt a pull in the back of my lower right calf. It was enough to make me stop and shake it out a bit, but I finished off the last couple of miles without trouble. Later that night, however, my achilles started complaining, so I dutifully iced it up just for good measure. I took a day off and when it still felt achy the next day I took another day of rest. By Saturday, it seemed I had things under control, so I went out for what I had hoped would be a good long training run in preparation for my marathon relay in two weeks. The first couple of miles felt pretty good, but gradually I started feeling some discomfort and long story made even longer, the discomfort turned to pain 6.5 miles in and I had to walk the remaining 2.5 miles home (in still a healthy dose of discomfort).

Immediately after getting home, I iced and swallowed down some ibuprofen, but my achilles swelled up with a noticeable circle-shaped lesion on my skin about the width of a tennis ball. It was red and tender and just plain ouch. Fast forward three days-off-from-running later... the swelling has gone down, but there's still tenderness and visible bruising. With the range of pain-free motion I have (I can stand on my tiptoes, flex my foot both ways, and even jump up and down), I'm sure I haven't ruptured the tendon. My guess is, because of the bruising, there must have been a partial tear? But I'm not feeling any kind of pain unless I actually touch the red spot. Tendonitis seems another possibility, but I understand that is much more progressive and this came on very suddenly.

So, I'm in a fix. I'm continuing to stretch, ice and ibuprofen (I'm using that as a verb since it's an action I take part in almost daily). I've even bought a heel lift, per an online suggestion, to help take some of the pressure off my achilles while it heals.

Obviously, I'm short on time as my relay is coming up quickly. As much as it kills me to do so, I'll keep resting if I know it will do some good. If it's more serious, however, I'd just as soon know now so I can start the mourning process of having to miss a race due to injury.

So, what say ye? Any words of experience and wisdom to shower down upon me? If not, I'll accept words of condolences any day.

I am, after all, the Greek Goddess of Bellyaching.

My Own Private Idaho

As I'm sure is the case with every runner, I have a favorite route I love to run. Depending on the distance I plan to cover, I can stretch essentially the same route anywhere from four to nine miles long. It's a route that is really only runnable during good weather because much of it traverses gravel and dirt roads that become a muddy mess under even a light rain or snowfall. But on a beautiful spring day, this route offers a little bit of everything: quiet solitude, breathtaking scenery, challenging inclines as well as gentle rolling hills. More than once, while running my favorite route, I've said outloud to myself, "This is the reason I run".

Also more than once, I've wished I could share some of the things I see on my favorite running route with my family and friends. But not until the other day did the thought occur to me how I could do it. I had set out for a morning run and while starting past a pasture of grazing cows, it struck me. I turned around, ran the quarter mile back home and grabbed my digital camera. It wasn't the most efficient of runs, carrying a camera and stopping every couple of minutes to snap a picture before picking up into a run again. But over the course of seven miles I grabbed some shots that depict pretty well why I love to run Idaho.

(If any of you are inclined to do the same thing along your own favorite running route, I'd be your most interested reader!)

The previously mentioned pasture of cows. It always cracks me up how cows will stop everything they're doing (except chewing their cud, of course) to unabashedly stare at me as I run past. When I'm in a really good mood, I'll talk to them. Otherwise, I'll just nod politely and continue on. The other picture I caught of a farm truck filled to the brim with nothing other than potatoes. It's planting season right now and the sprouts of older potatoes are used to grow new ones. During the spring and fall, I'll see half a dozen of trucks like these on any given run.

On the top, a road that runs alongside a farm canal (there is something about running alongside a body of water-- whether it's a canal, a river, a lake, whatever-- that is so peaceful to me). The field next to it is used to harvest corn, a rather uncommon crop in Idaho, but one that makes for unique running scenery, especially in August. In the distance is the mountain butte I'll be climbing and running across. On the bottom is a shot of the farmland below as I begin climbing the butte (a helluva hill workout, by the way).

Halfway up the butte is a nice little trail run that stretches about a mile. Part of it runs practically through a forest while the other part runs literally across a farming field (I've had to dodge around huge standing water pipes while running this trail). Continuing on up the butte, I run into nothing but farmland and country roads for as far as the eye can see. The road eventually turns into gravel, which makes for easier running on my knees, as well as provides a strange sort of satisfaction upon hearing the constant crunching sounds under my feet. The farms in this area grow potatoes and certain kinds of grain (usually barley and hay). The fields alternate year to year, so the farms you see growing grain now you'll see growing potatoes next year. Every fall, all the local schools release the students for two weeks for what's known as "Spud Harvest". Theoretically, it allows the children (typically, high-schoolers, but younger children help as well) the ability to earn some money while working with farmers to harvest potatoes.

This part of the route cuts directly through the middle of the farms. I have to cross my fingers when I do this run in hopes I don't do it on a day when the sprinkler pipes are situated right above the trail, watering the surrounding fields. Several unlucky times, I've been caught in a mile long stretch of mud that causes my feet to sink deep into the ground with every step. But on the days when it's dry, there's no prettier sight than coming to the peak of the trail and seeing the landscape of the town below... especially if it's accompanied by the sun setting behind the mountains in the western horizon.

Speaking of sunsets, I took my camera again a couple days later to try to catch the same shots while the sun was going down. Although it wasn't the most colorfully spectacular of sunsets that night, it certainly was a lovely sight to see.

Finally, it wouldn't be a photo essay of running in rural Idaho without pictures of some of the local yokels.

Notice the lilac bushes in the background of this last one... they're everywhere around here and because they have such a powerfully fragrant scent, they make running past them a bit of temporary torture for me.

So, there you have it: Running in Idaho! If you're ever in my neck of the woods, bring your running shoes and I'll take you on a personal tour. Just stop and ask one of the cows where to find me... he'll point you in the right direction.

Bah Humbug

Imagine, if you will, you are a child again and Christmas is near. You know exactly how many days it is until the Big Day. You might even make a red and green construction paper chain to help count down the days. You are so excited you can hardly stand it. You wake up every morning and go to sleep every night with the anticipation on your mind. Ohhh, it's gonna be sooooooo good!

Now, imagine the day has finally arrived. You wake up; your eyes snap open. You rush out to the living room. But instead of seeing enormous piles of wrapped presents with big, pretty bows and your name all over them, you see an enormous pile of nothing.

Dejected, you sit and you wait. And you wait some more. Finally, at the end of business hours for the day, you come to terms with the fact that Christmas is late. You'll have to wait until after the weekend for the Big Day to arrive. Mumbling a little incoherently under your breath, you add another couple links back onto the chain.

Monday comes and again, you rush out. And again, enormous nothingness. This time you're not taking it. You call the North Pole with your tracking number to find out once and for all where your presents are. The elf on the other end of the line looks it up and informs you your Christmas has been wrapped but it never made it onto Santa's sleigh.

You e-mail Santa and in a very calm and polite manner inquire into the reason your presents haven't made it onto your living room floor. Santa is not available, of course, because it's now his off-season, so you have to wait for one of his elves to receive your e-mail and get back to you.

You sit and you stew.

Before too long, an elf gets back to you and apologizes for the delay. He tells you he's not sure how Santa missed the package, but it does indeed appear to be missing. You resist the urge to make a snide comment to the effect of "ya think???" because you know elves, by nature, aren't very receptive to jokes. Instead, you remain calm and tell the elf you appreciate his effort looking into the matter and to please do whatever it takes to get Christmas as soon as possible into your hands. Or onto your feet. Whatever the case may be.

Then you sit and you eat chocolate just to make you feel better.

Thank you, Santy Claus!

Most people celebrate Christmas on December 25th. I, however, will be celebrating Christmas this coming Friday-- the day the UPS guy delivers my new pair of Asics Gel Foundation VII running shoes.

Some women get excited buying cute, strappy summer sandals. I get excited with a new pair of runners. I hold them in my hands and study them meticulously. Admiring the craftmanship. The beauty. The power of the shoes.

I remember when I was a teenager and got a new pair of tennis shoes, I'd immediately take them from the box and go to the yard to roll them through some dirt. It was so uberly uncool to have shoes that looked brand spankin' new, you see. Now, I do everything I can to keep my shoes looking sparkly and new, including using ridiculous amounts of Spray 'n Wash and old toothbrushes. It's a sickness. I've accepted this.

I'm stepping up my shoe selection this time to a shoe designed specifically for motion control. In the past, I've worn neutral shoes and stability shoes and it's become obvious, due to my overpronation tendencies, my legs need much more help than they've been getting. I'm hopeful my brand spankin' new Asics will be the answer to a lot of my woes.

I'm even optimistic my new shoes will help me run seven-minute miles.

Talk about a Christmas miracle.

Goose Gallop

I ran my first official 10K over the weekend-- a small, local event that consisted of precisely 109 runners participating in the 5K and 10K races combined. And ironically, because the course surrounded the perimeter of a popular river park, 10K is not only the distance I ran but also the number of geese I had to shoo away while doing it. Well, okay... maybe not that many geese. But definitely that many goose poops.

All in all, it was a fairly successful outing. I was no semblance of a speed demon whatsover as I'd exhausted most of my speed demon'ing three weeks earlier in Salt Lake City. But I felt strong the whole time and managed to maintain a comfortable pace just a little faster than what I normally run in training. I'm certain I have many more 10K's in my future and my time is bound to improve. But for now, it was just fun to get out again so soon amongst the ranks of my fellow runners and feel of the atmosphere and soak in the surroundings of a beautiful spring morning run.

Goose poop and all.

Guilt Trips and Farewells

If any of you have read my list of 100 Things About Me, you might remember #97, in which I speak of our family pets-- two parakeets-- in what may be perceived as a not-so-loving manner.

It's not that I don't like the birds. As birds go, these two are as good as they come. It's just more that I don't like how they act like birds. You know... always doing those "bird things". Nevertheless, we've had Charlie and Hermione for 2 1/2 years and although they've been relegated to different areas of the house in order to extend their stay in my presence for another day, they've become part of the family. Not, included-in-the-annual-family-photograph part of the family, but you get my drift.

I stepped out onto the porch this morning to run a five-miler when I noticed the birdcage, which I'd set outside half an hour before to allow the birds some fresh air, had been knocked onto its side on the ground below.

I gasped... literally gasped. I don't often literally gasp, so I remember doing it.

I knew before I even looked what had happened, and I was overcome with a sick feeling of dread. There in front of me was the crime scene: bird litter and toys scattered all over the river rocks, food and water cups tossed aside, and feathers-- copious amounts of feathers-- gently resting where they had landed after the violence had come to an end. Charlie and Hermione were nowhere to be found.

I was instantly taken back to childhood memories of my own pet bird, Cockatiel Dundee. My family had spent weeks-- nay, months-- training it to speak and after much hard work and patience, it had learned a number of useful phrases.

"Freeze, scumbag! The police are on their way!"

Okay, maybe not that useful. But it was a very kind and friendly bird and would often ask how you were doing... over and over and over again. I don't know about you, but it was nice knowing even if I didn't have another friend in the world, my bird was still looking out for me.

What we didn't realize was that while we continued to work on correct grammar and pronunciation with Dundee, he was secretly planning his escape route. When the day came that he saw it, he took it. For half an hour, he sat in the pine tree in our backyard while we desperately tried to coax him to come back home. Alas, he had other plans in mind and finally took to the skies for good, never to return. We could only hope his vast vocabulary served him well in the real world.

I have hope that Charlie and Hermione took to the skies as well. The alternative is just a little too gruesome to contemplate. My children haven't come home from school yet, and so I will soon be faced with the grim task of breaking the news. To make matters worse, today is my youngest daughter's birthday. Happy Birthday, sweetie! Mommy murdered your parakeets! Okay, maybe I didn't wield the weapon, but I was an accomplice. And kids love having somebody to blame.

After gathering myself from being a little shell-shocked from my discovery this morning, I finally went out for my run. Everywhere I looked there were birds, none of which even closely resembled Charlie or Hermione, but which made me feel all the more somber. Our house is going to be a lot less messy now... and a lot less lively.

Closure might be difficult. With cats and dogs, you can bury them and set out a rock or some other kind of memorial. With fish, you can do the whole ceremonial flush-job. With birds, you only have a lot of feathers left behind.

My 10K this weekend will be dedicated to Charlie and Hermione. I'll forego wearing a t-shirt with their pictures on it saying "in memory of", but it's the thought that counts, right?

Maybe someday my kids will forgive me.

Slackering

Slackering-- if indeed there were such a word (and why shouldn't there be?)-- would best describe my state of activity for the last two weeks since Salt Lake City.

Not that I've been sleeping in until noon and watching Oprah in my flannel penguin jammies while eating chocolate bon-bons. Not that kind of slackering. I've just been taking a mini-vacation from my obsessive-compulsive tendencies when it comes to running. If I've felt like running, I've run. If I haven't... well... what's in the freezer and what's good on TV??

My slackering days are officially over, though... at least for another while. I've got a 10K on tap this weekend and even though it's only a small, local race, I'm excited to run it. It will be the first race of this distance I've run, so a personal best is guaranteed. Gotta love that! And if it's as small as I think it might be, I may even come home with an award for placing in my age division. Never mind there probably will only be three people in my age division to begin with. An award is an award. Ain't gonna take that away from me.

Four weeks after the 10K, I've committed to running a marathon relay with three of my girlfriends. Since they're all relatively new runners, I made a deal with them that I'd cover the first half of the race-- well, the first 12 miles anyway (math has never been my strong suit)-- if they'd split up the rest. Definitely no time for slackering there if I've gotta train for a near-half-marathon in a month.

Maybe I'll compromise, though, and do it in my penguin jammies.

Eating my Veggies

I'd like to thank all of you who chimed in to voice your encouragement over my proposition of running another marathon this year. Although, I have to admit, I wish just one of you would have said, "you're flippin' nuts!" to help make my decision a little easier.

Wait a minute... a couple of you did say that. Never mind.

In an email conversation yesterday with another blogfriend of mine (shout out to Suzanne!), she suggested I was a lot like her in that we always need a carrot dangling in front of us... a running goal that is within our reach, but will require a little bit of effort to get there (or, in the case of a marathon, a whole helluva lot of effort). It'd be relatively easy for me to continue running half-marathons and, as evidenced by my last performance, it would be relatively easy for me to reach my goal of running a half-marathon under two hours. Half-marathons for me aren't really dangling carrots. Dangling zucchinis, maybe, but not carrots.

Almost a year ago, when I ran my first marathon, I got a license plate frame that reads: MARATHONER-- I do 26.2! I figured I'd earned my bragging rights and have had it proudly displayed on the back of my car ever since. But now I'm starting to wonder if it could be considered misrepresentation. False Advertisement. It doesn't say "MARATHONER-- I did 26.2!", which, although doesn't rhyme nearly as well, is the more technically accurate statement to be proclaiming to anyone who happens to pull up behind me in traffic.

And so, I am faced with quite a conundrum. Do I do 26.2? Or do I did 26.2? Is there a sequel in me or am I just a one-hit wonder?

How badly do I really want this carrot? And more importantly, if I go for the carrot, can I have the roast beef and potatoes with it?