My blogs reflect how I feel and what I think. Often they reflect a moment in time - a slice of how I feel that day. Other times it's something deeper, something that pulsates through me that I cannot control - I have to write about it in my own way. I proof them a couple times before before I hit the publish button. Sometimes I laugh. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes both. Once or twice I might have uttered the words "stick that in your pipe and smoke it" (my dad used that phrase from time to time). Lately the feedback is that my blogs are a tad angry and have one too many colorful words in them. True....and false. Ok, maybe more true than false. You will not find a single dirty, colorful, toilet bound word in my blog today.
I ran yesterday. Hee hee (see, happy not angry). 82 minutes of walking for two minutes, running for six, repeating until done. It wasn't about speed. It wasn't about form. It wasn't about training for a future race. Good Golly Miss Molly it wasn't even about hitting a certain mileage target. I just ran. I felt pretty good after the run - stretched and rolled after just to maintain my routine of prevention/recovery. Funny how you think all about prevention when you have an injury and tend to let it slip your mind when you feel fine. Why do we do this? Maybe because prevention takes time - which few of us have in surplus. I am now a believer. It has been preached to me for some time (Sharon) and reiterated by Dr Annie during my active release sessions. Will I continue to listen or will my thick head push it down to the recesses of my brain where the unimportant stuff resides? Stuff you don't really need but somehow feel like you have to keep it -who won the World Series in 89, geometry, always put the lid down when you're done, "i" before "e" except after...after...rats....
The run. I felt great. Knock on wood. Why knock on wood? We do that for luck. We do it because we are superstitious. We do it to ward off the evil of bad luck. I knocked on wood while wondering how I would feel later in the day and more important - the next day. Well here it is, day two. How do I feel? Pretty good I must say. The areas previously causing me to whimper and ask for my mommy feel ok today. I know they are there lurking in the background but they are in the background. That's where they will stay. Knock on wood. My calves are a tad sore but that's not really unexpected as the nearly 7 miles was the greatest distance I have traveled since early March.
Ok, one short story about my run. Though there were many of us running yesterday I ran alone - that's what happens when you walk/run. Also, I kind of like it. I love my fellow runners - love them! However at times you need to experience the trail alone. I ran the normal route and took a couple new trails which turned out to be pretty cool. Then I had to pee. When peeing in the woods one needs to find the perfect tree. A tree large enough to hide what is taking place is good. You also want to find one that gives you line of sight both in front and behind you so you know if anyone is coming. I struggled to find that tree and my bladder was very very close to release. Not having seen a soul for a while, I settled for a skinny little tree at the bend of the trail - just to be clear, I am not a skinny little tree guy. I'd be safer peeing in the California Redwoods....just sayin....Anyway, I am well into my ah..my bladder relief process when four girls run by. Where did they come from??? Each one about 5 yards back from the next. None of them moving very fast at all. Great. Mikey, a way too skinny tree, and endless pee that cannot be shut off. Hi girls....I'd wave but I'm a little busy right now....oh yes, beautiful day for a run.....no no, I'm fine, thanks anyway....
There is more than my running to knock on wood about. Things much more important. Taylor is having fewer seizures - knock on wood. Cameron made the Deans List and is doing great in school - knock on wood. My mom is not yet on dialysis and maybe she can avoid that - knock on wood. The sunbeam that warmed my face has also warmed my soul and I'd like it to stay with me forever - knock on wood. For my fellow injured runners, may today be a good day and tomorrow even better - knock on wood. To those uninjured, may you stay that way and run like the wind - knock on wood (and do your injury prevention exercises daily). Well what do you know? A happy blog with zero...count them zero...bad words (pee doesn't count).
* This blog has been rated G by the Blog Association of America a fully owned subsidy of the Motion Picture Association of America.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Driving with the brakes on
I am not a happy man today. My frustration level is off the charts. Not at you nor with you, but at myself. My recovery is simply not moving forward at a rate my brain acknowledges as movement. It's pace is like that of a glacier (less the global warming should you subscribe to that). It's like driving with the brakes on. I know, we all get injured, we all have stories, we all recover. Fine, tell me more, please oh please. I'll package it up and send it to some kid in Argentina - it doesn't help him either. You might think me pissy right now - maybe you don't like me - or maybe, just maybe you understand. Will that person step forward and raise their hand. A little higher please, I can't quite see it....
Have you even driven with one foot on the gas while resting the other gently on the brake? The fuel or energy you burn isn't the same. You need to expend more only to get less from it. Your progress is slowed. You are working against yourself and your engine pays the price. My engine I fear is fucked. Maybe it's worse - maybe the whole thing is totaled. That would be impossible I believe since I've not been in a wreak. I admit that there are enough parts and pieces of me that don't feel quite right that the repo man would drive right by figuring the remaining value isn't worth his effort. Come on Mikey, don't be that way. You're just feeling sorry for yourself. Really? I want to frickin run, lose weight, look in the mirror and count more than one ab. No, I'm not pregnant, just retaining a little water this week....but thanks for asking....jerk.
Here's the thing, sunshine is magic. Huh? Where the hell is he going with this? Another little yellow pill perhaps (NO!). Keep your pants on, I'm getting to it. Never...never before have I started a blog, walked away from it for hours then came back to finish. It's normally a sit on down and it just flows out - done. Today was different. I had knocked out the first two paragraphs when a sunbeam fell upon my face. It offered me a getaway, an escape. It's warmth was soothing, calming, and irresistible. My pain had not disappeared yet it was not the same poison that was pumping through my mind and body just minutes earlier. The sunbeam took me outside and carried me off. I was now on a journey. Hours flew by like minutes and my frustration began to melt away. Funny thing about that sunbeam - it never left me alone, never let my smile fade, it just stayed with me. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me but it might have even smiled back. I have always fancied sunbeams but this one was different. I must say I love that sunbeam.
Now the fact remains that I am having a dickins of a time getting all my parts and pieces working correctly. I know that this journey will force my emotions to ebb and flow until I am cured or I simply become used to the agitations my body inflicts on me. I will work on one thing at a time and maybe, maybe quit being so impatient. Those who know me also know that patience is not my strength. When I whine will you call me a PAMF or will you baby my feelings? Please don't baby me. Drive me. Crush me. Make my competitive side reach deep to find the things I can do while my body makes repairs to those areas in trouble. These small victories will help and who knows, maybe all this shit is tied together and something will click and all will be as it should be. That day I fear is not tomorrow nor the day after. I know it's out there though, it has to be. Until then I sure hope that sunbeam doesn't go anywhere. I'd like it to stay forever.
Have you even driven with one foot on the gas while resting the other gently on the brake? The fuel or energy you burn isn't the same. You need to expend more only to get less from it. Your progress is slowed. You are working against yourself and your engine pays the price. My engine I fear is fucked. Maybe it's worse - maybe the whole thing is totaled. That would be impossible I believe since I've not been in a wreak. I admit that there are enough parts and pieces of me that don't feel quite right that the repo man would drive right by figuring the remaining value isn't worth his effort. Come on Mikey, don't be that way. You're just feeling sorry for yourself. Really? I want to frickin run, lose weight, look in the mirror and count more than one ab. No, I'm not pregnant, just retaining a little water this week....but thanks for asking....jerk.
Here's the thing, sunshine is magic. Huh? Where the hell is he going with this? Another little yellow pill perhaps (NO!). Keep your pants on, I'm getting to it. Never...never before have I started a blog, walked away from it for hours then came back to finish. It's normally a sit on down and it just flows out - done. Today was different. I had knocked out the first two paragraphs when a sunbeam fell upon my face. It offered me a getaway, an escape. It's warmth was soothing, calming, and irresistible. My pain had not disappeared yet it was not the same poison that was pumping through my mind and body just minutes earlier. The sunbeam took me outside and carried me off. I was now on a journey. Hours flew by like minutes and my frustration began to melt away. Funny thing about that sunbeam - it never left me alone, never let my smile fade, it just stayed with me. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me but it might have even smiled back. I have always fancied sunbeams but this one was different. I must say I love that sunbeam.
Now the fact remains that I am having a dickins of a time getting all my parts and pieces working correctly. I know that this journey will force my emotions to ebb and flow until I am cured or I simply become used to the agitations my body inflicts on me. I will work on one thing at a time and maybe, maybe quit being so impatient. Those who know me also know that patience is not my strength. When I whine will you call me a PAMF or will you baby my feelings? Please don't baby me. Drive me. Crush me. Make my competitive side reach deep to find the things I can do while my body makes repairs to those areas in trouble. These small victories will help and who knows, maybe all this shit is tied together and something will click and all will be as it should be. That day I fear is not tomorrow nor the day after. I know it's out there though, it has to be. Until then I sure hope that sunbeam doesn't go anywhere. I'd like it to stay forever.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
My Little Yellow Pill
Let it be clear that I am not an addict nor do I endorse the use of non prescription drugs. That sounds a lot like a statement made on the last day of rehab. "No, I'm not just saying that to get out of here, I mostly...er...I completely believe it."
Like many great athletes, I have fallen into the trappings that come with too much fame and too much money. Wild sex parties, booze, and drugs. Oh the parties. One party rolls into the next and the next and the next, until one day you roll over and find a goat in your bed. At first you're disgusted but upon further examination you see that the goat actually looks better than some of the women you've been with. The goat mumbles something under its breath , trots off to pick up a six pack and never returns. Bastard.
Maybe it's not been quite like that but I will admit to becoming very friendly with some little yellow pills. You see (here comes my justification) my lower back has been hurting. Hurting to the point where I walk like an ape struggling with constipation. It started to seize up and spasm - too much of that and I'm on the floor for a couple days, unable to stand, unable to move. Who would come and empty my pee cup? Thank you. I know you would and that means a lot to me. On top of this, I just finished rehabbing two very tight muscles that had prevented me from running and had just received the all clear to run. F'ing back. I'd kick my own ass if I wasn't afraid I'd go into a muscle spasm and end up curled up in a ball on the floor crying for my mommy. Hey now, I only did that once so let's stop making such a big deal of it.
I was desperate. In the medicine cabinet I found some pills. Little yellow pills. The bottle indicated that they were to be used for muscle spasms and pain. Oh sweet Jesus, I'm saved! Now the prescription did not have my name on it however, there was something glorious on the bottom - the expiration date had not come and gone. Twenty minutes later I had figured out how to open the child proof cap and emptied a few into the palm of my hand. So innocent were they. Small pretty little yellow pills. Maybe I should try one. Then it came. You know, that little voice inside your head. It did not mince words with me. It said loud and clear - "TAKE ONE"....so I did. It was no big deal at first but hours later I begin to feel different. Not better but different. That was a week ago and I had that same conversation with the little voice every day since that day and it never let me down.
Thursday night I was told I was stoned. Today I went with the group on a trail run. I was going to walk to help loosen my back up. Running due to my F'ing back, was still taking a back seat. At the Y and on the drive to the trail, multiple comments were made about my lack of attention, my staring into nothing, and not quite being myself. Little yellow pill jokes were surfacing. I don't have a problem. I was on the trail for over 90 minutes today, most of it alone. At one point I suddenly begin to feel really good. I mean like nothing hurt, I was almost walking on air. I looked at the trail as it laid out before me and I heard it calling to me. Talking to me. Telling me it was ok to run. Everything would be ok. I kept walking and the road kept reaching up to me. I jogged a bit and we both smiled. Shortly I was around the corner and Anneke, Jen, and Robin were in the car waiting for me. I jogged towards them and slide in the car. Happy.
On the way to Starbucks and while sipping a coffee there, the girls mentioned my looking out into nothing and not being myself. I could feel that I wasn't all there but really could do little about it. Holy F'ing shit balls of fire, those yellow pills might have taken hold of me. I'd been taking them every day trying to get better. I probably had some mini interventions. Sharon had told me I was stoned. Jen and Robin giggled and shared similar words. Anneke said I wasn't myself. Gads...I'm a stoner. I committed to not take any more little yellow pills, nor the large white ones in the bottle next to them. That was hours ago and now I'm writing this blog with an ice pack on my back - yup, going old school. So worry not my friends, Mikey will be back to his old self Sunday morning. Maybe a bit shaky...maybe a bit sore...but he will be himself and really, you have to admit it, don't you just love that guy?!?!
Like many great athletes, I have fallen into the trappings that come with too much fame and too much money. Wild sex parties, booze, and drugs. Oh the parties. One party rolls into the next and the next and the next, until one day you roll over and find a goat in your bed. At first you're disgusted but upon further examination you see that the goat actually looks better than some of the women you've been with. The goat mumbles something under its breath , trots off to pick up a six pack and never returns. Bastard.
Maybe it's not been quite like that but I will admit to becoming very friendly with some little yellow pills. You see (here comes my justification) my lower back has been hurting. Hurting to the point where I walk like an ape struggling with constipation. It started to seize up and spasm - too much of that and I'm on the floor for a couple days, unable to stand, unable to move. Who would come and empty my pee cup? Thank you. I know you would and that means a lot to me. On top of this, I just finished rehabbing two very tight muscles that had prevented me from running and had just received the all clear to run. F'ing back. I'd kick my own ass if I wasn't afraid I'd go into a muscle spasm and end up curled up in a ball on the floor crying for my mommy. Hey now, I only did that once so let's stop making such a big deal of it.
I was desperate. In the medicine cabinet I found some pills. Little yellow pills. The bottle indicated that they were to be used for muscle spasms and pain. Oh sweet Jesus, I'm saved! Now the prescription did not have my name on it however, there was something glorious on the bottom - the expiration date had not come and gone. Twenty minutes later I had figured out how to open the child proof cap and emptied a few into the palm of my hand. So innocent were they. Small pretty little yellow pills. Maybe I should try one. Then it came. You know, that little voice inside your head. It did not mince words with me. It said loud and clear - "TAKE ONE"....so I did. It was no big deal at first but hours later I begin to feel different. Not better but different. That was a week ago and I had that same conversation with the little voice every day since that day and it never let me down.
Thursday night I was told I was stoned. Today I went with the group on a trail run. I was going to walk to help loosen my back up. Running due to my F'ing back, was still taking a back seat. At the Y and on the drive to the trail, multiple comments were made about my lack of attention, my staring into nothing, and not quite being myself. Little yellow pill jokes were surfacing. I don't have a problem. I was on the trail for over 90 minutes today, most of it alone. At one point I suddenly begin to feel really good. I mean like nothing hurt, I was almost walking on air. I looked at the trail as it laid out before me and I heard it calling to me. Talking to me. Telling me it was ok to run. Everything would be ok. I kept walking and the road kept reaching up to me. I jogged a bit and we both smiled. Shortly I was around the corner and Anneke, Jen, and Robin were in the car waiting for me. I jogged towards them and slide in the car. Happy.
On the way to Starbucks and while sipping a coffee there, the girls mentioned my looking out into nothing and not being myself. I could feel that I wasn't all there but really could do little about it. Holy F'ing shit balls of fire, those yellow pills might have taken hold of me. I'd been taking them every day trying to get better. I probably had some mini interventions. Sharon had told me I was stoned. Jen and Robin giggled and shared similar words. Anneke said I wasn't myself. Gads...I'm a stoner. I committed to not take any more little yellow pills, nor the large white ones in the bottle next to them. That was hours ago and now I'm writing this blog with an ice pack on my back - yup, going old school. So worry not my friends, Mikey will be back to his old self Sunday morning. Maybe a bit shaky...maybe a bit sore...but he will be himself and really, you have to admit it, don't you just love that guy?!?!
Monday, March 21, 2011
The Other Side
I have ran many a race in my short four years as a runner. In fact the racing bibs on my wall now tally 37. It may not surprise anyone that I save the bibs. Each one is dated and the finish time etched on the corner, least I forget. A handful have a special notation to indicate a 1st, 2nd, or 3rd place age group win. I'm not the fastest, but in my age group I can often do some damage. Each bib as a story behind it, most also have a blog. All this will help keep me honest when my grandkids ask me how fast I was when I was "young". Let's be clear, when that day comes, I'll still be racing and they'll come see for themselves as their old fart grandpa runs....jogs....wheels....his way across the finish line - no matter how long it takes. "Hey mister, don't take the finish sign down yet, my grandpa is still out there...."
Saturday I was at a 5k. Not as a runner, not as a spectator, but as part of a team putting this race on. While my part was small compared to others, it was the first time I was on the other side. It was also the first time I appreciated what it takes to take a 5k from an idea and turn it into an actual event. Flippin H baby, it's crazy! I wouldn't do it justice to try and list everything that is required because I know I would leave out so much - that's because it takes a village, with each tribe member doing their share to make it happen. The village also needs strong leaders - else you just have a bunch of well intended idiots running around creating havoc...or worse. We had that leadership in Sharon and Dana. Each shared the vision of raising money for a great cause and together they managed to wrangle up some volunteers and put together a plan. Though their styles were different, their hearts were pointed towards the same goal. Without them this race wouldn't have happened and the reality is that some kids would have to go without. Today was not that day however and those two are the reason. Thank you.
Oh, that list of stuff to do? Let's see...humm....Finding a location, getting permission, checking with the appropriate entities about permits and the legal stuff, securing vendors, finding sponsors, obtaining donations of food and goodies for the runners, ordering t-shirts, racing bibs, communicating the event, somehow finding a timing clock and timing gear and the people who knew how to use them, measuring the course, marking the course, securing volunteers to all sorts of duties that most runners take for granted, pre-registration, same day registration, and my friends, that's only half of it. The hours that go into an event like this seem endless.
It came together. The day of the race the clouds parted and we had blue skies above. We all went about our jobs - did I mention we needed to arrive at 6:30am for a 9:30 race? I poo pooed that idea and it turns out that I was wrong. Yup, Mikey was wrong. Dead wrong. There is so much to do on race day! My apologies to those of you who felt my frustration in this regard. I may have been a little snarky...One task I had was to help Steve hang the start/finish sign. One might say that it is a critical task. The day before we eyeballed where we'd put it. Upon further examination on race day, it turned out that we'd have to make an adjustment to make it work. Steve tossed a rope up one tree branch with the skill of a cowboy pulling in a stray steer. In no time we had that sign hung - straight and true. In the meantime, course signs were going up, balloons everywhere, the course re-walked for an accurate measurement, tables set up for registration and vendors, the finish chute and timing station was constructed. Whew....it was something to see. I did manage to grab a donut (two) and chat with some friends and vendors.
The race started only 5 minutes late with some words from the Y about Invest in Youth, some rules regarding the course and safety (me), and the start of the race via a bullhorn (Sharon). Sharon. Bullhorn. Sharon. Bullhorn. I'm not sure those two should have met - she was all over it! OMG she was a natural. It was actually funny to watch her cheer the runners on as they closed in on the finish. She cheered non-stop. At one point she was yelling through it and we realized that the volume was off and it was all her!
Albert and I got to wear these cool timing devices to track the runners when they crossed the finish line. The task was actually easy. Press the orange button each time a runner crosses. Press it once. One time only. Don't press it twice. Frickin hell, I must have an itchy trigger finger cause I double hit it a bunch of times. Albert on the other hand was calm and collected and didn't seem to have a problem at all. Turns out that they used his results and called mine the "backup".....Next year I'll be handing out water.
We had an awards ceremony at the end. Albert's brother Jerry won the race and Carrie (our Y-Tri sister) came in first for the women. Both received a free pair of running shoes from Run26 - how cool is that! Sponsors rock. So much more happen but honestly I don't know what. Once the race started my place was at the finish line, pressing the button and cheering as the runners came in. Runners finished and I'm sure there were celebrations with hugs and high fives. The last runner came in and it was time to clean up the course and pack it in. We hit Starbucks a little tired but happy. The run was a success. Everybody finished. No one got hurt. Everyone seemed to have a great time. I did. I'd do it again. The next race I run I'll be sure and say thank you to as many volunteers as I can. The organizers and volunteers are the heart of any race and I was proud of those I worked with and honored to have been part of something so important.
Saturday I was at a 5k. Not as a runner, not as a spectator, but as part of a team putting this race on. While my part was small compared to others, it was the first time I was on the other side. It was also the first time I appreciated what it takes to take a 5k from an idea and turn it into an actual event. Flippin H baby, it's crazy! I wouldn't do it justice to try and list everything that is required because I know I would leave out so much - that's because it takes a village, with each tribe member doing their share to make it happen. The village also needs strong leaders - else you just have a bunch of well intended idiots running around creating havoc...or worse. We had that leadership in Sharon and Dana. Each shared the vision of raising money for a great cause and together they managed to wrangle up some volunteers and put together a plan. Though their styles were different, their hearts were pointed towards the same goal. Without them this race wouldn't have happened and the reality is that some kids would have to go without. Today was not that day however and those two are the reason. Thank you.
Oh, that list of stuff to do? Let's see...humm....Finding a location, getting permission, checking with the appropriate entities about permits and the legal stuff, securing vendors, finding sponsors, obtaining donations of food and goodies for the runners, ordering t-shirts, racing bibs, communicating the event, somehow finding a timing clock and timing gear and the people who knew how to use them, measuring the course, marking the course, securing volunteers to all sorts of duties that most runners take for granted, pre-registration, same day registration, and my friends, that's only half of it. The hours that go into an event like this seem endless.
It came together. The day of the race the clouds parted and we had blue skies above. We all went about our jobs - did I mention we needed to arrive at 6:30am for a 9:30 race? I poo pooed that idea and it turns out that I was wrong. Yup, Mikey was wrong. Dead wrong. There is so much to do on race day! My apologies to those of you who felt my frustration in this regard. I may have been a little snarky...One task I had was to help Steve hang the start/finish sign. One might say that it is a critical task. The day before we eyeballed where we'd put it. Upon further examination on race day, it turned out that we'd have to make an adjustment to make it work. Steve tossed a rope up one tree branch with the skill of a cowboy pulling in a stray steer. In no time we had that sign hung - straight and true. In the meantime, course signs were going up, balloons everywhere, the course re-walked for an accurate measurement, tables set up for registration and vendors, the finish chute and timing station was constructed. Whew....it was something to see. I did manage to grab a donut (two) and chat with some friends and vendors.
The race started only 5 minutes late with some words from the Y about Invest in Youth, some rules regarding the course and safety (me), and the start of the race via a bullhorn (Sharon). Sharon. Bullhorn. Sharon. Bullhorn. I'm not sure those two should have met - she was all over it! OMG she was a natural. It was actually funny to watch her cheer the runners on as they closed in on the finish. She cheered non-stop. At one point she was yelling through it and we realized that the volume was off and it was all her!
Albert and I got to wear these cool timing devices to track the runners when they crossed the finish line. The task was actually easy. Press the orange button each time a runner crosses. Press it once. One time only. Don't press it twice. Frickin hell, I must have an itchy trigger finger cause I double hit it a bunch of times. Albert on the other hand was calm and collected and didn't seem to have a problem at all. Turns out that they used his results and called mine the "backup".....Next year I'll be handing out water.
We had an awards ceremony at the end. Albert's brother Jerry won the race and Carrie (our Y-Tri sister) came in first for the women. Both received a free pair of running shoes from Run26 - how cool is that! Sponsors rock. So much more happen but honestly I don't know what. Once the race started my place was at the finish line, pressing the button and cheering as the runners came in. Runners finished and I'm sure there were celebrations with hugs and high fives. The last runner came in and it was time to clean up the course and pack it in. We hit Starbucks a little tired but happy. The run was a success. Everybody finished. No one got hurt. Everyone seemed to have a great time. I did. I'd do it again. The next race I run I'll be sure and say thank you to as many volunteers as I can. The organizers and volunteers are the heart of any race and I was proud of those I worked with and honored to have been part of something so important.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Quicksand
We've all seen it in the movies. Someone falls into quicksand and slowly they get sucked down until one of two things happen - a nearby branch is just close enough that they are able to grab hold and slowly pull themselves from the sure death of suffocation (I'm not sure if one can drown in quicksand). The other is that someone hears their cry for help, comes running and pulls them to safety. If neither of these two scenarios play out, the result is an agonizingly slow demise as your body sinks deeper and deeper and no matter what you do, the end is inevitable. In fact the more you try to do and the more you panic, the quicker you sink. Death then, becomes your salvation. The fight is over.
I fell in quicksand a couple weeks ago. I experienced a minor groin pull. So what - sure easier for you to say because it's not you. Go ahead and say it. Why do you run if you're just going to get hurt? Screw you - I hate it when people say that to me. "They" are normally an out of shape P.A.F. that now feel justified sitting on the couch watching some crap on TV with their hand so deep in the bag of chips that you can no longer see their elbow. Anyway, seems that the issue stemmed from a couple very tight muscles that for whatever reason refuse to release. Bastards. So my running suffered. Sinking now. I reach for my branch which in this case is stretching and abusing my hard foam roller. The roller brings muffled whimpers and tears to my eyes but I know I have to do it. I believe it's helping. I do a couple slow 30 minute jogs. It doesn't feel right. It hurts. I sink further. Deep water conditioning is a great way to stay conditioned if a runner is injured. I can't do deep water. Still sinking. I eat. Why not? I eat crap. Weight gain greets me like an old friend. Not a good friend, an old friend I've meant to forget. With the added pounds my attitude slowly begins to shift. F me. I hate this. I feel like crap. Can I sink any further?
I tried a trail run today, super slow pace for me. We had two groups - the long distance runners and the short bus people. In my head I was one of the long distance runners until halfway through the run Sharon told me I was heading back. It hurt at first. Not physically, but emotionally - and that can hurt more. What do you mean I'm going back, I'm a long distance runner? Not today my friend, not today. I finished the run and my entire quad was searing and I simply could not walk without limping. I can taste the quicksand now.
My friends are running. I love to see them run but honestly it pains me to see their joy. Happy little runners zipping to and fro. Like little hummingbirds. What about me? Hello....I'm over here in the quicksand. Can you see me? I have quicksand up my ass and my head is going under. Isn't anyone going to save me? F me. I'm a goner.
I'm feeling sorry for myself even though I know I'm not alone. Albert was right there talking me off the ledge - he does that quite often and thank God he never tires of it. My multisport friends have been fantastic as well. They care. What's this? Have I stopped sinking? Dr Sharon invited me to her house for a "session". I used the black death roller and having survived that, Sharon came over to me with an interesting device that was then thrust with care into various parts of my quad and butt. I will admit that tears were running down my cheeks and I probably called out for Jesus to take me more than once. She then used the tool like a rolling pin up and down my leg with the pace of a sprinter. FH! I know it bothered her to cause me that much pain but I also know it was necessary and she did it because she cares.
My head has cleared the quicksand. Maybe I'll make it after all. My friends are here and the reality is that they always have been. Maybe I just needed to reach out and take their hand or simply ask for help. I'm not good at either. My leg still hurts and my activities are limited. My goal is not to let it change my attitude but to simply follow the path that will lead me to a full recovery. One that is not rushed nor too slow. In the meantime I ask for forgiveness if I'm a jerk - I don't mean to be. Thank you for your help and compassion - LYLACMF.
I fell in quicksand a couple weeks ago. I experienced a minor groin pull. So what - sure easier for you to say because it's not you. Go ahead and say it. Why do you run if you're just going to get hurt? Screw you - I hate it when people say that to me. "They" are normally an out of shape P.A.F. that now feel justified sitting on the couch watching some crap on TV with their hand so deep in the bag of chips that you can no longer see their elbow. Anyway, seems that the issue stemmed from a couple very tight muscles that for whatever reason refuse to release. Bastards. So my running suffered. Sinking now. I reach for my branch which in this case is stretching and abusing my hard foam roller. The roller brings muffled whimpers and tears to my eyes but I know I have to do it. I believe it's helping. I do a couple slow 30 minute jogs. It doesn't feel right. It hurts. I sink further. Deep water conditioning is a great way to stay conditioned if a runner is injured. I can't do deep water. Still sinking. I eat. Why not? I eat crap. Weight gain greets me like an old friend. Not a good friend, an old friend I've meant to forget. With the added pounds my attitude slowly begins to shift. F me. I hate this. I feel like crap. Can I sink any further?
I tried a trail run today, super slow pace for me. We had two groups - the long distance runners and the short bus people. In my head I was one of the long distance runners until halfway through the run Sharon told me I was heading back. It hurt at first. Not physically, but emotionally - and that can hurt more. What do you mean I'm going back, I'm a long distance runner? Not today my friend, not today. I finished the run and my entire quad was searing and I simply could not walk without limping. I can taste the quicksand now.
My friends are running. I love to see them run but honestly it pains me to see their joy. Happy little runners zipping to and fro. Like little hummingbirds. What about me? Hello....I'm over here in the quicksand. Can you see me? I have quicksand up my ass and my head is going under. Isn't anyone going to save me? F me. I'm a goner.
I'm feeling sorry for myself even though I know I'm not alone. Albert was right there talking me off the ledge - he does that quite often and thank God he never tires of it. My multisport friends have been fantastic as well. They care. What's this? Have I stopped sinking? Dr Sharon invited me to her house for a "session". I used the black death roller and having survived that, Sharon came over to me with an interesting device that was then thrust with care into various parts of my quad and butt. I will admit that tears were running down my cheeks and I probably called out for Jesus to take me more than once. She then used the tool like a rolling pin up and down my leg with the pace of a sprinter. FH! I know it bothered her to cause me that much pain but I also know it was necessary and she did it because she cares.
My head has cleared the quicksand. Maybe I'll make it after all. My friends are here and the reality is that they always have been. Maybe I just needed to reach out and take their hand or simply ask for help. I'm not good at either. My leg still hurts and my activities are limited. My goal is not to let it change my attitude but to simply follow the path that will lead me to a full recovery. One that is not rushed nor too slow. In the meantime I ask for forgiveness if I'm a jerk - I don't mean to be. Thank you for your help and compassion - LYLACMF.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Reunion
Reunions - who cares? I realize that a lot of people do, I just never have. I remember going to my first high school reunion. It was our 10 year (I had skipped the 5 year). I was so unimpressed that it was ridiculous. Hadn't these people grown up and finally understood that everything didn't have to revolve around drinking and dirty jokes? Maybe it was me. After all I didn't blend well in school - I did my own thing and had a very small cluster of friends. My goal was to rock the GPA, graduate early, and get a job. I did. Once I determined that I had enough credits to graduate, it was one short meeting with my counselor and I was out of there - see ya suckers! In less than a month I landed a job with the company I would give 29 years of hard work and loyalty too.
I wasn't very social in high school - never dated - didn't care too. I was there to get out. There were many downsides. One being little dating experience...lots of the people I knew "had been around the block once or twice" (or at least claimed they had) and I'd not quite moved off the sidewalk. Whatever. Looking back I was a bit shy. If a girl wanted to talk to me she better be prepared to start the conversation, keep it rolling, and decide when it was over. My job was to maintain eye contact. Don't let the eyes wander...no...stop...look at her eyes...her eyes...that's better. Another downside was that shifting from high school directly to a full time job (earning the monster sum of $450 a month) required me to attack my college degree at night. The downside to that downside was that it took for frickin forever....the upside, I was making bank....or so it seemed. $450 a month and living at home - sweet baby!
So why this blog about reunions? My best friend from high school called me last week about an upcoming 25 year reunion of our city league soccer team. Many moons ago I played quite a bit of soccer. I wasn't great in terms of skill, but I was fast. They put me in the forward position and our main play was for someone to kick the ball as far as they could and see if I could out run the defender, get the ball first, and score a goal. It wasn't the most strategic plan but it worked well. Sooner or later the other teams would put two guys on me and let's just say the game became a bit rougher. I remember dislocating my jaw in this no contact sport. It was a bitch when the doc popped it back into place...ouch! The day came when we got a real coach who used to play for Manchester United and knew his shit. He moved me to defense using the logic that most Americans shove the fast guys up front so we better have faster guys in the back to cut them off, take the ball and turn it back up field. I loved it! Big guys racing down with the ball and 120 pound Mikey would take the ball away and run it back to help set up a goal. Anyway 25 years ago we won our division, made it through the playoffs and had the big city league championship game played in Civic Stadium. We lost 3-1 but it was an incredible experience.
Thus the reunion and I don't want to go. I haven't seen these people in nearly 23 years and even Vince, my best friend in high school and I see each other only once maybe every few years. Why would I want to drive to Portland for what would be an awkward evening, probably too many beers, and stories about the big game that likely are a far stretch from what really happened? Oh, and then there's the "Hi, remember me? Yes, I used to have hair...no, I'm divorced now...." Sounds like a great time. Geez, I reread that and I kinda sound like an asshole. Truth is I am thinking about going (5% yes/95% no) The thing is that Vince wants me to go. The guy has a heart the size of the moon and is all sentimental about this kind of thing. I could hear the disappointment in his voice when we talked. I left him with a "maybe" though we both knew the odds were against it.
Who knows, maybe you'll see a blog about my reunion experience snuck in among the race stories. My life is about moving forward but not at the expense of forgetting the important things in my past. Maybe this is one of them. Maybe I'm meant to go. Maybe we'll go. Looking over at the passenger seat may be all I need to make it a great trip. That in of itself could be a blog but that is for another day. Today I'll close my eyes and remember beating the keeper, tucking the ball away on the far right post, turning toward my teammates and running with my arms held high because one of them had just delivered to me the perfect pass.
I wasn't very social in high school - never dated - didn't care too. I was there to get out. There were many downsides. One being little dating experience...lots of the people I knew "had been around the block once or twice" (or at least claimed they had) and I'd not quite moved off the sidewalk. Whatever. Looking back I was a bit shy. If a girl wanted to talk to me she better be prepared to start the conversation, keep it rolling, and decide when it was over. My job was to maintain eye contact. Don't let the eyes wander...no...stop...look at her eyes...her eyes...that's better. Another downside was that shifting from high school directly to a full time job (earning the monster sum of $450 a month) required me to attack my college degree at night. The downside to that downside was that it took for frickin forever....the upside, I was making bank....or so it seemed. $450 a month and living at home - sweet baby!
So why this blog about reunions? My best friend from high school called me last week about an upcoming 25 year reunion of our city league soccer team. Many moons ago I played quite a bit of soccer. I wasn't great in terms of skill, but I was fast. They put me in the forward position and our main play was for someone to kick the ball as far as they could and see if I could out run the defender, get the ball first, and score a goal. It wasn't the most strategic plan but it worked well. Sooner or later the other teams would put two guys on me and let's just say the game became a bit rougher. I remember dislocating my jaw in this no contact sport. It was a bitch when the doc popped it back into place...ouch! The day came when we got a real coach who used to play for Manchester United and knew his shit. He moved me to defense using the logic that most Americans shove the fast guys up front so we better have faster guys in the back to cut them off, take the ball and turn it back up field. I loved it! Big guys racing down with the ball and 120 pound Mikey would take the ball away and run it back to help set up a goal. Anyway 25 years ago we won our division, made it through the playoffs and had the big city league championship game played in Civic Stadium. We lost 3-1 but it was an incredible experience.
Thus the reunion and I don't want to go. I haven't seen these people in nearly 23 years and even Vince, my best friend in high school and I see each other only once maybe every few years. Why would I want to drive to Portland for what would be an awkward evening, probably too many beers, and stories about the big game that likely are a far stretch from what really happened? Oh, and then there's the "Hi, remember me? Yes, I used to have hair...no, I'm divorced now...." Sounds like a great time. Geez, I reread that and I kinda sound like an asshole. Truth is I am thinking about going (5% yes/95% no) The thing is that Vince wants me to go. The guy has a heart the size of the moon and is all sentimental about this kind of thing. I could hear the disappointment in his voice when we talked. I left him with a "maybe" though we both knew the odds were against it.
Who knows, maybe you'll see a blog about my reunion experience snuck in among the race stories. My life is about moving forward but not at the expense of forgetting the important things in my past. Maybe this is one of them. Maybe I'm meant to go. Maybe we'll go. Looking over at the passenger seat may be all I need to make it a great trip. That in of itself could be a blog but that is for another day. Today I'll close my eyes and remember beating the keeper, tucking the ball away on the far right post, turning toward my teammates and running with my arms held high because one of them had just delivered to me the perfect pass.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Air
Air. Oxygen. Critical for respiration. Safe to say it's something we embrace. There was a time it came easy. A time I didn't really think about it. It was there when I needed it and I took it for granted. As a little kid I would run around the yard, climb trees, ride my bike, scream when the mood hit me, and chase girls (they were faster then TOO). In early 99 I found that exercise induced asthma was the reason for my recent struggles with running. Part way into a race I simply could not get enough oxygen into my lungs and I would become weak and my breathing was more like panting. The final mile was more survival than anything else. The finish line meant a chance to stop and try to catch my breath. As hard as I tried, a full deep breath was impossible. It's a scary feeling to try as hard as you can to breathe and only succeed in a shallow short gasp of air followed by coughing. Wheezing was a partner in this crime. In time I would get back to normal and move on.
After some tests it was determined that I would become inhaler dependent. One for the morning and evening, another if I chose to run. I chose to run and the inhaler was magic. Air was back and running was fun again!!! Best of all, I was able to run with Sharon and Albert again....or is it that they were able to run with me.. :)
So there I was, taking oxygen for granted again - well, not like I used to because sucking on an inhaler is a constant reminder that no one is invincible. We all have our "inhalers" and we find a way to adjust our lives to them. We don't let them change us or at least we shouldn't.
Two months ago I started to struggle again. From time to time I would need to take my exercise inhaler after a run in addition to taking it before. The time to time became more frequent and I blamed it on cold weather. I'm good at deflecting anything related to my health. In fact I excel at it. Can you say s-t-u-p-i-d? The past 3 weeks I've needed it during a run which of course I can't take since I had just taken it. My frickin chest gets heavy and air once again is elusive. F ***! So am I back to square one or am I worse? Logic would say worse because what helped me yesterday isn't doing the trick today. Scary? Yes. Let's hope it's just my asthma and nothing else. Ok mom, I know you're reading this thinking you need to be calling 911. But guess what? I visit the doc on Monday. :) I'm sure I will get some heavy duty inhaler that takes two hands just to hold, with side effects that will make my hair fall out (don't say it), cause me to become impotent, and hell, let's toss in uncontrollable flatulence. Truth be told it'd not be a bad trade to be able to breathe again. You all may not think so nor would many of you sit next to me anymore.
Maybe I should just suck it up. I know people who have much tougher cards handed to them and they step up and move forward every day. That impresses me, they impress me. It could be that my fast days are behind me and my blog will become Jog...don't run. It could be that I get new meds and I start setting new race records. Like life, time will tell. But just because I'm standing next to you and something stinks, it's not necessarily me...
After some tests it was determined that I would become inhaler dependent. One for the morning and evening, another if I chose to run. I chose to run and the inhaler was magic. Air was back and running was fun again!!! Best of all, I was able to run with Sharon and Albert again....or is it that they were able to run with me.. :)
So there I was, taking oxygen for granted again - well, not like I used to because sucking on an inhaler is a constant reminder that no one is invincible. We all have our "inhalers" and we find a way to adjust our lives to them. We don't let them change us or at least we shouldn't.
Two months ago I started to struggle again. From time to time I would need to take my exercise inhaler after a run in addition to taking it before. The time to time became more frequent and I blamed it on cold weather. I'm good at deflecting anything related to my health. In fact I excel at it. Can you say s-t-u-p-i-d? The past 3 weeks I've needed it during a run which of course I can't take since I had just taken it. My frickin chest gets heavy and air once again is elusive. F ***! So am I back to square one or am I worse? Logic would say worse because what helped me yesterday isn't doing the trick today. Scary? Yes. Let's hope it's just my asthma and nothing else. Ok mom, I know you're reading this thinking you need to be calling 911. But guess what? I visit the doc on Monday. :) I'm sure I will get some heavy duty inhaler that takes two hands just to hold, with side effects that will make my hair fall out (don't say it), cause me to become impotent, and hell, let's toss in uncontrollable flatulence. Truth be told it'd not be a bad trade to be able to breathe again. You all may not think so nor would many of you sit next to me anymore.
Maybe I should just suck it up. I know people who have much tougher cards handed to them and they step up and move forward every day. That impresses me, they impress me. It could be that my fast days are behind me and my blog will become Jog...don't run. It could be that I get new meds and I start setting new race records. Like life, time will tell. But just because I'm standing next to you and something stinks, it's not necessarily me...
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