Patience; the new endurance sport.

It's hard to sleep when you're not completely exhausted.  That's what I've decided.  I've also decided that white sugar is pure evil.  I think I'm really past it now for good.  I ate some candy corn yesterday without really thinking about it.  I brushed it off as harmless, and then as an afterthought, read the ingredients.  It had, not just sugar and corn syrup as I expected, but partially hydrogenated palm/cottonseed oil.  And then, that was all I could think about.  This morning --even if it was psychological--I felt gross for like two miles into my run.  It felt like a nice easy run, and I was going without my Garmin.  But then I bumped into Sasha who said I was going too fast.  It would be good to have more control of my running -- run a harder, faster sustained distance, and keep it cool on days when I should be taking it easy.  I'm just so undisciplined at heart.  It's dissapointing to find these things out about youself, right before a big race.  I just only ever run according to how I feel and how I feel about the weather.  Sasha said he was only feeling OK right now. But that's probably because he just ran the Top of Utah last week (10 times in a row I might add, placing 1st twice and averaging 2:34 over a 10 year span).  It was really good to catch up with Sasha this morning and get a little shot in the arm.  I can't wait to meet other bloggers in SG on Friday.  I hope we all have a good week and a great race.  It's supposed to be 90 degrees.  I guess that's good motivation for GETTING IT OVER WITH fast!

Yep, these little runs are enough to drive you crazy.  Just enough time to worry about every stiff joint and twitch, and then when you're finally warmed up, it's time to stop.  Also, don't forget to keep it slow! NO, even SLOWER. My body's in a warp, wanting to consume more calories than I'm going to burn this week (out of habit for how many calories I usually burn in a week).  I'd like to not gain another 3 pounds by Saturday.  I keep thinking about Clyde talking about eating more sensibly this week, and Adam's & Josse's advice to avoid the carb depletion.  All I know is that I want to eat a side of beef and a bowl of cereal for breakfast today.   Anyway, I am excited for Saturday (aside from the effort it takes to 'sleep' on Friday night and then load a buss at 4:00 a.m.).  I love that I just get to run and run and run for a long time and have a really good excuse for being all by myself in the desert enjoying the sound of breathing and feet hitting the pavement all around me.  Last year, Duane, Jeff, Diana and I waited 9 mintues to cross the starting line.  It was a actually a good strategy, we didn't have to trip over people in the dark at the start and elbow our way to a good space and pace.  I'm trying to ready my mind for those last 2 miles I hate so much. 

The dogs were incredulous. They stopped and turned back their heads in surprize to look at me when I turned around this morning at the shortest half-way point ever.  "You're turning around here? It's not even the end of the trail!" they were saying to me with their eyes. Then they just stood there on road, perfectly still, like doggie statues, and refused to move as I kept running the other direction.  They stood there a long time refusing to turn around; they were not done yet. What's funny is, many times in the past few months when I'd have to double or triple a loop, or double back a section of the trail to get in a few extra miles, they'd stop and look at me the same way.  But for the opposite reason like: "Are you even serious, it's 100 degrees and you want us to what....How far?"  Hopefully I'll be back into a good rythmn again in a week or so.  I'm anxious to get back to regular running again.

Two miles hardly seem worth blogging about, but those 2 miles hurt me.  I should be feeling rested and strong, right?  Two miles should have been a walk in the park.  But with each successive shorter the run this week, I have become exponentially more stiff. I can feel scar tissue in my pelvis becoming petrified and ligaments turning to cement even as I write this. I sat in the river after my run to see if I can freeze the irritation that began on Monday in my left hamstring.  I need someone to massage their heel into the back of my leg maybe. Not much I can do now, but sit on an icepack/heatingpad and hope for the best and try not to gain ANOTHER 3  pounds.   

Sarah suggested I skip the blog entry until my sense of humor returns.  It was a great suggestion.  But I'm not sure when this will ever be funny for me.  Congratulations to everyone who finished the SGM-- and more so to anyone, who even came close to their personal goals for the race.  As everyone knows now, race day was a disaster-- not just for the lesser runners -- but a mighty challenge even for the mentally and physically superior among us.  Pounding rain and 30 mph headwinds from the start never relented.  We got on the busses at 4:15 and were treated to pouring rain the entire drive.  We wore our trash bags once we got out, but it was was scary because we wanted to be close to the fire to stay warm (or put the bag over your head to keep it dry) but the wind blowing pretty hard and it sent the flames into unpredictable directions, threatening to melt the thin plastic to your skin if you stood too closely. An hour and a half later while waiting at the start, our heads were soaked to the skull.  I was so sure it would let up. I did a small warm up run and could could feel the still tightness in my left hip/ham that hurt me so much on Thursday during my little 2 miler. When I hit the starting line and I knew immediatly the pain wasn't like my normal nervous hypocondria, pre-warm up stiffness.  I spent 2 miles contemplating my footstrike becaue my left foot would not straighten properly (my leg foot bent at an outside angle and hurt terribly when I tried to keep it straight).  It felt like it my leg would pop out of my hip joint.  I stopped to stretch at mile 4 and tried to punch/massage my fist into the side of my hip a few times -- I felt like if I could just pop it back in the pain would go away and my foot would turn right.  I ran slowly, I walked, I stretched and by mile 6, even though I was not terribly behind (time wise)-- my leg buckled and I fell.  I got up fast, because I didn't want anyone to stop to help me, so I squatted on the side of the road while I thought of my options.  I could feel that stopping was a bad idea in light of the soaking wet and cold.  It was quickly becomeing a losing proposition all the way around.  Did I want to run slowly, but finish in 5 hours and while risking what felt like serious injury?  Or quit while I felt relatively whole so I could take on my overall goal of qualifying for Boston at a different race.  I shook it off and got back in and ran a ways with a guy holding a full size flag pole for his brother in Afganistan and a friend's WWII veteren father who passed away last week.  I tried to keep up the chat to keep my mind distracted.  But he was running painfully slow and the distraction tactic wasn't working. At the bottom of the hill at Veyo a passing runner knocked me off balance and sent me into a puddle.  Now my shoes and feet were wet .  But, I didn't mind the hill.  In fact, I venture to say that it's still my favorite part of the course.  I knew the hill would force me into a comfortable running position.  I was now thouroughly soaked by both rain and sweat (even under the trash bag).  The wind blew the stinging rain into my eyes.  It was unfortunate how strong and capable I still felt in spite of the pain and restriction in my hip going up that hill.  I got to the top of the hill, and on the downhill could really feel the pounding even though I was not fighting the gravity and taking quick small steps. The pain was sharp and hard. I thought of all the downhill past mile 13 and imagined how I'd feel between mile 24-26.  I imagined what I'd look like crossing the finish line in pain and hypothermic.  I wondered if finishing, just to finish would improve my mental tentacity to endure real life trials not associated with the race-- things like-- raising teenagers, losing a spouse, or being uprooted from my home -- or if enduring pounding rain and pain was a misapplication of a precious and limited resources--time and energy. I have to say, I surprized even myself by calling it a day, just before the time board at 13.1.  It read 2:13. I stopped and turned around and limped back toward the drink station.  I don't know if I'll ever know wether it was a premature, or judicious action.  But I do know it was instinctual and overwhelming.  The tragedy within me was the realization that every other part of my body-- my heart, lungs, and legs definitely had 13.1 more miles in them--in spite of the conditions. Overall, it was a humbling and humiliating experience. I'm getting an X-ray tommorrow and will think about what to do next after that.  Everyone, who finished this race deserves the utmost respect-- regardless of finishing time.  The finishing line looked like a war zone. When the going gets tough, the tough, indeed get going.