In which I attempt to run

After rolling my right ankle I gave myself a week off from running to let it heal up.

After yesterday's successful bootcamp class, I figured it (and the previously tight Achilles) were good to go, so off I went to the gym this morning.

I walked for 10 minutes on the treadmill, then got off and stretched my Achilles for a bit, just to make sure.

Then I hopped back on, pushed off and started running, slowly, easily.

I felt good right away, but I kept it easy. Then, after 10 minutes, I dialed it up, everything was back to normal. I felt strong and loose and easy.

I got a good 30 minutes in, then walked another 10 to cool down and stretched out my Achilles one last time. Everything still felt good. Excellent.

Because I have a race Sunday.

I know, OK, just hear me out on this one: I was supposed to run a 5K in August that happened to unfortunately coincide with Hurricane Irene's landfall in Massachusetts. The race was rescheduled to this Sunday. After last week I wasn't sure if I could run it, but everything feels OK, and it's only a 5K, so I'm giving it a go.

And, in other horrifying running news, I spoke two words today to a friend that I never thought I would say out loud:

Spring. Half.

In which I am done sitting shiva

Thank you Jesus, I went to bootcamp this morning and got a good sweat on.

My ankle was strong, my Achilles was loose and I was so happy to be there, even when I rolled ass over tea kettle off the physio ball and even again when I looked like I was trying to impregnate it.

Hey, that thing is tricky.

My trainer surmised the Achilles tightened up because I iced and rested it all weekend. Yes, that was the right course of action, but I also should have stretched it to loosen it up. Ah ha, that makes sense. And that's why he's the trainer and I'm off in the corner humping the physio ball...

So, all good stuff this morning. Tomorrow I think I will try a short, easy run on the treadmill at the gym. It will be an entire week since I've run, I want to give it a go. An easy, light go. If anything doesn't feel right, I'll make for the stationary bike.

I am over it. Let's get back to bad-ass health and fitness business, shall we?

October '11: Home Weigh-In 1

I really, really needed some good news on the scale this morning to combat the absolutely crappy four days that proceeded it.

However, I didn't want to get my hopes up because I haven't been able to work out since last Friday. That's the longest I've gone in between workouts in 5 months.

I've been sticking to my 29 daily Points (come home, Activity Points, I miss you!) and staying within them, but minus the exercise I wasn't sure what my body would give up.

Plus, I've been hopped up on Ibuprofen since Friday and traditionally I retain water when I take those meds.

I hit the scale this morning with no expectations - I couldn't bear any more disappointment because I've had my fill this week.

So you can imagine how very happy I was to see 162.8 on the display, which means I'm down 2 lbs from last week. Excellent. Almost halfway through Operation October 5.1 already.

In which I pout

So, who's been feeling bad for herself? Raise your hand.

Just me, eh?

*exhale* OK, well I'm gave myself yesterday to listen to emo music and pout around and not return phone calls. Sorry, I needed a good sulk.

Surprisingly, what I don't need is a shelf of baked goods or ice cream or anything else high-Point in large portions. I don't need food to feel better.

I know, that really surprised me, too. Guess that's a silver lining to this craptacular weekend.

I realized Columbus Day is historically not a good time for me. I spent last Columbus Day puking my guts out, having caught a stomach bug from my eldest.

Then yesterday, instead of running the race to which I looked so forward, I went to BJs to buy Chobani (for me) and chicken nuggets (for the kids), then came home and mowed the lawn, after hitting myself in the forehead with the edge of the van door.

Awesome. I think I'd take the puking thing over yesterday because at least with that, I had a WW weigh-in the next day and I lost 5 lbs. If you've got to suffer through a puke bug, at least grab it the day before weigh-in, get something for all your trouble.

What's annoying me most is my ankle is, like, 90% healed. Unfortunately, the 10% I need to run is the 10% I don't have - at least not yet.

I woke up yesterday, so sad, and all I wanted to do was go to the gym and get a sweat on to feel better. But I can't go to the gym because my ankle's not ready yet. And that makes me sad, which makes me want to go to the gym... Rinse and repeat.

This is one of the Star Trek causality loops that can give you a headache if you think about it too long. So don't.

I am going to bootcamp tomorrow morning. I haven't worked out in 4 days and I am going nuts. My ankle feels good and I'm anxious to see how my Achilles is faring, too. I'm sure my trainer can give me modifications if anything feels amiss and I'd like his advice on the whole Achilles thing in general, getting back to running, etc.

I know it's incredibly self-indulgent and juvenile to be so upset about something so trivial, but it wasn't trivial to me.

I do want to thank Kelly, who left me the nicest comment ever. I'm sorry I guilt-tripped you, but if something good came out of it, I am happy. And be thankful I wasn't trying to guilt you on purpose because, wow, you wouldn't know what hit you if I did. I'm quite good at it. Thanks again.

In which I drop out of the race

Head's up: This post is going to have some R-rated language in it, so if that's not your scene (and good for you if it isn't) come back later this week when I'm posting about Trader Joe's or some other bullshit. Ooops, sorry, started early there...

‎15 weeks. 45 training runs. 151 miles total. And it all came down to a 1/4-mile test run tonight to see how my ankle fared. And it didn't.

I think what stings the most is my ankle felt very normal all day. I was really optimistic that I would be able to run tomorrow. I heated and wrapped my ankle all day and dosed myself with Motrin in anticipation of a short, light, quarter-mile run tonight to see how it held up.

I cued up my Nano and walked for about 5 minutes to loosen up. I was really nervous to take that first step, pushing off my right foot and landing on my left for the first time since I rolled my ankle, a mere 72 hours before the race.

What if it didn't feel OK? Then I couldn't run the race. The race I had been looking forward to and training for and dreaming about for four months. Four fucking months, people.

I used to be a person who bailed on something tough after 4 days. But this time I hung in there. Getting up at the ass-crack of dawn to run in the heat and the humidity, the rain and the fog. In the dark. In the cold. Wearing a hat, gloves and a headlamp so I can see. At sunrise. Sunset. Every training run on the page, I did them all. I had fun. I was so proud of myself after every single one.

For the first time, I was completely and utterly ready for a race. I had this in the bag. My biggest responsibility this weekend was going to be compiling the most kick-ass playlist ever.

But getting back to tonight, I couldn't just walk around my neighborhood forever, I had to take that step. I hit play on one of my favorite running songs, "Enterprising Young Men" from the latest Star Trek movie (seriously, an amazing running track) and pushed off. And landed.

As the music pulsed through my head I tried to be objective about how I felt. Because, truly, the last thing I wanted was to injure myself for the long term as that would mean no running and, possibly, no bootcamp. No exercise makes the eating part of weight loss and maintenance extremely hard, and it's already hard enough, so I need exercise.

I can't believe I actually typed that, but now it is true. I need exercise. I am happier and healthier when I do.

After a minute I realized that my ankle felt OK. Excellent. But my Achilles heel was tight. Very tight. Too tight. I kept running, hoping it would loosen. A couple minutes later, Is it looser? No. Aww, shit. How would it feel after 6 miles?

I've never had an Achilles injury, but they are a bitch. I talked to a close friend after my test run. He's a veteran runner and has had Achilles injuries. They take forever to heal if they get bad. Weeks. Months. He wasn't trying to influence my decision, but he was being honest. And, being honest with myself, I knew what I had to do. And it fucking sucks.

As a responsible adult, I know it's stupid to be a narcissistic jack-off, so upset about missing a fucking road race, but I can't help it.

This part of my story was not supposed to end this way.

Sometime during every run I would think about the race. Envision running through Boston, strong and confident. I would take that final left onto Charles Street and see the chutes in the distance. The event photographer would be there and I would make sure I sucked in my stomach so I got a good photo as I sprinted the final distance, crossing the finish line, tying a bow on this amazing, for me, goal.

There would be great smirking photos of me and my best friend, sweaty post race. And then we'd go have a beer and relish a good race.

Now, poof, thanks to dumb fucking luck that is all gone.

I know in 24, 48 hours I will have a better perspective on this. The disappointment will subside and, yes, I know there will be other races.

But this, right now, really, truly fucking sucks.

In which I am still lame

So yesterday I injured my ankle in the least-cool, most-lame way.

I was incredibly bummed last night, the thought of not running Monday's race making me tear up just at the thought.

Then, overnight, all I dreamt about was running the race, but I couldn't get there, obstacles in my way at every turn.

I woke up frustrated from the dream and in need of Motrin.

I RICEd my ankle all day Friday, so when I woke up and unwrapped the ace bandage this morning, I was really happy to see the swelling nearly gone and no bruising anywhere. Phew, that ruled out a severe sprain.

I gave it a test walk, gently, and I could walk relatively normally given the stiffness from the overnight compression. I continued to RICE all day today, switching to heat this afternoon.

Everything seems to be progressing well, except I have little flexibility from the ankle bone back through to my Achilles' heel. If the race were tomorrow, I would not run it.

Many of my friends and family have been very supportive, leaving messages on Facebook or calling me to see how I'm doing. The undercurrent is, with nearly all of them, "There will be other races."

And I know that, I really do. And I will not race Monday if I feel I could do any major damage to my ankle. I don't want a Pyrrhic victory - getting through this race at the expensive of having to sit on the sidelines for any physical activity for weeks.

I've come to accept the fact that if I can't race Monday, I can't. I know there will be other races, I just really want to run this one.

I did have one interesting experience Friday that I forgot to mention. Right after I hurt my ankle, I took the kids straight home and got them settled before getting an ice wrap out of the freezer and wrapping my ankle.

I was standing in the kitchen, almost nauseous at the reality of my situation. Fifteen weeks of training. 72 hours before the race. Injured. Possibly not racing. Then I heard it in my head: "I want something."

Then I got scared because "something" means "food" - and not an apple.

I hadn't heard that all-or-nothing voice in forever - months even - and there it was, trying to take advantage of the situation.

In a microsecond the rationale was in my head, "Well, if you can't run this race, why not have something to cheer yourself up?"

It was frightening how quickly it appeared and rationalized itself.

I thought about it for maybe 5 seconds, but thankfully reminded myself that if I felt bad about injuring my ankle, I would feel really bad about overeating junk to make myself feel better.

In which there is drama

I just can't believe this.

Seriously, there had to be a hitch. Really?

Took the kids apple picking today and, schlepping all their crap back to the car, arms full of pumpkins, apples, etc., I (pardon my French) fucking roll my ankle.

Fifteen weeks of training and I hurt an ankle 72 hours before the gun goes off.

Everything but me drops to the ground and I feel it start to balloon. Trying not to freak out and collapse into a pile of goo, I get everyone to the car and driving home call my husband, asking him to come home early so I can RICE the damn thing. I hang up, then collapse into a pile of goo.

My husband came home and taped me up over the ice pack. That's what's bulging under the bandage, not my ankle, thank God.

I've been RICEing all day and will continue to do whatever it takes so I can run Monday.

I'm not even entertaining the thought of not running. It cannot happen.