My Week in Interjections

Interjections show excitement.  Or emotion.  They’re generally set apart from a sentence… by an exclamation point.  Or by a comma when the feeling’s not as strong.

Thank you School House Rock, for teaching me all I needed to know about grammar, math and government systems!

That was last Friday. Only the interjection didn’t come until about six hours after the injection.

My right hip hasn’t been happy since that last 11-mile run and, as I mentioned in an earlier post, the end result was a recurrence of the dreaded IT Band Syndrome in the leg formerly known as the Good Leg (not to be confused with Angelina Jolie’s Leg.  The Good Leg does not have its own Twitter account.  Yet.)  After foam rolling, stretching, etc., I didn’t have any further sign of ITBS… but my hip was struck by a burning pain every time I ran.  Off I went to my doc, who proclaimed it to be bursitis and gave me a shot of cortisone to reduce the inflammation in time for the Tower of Terror 10-Miler.

Getting the shot wasn’t painful, just icky.  ~shudder~  I have a thing about feeling things go through body tissue.  ~shudder~  It doesn’t make me feel queasy, just eeeewwwwww.  ~shudder~  But still – no real pain.  Just a little discomfort.  So I cruised on back to my job, where I parked my fanny in a chair and proceeded to work six hours in a seated position, secretly fantasizing about my return to running in a few days, better than ever thanks to better living through pharmaceuticals.

And then… I stood up.  Or I tried to, anyway.

I actually looked down at my hip to see if a hot poker might be sticking out of it.

By the time I’d driven home, I was in tears.  A quick Google search indicated I was in the throes of something called cortisone flare, a fairly common reaction to the jabbing of cortisone into the body.  Rest, ice and an anti-inflammatory was the course of action.  So I chased two Aleves with two glasses of wine, parked myself on the couch with an ice pack, and didn’t leave for 36 hours.  When I had to get up to use the bathroom, or feed Leo, it was with a whole lot of wincing, whimpering, limping and grimacing.

As instructed, I waited five days to try running again.  By then, the pain had vanished.  An overcast evening following several days of rain, it was cool(er), cloudy and perfect for a return to running.  Doing slow intervals of 30 seconds running followed by a minute walking, I was okay for about two miles.  No pain, though everything felt “off”, as if my hips and lower back weren’t quite in the right place and my gait felt all sorts of wonky.  And then, after two miles, my hip started hurting again.

So, Thursday morning, I saw Dr. Miracle, my chiropractor.  I pointed to where it hurt – at the very top of my hip flexor in front, and the very top of my gluteus medias in back – and told her that it felt “off” somewhere in between.  Dr. Miracle bent me like a pretzel, pushed, and SNAP-CRACKLE-POP, whatever it was slid back into place and I instantly felt better!  She did some Active Release Therapy on the spots I’d pointed to, finished with some electro stim, and sent me on my way.

Sitting at my desk the rest of the day felt better than it had in weeks.  Driving my car, I felt no pain while pressing on the pedals.  So I decided to give it a real test and fired up Ol’ Bessie, my treadmill.  One mile, walking at a fast clip, with a few runs thrown in…

It felt sooo much better!  No pain, no mechanical weirdness, back to normal.  I followed that mile with a half hour of gentle yoga and went to bed early to give my body extra time to heal and recover.

The big question is, of course: can I make it another NINE miles?  I don’t know.  And I won’t know until a week from tomorrow, when I try.  I’m hoping it’ll be a lot more of this:

And not so much this:

Getting DEEP

WOW, it’s been a busy, busy couple of weeks!  Lots to report here, but I’m not a fan of reading overly long blog posts, and I bet you aren’t, either.  So I’ll keep it short(ish) and break it all up into a few posts.

Okay?

Okay.

First…

Guess who’s back?  Hint: it’s not Slim Shady.  Though I hear he’ll be back.  Too.

No, I’m talking about IT Band Syndrome (ITBS).  Ever notice that I never said I had it beat?  That’s because I never believed it was actually gone.  I hoped, of course, and I even started to think maybe I’d banished it forever… but it’s back.  And… in my other leg. 

My OTHER LEG!

Heeeeeeeere's Johnny!
If my IT Band had a face, I'm pretty sure it would look like this.

Seriously?!  Yes.  Same story, different leg.  I’m pretty sure a combination of things brought it on during my last long run of 11 miles – increased mileage (can’t be helped), with prolonged time on one side of our super-slanty sidewalks (should’ve run a more flat, even route), in new shoes (still love ‘em, but they are a little different than what I’m used to), and compensation for my mostly-but-not-completely-healed knee sprain.  Too much.

So, here I am again, hoping for a miracle so I can run the upcoming Tower of Terror 10-Miler.  In less than three weeks.

I’m seeing the Miracle Worker (aka my chiropractor).

I’m foam rolling like a boss.

I’m stretching.

I’m reducing mileage after a week off entirely.

I’m strength training.

And…

I’m using this bad boy:

Get your mind out of the gutter, PRONTO!

Oh yeah.  Why in precious heck doesn’t anyone recommend a personal deep tissue massager for ITBS, tight glutes, shin splints, etc.?!  The Miracle Worker uses one on me to stretch the IT Band and I believe it’s the #1 thing that aided my recovery last time around.  But I can’t afford to visit the Miracle Worker every day.

I found my Wahl Deep Tissue Percussion Therapeutic Massager on Amazon for $32.55, paid for with American Express reward points.  Boo-freaking-ya.  This thing is amazing – I’m smoothing out knots and adhesions, I’m stretching my IT Bands, and when I’m done, I’m giving my shoulders some much needed kneading.

How many thumbs up? A solid TWO.  I’d give more, but that’s all I’ve got.

Time to Fly! A review of the Hoka One One Kailua Tarmac

Remember how I said I never wanted to run a full marathon?

I take that back.

Maybe.

And it’s because of these beauties…

"Time to Fly! reads the insole's slogan - it's true!

The Hoka One One KailuaTarmac.

~SWOON!~

The Hoka One One running shoe concept is one created by and for ultra-marathoners.  Far from minimalist, Hoka has somehow managed to combine a distinct lack of fancy foot movement management tricks with a great, big sole and low heel-to-toe drop to create shoes that allows one to “run more relaxed.”  Hoka says its shoes are designed to be lightweight, while offering midsoles that are “30 percent softer than the material used in traditional running shoes.”  With a fairly large outsole, the seemingly bulky shoes promise to grip and stabilize in both trail and road models.  Many ultra-marathoners swear by the Hoka brand to take them comfortably through challenging 100-mile races.

In my search for the Perfect Shoe, I tried the HokaBondi-B model some time ago.  It wasn’t right for me.  The technology of it was great – I could absolutely see how the gigantic sole would cushion well – but I had the same issue with the Bondi-B I have with 95% of the running shoes on the market: the heel was too roomy.  Thanks to freakishly narrow heels and a bum Achilles, I need a LOT of support around my heel and lower ankle.  And the Bondi-B fell short of my needs.  Bummer.

Now, I did find the Perfect Shoe late last year – the BrooksPureFlow.  It’s really been a fantastic shoe for me – minimal stability, lots of cushion, a little arch support, low heel-to-toe drop, and the best heel hug I’ve found yet in a running shoe.  The PureFlow took me through IT Band recovery and saw me through my first half-marathon.  It’s been so good to me, I bought two more pairs when they were on sale, so I have back-ups.  And that was a good call – because my original PureFlows wore out after a measly 225 miles.

But.  (Yes, there’s a “but”.)  I’ve been finding my body craving a slightly different shoe for recovery runs.  Something a bit more substantial.  With a little more support and cushion.  But not too much.   

Enter the Hoka Kailua.

I stumbled upon the Kailua while shopping RunningWarehouse online.  It’s a new shoe and, I’ve read, the first Hoka built specifically for women.  Running Warehouse’s awesome Shoefitter gadget showed that the Kailua should fit me very similarly to my PureFlows.  Read: a much smaller, tighter heel cup than the Bondi-B.  Armed with a discount code, I ordered a pair and crossed my fingers.

First Impressions – out of the box

Taking the Kailuas out of the box, I was first struck by how light they felt.  It’s a bit odd, really, because my eyes were telling me this was a bulky, heavy shoe, but holding them felt no different than the weight of my PureFlows.  Pink was the only color available and it’s okay; I’m kind of over the whole pink thing, but it’s a soft pink and not too awful.  The Kailua’s laces have a cord-like feel to them, unlike any other running shoe laces I’ve experienced, and I wasn’t sure how well they’d feel in motion.

First Impressions – on the treadmill

Lacing up, I found that the shoes are, indeed, far more huggy in the heels and have a nice, high back that gives me terrific support at the base of my Achilles.  The cord-like laces turn out to be great for cinching things up nice and tight where needed, and keeping other spots looser without slipping out of place.  The arch support is just right for my medium but very flexible arches; no sense of running with a hard-boiled egg beneath my arches (I'm talking to you, Asics.)  The toe box is roomy enough that my foot isn’t forced into any unnatural position, but snug enough that I’m not sliding around in there, either.

In case they wound up not working, I first took my Kailuas on a short walk on the treadmill.  And I was immediately impressed.  These may be made for ultras, but they are positively dreamy for a brisk walk!  That’s the one thing I don’t love about my PureFlows; they’re not ideal for a walking motion.  The Kailuas ARE, by golly.  The heel is cushiony enough to absorb impact nicely and the roll to forefoot felt seamless.  I found myself taking slightly longer strides than with my PureFlows, but with no additional stress in my feet, ankles, knees or hips.  Moving into a jog, I was blown away… the energy return in the Kailua is incredible!  I’m a mid- to forefoot striker (I aim for mid-foot, but naturally seem to land toe-ball-heel if I stop paying attention – I totally blame years in the ballet for that) and it’s been tough to find shoes that give enough cushion and spring in the forefoot… the Kailua does, in spades.  It felt a bit like landing on a very small springboard with each step – I felt the cushioned midsole absorb impact as I landed, and then felt that energy power me back up on toe-off.  Pretty nifty stuff!

First Impressions – on the road

Simply put, the Kailuas felt goooood.  At the end of that week, I had a six-miler planned – with lots of walking and some running, as I was still babying my earlier injury.  Since I wasn’t planning on running too much, and the Kailuas had felt so nice walking, I decided to use them.  Six miles.  Practically right out of the box.  How was it?  Magical.  I only ran one out of every five minutes for the first three miles and felt fantastic at the halfway mark.  My heels were stable, my toes weren’t cramped, my calves weren't tightening, and my crabby knee wasn’t crabbing.  So I took it up a notch: 1:00walk/1:00run intervals.  I felt like I flew through the next two miles!  The run felt so springy, wingy, super-good, it was very hard to make myself slow to a walk.  So, for the last mile, I didn’t.  Walk.  Okay, a couple times as I had to wait for a street light or car turning into a driveway, but mostly, I ran.  I can’t fathom how a pair of shoes can magically make me overcome the exercise-induced asthma that requires regular walk breaks so that I may breathe, but I simply did not seem to need them in my Kailuas.  What’s more, my feet usually let me know by around mile five or six that they are about as impressed with my desire to run long as McKayla was with her silver medal. 

Not. Impressed.

But in the Kailuas?  My feet were perfectly happy after six miles.  And the thought flew through my mind too fast to block it: “I could totally finish a marathon in these.”

Say WHAT?!?!

So, now what?

I’ve taken a few more short runs in the Kailuas and I fall more in love with them every time.  I bought them as a recovery shoe, not a distance shoe.  I have an 11 to 12-mile training run this weekend, and a 12 to 13-miler two weeks after that.  And then the Tower of Terror10-Miler two weeks later, followed by the Halloween Halfathon three weeks after that.  My knee still isn’t 100% and I’m terrified of developing IT Band Syndrome again.  I’m quite tempted to take the Kailuas out for some true distance this weekend, but a nagging voice keeps saying “nothing new this close to your races!”

I just don’t know.  Is a six-mile test enough to predict how I’ll hold up in my Hokas in double digit mileage?  Or should I wait until these races are done before putting in more mileage in them?

Stay tuned…

UPDATE:  Sadly, I had to return the Hokas.  It wasn't easy - I had to think long and hard on the decision.  They really are amazing shoes!  But the heel was just too loose and continued getting looser over time.  Cinching the laces tighter wasn't an option, as that dug into the front of my ankle, causing bruising.  It's such a shame, because they were fantastic in every other way!

Speed Kills

Oh c’mon now – surely I’m not the only living person on the planet who grew up watching WKRP in Cincinnati?!  Every weekday, after school.  One of the most brilliant sit-coms ever.  EVER!

And The Hold Up?  In which Dr. Johnny Fever DJ’s live from Del’s Stereo and Sound?  And, in response to Del’s over-caffeinated speed rant, Dr. Johnny Fever deadpans, “Uh-huh. Speed kills, Del,”?  Pure awesomeness.

Haven’t seen it?  Then, click below and watch, then come back.  I’ll wait…

WKRP - The Hold Up (Hulu)

My second-favorite* episode.  EVER.

What on earth does this have to do with running? Let me tell you… speed does kill, Del.  Or at least it can kill a training plan.

I had a speed workout planned for this past weekend.  6 x 800-meter repeats at a 10:30/mile pace.  It was a nice morning, for West-Central Florida, (meaning that the humidty was only 99% and the temp was actually BELOW 80! I almost grabbed a parka.  almost.), and I was feeling all sorts of badass after a little ½ mile warm-up.  So I fired it up and rolled off the first 800m at a 10:22 pace.  Nailed a second 800m at 10:11.  Slowed down a tad to run the third 800m at 10:37.  And then felt the full force of the sun and wound up running the 4^th 800m at 11:18. 

But I still felt strong, and that last slower lap left me feeling recovered enough to push the next 800m.  So I did.  Push.  Against the pavement.  With my right foot.  And then stopped.  With an audible, “WTF?!”  My knee hurt.  A lot.  On the outside.  And it wasn’t my bad, ITBS-ridden left leg.  Oh no.  It was the right leg – the good leg.

GAH!

Long story short, I tweaked a bunch of stuff that connects to the top of my fibula, stretched my LCL and hamstring tendon a bit more than they like to be stretched. The Miracle Worker (my chiropractor) did some chiro-magic to reduce the swelling and promote healing and told me not to run for a week.  And then, when I do run again, to slow down some. 

Speed kills, V.

Luckily, I have plenty of time before any long race and I've already hit 10 miles in training, so I'm not too worried.  And really, it's so blasted hot down here, I'm quite okay with taking a week off.  So there.

*My absolute favorite episode is, of course, the 1978 classic, Turkeys Away.  Priceless.

Race Recap: 2013 Princess Half-Marathon

A little background…

I started writing this recap a few days ago and it read as a trip report, detailing where I went, what I did and with whom.  But I struggled with my pen.  Keyboard.  Whatever.  The tone and direction felt stiff at best, disingenuous at worst.

I’ve had a lot of time to think about what went into this race (13.1 miles’ worth, to be exact-ish) and in the end, the value of it, the meaningfulness I took away, had precious little to do with the what and where of it all.  For me, the poignancy of my first half-marathon is solidly attached to the people with whom I did it, and the new found understanding of my own self that resulted from it.

The “people” of it is a small group of women who came together years ago through our mutual love of Walt Disney World.  Over the years, we’ve forged deep-rooted friendships that have picked us up, dusted us off, pushed us forward, and lifted us up in laughter.  We’ve called each other on it when our behavior has been less than Magical; we’ve rallied for our sisters when one of us has faced inordinate difficulty; and we’ve created a bubble of camaraderie that offers shelter from whatever storms come our way.  And, within that precious group, nine of us went through nearly a year of frustration, excitement, pain and elation as we trained for the Princess Half and/or Royal Family 5K.  All of this, mind you, online… we ladies are scattered about the country – even the world, with one of us in the UK! 

So the Princess Half was both the culmination of our individual training journeys and the coming together of our virtual support team.  I can’t honestly say which was more important to me, running my own race, or celebrating my friends’ accomplishments.  I don’t think I could have one without the other.  It was vitally important to me that my friends know how critical their support and encouragement was to my own success, and that they knew how much their own achievements meant to me.  I don’t know how well I accomplished that; I am, indeed, far more fruitful with the written word than the spoken.

But that was my mindset going into our race weekend.  I reveled in our shared hilarity as we dined and toured the Walt Disney World parks together in the days before the race.  I cheered with all my might for those of us who raced the Royal Family 5K the day before the half-marathon.  I silently berated my body when inadequate sleep and a blood sugar crash hobbled me and I spent half a day in our room, trying to feel better enough to rejoin them all.  I sometimes took words the wrong way and worried that my own words weren’t coming across properly.  I got tired.  I worried about the race.  I cried for no apparent reason.  By the time race morning came around, I may have shared more in common with Zelda Fitzgerald than Deena Kastor.

Race Day

1:50 a.m.  What an insane time to be getting up.  But I did – showered, prepared some oatmeal to go, threw back a little coffee, and was off.

“We’re on a bus at 3 o’clock in the morning! Wearing tiaras! Woo hoo!”

We arrived at the pre-race staging area with plenty of time to check bags, relax, eat and spend some quality time in the Race Retreat.  For an extra handful of cash, runDisney makes available a Race Retreat tent, in which Retreaters can sit, grab breakfast, stretch and use their own set of porta-potties and bag check stations.  All of that was nice, but I purchased entrance to Race Retreat for one reason only: to have a warm place to wait before the race.  See, I’d been at WDW that frightful morning of the 2010 WDW Half-Marathon when it snowed.  SNOWED!  Okay, as a former Western New Yorker, I’ll admit that it was something closer to sleet than big, fluffy flakes, but still… SNOW!  In FLORIDA!!!  My $100 admission to Race Retreat was an insurance policy: chances were good that, by shelling out that cash, it wouldn’t be cold enough to need it.  But if it was, then I’d have some shelter.  Either way, I’d win.

Needless to say, it wasn’t cold in 2013.  In fact, we were given warnings like this all race weekend:

I know they were necessary, but they made this Florida girl laugh a little: it was in the high 60s and near 100% humidity on race morning and I couldn’t have been happier – perfect conditions for me!  So long as the forecasted rain held off… and I insured that by wrapping my phone/GPS/camera in cling wrap, rendering it unusable as a camera.  You’re welcome, Princesses.

So, yeah, Race Retreat was totally unnecessary as a means of shelter, but it wound up being a nice spot to eat breakfast, grab some extra water, and spend some time on my foam roller before checking my bag with no wait. 

It really felt like we’d just gotten there when the first announcements came for Corrals A through D to start our walk to the starting corrals.  But which corral?  I’d been debating that question for weeks prior.  Ostensibly, runDisney requires proof of one having finished a race of 10K or longer in order to qualify for placement in the earliest corrals.  I had no such proof.  We have few 10K races near me, to start, and I skipped the one for which I’d registered in order to let my stupid ITBS continue healing. And yet… I’d somehow been placed in corral C of a spread of A through H.  I knew I’d be slower than most folks in C simply because I planned to play it very conservatively in the beginning, taking lots of time to walk and stretch that ding-danged IT Band before doing very much running.  Two ladies from our group were in D, and I was tempted to move back to hang with them, but their bus had been held up in traffic.  I took it as a sign and joined friends Tracy and Debbie in C, after big hugs to Chanin and Jodi as they headed up to A.  Rockstars, those ladies are.

I absolutely made the right call.  Within minutes of entering the C corral, I got word from another member of our group, Mary: she’d arrived and wanted to start in C, too, though she’d been placed in B.  With hugs and good wishes to Tracy and Debbie, I salmoned my way upstream, to the far back of the corral, to wait for Mary.  She and I decided to hang out back there and ease into the race with the seven-minute buffer between our start and that of D.  Before we knew it, a flash of fireworks lit the sky and the wheelchairs and elites had started, then A, then B… we were next!  And… we had to pee!

Seriously.  Could we have made it to the first on-course porta-potties?  Certainly.  But that would’ve taken time off our pace.  There was a bank of potties directly across from the starting corral, and a little opening in the barricades... we took off, sprinted to the nearest Green Towers of Ick, took care of business and sprinted back into our corral just before our own fireworks went off.  I felt like I’d already won a race.

The Course, Part 1

I loved starting in the back of our corral and I’d absolutely do it again! We had plenty of room to move before the inevitable bottlenecks formed further along the course, and we ended up being directly under where the fireworks went off for corral D’s start.  It was like our own private pyrotechnics show!  Very fun; very cool.

As was Mary – very, VERY fun.  I’d warned her earlier: I’m an anti-social runner.  I’m not unpleasant, but I prefer to run alone.  I’m not chatty.  I savor the solitude of my long training runs, where I’m not Mom, or worker, or daughter, or even friend – I’m just a body in motion as I cover those double-digit miles.  So I was genuinely surprised to find that I really enjoyed having Mary’s company over the first four or so miles of the race.  My walking pace was a little faster than hers; her running pace was a little faster than mine.  It worked out well, I think, keeping us both at a conservative pace without fear of falling way behind.  And I know, based on my Tower of Terror 10-Miler experience, that I’d never have bothered stopping for some pictures, had it not been for Mary.  Not that I could’ve gotten pictures on my own, anyway.  The no-rain guarantee cling wrap, remember?  By the time we reached the toll plaza for Magic Kingdom parking, it felt like the race was flying by.

Ta-da, Mile 3(ish)!

We knew that we had friends Tracy E., Kristi and Chris somewhere along the course cheering for us, but I had no idea where to find them.  Up until that point, it had been dark and there really weren’t many spectators.  But making our way through the Ticket and Transportation Center parking lot, cheers and applause filled the air and I tried hard to keep an eye out for our pals… sure enough, they were there, cheering us on!  I can’t even remember if we stopped; I don’t think so, but knowing they were there picked us up more than a bit!

As we entered the Magic Kingdom shortly after Mile 5, the sun was up (though not really out – it remained overcast throughout the race, which helped keep the heat down) and I really soaked in the feeling of running down Main Street USA.

 

Look at us, just hanging out in front of a castle, in the middle of a half-marathon!

Through all of my training, my wall had always come between miles four and six, like clockwork.  But, between having fun with Mary and the distractions of the Magic Kingdom, I never hit that wall at all.  Or I did and never noticed.  But then, that’s not really a wall at all.  (With due apologies to Dr. Seuss.)  I had, however, trained my bladder to expect a restroom break around mile 5.5, right as we went through Frontierland – home of the Happiest Restroom on Earth.  Mary didn’t need to stop, so with a high-five and best wishes, she ran on while I sidetracked to an actual, air conditioned restroom.  No mid-course porta-potty for this Princess!  I’m not gonna lie; I stayed in there longer than necessary.  Washed my hands – with soap! – adjusted my Team Sparkle skirt and iFitness belt, refilled my water bottle with Nuun and splashed some cool water on my face.  It was worth the extra few minutes on my time to emerge feeling completely refreshed and ready to tackle the second half of the race.

The Course, Part 2

It’s weird – I really feel like I ran two races that day: one to mile 6, as we left the Magic Kingdom, and one from mile 7 through the finish.  Mary had stopped for pictures and ended up right behind me as we exited the Magic Kingdom and we ran together for a short while, but I looked over my shoulder for her a little before mile 7 and didn’t see her.  We’d all agreed to run our own races, so I sent her a mental wish for strong legs and a good second half and kept going.

I’ve become used to a massive second wind around the 7 to 9 mile point of my long training runs.  I don’t know what happens, but I always find myself turning inward at that point, becoming simultaneously more tuned in to the rhythm of my body and highly aware of what’s going on around me.  The feeling is entirely familiar: back in my younger days as a ballet dancer, I found that same sensation after long hours of classes and rehearsals.  There would come a point at which muscle memory took over the mechanics, freeing my soul to feel and express the music.  When it happens with running, I feel a surge of strength coupled with a deep relaxation and, I imagine, it’s the same idea: I stop thinking about running and just run.  As I rounded a corner near the Grand Floridian Resort, I sensed no pain, felt stronger than ever, and knew, without a doubt, that I’d finish the race, even if I had to walk most of the final miles.

Timing is everything they say. 

As I came around that corner, feeling so good on the inside, I spied our ace chEAR Squad in time to make my way over to them for hugs.  I can’t remember just what they said, something about me looking strong or energetic, but whatever it was hit me like a lightning bolt.  Some part of me recognized that my outside matched what I was feeling inside and – BOOM! – my conservative race strategy flew out the window like dirty dishwater.

Mary, with our super-amazing cheerers, Kristi, Tracy and Chris (he’s aaaaaalllll focus here…)

It was exactly what I needed at exactly the right time.  According to iSmoothRun, I dropped my pace every mile from 8 on.  Between mile 8 and the finish, I dropped a total of three and a half minutes off of my mile split times.  My body knew what to do and required no further input from my brain, which went into strategic mode and, though I can’t begin to tell you what kinds of photo opps or entertainment was along the course over that period, I began seeing every other runner in front of me in extreme clarity.  I found myself anticipating other runners’ moves before they made them and using that information to slow down, speed up, take a small step left or right, find an opening and tear through it like Seabiscuit hot on the heels of War Admiral.  Using my advantage of knowing the WDW roadways well as a driver, I moved to the inside of the final cloverleaf overpass, passing dozens of other runners as I climbed swiftly up the far inside on the grass, where the steep angle leveled off to a space just wide enough on which to run.

The faster and harder I went, the stronger I felt.  The more people I passed, the more determined I was to pass more of them.  Fearing a burnout right before the finish, I forced myself at mile 12 to ease back, eat a few more Honey Stinger chews, which I’d been alternating with bites of a Clif bar every 30 minutes for fuel, and take a deep breath before letting loose.  I’m both proud of and humbled by what my body did for me that day.  Feeling a 13-mile-wide smile spread across my face, I flew through Epcot and sprinted across the Finish line, feeling the power of a year of training and the support of my running group course through my veins.

The Aftermath

I had no real goals, going into my first half-marathon.  I was sure I’d finish, barring any debilitating injury, and didn’t want to set myself up for potential disappointment by going in with any particular finish time in mind.  I hoped to finish without knee pain – I’d managed my final 12-mile training run without incurring any ITBS nastiness – but wasn’t at all sure that was realistic.  I finished with an official chip time of 3:23:13, while iSmoothRun reported a 3:08:11 finish with pauses for my stops for pictures, potties, etc.  I’m completely satisfied with both times.  Fast?  No.  But that makes my time easily beatable in future races, right?!  And I just love that I finished with only enough gas left in my tank to get back to Race Retreat for a big plate of food and a chocolate milk.

Beyond my own performance, I am thrilled to report that every one of our group crossed that Finish line.   I was exhausted, but determined to stick around until each one of us was accounted for.  I’m so glad I did!  To see us all with our medals, and to hear the quick run-throughs of each of our race experiences, filled me with a pride so much larger than what I held for myself.  Despite our many differences, we all worked hard, persevered and achieved something I’m not sure any of us had previously dreamed possible.

Mel, T, Jodi, Mary, Z, Chanin – you are ALL rockstars in my book! LY/MI!

The rest of our trip was a blur of celebration.  We iced down, stretched, showered, ate, got dressed and dragged our tired bodies through the Magic Kingdom the afternoon of our race, and indulged in a celebration dinner at ‘Ohana. 

“’Ohana means ‘family’… And ‘family’ means no one gets left behind – or forgotten.” 

I am SOOOOOOOO proud of you all!!!

# # #

So, the question I’ve been asked repeatedly: will I do the Princess Half again?  Maybe not.  I really, truly enjoyed the experience and I’m so glad I ran this as my first 13.1 distance race.  Given the uncertainty about how my leg would hold up, the congested, bottlenecked, impossible-to-run-fast course was a perfect fit for me.  And the woman-centric theme was an ideal fit for our group of Mother Runners and Best Running Friends.  But it feels very much like a one-and-done event for me.  While I’m genuinely glad I took the time for a few pictures along the course, I absolutely relished ignoring everything that makes a Disney race “Disney” in the second half, too. 

I started this running journey thinking that I needed the theme and entertainment of a Disney race to make me excited enough to run 13.1 miles.  As it turns out, I’m more than excited enough all on my own.  Perhaps the single greatest reward I received after a year of training is having learned this: I love to run.  And I don’t need flashing lights, photo opps, or the promise of a big, sparkly medal to make me want to do it again.

Though a super-cute race shirt doesn’t hurt. 

I am all registered for the 2013 Tower of Terror 10-Miler, so I'm not discounting all future Disney races.  I want my shot at race redemption. ;)  But I'm just as enthusiastic about doing some smaller, cheaper races to support my local running community, too.

I suppose I'm officially a Runner now.

ITBS Stands for…

Frankly, I think ITBS (Iliotibial Band Syndrome) is aptly acronym’d:  dealing with the IT is total BS.  But, I am happy – though cautiously hesitant – to report that I seem to FINALLY be kicking my stupid bout with IT BS in the butt!

Here’s what’s gone into what I think of as “reprogramming” my IT Band…

~ Dumping the orthopedist in favor of a chiropractor.  The ortho just wasn’t that into my injury, if you will; he pretty much told me to keep up with the physical therapy exercises I’d been doing, ice it when it hurt, and maybe just accept that my body can’t do long distances.  I’d never before seen a chiro, but a good friend has seen a total reversal in her major neck problems form chiropractic care and I was running out of other options, so I looked up chiros covered by my insurance, picked one and hoped for the best.  I got very lucky – my pick happens to be a runner, is married to a triathlete, and treats a number of runners and dancers.  SCORE!  From the first visit, Dr. Miracle showed great understanding of the problem, my time-frame for recovery, and how important it is to me to beat this.  Over the past month, she’s seen me weekly and has used targeted massage, electro-therapy, spinal and hip adjustments and active resistance maneuvers to speed healing, reduce inflammation and get things back in alignment.  I was enormously skeptical, but I can’t express how pleased I am with what she’s accomplished!

~ Switching shoes.  That’s right – Cindylocks STILL had it wrong.  As I thought long and hard about possible triggers for ITBS, it occurred to me that it wasn’t getting any better in high-drop stability shoes… whereas I’d seen some improvement pre-Tower of Terror 10-Miler in more minimalist, low-drop neutral shoes.  So I tried the Brooks PureFlow again, this time a half-size smaller, and feel like they’re a much better fit for my mid-foot running style.

~ Not making stretching into a competitive sport.  If it hurts, it’s too much,  ‘Nuff said.

~ Changing my status to “in a relationship”… with my foam roller.  With apologies to Peter, Paul & Mary - If I had a foam roller I'd foam roll in the morning, I'd foam roll in the evening, all over this land…  I foam roll my IT Band area.  I foam roll my glutes.  I foam roll my quads.  I don’t foam roll my calves – I use a wooden rolling pin for that.  I foam roll in the morning, after a hot shower.  I foam roll before running.  I foam roll after running.  My foam roller’s gotten more action in two months than I’ve seen in 10 years.  Is it helping?  Who knows.  It’s not hurting, and things are improving, so I’ll keep rolling with it. 

I returned to running once all pain and inflammation had gone away.  Thanksgiving morning, at Walt Disney World, Leo and I went for a good long walk, taking the nature path from the Wilderness Lodge to Fort Wilderness, circling around the Fort, then returning to the Lodge – a total of 2.33 miles.  I mostly walked, but ran a little… with no pain for the first time since August.  From there, I’ve slowly but steadily built up my mileage to a 5-mile long run last weekend.  I’m aiming for 6 miles tomorrow.  I’m doing two short runs and one short walk mid-week with a long run on Saturdays.  I’m still walking a lot more of each “run” than I’d like, but I’m being very careful not to push for too much too soon.  I may not be able to run nearly as much of the Princess Half-Marathon as I’d once thought I would, but I’m starting to feel like I can, indeed, finish.

Go me!

2012 Jingle Jungle 5K - Race Recap

I am way, WAY overdue for a race recap on Mickey’s Jingle Jungle 5K.  But it’s a tough one about which to write.  Though I can sum it up succinctly: It. Sucked. Royally.

To be clear, the race didn’t suck due to any wrongdoing by runDisney.  Nope, they did a superb job of putting this one together!  What sucked was my injured state.  And my child’s attitude.

My bout with IT Band Syndrome is already well documented in my blog, so I won’t rehash that.  Suffice it to say that I was still battling it and shouldn’t have run at all that day.  But I hadn’t been running in almost two weeks and felt great at the start.  Aaaaaand… look what corral we were put into:

Pictorial evidence.. 'cause it'll never happen again.

How can anyone start in corral A and not run the start of a race?!  I have no idea how we wound up there, but I wasn't about to be the only person walking through the start in A.  Pride cometh before a fall, right?

My son, Leo, didn’t train for this race at all.  I forced him to run with me a few times, but he was so miserable, I stopped bothering.  Still, he wanted to do the race and was excited about it, despite having had a very difficult week prior thanks to a burgeoning pre-teen ‘tude.  On race morning, he was sullen and sulky.  He was cold, but refused to do any stretching or moving around to warm-up.  He said he wanted to be there, but frowned and complained about the loud music.  He did perk up some once we started running, though.

The course itself was okay.  Lots of parking lot, lots of backstage area of Animal Kingdom (AK), and a little of the park, much like the course for the 2012 Expedition Everest Challenge we ran in May.  It was MUCH nicer to run the AK in daylight, though.  I never noticed as a slow-moving park guest just how lumpy, bumpy and uneven most of those walkways are… but I sure noticed as a runner!   Between scanning the ground before me and keeping track of both Leo and the pack of other runners, my mind was too busy to notice the growing pain in my knee until it was too late. 

Hi. My knee feels like someone's trying to rip it out, piece by piece. But looky how cute I am!

Despite a good deal of walking, by the second mile, I was way beyond “discomfort” and every other step was pure agony.  It ruined the race, as nothing could distract me from that pain.  I wanted to feel elation when we rounded a turn and saw the Finish, but all I felt was a loud cry from my knee, “Oh sweet mercy, we’re almost DONE!!!”  Adding salt to the wound, Leo shook me off when I reached for his hand to hold as we crossed the finish line.

I know he’s 10 and I get that he’s moody, temperamental and seeking independence.  But I was really hurt by his refusal to help his mom across the finish.  Doing my best to dam the flood of tears threatening to overflow, I accepted my very-cool medal, grabbed a water and snack box and led the way out of the finish chute.  I even managed to smile for a picture with Leo and our medals.  I made it to a medical tent for ice and we ate our snacks in equally icy silence in the middle of the parking lot.

My unofficial finisher's photo.

Finally, I explained to Leo how upsetting it was for him to refuse my hand at the end and asked him why he’d done that.

“I just didn’t feel like it,” he shrugged.

Ah, boys.  They say what they mean, and they mean what they say.  He just “didn’t feel like it.”  It wasn’t a commentary on his feelings at the time, nor was it a belligerent attempt to tick-off his mom.  We had a continued discussion about taking time to think of how our actions affect others and, on my part, not taking every little thing so personally.  Leo gave me a big hug, helped me to my feet, and asked, “So, we’re gonna go do some rides now, right?”

Oy.  I had indeed promised that we’d hit a few rides after our race, before going back to our hotel to rest and clean-up.  I’d been hoping my knee would be numb enough by then that I’d not feel the pain, like had happened after the Tower of Terror 10-Miler a month earlier… but no.  I winced with every other step, sucking in big breaths with the stabbing pain as we walked slowly toward the park entrance.  It remained at or around that level of pain throughout the day, finally abating with a double dose of Aleve, followed by a martini. Don’t judge.

My culminating thoughts on the race?  The Jingle Jungle was part of the Wine & Dine Half-Marathon weekend festivities, so Disney had a lot of race-type folks to handle all weekend.  Packet pick-up and the expo were really well-engineered – plenty of space for all and easily navigated.  The race logistics, too, were really well handled.  Putting us into lettered corrals was a nice touch, even if we did all start at the same time; it made for a lot less craziness at the start than I’d seen with either the Everest Challenge or the Royal Family 5K.  A metric ton of volunteers were fantastic cheerleaders, helpers and directors – they deserve a big round of applause.  And the Jingle Jungle medals were pretty darned spiffy.

But…

I’m not real sure we’ll do another runDisney 5K anytime soon.  For one thing, the cost is prohibitive.  The registration fee for the 2013 Expedition Everest Challenge has almost doubled to$110 per person.  That’s INSANE for a 5K distance.  Sure, it includes an after-party at the AK, but we’re Floridians with annual passes; we can go to AK any time without extra cost.  And, honestly, I’m finding that I enjoy the quiet solitude of my training runs so much more than the overstimulating, crowded conditions of Disney races.  Our local races are much closer approximations of my soothing training runs – only, you know, faster.  And.  Cheaper.  By a lot.  Add in one cranky pre-teen boy and I’m pretty unwilling to shell out a bunch of cash for a short race at Disney. We’ll see…

Still, I have that Princess Half-Marathon looming in the ever-decreasing distance.  Will my stupid leg EVER get better?  Stay tuned!

Twilight Zone Tower of Terror 10-Miler - Race Recap!

So, the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror 10-Miler has come and gone and I’m happy to report that I was a finisher.

I think.

Maybe.

About the “happy” part, I mean, not the finishing.  I did finish.  I’m not sure if I’m happy about that, though.

Here’s what happened…

Race Day, Part One: Packet Pick-up/Expo and Dinner

A childhood friend and the gal who got me into running Disney in the first place, Nancy, also ran the race and graciously shared her villa at Saratoga Springs Resort with me.  So on race day morning, I made the drive form home to WDW, found Nancy and unloaded my car before we set off for the expo.  Let me tell ya – shopping the expo is a lot more fun with a girlfriend than with a kid!  It was great to verbally work out race jitters and excitement with each other as we wandered about and did some shopping.  I felt like the size and scale of the expo was a bit smaller and more manageable than that of the 2012 Princess Half-Marathon weekend, which was great; I get overwhelmed by too much noise and visual stimulation, plus I didn’t want to spend too much time on my feet before the race, right?

Ooo, skeery... oh, and have I mentioned that I'm blonde now?

Yet another giant, man-shaped, scratchy race shirt. But... it glows in the dark. of my drawer. where it'll stay forever.

After a quick lunch at Wide World of Sports (WWOS) complex, we went back to the villa with every intention of napping until 5pm.  I. could. not. sleep.  Too excited, too nervous about my knee situation, too amped up with adrenaline.  It was a relief when my alarm went off at 5pm.  FINALLY, I could get dressed in my race outfit and feel like we were getting somewhere.  Of course, we still had 5 hours until the start…

Since we weren’t staying at an official race host resort, and neither of us was excited by the prospect of traversing the big, dark WWOS parking lot (where anyone driving to the race would need to park, then take a shuttle bus to the start at Hollywood Studios), at 3am, we chose to make the very short drive to Port Orleans Riverside (which was a host resort with buses to the race start), park there, eat dinner, then take a bus to the race.  This worked out terrifically!  I had a yummy plate of pasta around 6pm, along with lots and lots of Nuun-infused water.  At shortly after 7pm, we got on the bus outside the resort lobby and were off to the race!

Race Day, Part Two: The Race!

I was really, really impressed with the pre-race staging area.  There seemed to be ample room to move around with 12,000 or so of our fellow racers and their families, plenty of porta-potties, and lots of good music playing to get us pumped up.  Maybe a little too pumped up.  At risk of sounding judgmental, I was shocked by how many racers were dancing up a storm before the race.  Nancy and I sat there watching them, wondering aloud how anyone could possibly muster the energy to run 10 hot, humid miles after an hour of dancing?!  And by “hot” and “humid,” I mean HOT and HUMID.  Honestly, it was business as usual for me; it felt no different than any of my training runs all summer long, save for the lack of scorching sun on top of it all.  But I can’t imagine how awful it must have felt to anyone not acclimated to our delightful Florida climate in September.  I sat for a good hour, saving my legs and feet, eating a small snack, and downing more water.

We chose to get into our respective corrals (A for Nancy – way to go! – and C for me) before instructed to do so, and I’m glad we did; we avoided the mass of humanity moving into their corrals and I was able to use a porta-potty with minimal waiting.  This, I must point out, Disney got so, so right – porta-potties in EVERY CORRAL!  Oh, how I hope they’ll do the same for future races, because it was ever-so appreciated.  I have to admit that waiting alone in my corral was lonely.  I didn’t want to waste my iPhone’s battery, so I didn’t have that for distraction, and it was past my usual bedtime; I was getting sleepy.  I was thankful when, at 9:30pm, the call came to exit the corrals into the road at their other ends, from where we, staying in our corral groups, walked down the road to the starting line.

Before long, the fireworks went off for the first group of wheelchair racers, then for the second group, then for A corral, and B corral.  We C folks moved up and I stuck to the far left side of the road, from where I could lean out to my left a bit and see what was ahead… I was a bit in front of the halfway point of our corral and the starting line was actually the toll booths for the Studios parking lot. 

The first 5 miles of the course took us out of Hollywood Studios and out-and-back on Osceola Parkway before turning into the WWOS complex.  I knew I had to walk every other quarter-mile stretch to save my knee, but waited to see what the crowd did before deciding whether to start with a quarter-mile walk, or start running first – we mostly had to walk through the start line, but then the crowd picked up to a jog, so I did, too.  A funny thing with IT Band Syndrome (ITBS) is that going uphill is fine, but the downhill kills.  So I ran up the ramp to Osceola Parkway and started my walk on the downhill.  And that, folks, is just annoying as hell, to not take advantage of gravity and gain some speed on the downhill.  People were flying past me as I slowly walked down, hugging the inside of the curve like it was my long-lost lover.  But once we hit the flats again, I was back to running and felt great!  I was warm, but nowhere near overheated, felt perfectly hydrated, and as strong as an elite athlete.  There was a decided lack of themeing along those stretches of highway, but it didn’t bother me in the least as I found my happy pace, alternating quarter-mile stretches of walking and run-walk intervals.  I was passing other racers left and right, which is always good for the runner’s psyche, right?

Passing the marker for Mile 3, I allowed myself to wonder, “Maybe I finally beat ITBS into submission – maybe I’ll nail this race after all!”  All of my training seemed to be paying off and I felt the best I’ve ever felt while running.

At 3.25, I felt a familiar tightening in my left leg.  At 3.5, it felt like an ice pick was jammed into the outside of my knee by the end of every 1-minute run interval.  ITBS struck again.  Still, I was able to run 50 seconds at a time without pain, so “Maybe,” I bargained with my body, “if I skip every other run interval and only run 45 seconds at a time when I do run, I won’t have to walk the rest of the race…”  It worked for a while, but by Mile 5, I was down to running 30 or so seconds every 5 minutes.  And it HURT.  Piercing, excruciating, sob-inducing pain.  I’d put the pain level on 11.  Out of 10.  But, magically, the pain went away when I switched to a walk.  I knew what I had to do.

Only halfway through the race, I was hobbled to a walk and, truthfully, I should have parked my fanny on the side of the road, cheered for my fellow racers, and hitched a ride on the sag wagon when the sweepers eventually came through.  The experts say often that distance running is a huge mental game; that it takes some serious mental strength to veto the bad thoughts sent by our brains, telling us to quit.  I, strangely, found myself in the exact opposite position: my mental toughness wasn’t tough enough to pull the plug and save myself from further pain.  My brain was insistent: “You trained for this.  You’ve already done the distance.  Don’t quit now – earn that medal!” 

The crowd around me was almost exclusively walkers at that point; I’d been passed by the runners I’d passed earlier.  We all walked down the dark, creepy dirt path that was decorated with the occasional skeleton in a cage and large, fake bug.  I’d put the decorating on par with a stroll through Michael’s craft store this time of year.  Definitely not up to Disney standards.  As we entered WWOS, every field was lit and, coming in from the dark, I felt a bit of renewed energy.  By the time we entered the baseball stadium to run the bases, I picked it up and pulled off a sad, limpy jog for the photogs along the diamond.  But the pain from that was so debilitating, I crawled to a slow walk as we exited WWOS. 

Pulling off the course to stretch my leg, I looked back, almost hoping to see the sweeper so I could end the agony, knowing that I’d done all I could.  Nope.  Not a sweeper in sight.  With a sigh, I started walking again, head down in defeat.  We were back on a dark stretch of highway again for a couple miles and the crowd around me was quiet and subdued, all of us inwardly-focused on our individual ailments.  It was rough, rough going as we climbed the ramp back to Hollywood Studios.

And that’s when I got mad.  Really, really mad.  I had trained for that race!  And I’d hydrated properly and felt fantastic, apart from my stupid knee.  I wasn’t sick, my heart rate wasn’t even reaching the point of aerobic, let along anaerobic.  And a “little” lousy pain was keeping me from reaching my goal of finishing strong?! No sir-ee.  Winding through Hollywood Studios, I did the stupidest thing possible at that point: I ignored the pain tearing through my leg and ran my way through the finish line.  I was strong, fierce and every bit the Badass Mother Runner my race shirt advertised. 

My version of a finisher's photo.

Dumb, dumb, dumb.  That last run did nothing to help my final time and left me unable to bend my knee at all without intense pain.  I got my medal, skipped the finisher’s photo, grabbed the food and water someone handed me, took a bag of ice from the medical tent and, in a daze, slowly limped to the spot Nancy and I had designated to meet after the race.  I sat on a ledge, icing my knee and trying not to cry until Nancy appeared, haloed in light from a spotlight behind her and carrying an ice-cold Corona, complete with lime wedge.  Exactly what I needed – a beer and a friend to make me smile!

Eventually, the ice, beer and an Aleve got my pain under control and I retrieved my bag of fresh clothing (thanks a bunch, Disney, for making us go down, and then back up, a bazillion STAIRS to get our bags after running 10 miles), so we could enjoy the after-party.  We had a great time riding Star Tours and the Tower of Terror, and taking a picture with Lord Vader.  

Getting whacked in the face with our heavy, glow-y medals.

At 3am, after killing yourself to run 10 miles in 80-degrees and 89% humidity and downing a beer or two, "using the force" with Vader sounds really badass.

By 3am, the adrenaline wore off, fatigue set in, and we boarded a bus back to Port Orleans, where we got in my car and drove back to our villa.  We spent the next day showing off our awesome medals and slowly making our way around the Food & Wine Festival at Epcot.  It was the perfect recovery day – small, frequent bites to eat, slow walking to stretch the legs, and a fun friend with whom to chat.

The Aftermath

So I’ve had a few days to digest my race and I’m still finding it hard to feel good about finishing.  I think, had I never before run that far, maybe I could be satisfied with finishing in 2:42:07.  But knowing that I’ve already done the distance in training, and that I did it in 2:13:55, makes it tough to celebrate.  Had I quit when the pain hit, at 3 miles, I’d still have received the cool medal, I’d have had more time and energy to enjoy the party with my friend, and, most importantly, I’d have done no further damage to my knee.  I’m now off running altogether for a while to let the inflammation go down and then I’ll be starting from scratch.  I can’t honestly think of anything about the race that was worth doing myself in like this.

And that’s a big part of my disappointment: bad enough that my body let me down – Disney let me down, too.  Leading up to the race, I kept telling myself that, even if I had to walk a lot of it, the incredible entertainment that Disney routinely throws into its races would keep me distracted from my slow pace.  I didn’t want to stop for pictures, but I’d have enjoyed seeing others do so and would have gotten a kick out of some performers doing their thing on the sides of the road… but there were only a couple of photo ops along the course and they were of the jump-in-take-a-pic-jump-out variety; not much to look at as a passer-by.  No characters at the start or finish, either.  The lack of entertainment coupled with not being able to perform as I knew I could when uninjured made for a whole lot of frustration.

I hope that my feelings about my own performance aren’t confused with my appreciation for the efforts of everyone else who took on the Tower of Terror 10-Miler, though.  I think every person who finished that race was amazing!  And maybe I am, too.  I might just need a little more time to process it all.

So… now what?

Now, I heal, strengthen, and start running in teeny-tiny distances that don’t hurt, hopefully building back up in time for the Princess Half-Marathon in February.  I’ll change my habit of running always with the road slanting down on my left, which seems to have been the catalyst for ITBS in the first place.  I’ll admire the 10M sticker on my car, knowing that I can go the distance, even if not as I’d envisioned doing it.  And I’ll wear my “I did it!” race shirt with pride.  But I’ll never, ever run injured like that again.