It Tolls for Thee

Sorry that every post is about the marathon... that's probably getting old for you, right? But I just keep processing things and I forgot to tell you about probably my favorite part of the race:

The marathon starts near the Metrodome in Downtown Minneapolis and cuts through the heart of a skyscraper district before turning down Hennepin towards the Chain of Lakes and South Minneapolis.  At the very edge of Downtown is a big, beautiful basilica.  The Basilica of Saint Mary, to be precise. 



As we head through downtown, the air is cold, the pack of runners nearly silent as the anticipation and silliness of the start wears off and we begin to truly consider the monumental task ahead of us. The only sound is the gentle tap tap tap tap tap of running shoes on pavement and the muffled sound of motivational playlists in runners' ears.

Approaching the basilica, between Miles 1 and 2, the air fills with a beautiful noise-- the church bells! The bells are ringing for the runners! The congregation-- what must have been hundreds of people-- are standing on the beautiful stone steps praying and waving out to the crowd of marathoners. 

I am not religious in the "capital R" sense, but that moment filled me with a certain faith, and a faith in what I think religion should be about-- supporting our community, supporting all mankind in every earnest endeavor. Being hopeful for one another, friend and stranger alike. It was emotional then; it's emotional now.

It also reminded me of a poem I once heard at an event to raise awareness about bullying and teen suicide last year.  The poem, For Whom The Bell Tolls (No Man is an Island) by John Donne, beautifully reminds me how connected we all are.

No man is an island,

Entire of itself.

Each is a piece of the continent,

A part of the main.

If a clod be washed away by the sea,

Europe is the less.

As well as if a promontory were.

As well as if a manor of thine own

Or of thine friend's were.

Each man's death diminishes me,

For I am involved in mankind.

Therefore, send not to know

For whom the bell tolls,

It tolls for thee.

Why Run a Marathon

The number one question people ask is "Why would you want to run a marathon?"

And there isn't an easy answer. Or maybe, more appropriately, it's that there isn't just one answer.

Because it's there. And I can. Rules are meant to be broken; challenges are meant to be met and overcome. I ran it because it's there and it's scary and it's hard to do. And because something greater than my feet and my legs and my cardiovascular system-- something else in me-- said "I can."

Because 100 voices in my lifetime said "you can't" and 101 voices said "you can." We often forget how influential our words can be, or how an individual might carry each phrase or lesson with them for a long time. Sometimes, we spend the most time listened to our own voice telling us we can't do something because we won't be the best at it.

But I was absolutely blessed to grow up with a family that encouraged all of my craziest ideas. A big sister that was not embarrassed to tell me she was proud of me. A mom who, by example, taught her daughters to be strong women, to be leaders, to stand up for themselves and for what is right, to have strong voices. A dad who never waivered in his pride in his girls, who encouraged sportsmanship and leadership, who continues to be one of the best examples of citizenship in my life, and who reminds me often to never take life or myself too seriously. And I can't forget an extended family that, while small in size, is filled to the brim with support and well-wishes for every endeavor and a hearty helping of 'we-knew-you-could's after each success.

Because I can control the outcome. One of the greatest lessons I have learned in my young adult life, post-graduate school, is that there are a lot of things that happen to me and around me (or without me) that I cannot control. Talk about frustrating. Ever since the days of returning from a friend's house crying, stomping around because 'they wouldn't play the way I wanted!' I have desired to set the rules. And none too democratically, in most cases.

Turns out, at 25 years old, there are fewer and fewer situations where you can take all your toys and go home (a phrase my family still uses today!). Having an often unsteady and uncertain job situation, losing people who I love and carry an important part of my history, and experiencing first-hand how unfair a tornado in a community in crisis feels, I spent many weeks in the last year feeling caught up in a chaos where I did not and could not set the rules.

So I took all my toys... and went to the gym. And I set the training schedule and nutrition rules. And I said "No, I have to run tonight." And I didn't let anything confuse the final goal or knock me (too far) off course. And at the end of even the most awful days, I controlled the distance, the tempo, the playlist. I owned the successes and I owned the failures along the way. And thus, on October 2, 2011, I owned the ultimate success. I owned that finish.

Because I said I would. Call it stubborn. Call it tenacious. Call it foolish. No matter the name, I said I would run a marathon, and dammit, I ran a marathon. And you know what? I bet I can do anything.


That's why I ran a marathon.

Q: What's Less Fun Than Running a Marathon?

A: Going to the Emergency Room because of it.

No worries, though friends. Turns out to just be a fracture.  There was some concern it could be Compartment Syndrome, a 'limb and life threatening injury,' but it's just your run-of-the-mill stress fracture.  

If any medical professional tells you they are going to do a 'striker' test for compartment syndrome, put your big girl/boy panties on. That's a doozy. 

The First 24 Hours

There is a more insightful blog post about completing my first marathon a-brewin'. But considering my current physical and mental state, you get this instead.


If you follow me on Facebook and Twitter, you have seen a gazillion posts on the same topic.  But if you don't (you should)...

I finished my first marathon yesterday! 


You should do a victory dance for me, because I can hardly move.

Why can I hardly move, you ask?
1. Two blisters the size of house cats and 3 more the size of grapefruits.
2. All the skin on my feet is inexplicably peeling off.
3. General muscle soreness from my belly-button down as well as entirely up my spine.
4. A suspected stress fracture. Or heinous heinous shin splints. To be physician confirmed tomorrow.

Here are my observations from the first 24 hours, post-marathon:

1. I am STARVING but preparing food feels like so much work that I lose interest.  And, once I do finally make something, I can eat about 4 ounces of food at a time and then I am stuffed. For example, I only ate 3 spoonfuls of Ben & Jerry's Cookie Dough ice cream before putting it back. 3 spoonfuls?! Unheard of.

2. Waking up every 2 hours throughout the night to stretch and walk is annoying, but probably not as annoying as being frozen in my bed would have been.

3. I don't think I will ever feel hydrated again. Ever.

4. Blister-specific Band-Aids are all entirely too small. Dear Johnson + Johnson, the blister has at least doubled the size of my toe. Please make an appropriate bandage. xoxo, Katie


5. The size of a Target store grows exponentially in relation to the amount of pain you are in.

6. IcyHot (and I have complained about this before): not even remotely icy enough to soothe the pain, too damn hot to relax anything. Too. Damn.  Hot.

7. Also, on the topic of IcyHot, my whole house smells like it. Every single surface. It's like a mix of old people and toothpaste. Yuck.

8. I thought this day would be ultra-nice and relaxing, and it has been to a point. But it has also been like being at home sick, except I feel well enough to do things, but I can't really physically do them due to the aforementioned menagerie of maladies.

9. The internet is a limited place. And there is only so much you can do before you get bored. However, the one thing that never gets boring? Watching this: http://www.mtecresults.com/runner/videoResults?rid=27125&race=507

Click that link. Click it. Click it click it click it click it. Click. IT. So cool.

10. One last complaint: Ice packs take a LIFETIME to get frozen in the freezer... but about 20 minutes to get warm on my leg.  One human could not possibly own an adequate number.

On a more serious note, thanks to my family and friends who supported me at the race, through a Facebook post, an email, a Tweet, or a in text.  You. Are. Awesome! Lotsa lotsa love to you!

I Don't Even Know What 'Hyponatremia' Is, but I Do Not Want It

Part of being a well-prepared marathoner is the physical training. Up the hill. Down the hill. 8 miles. 10 miles. A half marathon. 16 miles. Wind. Rain. Beating sun. You gotta get used to all of that.  Plus, learn to love blisters. 

The other part of being a well-prepared marathoner is to know as much as possible about race day.  What time do I need to be at the start? Where can I park? How many racers are there? When can I expect to see a water stop? How many satellite bathrooms are available and where? And most importantly (I think): what do I do if I get into trouble?

It is no secret that running a marathon is a bit stressful on one's body and the need for some medical attention on race day is common.  In order to prepare myself, today I read Twin Cities in Motion's medical procedures for the marathon. 

I found most of the information to be super helpful.  For one, I love a good color-coded system that tells me how the weather conditions may affect runners.  Also, it is good to know that there are over 300 medical staff and they are wearing orange.  This is important.

But some of the information, I found a little more amusing. Or maybe ironic? I am not sure.  Below, in the bolded text  you can read the policy and in the red italicized text you can read my thoughts on that policy.


"Runners who are ill should not start."
You cannot convince me that there is a single person who signed up for a marathon that is even close to being in their right mind.  All these runners are 'ill.'

This next part is in reference to their Impaired Runner Policy.

To be allowed to continue the race, a runner must:

a) be able to proceed in a straight path toward the finish line;
This would be easier to do if the race was a straight path towards the finish instead of weaving all over the Cities to add up to an obscene number of miles. I know the distance between Minneapolis and Saint Paul is not 26.2 miles...
b) be able to explain who they are, where they are on the course, and what they are doing;
In the best of health and clarity of mind, I would probably be able to tell you who I am.  But in the middle of a marathon there is no way I am going to know why I am on that course or what I am doing. I am going to think I have lost my mind a long time before any medical professional suspects it. I might already be thinking I have lost my mind.
c) look clinically fit to proceed with good skin color and body appearance
d) be able to maintain a reasonable running posture.
Both (c) and (d) assume you started the race with these things... which just might not be totally true for all of us.

Downed runner procedures:

When a runner goes down during or immediately after the race, the medical team will assess for cardiac arrest, exertional heat stroke, hyponatremia, insulin shock, and exercise associated collapse; begin first aid; and transfer.
Please also assess me for the common medical ailment "Worn the eff out."

The medical response plan includes advanced life support ambulances and bike teams with automatic defibrillators.
'Advanced life support?!' Dear god.

All runners are encouraged to provide family and friends with their race number in case of a medical emergency.

When my race number is assigned, you will likely be able to find it here, in some sort of email with paragraphs upon paragraphs of emergency information, as well as posted to social media sites such as Facebook and Twitter.  I just want to have all my bases covered.  In case something happens. Which it won't.

Honestly, I am not too worried-- I feel healthy, I know my limits and if I get overwhelmed during the race there is no harm in leaving the course. A finisher's medal is not worth losing my health or knee joints.  And it's comforting to know all this effort is going in to making sure every racer that day has the healthiest marathon possible.

Guest Bloggin' Like a... *

Just can't get enough of the Modern Mugwump? Wish you knew what was going on in my life at this. very. second?!

Really? That's creepy.  Cut it out.

Well, today you gotta check me out at Finding a Balance-- the blog of friend and Ragnar Relay 2009 teammate, Hyedi.

And since you came all the way to my blog, and I don't want to leave you empty handed, I give you this:

*NOTHING witty rhymes with "bloggin'"

25 Things of Importance from My 25th Year

I kicked off the 25th year by going to the Red Bull Flugtag in Saint Paul.  Grown adults, about 6-8 per team, build falling flying machines and throw them into fly them over the Mississippi river.  Very fantastic way to celebrate one's birthday!

Brewhouse Triathlon in Duluth, MN.  This trip also included my first time swimming in Lake Superior and a chance to see the beautiful tall ships in a special event in the Duluth Harbor. 

The Muddy Buddy Race, where I learned that ski slopes are for skiing and mountain bikes are heavy.

A pop/rock concert with my grandma at the Target Center (American Idol on Tour).

Two lovely camping trips to the North Shore with two lovely friends, one of which who has a gift for cooking over a fire.

A trip to our nation's capitol, which I think should be called the City of Learning.  You cannot possibly be seeing Washington, DC right if you do not learn something.  Also got to see an exhibit by one of my favorite contemporary American artists, Chuck Close.

Defended my Masters thesis on a sunny Tuesday afternoon.

(So I am using my calendar to make sure I don't miss any important events) I wrote "Christmas Tree Extravaganza" on a weekend in December and at first couldn't figure out what on earth that meant.  But then I remembered: it means even as an adult, there is something very safe and a bit magical about getting to go to the home where you grew up, even if it is only 15 miles from your current home.

Right away into the new year I met someone who weekly reminds me to 'chill out,' taught me to play frisbee golf, also has good taste in beer, tells wonderful stories from around the world, routinely emails me "must hear this" music, and provides a lot of perspective when things feel chaotic.

The ladies of the family took a clay tiles class.  The lesson? Canvas and paint just makes more sense to me, but I did walk away with at least one awesome coaster and a cool trivet.

Had an article I wrote about going to ASA Fastpitch Nationals as a young teenager published in the ASA Softball magazine.

Weekend trip to Fort Myers, Florida to watch Twins Spring Training, hang out with two fabulous ladies, and eat delicious seafood at quirky restaurants.

Moved into my first "on my own" apartment in a quiet Saint Paul neighborhood.  Quickly discovered how expensive that is. 

Celebrated Mom's first 5K finish at the Get in Gear 5K at Minnehaha Park!

Toured local brewery, Surly, and fell in love with their story (I was already in love with the beer).

Bought a kitty.  Rescued a kitty.  I already can't remember what my home was like before he walked under my feet, meowed constantly, and left little bits of shredded [fill in with: paper, cardboard, styrofoam, flowers, spider plant]. 

Celebrated the graduation of 2 lawyers, a dentist, and a physical therapist.  My friends are freakishly smart.

Traveled to Decorah, IA for good beer and a lot of potato salad, good friends, a trombone quartet in a farm garage (as deer ran across the field- no kidding!), and 5 people in a tent.  Oh, and a dog the size of a horse. 

A long and trying few weeks responding to the North Minneapolis Tornado.  Today, I am proud to have been a small piece of the puzzle that helped bring the needed resources to those affected and hopefully in the coming months we will see a stronger Northside. 

Personal best time at the Buffalo Triathlon. Thank you, less hilly bike course!

Hung my first art show at the Minneapolis Skyway Senior Center.  Apparently drew a lot of opinions from some of Minneapolis's most experienced citizens...

Went to several Twins games (finally seeing Target Field) but the highlight had to be watching one from a suite.  Nothing makes me a fan like free food and cushy seats.

Enjoyed the Ordway's production of "Guys and Dolls" with Mom and Kim for Mother's Day/Kim's birthday.

Accepted and sponsored to present my work at a national summit in Atlanta, GA.

Started selling artwork on Etsy.  Sold 2 so far, although only to people I know...

It's been a good year.  I am feeling ready to head into the next quarter century!

And Then There Were Nine (Again)

6 months ago, I regaled you with the tale of the first marathon training casualty. A little right pinkie toenail that disappeared into the night. Later, I gladly reported the little guy's return and a once again full set of stubby toenails.

It is with a heavy heart (but lighter foot?) that I report today the loss of the left pinkie toe toenail.

When I first decided to train for the ridiculous impossible foolish challenging marathon, the first piece of advice I got was "Read. Read. Read. Read everything and try everything." So I created some bookmarks, got a subscription to Runner's World, and starting amassing as much knowledge as possible. The first article I read? "101 Ways Running a Marathon Will Totally Destroy You and the 1 Single Way it Will Be Cool."* Way at the top of the 101 Ways This Will Be Miserable was the loss of toenails. And it was followed by all these phrases that tried to make the disappearance of a body part seem normative: 'It happens to everyone,' 'don't be alarmed' blah blah blah. Don't be alarmed when part of you is completely missing?! Please.

In my mind, I envisioned this bloody war between running shoe and human body, complete with the stained socks of battle, weeks of taping the toe in hopes of saving the nail, and finally the literal agony of defeat (de-feet?) when the little guy finally lost his will to be on my pinkie toe any longer. It was destined to be a battle that I was prepared to fight, even though I knew the end result would be the same.

But it didn't happen like that at all. No blood. No savagely bruised foot or toe. No futile efforts to save it. It just quietly slipped away. Less heroic and more like the little nail said, "Eff this, I am sick of being rubbed by this damn shoe all the time. I'm out."

In a lot of ways I am glad it went this way. Realistically, running socks aren't cheap and I didn't want to ruin a million pairs in a daily battle for toenails. Also, I bet most of you cringed more than once reading this because severe toenail pain is totally one of the worst kind of pains. I don't need that. But there is something about having this great battle story, the "mind-over-body, woman-goes-all-out-to-save-nail" epic that I feel I didn't get. I was prepared to fight for it, and my body didn't give me the chance.

Luckily, I have some MONSTER blisters to battle. Sexy.

*I mean, this could be a tiny bit of an exaggeration, but hardly.

Fartlekking

The fartlek is an interval training used by many athletes and specifically to build speed in runners.  Fartlek is Swedish for "speed play," giving the runner some idea that this type of training is play-like: fun, joyous, invigorating. 

It is not.  It is exhausting, grueling, and a bit painful on the feet/calves/hips.

What's the Swedish work for "speed hell?"

According to Google Images, fartlekking looks like this:

Notice her long stride, her relaxed posture during the slower intervals, how nice her t-shirt and shorts still look at the end of the last interval. 

Clearly, no one at Google has ever done one of these workouts.  The truth: The first fast interval feels awesome (for me, this is 2 minutes at a 6.5mph pace).  After the two minutes, I slow to a 5.6-6.0 mph for one minute and think, Gosh this is so easy! I could do this all day.  I am the picture of health and fitness! I repeat this 2 minute speed/1 minute jog 3 times until minute 9.  I am progressively starting to feel a little twinge in my legs and think, Twinge? That's fitness, baby! Keep rockin' out these miles! By minute 9 (when I get to walk briskly for 1 minute) I am thankful for a chance to rest a bit.  That 1 minute of walking goes by extremely fast, but I remind myself I am 1/3 of the way through the workout.  Only 20 more minutes to go.  So I repeat the 2 speed/1 jog cycle, but this time by around minute 15 I am ready to pass out.  I tell myself, You are already half way.  So stupid to quit now.  Just finish.  Stop looking at the clock and just run.  I am drenched in sweat.  I smell awful.  After a drink of water the saliva sticks to the top of my water bottle and makes a gross, gooey bridge from my mouth to the spout as I put the bottle back in it's holster.  By minute 19 (the next chance to walk), I am feeling better and decide to forgo my rights to a walking minute and run at a 7.0 mph pace through that minute.  I pay for this at exactly 25:43.  The last 10 minutes of the fartlek are a blur of Just get through it.  It will be done soon. and The pain in [fill your your favorite body part here] is quite noticeable.  By the time the little treadmill clock ticks from 29:59 to 30:00, I can hardly contain my joy.  I am a wheezing, sweating mess. 

All because Gosta Holmer, a Swedish running coach, was sick of getting beat by the Finns in the 1930s, once a week I have to sacrifice for the running sins of the slow Swedes. 

One (or One Hundred) Day(s) At a Time

I love the feeling I get when I am anticipating something.  At first I hated admitting that because, reading between the lines I thought it really said "I am always waiting for something better."  But I don't think that's true.  I genuinely enjoy the little shiver of excitement that runs up my spine and makes my shoulders quiver and hearing my voice get an octave higher and my speech adopt a hurried cadence when I talk about all the things I am looking forward to. 

There is no better way to build anticipation than a solid, reliable countdown.  Lately, there has been so much going on, I have had several things to be excited about at once (this is lovely).  I was struggling, however, with knowing how excited I could/should be in general and, in turn, how excited I could/should be about a single event.  So I invented the Master Countdown! It. Is. Awesome.*

2 days until I join Mom on her very first 5K run (which will go fabulous, so stop worrying, Mom)

2 days until Minneapolis Outdoor Farmers Markets open (and I think St. Paul too!) I love farmers markets.  I love the fresh produce, I can't wait to buy big beautiful boquets of flowers for 5 dollars, I long for a delicious cup of coffee and a full bag of potatoes with bits of the earth still clinging to their rounded edges. 

3 days to getting keys to independence my new apartment.

9 days until I move into my new place (and then get to go on a Surly Brewery Tour!)

15 days until the only dentist I will ever like gets her degree.  It has been fun to be a friend and roommate to her while she has worked so diligently at a dream she first had when she was no more than 8 years old.

17 days until my longest time friend finishes her law degree.  This will (hopefully) be a sweet sweet finish to a very arduous but well-fought journey for this girl.  She deserves to be so very proud of herself.

19 days until the Twin Cities American Red Cross Heroes Award.  I love almost everything about the Red Cross: blood donation, disaster relief, lifesaving skills education.  All of it.  Also, getting to work there for 6 months was incredible.  So, anytime I can support them, I will.  All the sweeter that last year my very own dad won the Community Hero award.

22 days until this guy that I am kind of dating head over heels for finishes his law degree. Thankfully this will not be the end of discussions on the CISG.**  Phew!

29 days until I make a willing trip to visit the state of Iowa?! I know...

39 days until my 3rd running of the Buffalo Triathlon.  Year 1 I was panicked/frightened.  Year 2 I was unprepared and overwhelmed in life in general.  Year 3? So ready, baby.

59 days until Mom, Kim, and I see Guys and Dolls at the Ordway for Mother's Day/Kim's birthday.  PS: I think the seats we got are awesome.  And thus the daughter/kid sister that picked them is probably also awesome... just sayin'.

88 days until I officially hit the quarter-century mark.  So far, my 25th year has been challenging/beautiful/busy/expensive.

94 days until a great college friend's wedding to a beautiful young woman.  What I can't figure out is why, if he lives in Medford, Oregon, he is getting married in Dickinson, North Dakota.  It makes no sense to me.

157 days until I die trying to run a marathon.  I am running (?) the 30th annual Twin Cities Marathon.  You should come cheer me on.  I would plan on cheering someplace between the Start and Mile 10... I don't know if I will make it any further than that.


*And of course, it is outdated by tomorrow. 
**Convention of International Sale of Goods.  Or maybe the Convention on the Contracts of International Sale of Goods? Well, no... that would be the CCISG or the hipper C2ISG (or even 2CISG).

Casualties #4 and #5: The Hip Bone's Connected to the Leg Bone

Casualty #4: My left hip.
Hard to know if this is truly an issue with my actual hip, or the excruciating pain in my hip socket (for example, it feels like someone's fist is wedged between the head of my femur and the socket that is supposed to be gently cradling it) is a symptom of something else.  Preferably, something fairly easy to fix.  Which I think/hope it is.  Which brings us to...

Casualty #5: My dream shoes. 
I believe the pain in my hip (and sometimes calves and knees) is caused by something easy to fix, but simultaneously slightly heartbreaking.  It is time for the Nikes to be retired.  My dream shoes.  That I designed.  With my name embroidered near the heel.  Generally, serious runners put no more than approximately 300 miles on a pair of shoes.  While I have not always tracked mileage, I know I have run over 100 miles in 2011 alone, so I am guessing that shoes that first hit the pavement over 20 months ago have seen closer to 400 miles.  Luckily, Groupon had a coupon for the Running Room a few weeks ago and at the very least I can get a discount.

The next depressing part of the New Soles for my Soul saga? If I really stick to this marathon training thing, I will have racked up so many miles that I will have to buy ANOTHER pair of shoes before race day.  I hope Ramen is on the pre-race diet. . .

Casualty #3: The Epic Battle Between Pants and Runner's Thighs

You know what happens when most people run?  They get slim, lean bodies with flab-to-fab bellies, chiseled legs and arms. 

You know what happens to me when I run? Thighs.  Thighs all over.  I slimmed a tiny bit (only to toss it all back on by eating my weight in seafood on vacation and then subsequently discovering a co-worker's chocolate cache).  But mostly I have just added epic mass to my thighs. Granted, it's clear that the big bulge over my knee is many-miles-earned muscle rather than many-muffins-eaten fat.  My pants, however, do no know the difference and are staging a coup against me.  Everything is now too tight in the thighs.  Fitting, and even loose in the middle and over my non-existent tookus (aren't runners supposed to have great butts?  I would settle for just having a butt...), but the fabric of my pants is stretched to the limit over the Thundering Thighs of the Tubby Trotter. 

TGISS. (Thank Goodness It's Skirt Season).

Maybe I'm Too Busy to Title This One

Burning the candle at both ends?  Not really.

Strapping the candle to a firecracker and exploding it into a million sparkling bits that rain to the ground in a spectrum of brilliant colors?  Yep.

So maybe I am up at 5am and to bed at 11pm some nights.  Maybe it sometimes takes 2 big cups of (sinfully delicious omigodiloveyou) coffee for me to reach baseline function in the morning.  Maybe I spend my train ride home trying to architect a night that uses every minute perfectly.

Maybe tonight I mistakenly thought a peanut butter sandwich would fuel me through 20 minutes of silly playtime with a yellow dog, a devilish carving session in the clay studio, and a 3 mile run.  Maybe I put my running pants on backwards and didn't notice until mile 2.  Maybe I forgot headphones.  And my gym card. And to check the mail.

But maybe, just maybe, last week I turned a corner in my marathon training and I am finally feeling confident that I will cross that finish line in October. And maybe today I was invited to showcase my artwork in June and I found just a moment to call Mom and Dad (between clay and backwards-pants running) to share that news.  And maybe in all the driving around I was able to sing to Florence and the Machine's The Dog Days Are Over at the very top of my lungs and even squeeze in a little dance at a stoplight.  And maybe in between all of this running around I managed to convince another person that I am interesting and worth a goodnight phone call.

Maybe I am vaporizing the fabled candle before I can even think about lighting it.

That's maybe definitely okay.  Life is definitely extremely good.

Casualty #2 (Or #1, revisited)

An update on the toe with no toenail.

Now it's broken.  Not the toenail.  The whole toe.

And before you go judging my ability to self-diagnose, let me just give you the list of symptoms and allow you to make your own conclusion-- which I am sure will be the same as mine.

Symptom #1: While running, I heard and felt a pop in my pinky toe followed by immense pain.
Symptom #2:  Swelling of epic proportions.
Symptom #3:  Hot to the touch, indicating some pretty gnarly inflamation.
Symptom #4: Bruising.  Pick your shade, pick your intensity.  I got it. 
Symptom #5: Pain.  And a lot of it, for a while.

On the plus side, there is a nub of toenail coming back! 

First Casualty

It is with great sorrow that I am here tonight to report to you that marathon training has claimed its first victim: my right pinkie toenail.

It went peacefully and without pain.  No blood, no bruising.  The nail has simply disappeared.  In fact, I can't even pinpoint exactly when it happened.

One down, nine to go.  It's gonna be a closed-toe-shoe summer, I think.

Weekend.

New coffee mug.  Sleeping in.  Sunshine pouring in the windows.  Fresh almond rhubarb coffee cake.  Home brewed beer.  A long, healthy run. Completed painting.  Raucous one-woman dance party (or two or three dance parties!).  A Sunday afternoon football game.  Fantastic company.  Games of fetch.  Delivery pizza.  Good night phone call.

Happy is so easy to find some days.

Ignorance is Definitely, Definitely Bliss

My feelings about having committed to running a marathon in 2011 are quite mixed.  I bounce somewhere between "omigoshthisissoexciting" and "What. The. Hell. Was I thinking?! And why did I tell anyone I was going to do this?"

In my moments of panic I did what I do best: I turned to Google for the answers.  Keywords such as first marathon, marathon training, and 26.2 miles led me to a beautiful land full of healthy bodies, comforting and cushioning running shoes, and finisher's medals boldly engraved with personal bests.

Relax, Katie.  This is going to be great.

I took the advice of some fitness ladymag to read, read, read everything I could about marathons and training for the big run.

Doing just that this morning, I found the eggshell in the marathon cake (which until that moment I was having, and eating, thankyouverymuch).

Marathon injuries.  


My first instinct was to close the browser, grip the hazelnut latte for comfort, and go back to Finisher's Medal Dreamland.  But logic told me to "read, read, read."

Blisters.  Okay, really?  I mean, this makes sense to me.  What I considered a relatively benign symptom of training kind of grossed me out when it was recommended that I pop them so as to not "interfere with my training schedule" and even recommended popping them if they occur on race day.  Yes, please excuse me while I sit down on the road, sterilize a safety pin, leak the fluid from my feet, and apply a cool, dry bandage to the affected area.  Riiiiiight.

Black toenails.  "You're running a marathon?! You know all your toenails are going to fall off?"  That is all I have heard in the last 4 days since I decided to blab blab blab that I was going to run a marathon.  Is this what people think is encouraging?  It does, however, seem to be painfully true.  All the running websites say the same thing: no worries, it will grow back in 3 to 5 months.  Kiss those toenails goodbye.  Guess I will be saving on nail polish for the year.

Chafing. Let's be honest (if not a bit grotesquely blunt), by 'chafing' the websites really mean 'bloody nipples.'  And maybe some other irritation, but mostly bloody nipples.  Luckily, this is a much more common affliction amongst male runners, but I think I might do a little prophylactic taping myself.  To be on the safe side.  There are some injuries I am willing to sustain (blisters) and some I am not (anything not a blister).

Sprains, Strains, and Stress Fractures (oh my!).  It turns out, this is up there with one of the least healthy things an individual can do to their body.  As I stated earlier, I am looking at well over 400 miles of running in the next few months.  I am bound to do something stupid and hurt myself.  On a related topic, running mags tell me my heart will also burst open.  Well, fabulous.

Sunburn.  Sunburn?! After losing all the nails off of my blistered and swollen feet, hardly hanging on by the strained, sprained, and otherwise broken bones throughout my ankle and foot I am supposed to worry about sunburn?!  Moreso than the fact that my heart is going to burst out of chest?  Or that the distance is supposedly going to prove to be too great a mental challenge for my 5 mile brain?  SPF that.  I'll get a sunburn if I want to, lame running ladymag.  I have earned the damn sunburn.

Two points of good marathon news: today was Day #1 of training and I went to the gym before work, ran my (very few) miles, and survived.  Training for this is easy.  So far.  Second point of good news: marathoning has made me create a new label for these posts!  Wooo!  You now have greater filtering capabilities than you had 30 seconds ago.

I mean, that's somethin'.

Au revoir, mes amis.  Bonne nuit.  

Reverb 10.25: Photo.

December 25-- Photo- a present to yourself.  Sift through all of the photos of you from the past year.  Choose the one that best captures you; either who you are, or who you strive to be.  Find the shot of you that is worth a thousand words.  Share the image, who shot it, where, and what it best reveals about you.  

Photo credit: Dad

June 6, 2010.  Buffalo, Minnesota.  Buffalo Triathlon, sprint distance.

What does this photo reveal about me, besides that I am a bit of a Tubby Trotter?

1. I design good shoes.  Despite their minor role in the photo, check out those babies!  Fantastic.
2. "Happy" comes pretty easily.  
3. I see a good photo op coming and I take it!
4. Despite being relatively out of shape and suffering a minor, but tears-inducing, bike crash earlier on the course, I didn't quit.  I am not a quitter (and the medal was shiny and you only get one if you cross the finish line on your own power).  
5. I don't look good in bike shorts.  At all.  
6. I imagine I will continue to spend all kinds of money so I can keep running in circles at events like these.  The feeling of being this close to the finish line and then crossing it never really gets old.  

Merry Christmas, everyone!  XOXO

Reverb 10.10: Wisdom.

December 10-- Wisdom.  What was the wisest decision you made this year, and how did it play out?

You have a drawer full of unmatch socks from which you have managed to free one black sock. Now, in a fury of flying stockings, you are frantically digging for the other black sock, brushing your teeth, still pulling your pants on the rest of the way and cursing those extra nine minutes of awful sleep you took the liberty of allowing yourself.

My wise choices are the other black sock: elusive in a big assortment of bad choices, neutral choices, and well-that-was-fun-but-let's-not-ever-do-it-agains.

2010 has a clear pair of black socks: applying for a summer internship with a local health department and getting a gym membership.

I starting looking and applying for jobs in March, knowing that things were a bit slow and for a lot of organizations that I would be interested in working with, grant dollars would be uncertain and limited. The idealist almost-grad in me (almost Master!) was holding out for the high paying full-time, permanent positions that I knew had to be out there. So when I saw the posting for a summer internship in public health preparedness for a local health department, I glossed right over it. I had convinced myself I was beyond interning and part time jobs and no financial security. As the job search got bleaker and bleaker and more classmates and professors sent me the same job notice with "Perfect for you!" in the subject line, I decided to take a stab and sent in a roughshod resume and cover letter.

Two weeks later I interviewed. Two days later I was hired for the three month summer internship with no benefits, but actually pretty good pay. Today, I have finished my first week in a promoted position with the same department. Still no benefits, still a temporary position (ending next July). But that is still 8 more months on top of the 6 previous months of gauranteed employment and experience. Invaluable to a young professional. And I got a pay raise, which could not have come soon enough as I stare down the barrel of beginning my student loan repayment next month.

The matching wise decision I made this year was to purchase a gym membership. To run.

I get on a bicycle now and then, and I occasionally dip my toes in the pool. I have even treated my lovely self to 20 minutes in the eucalyptus sauna.

But I really go to run. And of its contribution to my health and well being 20% is physical and 80% is mental. I have discussed previously how emotionally intense I can be, and I once mathematically characterized it to a friend who couldn't quite understand where I was coming from. Imagine you can experience/feel any emotion on a spectrum, let's say from 1 to 10. 1 being a slight recognition that there is a feeling, but it is so faint you aren't even sure what emotion it is. 10 being feeling every emotion via some physical manifestation; pain when I am angry or sad, restlessnes when I am joyful or scared, and fatigue when I am sad or frustrated. I would venture to guess that most people can feel emotion at all levels of the spectrum, depending on the situational context.

I am only capable of 1, 2, and 10. And 1 & 2 is like what I buzz along in when I am in traffic. Or at my cube. So anything that elicits any actual emotion in me is experienced at a 10. Every time. And that is exhausting, even when it's good emotion. And you can't operate at a 10 all the time, so instead you either sleep so as to feel nothing or you share the burden with other people, which can be distressing and exhausting for them. Running lets me leave a lot of that on trail/track/treadmill. It is the great mental and emotional equalizer; it allows me to calm down, to think about things rationally, and evaluate before I pull people into the storm.

Every pounding footstep pushes down fear and anger, every drip of sweat washes away sadness and stress, and the constant motion allows me to appropriately use up the energy that joy and nervousness build up inside me. For 35 bucks a month, I get some awesome mental health benefits, with some physical health fringe benefits. If I didn't run, I would likely have to pay someone 35 bucks an hour for the same results!

Reverb 10.3: Moment.

December 3-- Moment.  Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year.  Describe it in vivid detail (textures, smells, voices, noises, colors). 

My 'moment' this year came a mere 1 hour, 36 minutes after I was quite convinced I was closest to death.  And perhaps I was, at the time, blowing things a bit out of proportion.  However, finding oneself in the middle of a cold lake, not terribly confident in one's own ability to actually swim long-ish distances, plus the added challenge of attempting to avoid many heel-to-face contacts between oneself and the 50 or so other swimmers, all eyes trained on a piece of the beach that looks like a postage stamp in the distance.  Despite feeling that my sinking to the bottom of Pike Lake near Duluth, MN was not a statistical probability but a infallible certainty, my feet finally grazed and took a firm step on the sandy lake bed which turned out to be the first step towards a moment of almost shocking mental clarity. 

That clarity came as I crossed the finish line of the 2010 Brewhouse Triathlon, after completing a near death swim, a flat and uneventful bike, and a run that started with a 1 mile uphill slope.  But the moment was really about 25 minutes in the making, starting when I hung my bright red Bianchi bicycle back on the chaotic rack in the athlete transition zone and let my feet groove to the pavement, proudly donning the neon blue Nike Pegasus running shoe I had personally designed just for events like this. 

I started triathlons in 2009 and I would only describe myself as a triathlete in the very loosest of the terms: one who has completed at least one triathlon of any distance.  I have completed three, so I think I can at least entertain the idea of wearing the title on occasion.   It's sort of amazing that I continue to do these events, considering that my interest was borne out of a young passion and commitment to running, and I harbor a general fear/disdain of swimming and overall apathetic view of athletic bicycling.  So by the time I finish the swim and bike portions (always the first two events), I am relieved to finally be back on terra firma.  It's a little like that warm feeling you get when you return home after a vacation and say to yourself, "That was fun, but this is where I belong best." 

Running, for me, is the great stress reliever.  There have been days in the last year where I have been sitting in a class or in a meeting or stuck at a computer and thought, "I cannot wait to hit the lake trails or hop on the treadmill."  Really.  I think best in motion; it forces me to say things to myself I cannot say when I am busy transitioning between obligations, and it allows me to think all the way through the depths of a situation.  It is peaceful.  Running also allows me to feel life physically.  I run fast and hard when I am angry, I flit and bounce along the trail when I am overjoyed, sometimes I run up a large hill triumphantly and other days I say "Oh hell no" and turn around.  There are many everyday experiences that are much akin to a runner's burning lungs or throbbing legs and of course those moments that you have simply gone too far and are receiving a sharp, stabbing reminder of your own limitations in you side.

On the day of the Brewhouse Triathlon, I turned out of the transition zone to face a mild upward slope and those long but gentle hills are deceiving.  They tell your brain "Look how small I am.  I will simply lead you to a higher elevation."  But they tell your thighs (after swimming and biking and overall constant motion and abuse for an hour already) "This shit isn't easy, and frankly I don't think you have the muscle fibers necessary to climb this goddamn hill."  In turn, your brain is saying to you "Look, isn't this nice and pleasant?  The scenery is fabulous" while your legs say "Turn around! Turn around!  Stop this! This is madness!!"  I may or may not be a triathlete, but I am not a quitter.  Sorry, thighs.  And that thought kept replaying through my head-- after a school year in which I cried myself through more than one term paper, had a complete breakdown in my car after a Saturday morning final exam, had my academic integrity challenged, fought battle after battle towards the completion of my Masters project, and was finding it difficult to secure full-time, permanent employment-- I still had not quit.  And 2.6 goddamn miles (half of which had now become an excrutiating uphill) were not going to have the satisfaction of breaking my resolve. 

And shortly after crossing that finish line, I stuffed approximately 5 doughnut holes covered in the most satisfying powdered sugar I have ever tasted into my mouth at once and swished it around with a big swig of orange juice (because to the victor goes the gastrointestinal spoils!).

And nothing makes me feel alive like a mouthful of doughnut holes.