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Posts from the ‘Training’ Category

Apr 5

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When time works for and against you

time

When I was in the middle of intensive counseling sessions last fall, my therapist told me to write down a list of things I couldn’t control. Want a lesson in humility? Make that list.

You’ll end up realizing that you can’t control anything. You’ll want to give up, buy a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Cookie Dough ice cream and eat it while watching afternoon talk shows (Ricki Lake has a show again, who knew?). At least that’s what I did. Months later, I’m not ashamed of it. The ice cream was good. And my soul needed more soothing that I realized.

I still have my list. The third item down is “time.”

I can’t control time. Because it keeps ticking away. Because there’s always a sun up and a sun down (unless you were the dinosaurs, as one of my students pointed out to me recently). Time just moves. You either embrace the temporal moments as just that or you let some bad drag you down.

Five weeks ago today I fell hard on my left side while trying to get in my 15-mile run for this marathon training cycle. It laid me up for two weeks. Three weeks ago, I finally did that run. On my treadmill. I also ended up in the doctor’s office being properly diagnosed with a fractured radial head.

This training cycle, I didn’t do a 20-mile run. I didn’t even do an 18-mile run.

Two half marathons, one 10K, various eight and 10 milers, but no marathon-standard runs.

And I’m running a marathon this weekend.

Time. It just kept moving.

When I ended up in the hospital in January, I wondered if I’d even make it to the start line in San Luis Obispo. My husband and I did a lot of talking in the hospital. We had conversations both of us had been avoiding, or hoping we wouldn’t have to have. They concerned work. Money. Running. Happiness.

I worried more about the 10K I’d be giving up than the marathon. I’d be fine by the marathon, right? I don’t even know how to define “fine” anymore.

Three weeks ago, sitting in my doctor’s office, I was more concerned about the Oakland Half than SLO. I PRed in Oakland.

In that time, my arm has become stronger. I’m able to bend more, but still not put a lot of pressure on it. I’m able to do some of the things I couldn’t before. And I’m grateful, because time helped that. I didn’t think it would ever be better. I was convinced I was going to walk around with T-Rex arm for life.

But I was back in Modesto getting my arm looked at today. The stiffness is causing the pain. I need to regain mobility. The fracture has healed nicely so far. (See image above, where the cursor is pointing? That’s where the crack was. I took the photo for my husband.) Time healed.

Runners say that by the time you get a week out from a marathon, there’s really nothing you can do that will prepare you more. Taper. Stay off your legs. Get your gear assembled. But don’t go crazy. This past week, I kept wishing for more time. In the middle of multi-hour meetings, looming deadlines and prep to take my students to a journalism conference out of town next week, I needed a minute or two extra. Something. Anything.

The reality is that I was wishing and wanting more time to feel better about this marathon. I guess I could just not run it. But my husband doesn’t really give me that option anymore. (You know the meme that says “you had one job…” where someone messes something up even though that’s all they had to do? I kind of feel like that. I have one job on race day, and that’s to run my ass off.)

Nerves? Anxiety? Yes. Always now. But if I had four more weeks, two more weeks, I know I’d be better for it.

Tomorrow we hop in the car early and head the 3+ hours to San Luis Obispo. We’ll be staying in Morro Bay, where my husband has family. The good news is that this course has an eight-hour limit. The bad news is that last year’s finishers mostly came in well ahead of that. I’m just hoping I’m not too alone out there on the course.

Mar 22

Finishers shirt by mail

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Here’s something I’m not used to: Getting a finishers shirt in the mail. But I found this beauty shoved in my incredibly small, unforgiving mailbox on Thursday.

It’s a pretty nice shirt too. It’s a long-sleeved Dri-Fit. It’s not one of the cotton Dri-Fit shirts I normally wear when running (which I rotate out with my Lululemon shirts), which I’m kind of relieved about. This one picks up the sweat really nicely (yes, I’ve already worn it on a run).

I have to admit, though, I was a little confused when I got it. I didn’t realize it had a place for me to write something on it.

I’ve only seen a few photos of it online so far, though, for inspiration of what to write on it.

Some people write where they ran. I think if I put “We Run Tracy” people might think that’s my name. So I was considering something that was on one of my other shirts. Maybe I could go with something like “We Run Empowered” or something?

The problem then is that I have to write it.

I once won a third-grade penmanship award for my very straight handwriting. If you see my handwriting now, you likely wouldn’t believe that was ever the case. My cursive is much, much worse.

I know part of it has everything to do with a formally strained tendon that hasn’t been the same since I injured it shooting video a couple years ago. So when I sign my signature, it doesn’t really look like the pre-injury signature. Plus I can’t sign my husband’s last name well. I guess that’s the difference between 24 years of practice and five years of practice.

So I’m likely going to never write something on this shirt and have that awkward white area just sitting there waiting for something.

On the plus side, it’s a nice shirt. It’s looser than I’d like at the bottom, but fits snugly at the top.

Plus, it has a pretty nice design on the back too.

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It, obviously, looks like many of the other Nike shirts I had already in my running-clothes collection.

My friend Jennie made a comment about long-sleeved shirts the other day, mentioning that so few races these days give that option. San Francisco has for the last two years, though I know before that they had short-sleeve shirts. California International Marathon gives both options if you sign up early enough. I always pick the long-sleeve version.

The Oakland Half Marathon is one of the few races that does as well. And that’s what I’ll be doing this weekend.

I’m heading over tomorrow to pick up my race packet. I have a really, really low number this year, something in the 2,000 area, which I was surprised about. I’m planning on getting in and getting out quickly, unless I have a friend accompany me. My husband is supposed to work (or so I think, he told me earlier he switched his day off to Saturday, and then I reminded him that we’d only had a conversation about 10 times about Oakland being this weekend).

Oakland was supposed to be my “A” race this season. But with everything else happening (gallbladder removal, fractured arm, blah, blah, blah), I’m just going to happy to get going and finish. Plus, there’s this marathon in less than two weeks I’m really scared about at this point.

Crossing my fingers for a good race.

Mar 15

The best kind of break

I’ve decided that I need to be more upset, at least for five seconds or so, about my arm being fractured.

So here’s my boo-hoo rant: Seriously? Do I need one more problem? Isn’t 2013 already screwed up enough? Isn’t my training cycle for the San Luis Obispo Marathon already damaged enough? Wasn’t it enough my gallbladder had to be removed eight days into the year? WHY? WHY IS THIS ALL HAPPENING? WHAT DOES IT MEAN?

End rant.

Now look at Beau.

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I don’t know about you, but I can’t be mad or annoyed when I see his little face. Actually, he’s not that little. He’s 70-pounds of dog that likes to plop down on top of me when he thinks I’ve slept in too long. He’s a good alarm clock that way. Lately he hangs with me in my home office when I’m coding websites.

When I get frustrated I sometimes say “ahhhhhhh!” really loud. He just kind of gives me this concerned look. Or this is his “I want your food” look. I’m not really sure. But if I offer him a Peep, he takes it. And he loves it.

That was his face when I got home from my trek to a nearby town for my appointment with an orthopedic specialist. Today, I got lucky, though, I got to see a sports medicine doctor.

Cue divine moment in medical center when the receptionist said: “You’ll need to go down to the sports medicine department, your doctor is based there.”

AHHHHHHHHH:::HEAVEN OPENING:::HARPS PLAYING:::BABY ANGELS CARRYING WELCOME SIGN FLYING BY

Why was that so exciting? Because I’d get to talk to someone who “gets it.” I had a feeling this would be fine.

An assistant pulls me into the inner sanctum of sports medicine and takes my blood pressure, which I’m happy to report is much lower than it was two days ago. I also weigh a pound less, good considering I started a very strict diet at the beginning of the week.

Same questions: Where does it hurt? How did you fall?

“I was running. I turned around to say something to my friend Jennie. I went down. Hard. I couldn’t hear out of my right ear for a couple minutes. Everything went black for a little while,” I said.

What I didn’t say, but wanted to: “Oh yeah, that was two weeks ago. I walked around like this for nearly two weeks before seeking medical treatment. I’m not that stupid usually. Even my students made fun of me for being that stupid. And my husband. My husband hasn’t let up on me for this bit of stupidity.”

In the room, she prepped a small table. My first thought was that they’d already decided I needed a cast. Panic took hold of me. I’m running a 10K tomorrow! I can’t have a cast! NOOOOOOOOO!

I waited nervously.

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Shaking my legs back and forth off the table like I did when I was younger at the doctor’s office.

There was a photo of the doctor in on his racing bike, wearing a number. He gets it, I kept thinking to myself. It will be OK.

When he came in, I recounted what happen and how stupid I was for not coming in sooner. He took measurements by degree of my left arm’s mobility. He compared them to my right arm.

Let’s just say this: If my right arm was operating at A-grade proficiency, my left arm would be getting a D. Maybe a D+ at best. Stupid failing arm.

Then he shocked me by saying something to the effect of “if you were to fracture a bone, this would be the best kind to have.” Apparently it’s also one that is easily missed. He showed me the X-ray. I didn’t see anything broken really. Just a faint black area on one film. Then a chip on another.

That stupid chip is what’s causing me so much pain?

Yes.

He would have recommended a sling for a week when it happened. Now? No sling. No wrapping. No compression. I was stunned. For real? I finally got a break? (God, I hate puns.)

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I have another appointment in three weeks where, as indicated above, I’ll get an X-ray on arrival and then proceed up to see the doctor. It’s still very much broken, but it’s one of those “it’s already healing” things too. That’s why it feels better and I can use it a lot more than I could a couple weeks ago.

When I threw the sling of agony in the backseat of my Jeep, I felt victorious. Then I tried to close my car door. And that hurt like hell.

Then I tried to open a store door while running errands. I probably shouldn’t do that either. There’s no sling or wrap, but the bone is still not 100 percent. It’s probably not even 50-percent fine.

I called my husband who said I was the “incredible healing woman” and then muttered something about being glad I was using our new health insurance so soon. The joke in our house is that I’m falling apart (as indicated by so many things lately), and he should trade me in for a new model. I told him we should have had one of those Tom Cruise/Katie Holmes agreements when we got married nearly five years ago. Something that said after five years he could exchange me if I started falling apart. I would have added on a clause saying the exchange would be tall, skinny and blonde. Because I care. I think I should have come with a warranty.

The best part about all of this? I didn’t have to prompt the doctor to ask if I could keep running. I had told him early in the appointment I was training for the SLO marathon.

He just told me I could.

“I was kind of doing that anyway,” I said.

He wasn’t even surprised. He didn’t turn away from writing my aftercare instructions.

See. He gets it.

Mar 13

‘Tell me where it hurts’

Remember when I was absolutely certain that I didn’t have a broken arm? It wasn’t swollen. It was starting to feel better. The advice nurse told me that it didn’t sound broken. To be fair, she also told me to follow up with a actual doctor’s appointment, but I didn’t bother for another week.

That appointment was today.

I had to twist my arm and basically show everyone “where it hurt” like I was a five years old and had a stomachache that wouldn’t go away. But in actuality, I kind of had to tell them a lot since it was so far after the fact.

I left the office thinking that it was exactly what everyone thought it was: a trauma-induced muscle strain.

At 6 p.m. my doctor told me and said it looked like there was a fracture.

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I’m officially broken.

There’s supposedly a hairline fracture in there somewhere in my radial bone. I’m being referred to an orthopedic doctor in Stockton at some point in the next few days. (See what happens when I can’t use one of my arms? I have crazy hair. Just absolutely a mess crazy hair. This isn’t even as bad as it was two weeks ago when all of this first happened. My husband had to do my hair. I’ll let you imagine just what that looked like. It was bad.)

So I need to apply ice, wrap it for compression and wear a sling. Then the orthopedic doctor can decide what, if anything, we can do to fix me.

For the record, I’m tired of needing to be fixed. I’m still tired of doctors. Today’s visit was with my third primary-care physician in eight months. I’m not feeling as anxious about this insurance change as I thought I would (we switched to Kaiser coverage with my husband at the beginning of February after four-plus years with a PPO), but I’m still annoyed.

I’m thinking I’m not as apprehensive because I’ve approached the last three months of my life with a “rip off the Band-Aid” quick rule. Make a break. Get away. Be done. Move on. And it’s working, outside of the fact I keep hurting myself and ending up in doctor’s offices where I have to explain everything that’s happened to me since October.

I feel like I’m in a group therapy session: “Hi, my name is Tara and I fell apart in October to the point that I was having nightmares about my coworkers at my full-time job killing me at my desk. I also cried and hyperventilated every time I thought of walking into that place of employment. In January they fired me via email, then let me resign, after I tried to go back to work but apparently became a problem. I’d devoted more than a decade to that company. And yet, when it all went down, I was just glad I didn’t have to walk through those doors again. I’m better now. My life is fuller now. I run a lot more now. My husband says I’m happier. The whole episode made my mom cry. I never wanted to make my mom cry. Questions?”

I think that’s the first time I put that out on my blog. Again, rip the Band-Aid quickly.

I know what you’re thinking: “OH MY GOD, SHE WENT CRAZY AND NOW SHE SAYS SHE’S FINE! CRAZY PEOPLE SAY THAT!”

In actuality, I’ve been off my anxiety medication since the moment I left that job. I haven’t had any issues with depression since then either. It’s taking a lot for me to write that, especially since there’s such a stigma around mental illness.

If I wasn’t better, I wouldn’t be making fun of it. If I wasn’t better, I wouldn’t be writing it.

Those who were supporting me feel as if it was limited to one particular place, over a period of time. If they knew then what they know now, a concerted effort would have been made to get me out of the situation I was in a lot sooner. I’m grateful for what I learned in the process of losing myself, then finding my way back, but it also made me very aware of the limited resources for dealing with these sorts of problems in my area.

Everybody tells you to “talk to someone.” No one tells you where to go next. It’s not like having a broken arm. You can’t splint it and send a patient on their way.

For months instead of telling someone where it hurt, I was telling someone (an incredibly good therapist) about all the stupid little things that scared me. For two weeks, I couldn’t even put gas in my car because I was so overwhelmed by the motions involved in it. I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted anymore. The nightmares were the worst. They manifested as terrors, feeling so real I was afraid to go to bed. When I went back to work the people who were in those nightmares were literally sitting right on top of me.

“This will make you a stronger person,” my running buddy and good friend Jennie once said to me. “Things like this happen for a reason.”

It has. It’s also made me very aware of the signs when someone is falling apart at the seams. I was falling apart. For months. There were people who saw me everyday, my family included, who could have helped. No one knew what to do. I needed an intervention. Instead, I had a breakdown.

I won’t even start on the fact that after four years and multiple emergency room visits it was only this year my medical providers caught my very sick, very angry gallbladder and removed it.

After all that, can you imagine how I feel about doctor’s offices?

But today went fine.

I got in. I had an X-ray. I went back to see the doctor. She prescribed me some extra-strength Ibuprofen. I filled out paperwork to transfer my oodles of medical records from as of late. Then I went home…only to get the call as I was getting dressed to run, all full of myself for NOT having a broken arm and being stupid enough to walk around with it for nearly two weeks.

That’s karma folks. It bites you right in the butt all the time.

I wanted to be upset, but I’m kind of just rolling with it.

Today, when the doctor’s assistant brought me back she told he she had to put me in the “vibrating room.” I looked at her suspiciously. But she was serious. The room sits above the engine room on the first floor. I would have shot video of everything vibrating, all the medical tools and what not, but I kept thinking the doctor would come in.

I did get this gem:

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I imagined how many people thought of being a superhero when they saw this drawer. I laughed, out loud, in the vibrating room while thinking about it.

I didn’t know my arm was broken when I left, but I still felt as if everything in the world was set right again after a good visit with the doctor. Even after getting the call and email from my new primary-care physician, I realized it could be a hell of a lot worse.

Right?

I’m rejoicing today because, unlike some things, a broken arm can so easily be fixed.

Mar 12

A late addition to the racing calendar

As of Monday, this is happening:

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Yes. I’m running the Rock ‘n’ Roll Portland Half Marathon. It’s the day before my 29th birthday. I’m considering this my birthday present to myself, kind of a big celebration to welcome my last year in my twenties.

I’m heading up with my running buddy Sam. I’m crashing in her room. I’m going to keep costs down by being as frugal as possible while there, but certain things will happen. Voodoo Donut will happen for sure.

I’m excited. This will be my first race out of state. And, surprisingly, I’ve never been to Oregon. I’ve been to Seattle, but that was a long time ago. I haven’t been out of state since we went to New York a couple years ago.

My husband is stoked because it means he’ll have quite a few nights without me in upcoming months. I’m taking my students to a journalism conference in April. Then there’s this. I have his blessing to have a good time.

I think I’m more excited about this race than I am about any other coming up. It is sure to be a good time! Look forward to running PDX!

Mar 11

Virtual race, real slow pace

I’ve admitted that I’m having some problems lately with my calves. I’m not sure why. I’ve changed nothing about the way I run. I have new-ish shoes that didn’t give me problems at the start and my socks are the same. But I’ve been thwarted in recent runs by calves that feel like they are on fire.

By two miles into a run I’m dying. My legs are burning. By four miles in, I’m usually fine.

On Saturday, I signed up to do the Nike Virtual 10K, logging 6.2 miles outside on my Nike+ iPhone app.

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The run was in conjunction with the Nike Washington D.C. half marathon coming in April. I’m not doing that race, but the virtual run was for a good cause. Plus, it gave me a reason to run outside. Lately, I’ve needed reasons to run outside (hello horrible fall that I’m still experiencing pain from and can’t extend my arm!).

So this was a good test of my endurance. A run. By myself. Through my neighborhood.

I’ve talked a lot about the fact that I run in another community. I don’t talk much about the fact that I have completely ample running trails less than a half a mile from my house. It’s only been lately that I’ve been running the trails in my own backyard.

The run started just as I thought it would: my calves burned for the first two miles. I tried to keep going to register a decent time.

By the time I hit a park for a bathroom break, my legs were feeling a lot better.

My averages went down into the 10+ minute mile area. At one point I was running in the nine-minute mile area.

My final time: 1:10:41

Not horrible, but not wonderful either. Considering I had to stop at every stoplight (sometimes I paused it, especially when I knew I would have to wait a long time), but mostly I just waited. I thought it went pretty well.

The real gem, though, was checking out my neighborhood and seeing it in a different light.

I have some great views in my ‘hood.

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Well-manicured running paths? Yes. We have those. This whole area is just south of my house. It had been a long-time since I ran this area alone. I’ve been running it a lot at night lately with Jennie. She moved to the far end of the city awhile back and it’s easier for us to run at night in Tracy than Mountain House lately.

Plus, I no longer need the frequent portable toilets that Mountain House has to offer. (A good result of my gallbladder being gone, but also a bit of TMI, sorry.)

So I actually had a pretty good run.

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Did I mention the views of the Diablo Range I see when I run here? Tracy is an ex-burb (there is such a thing) of the San Francisco Bay Area. It’s in San Joaquin County, which is considered part of the valley, but years ago it became kind of an extension of the Bay Area when the hordes moved out this way in search of big, inexpensive homes.

If you would have told me 10 years ago I’d live in Tracy at some point and own a house here, especially in my neighborhood, I likely would have laughed. But we’ve now lived here for five years. And I’ve grown to love it.

My hometown, Stockton, has become something I don’t even recognize anymore. My parents have become used to the sound of gun fire. My dad once told me about the “crack house” right down the street. There was a drive-by in front of my grandmother’s house involving people that my brother’s grew up with.

It’s become a city plagued by violence and sadness. It’s also where I go to work everyday still. It’s the place I consider home, but my life is in Tracy now. Jennie, who also grew up in Stockton, and me were talking about the differences between running in Tracy and Stockton.

I once made the mistake of going for a quick run around the downtown area before it got dark because I knew my day was going to be longer than I thought. It was an out-and-back path, four miles in total. I’m pretty sure I was called at least four names and had a guy chase me for about a quarter mile (that was scary).

Never again.

So my running paths here make me happy.

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My freakishly scary photo from the run. I guess if I hadn’t taken time to stop and take photos, my time may have been better.

The 10K came a day before I finally finished my 15-mile run — on the treadmill.

I know it sounds like a cop out, but I had to run 15. And after the fall less than two weeks ago, I was still queasy about attempting the run along a path I didn’t know too well. So I took the easy way out. I hopped on the treadmill and just ran, watching “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” on Netflix. I got it done. Now I’m over it.

So what’s next? A trail 10K this upcoming weekend. Then the Oakland Half Marathon the following weekend. Two weekends after that I run the San Luis Obispo Marathon.

I’m know that I’m not as ready to run the marathon as I should be. I know because my training cycle was severely derailed by gallbladder surgery. But I told my husband I’m not about to throw in the towel and go for the half. I’m going to take it as it comes.

Feb 23

The view from my 10-miler

Today marked kind of a comeback for me, more than last week’s performance at my half marathon.

This morning, I went back to my base mileage point and ran a 10 for the first time outside since my gallbladder removal. I’ve run a couple shorter, smaller runs, but nothing this long.

I think everything was aligned just right, because this is the view I was greeted with:

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A beautiful crisp morning. No clouds (that’s fog rolling over the Diablo Range) and a slight breeze. I kind of wanted to just sit and stare at it.

A couple notes from my run:

  • I didn’t have the stomach/abdomen issues I was having before the gallbladder removal. That means I went to the bathroom less and ran more, plus I enjoyed the run. No bending over and clenching my side.
  • We went slow, to get through the 10. My running buddy has kind of fallen off training since I lost my gallbladder. She actually said, joking: “Damn you and your gallbladder removal.” I think she was joking at least.
  • My new Nike LunarEclipses gave me blisters. Yep. On my baby toes AND along the inner part of my right foot. I haven’t had running blisters in forever. I’m starting to think they were maybe tied too tight, or where too loose. Or a combination of the two?
  • I felt amazing afterward. No stress. No worries. I just ran.

We may run again tomorrow, at a slower pace. We’ll see.

I just kind of had to share the view from my 10 this morning. Because it was amazing, both metaphorically and actually.

Feb 19

Rockin’ to a course best in Pasadena: Part I

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There’s always a little bit of anxiety when you start toward a race expo, especially one that’s more than 300 miles away. Why? A lot can happen in three hours. Between traffic and other things, it’s always best to start out a little earlier than normal and hope that there are no snags along the way.

On Saturday, there were no snags. None whatsoever. Everything seemed a bit too easy.

My running buddy Sam and I hit the road at about 10 a.m. from Mountain House, which is west of Tracy. It’s also the place I do a lot of my runs.

We hopped on Interstate 5 and just kept on going. We only had to stop once, about 50 miles before The Grapevine, the stretch of road that takes drivers from the valley floor over the Tehachapi Mountains. On one side, there’s an expanse of land before you, on the other a metropolis.

We made the long journey on one tank of gas plus some. And we arrived in Pasadena around 3 p.m., which gave us ample time to scope out the expo.

Pasadena is only in its second year as a “tour stop” for Rock ‘n’ Roll, so the expo is still relatively small in comparison to the flagship San Diego run. It didn’t take us long to work out way through the bib pickup, even with a small wait for our $10 parking pass for the Rose Bowl.

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Speaking of which, a lot of people were really upset about the whole “pay-to-park” thing. Most of the other races don’t required it. I’ve been in a lot of races that actually make concessions and find people places to park. Apparently other Rose Bowl-hosted races don’t require this. Because we had paid last year, waited in the traffic and hung out in the morning, Sam and I were prepared for all this crazy.

I purchased the pass ahead of time.

We picked up our red Brooks event shirts and our swag bags and headed into the expo where we quickly bypassed the Brooks area, outside of checking out a very interesting display with fake beer.

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Fake beer is the way to sell pint glasses, I must say. But I didn’t buy one. We kind of just ran through that area because I’m on a “no new clothes” kick right now. I didn’t even look.

Sam and I checked out all the booths and she picked up some new running equipment. A fire at her house late last year means she has absolutely no gear. We picked up a new bottle set for her, which was a discounted $15 and had four small bottles and a place to stash stuff. Plus, it was Nike, so she got a deal.

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I loved this label on another belt she looked at. Penguins. For penguin runners? I don’t know. I kind of consider myself a penguin.

The sad part of the expo was that we didn’t find the “cake booth.” It’s some sort of organic, healthy cake that we’ve seen at multiple Rock ‘n’ Roll expos. The reps at the booth gave out these amazing slices of cake, with frosting even, that were incredibly delicious and apparently good for you as well.

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See all those awesome running clothes? I didn’t buy any at the expo. I was so proud of myself.

The real purpose, though, of our expo visit outside of picking up our stuff was to hit up the main Rock ‘n’ Roll booth. Sam has a Tour Pass for this year, meaning she pays a flat amount and can run as many races as possible. I’m really noncommittal about races going into the later part of the year after I run two marathons in the first six months, so I didn’t go that route.

Sam wants to run San Diego again.

After last year’s disastrous run there, I was reluctant. I kept waiting for the course map to be posted online. By the time it was, the price had gone up. So my only chance to register at a lower price was to do so at the expo.

So we ventured to the booth to do so.

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I saved $15. The downside? We didn’t register for the 2014 Pasadena run for $70, which will be the lowest price all year. But I really hate making a decision on something like that this far in advance.

For registering, I also got a Rock ‘n’ Roll San Diego T-shirt, which was pretty rocking.

After those few things, we were kind of done at the expo.

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So we left. By then it was later than it was last year when we finished. We had planned on meeting one of my friends for dinner. But we saw that the Macy’s across the street from the expo was having a closing sale.

So we went.

Because we needed shoes and all.

Not really. But we bought shoes.

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We were starting to get a little hungry though, so I sent my friend a text message. We hadn’t yet checked in our hotel room. But both of us were more tired than we thought we would be anyway. My friend was caught up with something, which was a bummer, but we figured since we were already out, we’d find a place to eat.

Last year we ate at this ridiculously bad seafood place right down the street from where we stayed. We both still laugh at how bad the service was and how bad the food was.

This time, we found a great Mexican place. Both of us ordered fajitas.

The food totally made up for last year’s horrible fare.

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It was amazing. Plus, we had a ton of leftovers that we both of us ate when we got all the way home the next day. The food was just as good as leftovers.

We finally checked in to our hotel room around 7 p.m. Saturday. The room was nice, toasty and, we thought, would be a little more quiet than last year when we heard people above us making loud noises all night long.

We were so wrong.

Another one of my friend’s stopped by for about an hour to catch up (I know a lot of people in the Los Angeles area, more than I ever think I do). Then it was off to bed for a 4:30 a.m. wake up even though we were only four miles away from the race start.

Why so early? The parking lot closes at 6:15 a.m. for the 7:30 a.m. start.

Unfortunately we didn’t fall asleep all that well. Instead, we heard people screaming in the parking lot and on E. Colorado Blvd. at midnight. It was ridiculous. Both of us woke up numerous times. It seemed our hotel management did nothing to make it stop. In fact, unlike most the hotels I’ve been to, this one’s lobby wasn’t even open at 5 a.m. when we headed down to my car.

It was still dark when we ventured to the Rose Bowl.

Feb 15

Going through the motions

And getting ready to head down to Pasadena early on Saturday morning.

I’ve been working on a really awesome website renovation this week, that today kind of made me frustrated. So instead of waiting for SQL databases to behave appropriately, I decided it as time to get ready for the ride to southern California. I started clearing out, mind you not “cleaning out,” but “clearing out” my car.

I keep a lot of jackets, scarves and other items in my car. So I decided to get it washed. Professionally. I’ve only had it for six months.

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It took about an hour (the car wash was really busy on a nice 70-degree day here in northern California). But my car is bright and shiny. I went and got a tank of gas as well ($80! Prices are going up again).

Then I headed to Target to pick up some needed supplies. I haven’t traveled anywhere since December for California International Marathon, so I had a few toiletries to gather.

When I got home, I was greeted to a package from Road Runner Sports.

It was my two new pairs of LunarEclipse +2s.

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And they are actually pretty cute. I kept putting off buying this color before because I thought they would be black and too dark. The color is actually more of a dark gray.

One of the boxes was completely trashed. The other was in decent shape. So I replaced the broken box with one I already had, then I put both pairs up in my closet for “when the time comes.” That means the first pair of these to be used will probably come out in June sometime, likely before I run the San Francisco Marathon.

I’ve been slowly gathering my running clothes and other essential items all day in preparation for the journey down and the actual run. I hate to say it but my anxiety is peaking a little.

I’d like to think that was prompted by the $1,200 in hospital bills I just got from my gallbladder removal (seriously, if they were going to charge me that much, they should have at least let me keep it to take home in a jar). Yikes.

So I’m a little jumpy tonight. It makes “going through the motions” all that much harder, but I’m trying to breathe, relax and know that no matter what I can run 13.1 miles. I’ve done it before, many times. It may not be the best run I’ve ever done, but it will be OK. Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself.

I’m not sure if it’s working to calm me at all. But I kind of feel like hitting the road and just going will be the push I need to be more “present” and, maybe even “participate.”

Speaking of the last sentence, if you haven’t seen “The Perks of Being a Wallflower,” I highly recommend it. I actually can’t recommend it enough.

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I read the book when I was 14 for the first time, back when it was just a little MTV novel that no one had ever heard of. By the time I graduated from high school in 2002, nearly everyone I knew that had any sort of taste in literature had read it. I spent years imagining what Charlie would sound like if he was ever brought to life.

When the movie came out last year, there were no local theaters showing it. The nearest one was about 30 minutes away and I just never got to see it. So when it came out on Tuesday, I made a night out of it. I ran the day before so I didn’t have to run that night.

I picked up dinner from a drive-thru fundraising dinner that I had purchased tickets from weeks before and headed home, immediately putting on the movie. I even went to two different Target stores to make sure I got the super-low priced BluRay for $16.99.

Call me cheesy, but the moment I heard Charlie’s voice for the first time, I had a bit of a moment. I guess it was kind of living seeing the opening screen of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part II. I had a moment. (I’m completely aware of how big of a dork I sound like right now. I don’t even care.)

I may put it on now as I finish packing all my stuff up for the road trip.

Feb 12

On expectation and reality

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I made a confession yesterday that I’m now feeling less anxious about saying out loud: I may not be ready to run the Rock ‘n’ Roll Pasadena Half Marathon this weekend.

I’ve been thinking it for weeks. I only started really feeling it and wanting to be open about it 14 hours ago.

I told myself I needed at least three 10-milers to be OK with this training cycle. I’ve done two. The first one was a horrible struggle. Less than halfway through I felt like keeling over and just dying. Or at least disappearing into the ground.

Over the weekend, I told myself I’d do another. Then I went wine tasting and was having an amazing day with friends when my now gallbladderless body decided to rebel against me majorly for the first time since my surgery.

I had a margarita with dinner out at a restaurant. I ate barbecue chicken, coleslaw, corn and a bunch of other things. Within twenty minutes of eating, I found myself in the bathroom and (sorry, this may be TMI) throwing up everything I’d eaten during the day. My body wasn’t having it. I felt horrible.

I put off Sunday’s run for as long as I could, until Sunday was over.

I worked from home on Monday, straight through lunch and into the afternoon. At about 2:30 p.m. I decided it was time to put out or get out, for lack of a better term.

I started running. I didn’t stop for 10 miles.

It wasn’t a horrible run. I hit my training thresholds. I just felt completely unprepared after.

Why? Because my training runs haven’t really been “training” runs lately. I haven’t used Gu. I haven’t paid attention to hydration. In fact, my biggest concern has been my abdominal comfort and not overdoing it too soon. I never expected to have emergency surgery to remove my gallbladder last month. Doctors didn’t even know what it was, after years of tests and a previous surgery, so there was no way I could have prepared for any of this in my training cycle.

I look back now and realize I was living with a ton of pain. When I woke up in the hospital after my surgery, I hurt like hell where they put holes in me. But I also remember feeling something I hadn’t for awhile: no underlying abdomen pain. I guess the human body can withstand certain thresholds of discomfort and even make them normal. My pain was normal for me.

My expectation after the surgery was that I’d be up and running in a matter of weeks. The reality has been a lot harder.

My husband asked if I could switch to the 10K. I kindly told him there was no 10K option, which would likely have been far for doable for me in my current state.

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Instead, I’ll be venturing down to Pasadena to try my luck against a four-hour window in which I have every reason to fail. My running buddy actually assured me that I couldn’t do worse than her since she hasn’t run over four miles in forever. I, somehow, do not feel better about this whole thing.

The problem with signing up for races too far in advance is that most people don’t know what happens between the moment you hit “register” and the  moment you are at the start line.

In a perfect world, you would be fully trained by the time the gun goes off. Many people are not. Those who are may or may not have skipped or skimped one or more of their runs. There are cramps, torn ligaments, strains and sprains that set training back. There are unexpected events, whether personal or physical.

“Life is full of setbacks,” one of my old Lululemon bags I now use for my lunch has written on it. “Success is determined by how you handle those setbacks.”

I can’t help but think that Pasadena will be a critical point for my personal and athletic setbacks. My last race was weeks before I went back to work in December. This is my first race since I put all of that crap behind me. My husband tells me to just put one foot in front of the other.

“I’ve never seen you quit a race,” he said.

He’s right. Even at mile 18 in the pouring-down-rain 2012 version of the California International Marathon, I kept going. Even when my feet where waterlogged and my soaked shoes were tearing up my feet (my black toenails are the result of all that fun now), I kept going. But that now seems like forever ago, even though it was only December.

It seems like another Tara. In many ways, it is. She had a gallbladder, for one. She also never missed a training run despite a bevy of personal issues keeping her from being around people, even talking to people in some cases.

I’ll admit, I’m a little scared to see what the trip to Pasadena, the run and the aftermath has in store for this new Tara.

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