Subject: Marathon training = more horses than I know what to do with.
Lately, my left leg's newest "thing" has been ass-early morning charley horses. And we're not talking a little twinge in the calf. We're talking a bolt-your-ass-out-of-bed-so-fast-you-nearly-fall-through-the-floor SEARING pain. It is truly awesome. I've been told to sleep with a bar of soap in my bed. By multiple people. I thought this was crazy. Yet a few nights ago, there I was, with Lavender Ivory soap chillin in my bed. I'm glad Eric has been away, because he'd think this is weird.
Moving on...
So this past Saturday, I accomplished a feat that I thought I would never achieve-- I ran 15 miles. Consecutively. And I survived. Up until then, it had seemed to be the "dream," the one that you can picture in your head and think "Man, if I can do that, I will be complete and satisfied." Like the marathon. Well, the 15 miles came and went, and I did it, and did it well, keeping a decent pace and not once hitting the wall. I felt no different, but by the same token... I FELT NO DIFFERENT. No pain! No soreness! I thought it was amazing. Surely I was about to become God's gift to long-distance running. Right?
Wrong.
I went for a 4-mile run today. 4 miles. Thought it was going to be a cakewalk. I was huffing through the whole thing... I felt like a baby learning how to walk. I got knocked on my ass probably a total of about 15 times during that just-under-40-minute period. Upon coming home, I immediately began analyzing what the hell has happened to me in the past 2 days. I came up with the following solutions:
1) My shoes must be (and by must be, I mean ARE COMPLETELY) dead. I've had them for about 8 months and truth be told, they have more miles on them than my car. I shouldn't have run in them in the first place. They probably shouldn't even be walked in.
2) I took the past 2 days off recovering from my 15-miler and adjusting to the new job (aka "Karen is gone and now the balance in my room is all screwed up... AGAIN")
3) I ate something that made my stomach do flips before, during, and after my run. Damn you Gushers! My affair with you is SO OVER.
I admit to lacking motivation with Eric gone. All I want to do is come home and relax. Usually I am super-motivated to get things finished so I can come home and see him (or, as the story more often goes, come home, sweat all over him while drinking a Gatorade and getting crumbs from my post-run snack all over him, and then push him away while I hop in the shower). What's worse, is that I know he is sitting on a beach with his family having a great time and I should be there. For this reason, I want to MURDER whoever came up with vacation time. I have taken days off here and there. But I have not taken a vacation (aka "a period of time longer than 3 days during which I do not have to work... at EITHER job") in over a year. As in... if I have to go too much longer without one, I am going to snap. I would give anything in the world to be in Myrtle Beach with Eric. ANYTHING.
On the upside... REACH THE BEACH IS ALMOST UPON US!! In about a month I will be taking to a van with 5 strangers (OK... some are not strangers) for a crazy 210 mile race through the NH backcountry... only to end up exhausted and exhilerated with 5 new best friends that I know I will have to talk to at least once the following Sunday. I am so excited because I know I am a stronger runner than I was last year. I know I am more dependable as far as distance goes. And I know that no long after RTB kicks off, I will be completing my first marathon. And Eric will be there. And we will go to Washington and see everything. And I will have a WEEK OFF FROM WORK. It'll be a freakin miracle.
If I can ever kick these charley horses, that is.
Adios.
Lately, my left leg's newest "thing" has been ass-early morning charley horses. And we're not talking a little twinge in the calf. We're talking a bolt-your-ass-out-of-bed-so-fast-you-nearly-fall-through-the-floor SEARING pain. It is truly awesome. I've been told to sleep with a bar of soap in my bed. By multiple people. I thought this was crazy. Yet a few nights ago, there I was, with Lavender Ivory soap chillin in my bed. I'm glad Eric has been away, because he'd think this is weird.
Moving on...
So this past Saturday, I accomplished a feat that I thought I would never achieve-- I ran 15 miles. Consecutively. And I survived. Up until then, it had seemed to be the "dream," the one that you can picture in your head and think "Man, if I can do that, I will be complete and satisfied." Like the marathon. Well, the 15 miles came and went, and I did it, and did it well, keeping a decent pace and not once hitting the wall. I felt no different, but by the same token... I FELT NO DIFFERENT. No pain! No soreness! I thought it was amazing. Surely I was about to become God's gift to long-distance running. Right?
Wrong.
I went for a 4-mile run today. 4 miles. Thought it was going to be a cakewalk. I was huffing through the whole thing... I felt like a baby learning how to walk. I got knocked on my ass probably a total of about 15 times during that just-under-40-minute period. Upon coming home, I immediately began analyzing what the hell has happened to me in the past 2 days. I came up with the following solutions:
1) My shoes must be (and by must be, I mean ARE COMPLETELY) dead. I've had them for about 8 months and truth be told, they have more miles on them than my car. I shouldn't have run in them in the first place. They probably shouldn't even be walked in.
2) I took the past 2 days off recovering from my 15-miler and adjusting to the new job (aka "Karen is gone and now the balance in my room is all screwed up... AGAIN")
3) I ate something that made my stomach do flips before, during, and after my run. Damn you Gushers! My affair with you is SO OVER.
I admit to lacking motivation with Eric gone. All I want to do is come home and relax. Usually I am super-motivated to get things finished so I can come home and see him (or, as the story more often goes, come home, sweat all over him while drinking a Gatorade and getting crumbs from my post-run snack all over him, and then push him away while I hop in the shower). What's worse, is that I know he is sitting on a beach with his family having a great time and I should be there. For this reason, I want to MURDER whoever came up with vacation time. I have taken days off here and there. But I have not taken a vacation (aka "a period of time longer than 3 days during which I do not have to work... at EITHER job") in over a year. As in... if I have to go too much longer without one, I am going to snap. I would give anything in the world to be in Myrtle Beach with Eric. ANYTHING.
On the upside... REACH THE BEACH IS ALMOST UPON US!! In about a month I will be taking to a van with 5 strangers (OK... some are not strangers) for a crazy 210 mile race through the NH backcountry... only to end up exhausted and exhilerated with 5 new best friends that I know I will have to talk to at least once the following Sunday. I am so excited because I know I am a stronger runner than I was last year. I know I am more dependable as far as distance goes. And I know that no long after RTB kicks off, I will be completing my first marathon. And Eric will be there. And we will go to Washington and see everything. And I will have a WEEK OFF FROM WORK. It'll be a freakin miracle.
If I can ever kick these charley horses, that is.
Adios.
