I Run, But I'm Not a Runner... Or Am I?

This may sound a little strange, but stay with me...

There is a constant kidding that my hubby and I partake in. It is his way of gently making fun of his beloved and my way of lowering my own expectations. The other day, at my doctor's office, I was discussing why my foot discomfort was creating such a disruption in my life. I started the sentence with, "Because I run..." Notice I did not say, "I'm a runner..." The variations of the statement made in my doctor's office can include, "I like to run..." or "When I run..." or "I am training for..." I avoid the words, "I'm a runner" like the plague. Needless to say, once hubby and I got into our car after that doctor's visit, the harassment began. Almost in his best childlike "nah nah nah nah boo boo" voice, Hubster said, "So 'because you run', not because you are a runner, huh?" Or something like that - I try to drown him out when he's trying to be cute.*

I go to specialty running store for my shoes, because I run. I can spend hours in a sporting goods store looking at running gear and training items, because I run. I have a special savings account to pay for registration fees, because I run. I subscribe to multiple websites that will send me email notifications regarding races in my area, because I run. I receive gifts that help me in my training because everyone knows I run. I have Hal Higdon's training website bookmarked on my iPhone, because I run. I am sane (relatively) because I run. Yet, I am not able to refer to myself as a "runner".

I may have uttered the words, "I'm a runner" once and quickly retracted that statement. There is something in my mind that is holding me back from saying those words in lieu of "because I run." I think I would feel like an impostor if I attempted to say those words out loud. Let's face it... I am no Kara Goucher or Paula Radcliffe. Nor am I Dimity McDowell or Sarah Bowen Shea. By saying, "I'm a runner" I feel that I would be putting myself in the same category as these women. The only thing that we have in common is that we are all mothers and we enjoy running. Hubster might disagree with that statement, too. He seems to be under the impression that I also am a sponsored runner since all I work out in is Nike apparel, but I digress.

The playful "You're a runner. No I'm not" argument ensued for a little bit until hubby had to state the obvious (in his mind). He said, "You're a runner because you have an orthopedic surgeon and are having surgery on your foot to help you get back to running." He reveled in victory as he left me speechless. I had no words to combat his statement. So I sat in silence instead of telling him he was right.

That's right. The doctor appointment we were at on this particular day was a foot and ankle specialist that I have been seeing for about a year. It turns out that my running "career" is over for 2010. On Friday, I will have surgery on my foot to finally (God willing) get rid of this pain that has been bothersome since last year. It appears that 97% of individuals will respond well to various, more conservative types of treatment. Another 2% need a little bit more aggressive forms of treatment. Then there is that 1% that require surgery.** Oh, lucky me. I reviewed the synopsis that my doctor wrote down to give to the surgical center. He described my condition as "recalcitrant". My lucky readers get a two-for-one today. A blog AND a vocabulary lesson. Recalcitrant means "stubbornly resistant to authority or control".*** My daughter, Diva, and I laughed about this for a while. Isn't it ironic that my stubbornness extends all the way to my foot? I have a new accusation to throw at my daughter when she is being, well... Recalcitrant.

With all this being said, I will have no journey to blog about. I still won't be able to conquer my first half-marathon this year. A day or two after I was told I will have surgery, I went for a run. I know... Insane. But I figured, they're are going to fix what's wrong - why not get my money's worth? I took it easy and did a pathetic sub 15 minute mile. It was the best bad run in my history. I was smiling the entire time. I took in the joy that I was missing by trying to PR and push myself. Although I will miss my runs, I will make myself follow the plan prescribed by my doctor to have a speedy and accurate recovery. Although I will not have running stories to tell, I will be using the prompts distributed by Mama Kat and her writing workshop which can be found at www.mamakatslosinit.com. A friend turned me onto this site and I hope it will bring some of the sanity I find while I run.

By the way, because I run, I have already registered for a half-marathon on March 27th (to benefit Susan G. Komen for the Cure).


*I know you're reading this KISA, I love you. Smooches.
**These are statistics given to me by my doctor.
***Thanks Google!

HALF-MARATHON TRAINING: WEEK ELEVEN

Did you miss me? Probably not. I didn't blog last week because other responsibilities took over. This week, I focused upon making my mileage. Needless to say, this week was a challenge, indeed!

I told myself that I had to do every frigging mile of my training plan this week. I can see my half, just around the corner. I asked the kids to tag along on Monday for my training run. I had Captain Awesome in the stroller and Diva on the bike. Little Miss Diva was texting ahead of me and it just reminded me of how slow I was going. But hey... Quality family time, right?

Also this week, the emails and FaceBook updates from my half-marathon have increased in frequency. With each email or ping from my cell phone (from a FB update), the nerves churned in my stomach. I started questioning my ability. At one point I gave myself a time limit to finish the half. Today, my goal is to just finish. Finish it. That's all I want to do at this point. Finish it. I've been told that I am not ready. I've been told that I should just put off my first half. That just breaks my heart.

I did my ten miles, the most I've ever done, this weekend. Talk about pain! Even so, a day later, I'm ready for another run. Does that make me a runner? I do believe so.

I really don't have much more to say. Only, I want to finish.


PLANNED MILEAGE: 23
ACTUAL MILEAGE: 24.07
CALORIES BURNED: 3,201

HALF-MARATHON TRAINING: WEEK FOUR, Part 1

When life gives you lemons... Go for a run!

Today was an emotional roller coaster. I just could not get out of this horrible mood. Around lunch time, my sister suggested I grab my running book and go to a park and take in some nature. She sent me a link to a local park and even gave a little sales pitch of the park (there are roses there). I would like to publicly acknowledge that she was right. I skipped to the chapter entitled "Potty Talk: Peeing, Pooping, Passing Gas, and Periods" and my foul mood seemed to lift away. ***On a side note, I strongly recommend Run LIKE A MOTHER to any of you women runners. It's pure greatness!*** That chapter, along with my sister's goofy text messages sent me back to work with a smile on my face and pep in my step.

That all went away in an instant. I received devastating news about some family members that had me emotionally spent. I received the news while I was at work. To add to the slew of emotions I was feeling, embarrassment was heaped into the pile. My boss walked by my office as I was reviewing details of this incident in an email. He could tell something was wrong but I dare not tell him. I gave him the, "Ummm... Yes I'm fine." tone that also implies "no further questions are welcome and I'd appreciate you vacating my office." As soon as he left I shut my door and went to pieces. KISA, again appropriately named, took me home. I swear I was in shock. I was angry. Sad. Defeated. There was this chunk of vomit that was stuck at the back of my throat that would not expel itself. I didn't even think I could face the walk to the elevators because I did not want the look on my face to solicit questions. I stopped the tears enough to dash to the stairwell that sits directly across from my office. As soon as the door shut, I allowed the tears to continue to flow as I descended eleven flights of stairs.

I came home. Took some phone calls, made some others. Cried, cursed and thought about not so pleasant thoughts. Facebook nonsense helped for about a minute. Hubby brought me ice cream and later "diet" cupcakes. I ate the ice cream but skipped the cupcakes. I let Captain Awesome know that he could have them. However, I did accept the bite the Captain offered, because it would just be plain rude if I didn't. I laid in bed trying to make sense of something that doesn't. So what do you do when something that makes no sense occurs? You do the only thing that makes sense to you. For me, that was running.

My training schedule said 3.5 miles for today. I didn't know if I was going to do that, or more. I didn't know what route I was going to take. All I knew is that I was going to run. It had rained on my way home and I dreaded the humidity that was still present, but once I took to the pavement, it all seemed to disappear. Not figuratively either. The humidity left. The heat left. God blessed my run with clouds to block the Texas sun and a breeze to get me through the therapy session I had with the road.

I felt rejuvenated just before mile three. I felt wonderful. I was with my thoughts and emotions, but my body was being strong for me. I was in the zone and just decided to keep going. At about 3.6 miles I found myself in what seemed to be a fairly new development. I had wandered into the neighborhood because I had run out of sidewalk. Not really sure how I got there, but I stopped a car and asked for directions to the last landmark I passed. I finally found myself on familiar ground and headed back home.

I felt pooped right around mile five. I got this horrible stitch under my ribs. It was painFUL!!!! I tried walking it off. It wasn't getting better. This is going to sound crazy, but the words of Sarah Bowen Shea came into my head. I had read her chapter "Mental Toughness: Training My Brain" last week. In this chapter, SBS says, "...but if your body never knows what it feels like to go longer, harder or faster, your mind will never trust that it can... Go long enough so you're super uncomfortable and every fiber of you is screaming at your brain to tell your body to slow down. Then go at least a minute - or 5 - longer." When I realized that I only had a half mile to go before I was home, I forced myself to suffer through the pain and pick up the pace. I'll be dang if I'm going to finish by walking. I wasn't sprinting, but I wasn't going at my recovery pace either. My head kept telling my body, "just one more minute longer, just one more minute longer." I got my third wind and smiled as I turned the corner into our subdivision. When I turned the corner to my street, I started sprinting. With each mailbox I reached, I told myself "harder, just a little bit harder" and I picked up speed. By the time I reached my driveway, I felt amazing... That is until the creepy guy in black shoes and white socks pulled half way up his leg gave me an oogie smile.

I'm not sure what the rest of this training week holds in store for me, but I just felt that this run deserved it's own entry.

***The picture is of a rose bush at the park that I took as proof that I followed my big seestor's advice.***