conflicting methods

Tired

These two thoughts shuffle through my head on a daily basis:


1. Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy wealthy and wise.

2. I’ll sleep when I’m dead.


If I could somehow reconcile these two thoughts, I think I could solve all of my problems.

 

[In case you hadn’t guessed, training is not going well at the moment.]

fear of falling

It's 124 days until the LA Marathon.  I know this because today I thought I'd get a head-start on my 18-week training schedule and get it all planned out a few weeks ahead of time.  You know how long 124 days is?  Turns out, it's 18 weeks.  So, instead of a head start, my training for the LA Marathon began the same way I begin most days - running out the door half an hour later than I planned to, having to go back in three times to grab things I forgot, and wondering what happened to the daylight.

Before we get started with the Marathon training, here's a quick refresher:

Last season on See Jon and Erin Run:

  • We saw Erin train.
  • We saw Erin sweat.
  • We saw Erin fall.
  • We saw Erin walk the Portland Half Marathon with a broken elbow.
  • We saw Erin mysteriously disappear from this blog for 5 weeks.

What has Erin been up to for five weeks?  Has she been doing workouts that target her lower body, building strength and trimming fat for her return to running?  Has she been preparing a killer diet for her marathon training?  Has she been improving her balance and flexibility through injury-friendly yoga workouts?

Therapy

SPOILER ALERT: The answer to all of those questions is NO.

In the past five weeks, I have done nothing, except maybe consume an impressive amount of Diet Dr. Pepper while reading somewhere in the neighborhood of 12 books and occasionally going to bed at 7pm.  I had plenty of excuses for this behavior.  I had a broken elbow, for crying out loud.  And I work two jobs.  And life is hard, and blah blah blah these excuses are boring me to tears.  Let's cut to the chase - I was feeling super sorry for myself.  And I was feeling weak. In every possible way.  I felt weak because I have not cared one bit about what I've eaten for the past five weeks.  Weak because I cannot make my bone heal itself any faster.  Weak because I gave up on my workouts entirely when I couldn't give them 100%.  

Diet_dp

Yesterday, I had my appointment with my ortho doctor.  He took some x-rays, and when he came in to see me he said, "Wow - your elbow looks great."  Not only is it almost completely healed, but he was surprised and happy to tell me that I will be getting back full range of motion and strength without having to have any physcial therapy.  He actually told me congratulations.  And I thought, YES.  I am Erin.  I have amazing powers of healing.  WATCH ME ROAR.  

Self_defense

I started my marathon training with a 3-mile run tonight.  I realized as I headed out the door that I was nervous.  Not just because today kind of snuck up on me and I wasn't really prepared to start my training schedule.  I was nervous because I've spent the past 5 weeks being afraid of falling.  Afraid of starting anything, because one time I tripped and it hurt a lot.  And that's what has made the past 5 weeks so intolerable - this completely justified fear.  Because I DID fall.  And it sucked.  And it messed up my plans, and it reminded me that I'm getting older, and it cost a lot of money.  And all I could think as I started running tonight was...screw it.  I'm done being scared.  I'm done being weak.  Running makes me feel invincible.  Which I very clearly am not.  But I'm also not fragile.  I'm really good at healing myself.  And at some point, I'm going to fall down again.  But I'll get back up.  Cause I've got shit to do, and being afraid is just so very boring.

Yes_i_can

 

 

brace yourself...

Portland_half_before

Guys.  I wogged the Portland Half-Marathon. (That is a cross between a walk and a jog. Kinda like brunch.)  Are you ready for my ranking?  Get ready...

I came in....

.....

.....

....

...

...

....

...........................2,017th PLACE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It was so close.  I really almost made it in the top 2,000.  Sigh.  Damn you, elbow.  I finished in 3 hours, 15 minutes and 22 seconds.  As this is my first race, I am proud to say that is my Personal Record. 

Jokes aside, I am fiercely proud of my time for the following reasons:

1.  I did not come in last. (That seriously happened in a cross country race in middle school. Seriously.)

2.  I broke my effing elbow two weeks ago.  WTF.

3.  Portland is so cold after you've lived in LA for a while.  Like, Arctic Circle cold.  Like I thought I might die from exposure before the race even started cold.

4.  I went to bed way too late and got only four hours of sleep because I was hanging out with my super rad friends Andy and Brit and Eric.

5.  It totally rained and a Jesus band was playing for part of the race and it's hard to pull up running tights in a porta potty and you try keeping a 15-minute mile pace with a robot arm and a bruised rib for 13.1 miles BUT I DID IT.

Portland_woot

As I may have mentioned, this was my first race (okay, I spilled the beans about middle school cross country just now, but I don't count that because I have successfully blocked almost all memories from my mind and it was in sixth grade.)  That being said, I thought I knew what to expect.  And I suppose I did.  But the reality of it was insane.  That race was one of the most positive and inspiring things I have ever had the privilege to witness.  For reals.  Over 10,000 people came together in downtown Portland, and every single one of them was filled with hope and support and love for the whole human race.  I think I smiled for 13.1 miles. 

There were old ladies wearing matching outfits, and serious athletes breaking their own PRs, and people walking their 40th marathon, and people running their first...it was unreal.  But the craziest part to me was the sheer number of volunteers and cheerleaders.  People handing me water and some disgusting drink called Ultima (sorry, Ultima...you are gross), and gummy bears.  And kids holding signs saying 'Run, Mommy, run!'  People who took the time to look at the name on my bib and yell personalized encouragement at a ridiculous hour of the morning, in the rain. 

And throughout the entire 3 hours, 15 minutes and 22 seconds, I just kept thinking "This is the healthiest thing I have done in my life." Physically and emotionally, it just felt good.  I crossed the finish line, and the announcer said my name, and I turned around to snap a picture of Erin crossing too:

Erin_wins
I would have gotten a picture of Jon too (you know, the one who was supposed to post on this blog but skipped most of his training schedule), but he kicked our asses and finished way before us.  Show off.  Then it was off through the press of people to collect our medals and finisher shirts, not to mention stopping at every free food table for an entire city block.  YES.  I ate string cheese and donut holes and candy bars and fritos and bean dip.  It was amazing.  I would wog 13.1 miles again just to gorge myself afterwards.

But the best part was, simply, we did it.  (Start singing the Dora the Explorer song right now.  Do it.  Follow it with the map song.  Then realize that having children has made you the most hilarious awesome loser/winner in the world.  You know who you are.) 

Dora

We put one foot in front of the other for 13.1 miles.  And now I'm ready for more.  The LA Marathon is March 18th...who's with me?

Portland_half

walk it off

It's official.  I will not be running the Portland Half-Marathon. I have known this since Tuesday, but have delayed writing this post as I have been working my way through the five stages of grief.

How do the five stages of grief apply to my dream of running a half-marathon?  I'm glad you asked.

1. Denial:


The_nile

I fell and broke my elbow around 6:45 a.m. on Sunday morning. Then I ran three more miles. Then I took a shower at the gym (no small feat considering I had to get my sports bra off with one hand). Then I worked for five hours. Then I went home and pretended it was totally normal that I could no longer move my arm. Then I went to work the next morning, and attempted to ignore both the pain and stiffness, all the while telling people "It's just banged up.  I'm sure it will be fine."  Denial. It's not just a river in Egypt.

2.  Anger:

Elbow

When I saw the ortho doctor on Tuesday, he confirmed that my elbow was broken in not one, but TWO places. I nodded attentively, taking note of phrases like "no lifting" and "loss of range of motion" and "two months in a brace." When Dr. Lee was done talking, I said, "Sure thing- I'm still good to run my half-marathon in two weeks though, right?" At which point, Dr. Lee looked at me like I hadn't been listening to a word he said (not true, see phrases listed above), and said "Absolutely not." You know the term "seeing red?" Let me explain it to you. Two months of sweating and energy gels and smelly clothes and dear god the chafing and getting bored of all of my playlists and ice baths and actually managing to keep a blog going. ARE YOU KIDDING ME. The anger was temporarily subdued by the issuance of a Vicodin prescription, only to flare back up when the pharmacy wouldn't fill it because I had just filled one the day before from Urgent Care. At least they validated my parking.

3.  Bargaining:

Bubble_wrap

After the appointment, I started to think about the race some more. Apparently, the doctor's main concern was that I would fall again and injure my broken elbow more severely the second time around. While I realize my track record for this week is not so good, what are the odds that I would fall during the race?  I mean, couldn't I just wrap the arm in bubble wrap and slow down my pace? I could be really careful, take some extra walk breaks. Since this is my first race, any time is a PR... And then I remembered. I am the embodiment of Murphy's Law. If I run this race, something will happen. And then I will have to blog about it.  Worse, I will have to face the wrath of Dr. Lee. No deal.

4.  Depression:

Taco_bell

This aptly describes the rest of the week, during which I ate an obscene amount of Taco Bell. And watched really bad sitcoms. Really bad. In real time, no less. There's nothing like commercials to sink you into a deep deep depression. Also to make you feel like you have time-travelled back to 1998.

5.  Acceptance:

Power_walk

I emailed the race organizers and changed my registration to walking the half-marathon. Since Erin (not me, other Erin) and Jon (the silent partner in this blog) will be walking with me, I think I'll even enjoy it. I also looked up the registration deadlines for the LA Marathon in March. I'm going for broke this time - the full monty, the whole ball of wax.  I'm training for the full 26.2-mile marathon.  While several people have suggested that the universe is trying to tell me not to run, I choose to believe the universe is telling me to stop wasting my time trying to do half of something. On November 14, I get to take the brace off. Then it's off to the races.

epic fall

Who has two thumbs and a plane ticket to the Portland Half-Marathon in less than two weeks?


Thumbs

THIS GIRL.

Yes. That is my arm in a temporary cast. Let's rewind about 40 hours...

Yesterday was the longest run of my training schedule. 12 miles, two weeks before race day. I decided it was also about time I did a long run in the morning, since I've done most of my running in the evening.   As I was pondering routes, I had an epiphany: I could run to work. On the weekends, I work at the Kids Club in a gym in West Hollywood. For four hours Saturday and Sunday mornings, I color, watch Yo Gabba Gabba, and make pirate eye patches out of construction paper. My brilliant plan was to leave an extra set of clothes at work on Saturday, then run to the gym on Sunday.  I could shower in the locker room, and get a ride home with a friend after work.


Route

I mapped out my route.  My apartment and the gym are a little less than 11 miles apart, so I'd just need to circle a few blocks somewhere in the middle to hit 12. Since I start work at 8 am, I figured I should leave my apartment at 5am. Easy breezy. Nothing could go wrong with this plan.

The run started out great. It was cool and quiet and dark. For about an hour, I enjoyed the most solitary time I have ever spent in LA. The city was asleep.  The only other people I saw were  sleeping bums and Starbucks baristas and the creepy mannequins in the window of Forever 21.

Mannis

I ran through Los Feliz, and over the stars on Hollywood Boulevard. I ran and ran and ran and ran. Nine miles in, I tripped while crossing Sunset Boulevard, and my running came to an abrupt halt.  To say I fell would be an understatement. You know those commercials with the crash test dummies and the slow-motion impact?  My body met the pavement with something resembling that amount of force. Elbow first.

There was only one witness to my utter humiliation. As I scraped myself off the pavement and took out my ear buds, he said "I'm so sorry." "Me too," I replied. I hobbled across the street, realizing I still had three miles to go, and a job to get to. So I started to run again. My dubious mantra became, "This is faster than walking."

Back to the present. I'm typing this post one-handed. (BTW - I have also become adept at driving, changing my clothes, and making photocopies one-handed.) I'm seeing an orthopedic surgeon this week about my broken elbow. He will decide whether or not I can still manage the half-marathon. But as I sit here with my left arm in a semi-permanent high-five, I'm not super concerned about it. I ran 12 miles. And it was awesome. And my fall was spectacular. I haven't fallen like that in decades, possibly because I haven't moved with that sort of speed or freedom in that long. My fall felt like the epic falls of my childhood, when I would slam into the ground, cry a few tears, then pick myself up and throw myself right back into life. Yesterday, I fell like a champ. And as soon as I can move my arm again, I'm throwing myself right back into running.  Next time, I'll just try a bit harder to watch my step.

 

Xray
Wtf

run, Pheidippides, one race more!

Pheidippides1

Once upon a time (in 490 BC or so), Persia and Athens had a little scuffle.  Athens had sent a force to support the Ionians in their revolt against Persian rule, and King Darius I did not take it well.  After swearing to burn Athens to the ground, he embarked on the first Persian invasion of the Greco-Persian wars. 

Even though the Athenians were outnumbered 2 to1 (some accounts say as many as 10 to 1), when the armies met in a little town called Marathon, the Greeks opened a serious can of whoop-ass on the Persians.  While the defeat wasn't really much of a blow to the mighty Persian Empire, it had a huge impact on classical Greece, which would go on to grow and flourish for another 200 years.

While the historical importance of this event is significant, more important to this blog is the mythical aspect.  Legend has it that Pheidippides, the greatest runner in all of Athens, was sent to garner aid from Sparta before the Persian troops arrived.  This little jaunt was about 240 km, or 150 miles.  He completed this in two days.  (The Spartans, as it turned out, were in the middle of a holy festival and couldn't leave until the full moon.  The took their sweet time and covered the distance in three days, missing the battle entirely.  They did, however, compliment the Athenians on a job well done.)

Once the Persians had been defeated, the Athenian army needed someone to go tell the city of Athens what had happened.  Obviously, Pheidippides was the man for the job.  He ran another 40 km, or 26 miles, uttered the words "We have won," and died from exahustion.

Let's ignore the fact that none of Pheidippides' running did anything to help anyone, and the fact that maybe, just maybe, they should have gotten someone a little more rested to deliver the equivalent of a jubilant tweet.  The important part of this legend is that the run from Marathon to Athens killed the messenger.  Okay, okay.  The previous run to Sparta may have contributed.  But still.  Pheidippides died.  He ran 26 miles, and then he died.

My hope in sharing this story with you, is that you will understand the thought that kept pulsing through my mind nine miles into my ten-mile run last night:

A half-marathon is only half-dead.  I'm only almost half dead.

an apology

Bath

Dear Body:

I'm sorry for putting you through this. Sometimes, it kind of sucks. I'm sorry for the side stitches and the days when I don't drink enough water and when I rush through stretching. I'm sorry for the smell and the places where the skin has rubbed off and forgetting my allergy medicine.

But mostly, I'm sorry for before. I'm sorry for those years of college where I drove to classes that were three blocks away and ate Jack in the Box and watched TV and expended as little energy as possible because I was too tired to work out. I'm sorry for the years of choosing movies over movement, sitting over sweating, and tapas over trails.

I'm sorry for thinking that some people are "athletic" and others aren't, and that there's no point in trying if you're not in the first category. I'm sorry for passing up opportunities to get out and do something simply because I didn't think I looked good in work out clothes.

I'm sorry for skipping meals and making up for it at dinner. I'm sorry for Hamburger Helper and Easy Mac and Wonderbread and Sour Patch Kids and Sara Lee Poundcake. I am especially sorry for the Little Debbie Cakes. No one should ever eat those. I'm not sure if they can even be considered food. I am NOT sorry for wedding cake. I will always eat the wedding cake.

I am sorry for letting the awkwardness of middle school prevent me from enjoying sports. I am sorry I ever thought it had to be either/or, and didn't figure out until much later that physical fitness could be an and.

I'm sorry for spending much more time thinking and talking than actually doing.

Most importantly, I'm sorry for not trusting you to be up to the task. For not asking more of you, and having faith that you'll get it done. You're kicking ass and taking names. And we're nowhere near done. Let's rock this.

Love,

e

pimp my run

I ran a few miles the other day after the sun went down.  As it was still 90 degrees out, I was more than a little sweaty by the time I was done.  In all honesty, I'm more than a little sweaty any time I run, regardless of the outside temperature.  I have a gift for sweat.  As I headed back up the stairs to my apartment, a guy walking past took one look at me and asked, "Are you alright?" 

Which is as good an introduction as any to the blog topic of the day:

When I run, I look AWESOME.

Tired

Let me paint you a picture:

  • Step One: I get my lube on with a healthy dose of Body Glide.
    Glide
  • Step Two:I pull my hair back into pig tails, because even though I was growing it out I got bored one day and thought, I should get a hair cut, and I told the woman I didn't know what I wanted, but maybe shorter for summer, but hey, I'm easy, cut it however you want, and suddenly my hair was all gone and she was shaving the back of my neck like I was joining the Marine Corps. So no w I use these handy wraps to keep my sweaty hair off my sweaty face.

Hair_wraps
Plus, bonus: when you're done, you throw it away.  So you don't have to wear your nasty sweaty headband again.
Hair_band
 

  • Step Three: Lace up the Nike Lunar Lites, and strap on the Nike+ Wristband.  THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT.  If you forget your wristband to keep track of your distance, your run DOESN'T COUNT.  I know this makes no sense, because there is no scoreboard.  But it feels like truth.  Also, if you don't know how far you've run, you don't know when to stop.  You might just keep running for hours.  This is weird and unhealthy.

Shoes

  • Step Four: Two words: Hydration. Belt.  YES.
    Hydration_belt_yes
     And make sure to throw some mid-run fuel into the pouch.

    Fuel

I'm partial to the Jelly Belly Sport Beans, Honey Stinger Gel and Chews, and Gu.  I believe these products enhance athletic performance while providing a delicious and sneaky way to eat candy while you're running.  Candy is awesome.

  • Step Five: Finally, the iPod shuffle.  Mine is named Biggie Smalls.  He is partial to the Rolling Stones, Christina Aguilera, Ben Folds, Snoop Dogg, The Police, Katy Perry, Cake, Lady Gaga, Green Day....yeah, he's pretty much a music slut.  He'll play whatever...

Ipod

So, there you have it.  Five steps to awesome.  When people see me running, they think YES.  I wish I was that awesome.  I wish I could rock the water fanny pack while singing along to Bruce Springsteen and eating some jelly beans.  That's just how I roll.  This is the face of AWESOME.

Awesome

 

the extra mile (or where the sidewalk ends)

 

 

Wherethesidewalkends

I ran 8 miles on Sunday.  That is officially the farthest I have ever run.  I set out with the plan to run 4 miles down the street, then 4 miles back on the other side.  If you have ever wondered where the sidewalk ends, it is 3 miles down the road.  In Burbank.  I decided that tripping over a tree root and twisting my ankle 4 miles from home would be both predictable and inconvenient, so I veered off course and headed to points unknown.  As it turns out, 3 miles is a lot farther than I thought.  Also, both Glendale and Burbank have a ridiculous number of stores that exist simply to refill 5-gallon bottles of purified water.  With men who sit on the stoop, chain smoking.  At least they won’t get cancer from their water.

At 4 miles, disaster struck.  My iPod shuffle died.  In the middle of an Avril Lavigne song.  And everyone knows if you turn off an Avril Lavigne song before it’s over, it will be stuck in your head for days.  Damn you, Avril. 

Avril-lavigne-girlfriend

I am not at all opposed to running without music.  The Portland Half Marathon is an MP3 friendly event.  However, not all races are, and I’d rather not have to rely on my playlist to get me through.  I just hadn’t planned on quitting cold turkey.  Faced with the daunting prospect of 4 silent miles, I stopped to take out my earbuds and eat some Sport Beans before I soldiered on. 

When I started running again, the experience was a little surreal.  My runs sound like Queen, and Britney Spears, and Cake.  And yes, occasionally Ke$ha.  I had assumed that running without music would be quiet and boring.  But my neighborhood is far from quiet at 8pm.  This run sounded like traffic on the 134, and wind, and people making dinner, and TV, and crickets, and Bollywood musical numbers.   I also heard my own breathing, which was not nearly as ragged as I expected it to be.  In those 4 miles, I found out that I can enjoy running without drowning out all ambient noise.

Additionally, I found out the sidewalk also ends abruptly 3 miles back down Glenoaks Boulevard.  Right by a shop where you can refill your 5-gallon water bottle.

Manual-hand-drinking-water-pump_13

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