Chapter Eight - In Which Our Heroine Devises a Plan

First of all, anyone who said childbirth is the most painful experience there is must never have had shin splints. Now, I've never actually experienced the messy, wet, and scream-inducing process of bringing forth life from my loins BUT I have had shin splints. And after a liberal application of Icy-Hot, living with shin splints for a week is a messy, wet, and scream-inducing process that rivals any other.

I'm just sayin'.

On a completely different note, my four-and-a-half mile run scheduled for today was the epitome of an epiphany. See, up until now, running a mile at a leisurely pace took me about 15 minutes. Today, I discovered that if I walk quickly for ten minutes, then start running at a pace of four miles an hour, I can walk half a mile and run the other half at steadily increasing speeds in the same amount of time as running the whole mile takes. Now for most people, this wouldn't matter much. Most runners wouldn't understand the point of this when I could just as easily run the whole mile slowly in fifteen minutes.

But for someone like me, with legs so long it seems as if they were made for running reeeeeally fast for very short distances (or made to kick someone in the head from three feet away as my good friend, the late Anthony Nguyen said about his hope for my future career as a famous female kickboxer), distance running is tedious and also painful, as the strides are shorter yet seem to take more time. Being able to increase my speed in increments to a point that I feel comfortable with makes the running less... impossible.

I'm positive I would have made it through the whole four and a half damn miles, too, but I forgot my inhaler in the car, and I had some trouble breathing.

That, and the battery ran out on my mp3 player. I hate running in silence.

Chapter Seven - In Which Our Heroine is Told to Quit

As a runner-in-training with asthma, I've been worried a lot lately because I can't seem to get through most of my workouts anymore. I was under the incorrect impressions that not only is my asthma not as bad as it obviously is, but that my "not so bad" asthma would ease up with the increased lung capacity I thought I would gain while training.

But, I was wrong. My asthma is actually much worse than I originally believed it was, and I'm currently in the process of trying to find a doctor in Miami who will diagnose and treat my lung problems. I thought that I only had asthma when I had an asthma attack, but, just like the commercial says: I still have asthma, even though I don't always show symptoms.

To make matters worse, because I didn't realize how serious my breathing problems were, I didn't realize how slim the chances of my lung capacity increasing were, too. Everything combined, along with thinking that now that I was a runner I could eat whatever I wanted (which wasn't necessarily BAD food, just not the kind of food that fuels you for a long workout), has conspired against me. I have spent the majority of this week thinking I should quit.

And then I was told I should quit. I liken the following phenomenon to the notion that I can say whatever I want about my mama, but you better be damn sure you don't talk smack about her. Following this way of thinking, I can wonder whether or not I should quit... I can even seriously contemplate just giving up... but the minute someone told me that I should quit; that I couldn't do it anymore; that I wasn't healthy enough to do it anymore... I said, "Fuck that."

So I'm not quitting. Yes, there are concessions I'm going to have to make. I'm going to have to drastically change my diet (yes, again, I thought changing it at the beginning of my damn training was bad enough!) in order to energize myself as much as possible (goodbye work-provided chai lattes, hello water bottle, dammit). I'm going to have to do the majority of my training in the gym, at least until it gets a lot less humid outside (in Miami? Yeah, right). I'm going to have to stop drinking COMPLETELY (well, maybe not completely... ok, ok, fine... wait, how about just one night a week?). But it will all be worth it if I can at least prove to myself that I can continue doing it, even if it means not actually running the race.

Time will tell whether or not the race gets run... but the journey will continue.

Chapter Six - In Which Our Heroine Finds a New Training Tool

I have discovered a whole new kind of torture in my training travails: the Hash Run.

For those of you unaware of what a Hash Run is, kindly allow me to explain. A Hash Run combines two of my current favorite things: running and beer. In a Hash Run, the Hares set off to mark a trail that the rest of the Hashers have to follow to two specific points: the halfway point, where there's beer; and the On After, where there's beer. However, the Hares also tend to "fuck" Hashers by sending them off the right trail, which can lead to some frustration and a little bit of the dry heaves. All in all, you end up running approximately four miles and making approximately forty new friends.

So, I participated in such a run last night. It was kind of a kick in the ass, I'll admit, as today I feel as if I have been hit by a mack truck and then pummeled with a two by four. But I enjoyed it so much that I think I'm going back for more on Thursday. Until then, I've also decided to continue my training outdoors from now own. Stay tuned for more pain-induced rants.

Chapter Five - In Which Our Heroine Falls Off the Wagon, But Not on Purpose

I'm two days into my fourth week of training, and I'm realizing that I am looking forward to running more and more every day. Don't get me wrong, I'm nowhere near loving it yet, but I have two and a half more months to get there. I am experiencing a touch of the elusive "runner's high" that so many people talk about. Someone was telling me a few weeks ago that the runner's high is similar (but not the same) to an orgasm. I asked if that's why I've been getting a strange case of the chills/cold sweats halfway during my runs. She said that I'm probably experiencing my own kind of beginner's runner's high. I was so proud of that.

Which is why it's so surprising how easy it is to fall out of a routine, no matter how much you enjoy it. Last Tuesday evening I went running with Elyssa. It was only the second time I had been running outside, but the first time was at the running loop by her apartment, which is relatively flat ground. Tuesday night, we went running through a neighborhood on the beach towards the boardwalk and back again. All in all, it was about three and a half miles of not necessarily rugged terrain, but uneven terrain at best.

I'm sure everyone knows by now what a shoddy athlete I am, and because I'm such a piss-poor runner, I obviously don't know how to stretch properly. Because even though I DID stretch, I swear it!, I obviously didn't stretch enough, because the shin splints I experienced the next day made me hope and pray for an epidural-free birthing process instead.

Not only that, but my Superwoman-wannabe self thought that cross-training by playing tennis that evening would be the PERFECT remedy for my injury. Adding insult to injury - literally - was the unexpected one mile walk to the tennis court, a two hour "game", and the still-unexpected one mile walk back from the tennis court. Ouch.

Needless to say, Thursday's intense bouts of pain precluded me from my anticipated run that evening. In fact, Friday's intense bouts of pain did, too. Now, there's absolutely no reason that I couldn't have just gotten right back on the horse Saturday, but Friday EVENING'S debauchery left me couch-ridden for the majority of the day and early evening. Sunday saw me grabbing coffee with Diva in South Beach in the afternoon. Again, I had every intention of running that evening, but socializing (something I've done so little of since I started training) won out once again.

So that brings me to Monday. Right? Wrong. I was ready to run. No more pain in my legs, no more hangover, no more opportunities to hang out with cute new man specimens. What's more, I was looking forward to it. Tropical Storm Fay had other plans. Between yesterday and today, I've been cooped up in one building or another, avoiding the storm and most unfortunately NOT running.

Which brings me back to my original point: I've missed running. It's only been a few days, but I've noticed in those few days that running has been my pro bono therapist. Besides my physical injuries of the past week, my personal life has been a whirlwind of bullshit sprinkled with crap. Being stuck in between two semi-feuding friends, ending a pseudo-relationship that did nothing but cause me aggravation, and wrestling with a whole other set of mucked up feelings for someone else... all those things go away when I run. The only thing I concentrate on while I'm out there is breathing enough to stay alive and not stepping on that small rock coming up ahead. Making sure I put one foot in front of the other and that I judge the upcoming curve in the road correctly so I don't run off the side (I would do something like that).

I miss running. I can't wait to go back to running. Tomorrow, I go running.

Chapter Four - In Which Our Heroine Wonders Why Results Can't Be Immediate, Dammit?!

This is only the second day of my third week of training, but I feel like I've been training my whole life, and I still don't see myself making it much past five miles.

I ran outside for the second time today, with Elyssa. We "ran" the four mile loop by her house yesterday, but I use the term "ran" loosely. Very loosely. More like "walked really quickly and pretended to run when people passed us, then slowed back to a walk when they were gone". What? I was having a lazy day.

Today, however, today was a completely different story. For the most part, we ran the better part of three miles. Hellooooo, lactic acid! I'm feeling it in my calves and thighs already.

It's kind of amazing, because everyday I come home wondering if I'm really up for this and whether or not I can keep doing it. And everyday I keep running. I think I can kind of, halfway understand why runners do this.

Not saying I'm a runner or anything.

Just saying I think I can understand it.

Chapter Three - In Which Our Heroine Realizes She Needs to Post a Bit More Often

So I believe I may have figured out why I hit that ever-looming wall so damn hard this week: I'm not a runner.

Yes, I know the phrase "no shit, Sherlock" comes to mind, but bare with me. I'm not a runner. So OBVIOUSLY I don't know how to train like a runner. I found out I wasn't running upright (which brought to mind visions of me running with my knuckles dragging on the ground), and also, I wasn't stretching properly. And by properly I mean at all.

So I stood up straight just like Mamadukes has always told me to, and began stretching much more intensely before every run. Things have been fine since. At least with the running.

The weight training on the other hand, well, that's another story. Usually weight training is not really a problem for me. In fact, I quite enjoy weight training, much more so than cardio, which I'm sure I've made clear is the bane of my existence. Well, I've been training with Elyssa at her apartment gym a lot lately. She lives in an exclusive Aventura high-rise with a pretty bad-ass in-house gym. The other day I decided that I would venture out of the realm of upper body strength machines and low number free weights and use a complicated-looking cable and pulley system that has been looming from the far wall of the gym since I started training.

Now don't get me wrong, I've seen said contraption at other gyms before, namely at Agustina's apartment gym. However, there is a notoriously good-looking tattooed guy who infuriatingly hogs said machine and makes all kinds of ridiculous grunting noises and slams the weights down. I hate him. He has these teeny tiny little legs, and a disproportionately large upper body... probably because he literally spends hours upon hours hogging this cable pulley contraption.

Anydamnway, I decided to use the cable pulley system at Elyssa's gym. I've used this machine before, mostly for tricep work, but there were some other exercises I had seen the machine used for that I was pretty eager to try. One involved bringing the pulleys from behind me to in front of me, and in essence working my entire arm, chest, and upper back. Well, I obviously thought that I was stronger than I really am, because the minuscule amount of weight I was attempting to move was way more than I am actually capable of lifting. I knew almost immediately when I felt a burning, ripping sensation in my right upper chest that I was wrong about how strong I was. I kind of ignored it, lessened the weight, and suffered through the rest of the workout.

The next day, I realized I had met my match in that damn pulley machine. I desperately tried to swim Saturday morning, like I usually do on cross-training days. Yeah, right. I got about ten minutes worth of that done before I almost threw up from pain. I lumbered around the house all day today, massaging it and Icy Hot-ing the crap out of it. I knew there was no way I would be able to run today. It's feeling much better now, so I'm going to have to combine my four-mile run scheduled for today with my strength training tomorrow.

Ask for me on Tuesday and you shall find me a grave girl.

Chapter Two - In Which Our Heroine Begins to Wonder If This is Normal?

I have just completed my first week of training. I ache. I'm tired. I have constant headaches from the intense and constant upper back, shoulder, and neck muscle constriction. I don't sleep well because of the strange mixture of pain and constant adrenaline. I'm wondering when it's going to stop because I can't take it much longer. The running itself doesn't bother me much. The cross-training and the strength training don't affect me negatively either. Every part of my life is significantly healthier now more than ever, so why do I feel so bad? I desperately don't want to quit, but I'm not sure this kind of reaction is normal.

Yesterday I advanced up to four miles at a stretch. Thank God tomorrow I go back down to three. Never thought I would say that.