some notes on my butt

I am ONCE AGAIN sidelined with a random running injury.  Let us list my athletic medical history!

1. Runner's knee. They crackle to this day. Impressively.
2. Achilles tendonitis. I had to wear running shoes to and from the statehouse in Maryland and then stand in the lobby and awkwardly put heels on while trying not to make eye contact with any of the politicians. It was fashionable and not awesome.
3. BENIGN LEG TUMOR (my personal favorite). That shit is still in there, being benign and never ever hurting, except for that one time when I was training for a half marathon and it decided to hurt all the time and scare everyone. Here it is in all its glory:

It's that huge black thing wrapping around the bone. It looks scary, but it literally does nothing but sit there. Kind of like me right now, which brings us to:
6. Some butt thing idk. I would be more specific, but a team (A TEAM!) (but decidedly not the A-team) of physical therapists has no idea what's going on. I think it's piriformis syndrome, which is a fancy way of saying that I've somehow pissed off a muscle deep inside my butt, but the doctors can't agree on anything. To "recover," I'm basically half-assing a bunch of PT exercises that don't seem to help or hit the correct spot. Some days it hurts, some days it doesn't. I'm friends with ice packs and heating pads and ibuprofen and whining. Standard. (My poor boyfriend, y'all. I am lucky that he is the sweetest.)

Us and my butt, in happier running times.

In the mean time, I'm not quite sure what to do with myself, aside from canceling my registration for the marathon I was going to do in June. Registering for races and then not getting to run them is totally becoming my jam. I think I will get a second opinion from a doctor who maybe knows what he's doing. I think I will try to bike, I guess, but that hurts my extremely bony butt in a whole other kind of way, which seems to sort of defeat the purpose.

On the plus side, I am relatively sure that there is not a tumor in my butt. Though I guess that would be the logical progression of my life.

That time I ran a half-marathon pain-free. I remember you fondly,

on account of you were a month ago.

Edited to add: existing tags I added to this post include "ow my butt," "it's not a toomah," "sadness and woe" and "these tags are ridiculous." Just. What.

5 Things on Friday

Because I don't think I can come up with 15 things, I am just not as interesting as this girl.

1. I ran 5.2 miles at an 8:46 pace on Wednesday and it didn't feel fast at all, just comfy. Perhaps my tempo run Monday just busted me through that plateau?

2. For the past week or so my left hamstring has been tightening up about two miles into every run. On Wednesday, it got super tight then started to hurt, a la an oncoming injury. I foam-rolled and stretched the hell out of it and it feels fine now, but I am concerned because it has felt fine after every other run too - it's just during that it tightens. I am basically refusing to be injured so I think I might have to start (UGH) warming up before I run. Do any of you do this? When I was doing physical therapy for my IT band my therapist gave me a set of warm-up exercises called dynamic flexibility. It involves a bunch of stretches you do while walking/moving around, most of the time you look super-cool like this:


O hai, just monopolizing the track with my bending over
Source

Dynamic flexibility helps a ton; I always feel looser and more comfortable in my running when I do it first but it's such a PAIN because it turns even a quick three-mile run into such a freaking PRODUCTION. Like I get changed and ready to go run and then I have to squat and flail all over my apartment for 15 minutes first, it's kind of exhausting. Factor in the icing/stretching/foam-rolling time after and even a short run takes an hour. Rage. But it's better than being injured and since I am just going to keep increasing my mileage from here, I guess I'll start doing it again. Somewhere in Virginia, Jeremy the physical therapist is cackling evilly right now from satisfaction, I just know it.



Do you like how he's all grainy because I made the photo bigger to fit my Charlie Sheen text? Me too. Take that Jeremy!

3. I had a job interview for the best. job. ever. yesterday. I have no idea if I will get it as I think it's a little above my experience level, but I feel like I kinda rocked the interview so I am feeling good regardless.

4. Then I found out I have to register my car in Wisconsin because Virginia (aka the Worst State Ever) is canceling my license because I am not living there anymore. I called the DMV and tried to explain that I am in a weird state of limbo but that I would prefer to just keep my Virginia residency until I know where I will be, but the DMV lady did not care. Obviously registering my car here is important SYMBOLICALLY as it means I am one step closer to dying here. F my life.



I do not miss Virginia (on account of it's the Worst State Ever), but I will miss my animal-friendly license plates. My pets will miss them too.


My popped collar indicates that I don't actually care at all about your license plates, I just want some sorority girls to party with.

5. I read an article in W Magazine about a "no poo" movement where people are eschewing the use of shampoo. Apparently your hair will clean itself if you leave it alone for 4-6 weeks. I am a big fan of not showering, but even I feel like this is excessive. And yet, I am still kinda tempted to try it, though I have to think the people who are doing this are not also training for a marathon; my head would start to reek after about three days. My sense is that that will not get me hired anywhere and it may also endanger the health of my freelance projects. Allegedly Prince Harry is a fan though.



So ostensibly his hair looks like that not from copious amounts of expensive hair product but because he doesn't wash it. Idk, but if he's smelly that baby doesn't seem to mind, though to be fair I am not sure I would either if I were in her position.

I hope you all have fabulous weekends! I am going to spend mine drinking with the boss, cursing Virginia while I pay extra to register my car here and cross-stitching. Just keeping alive my special blend of being simultaneously 80 and 12.

update (really, but not about me, so not really)

The gym guy called back, and I missed his call and he left a very informative voicemail so I do not have to call him back (score!). He said they will be more than happy to a) freeze my membership and also b) refund me the weeks I've missed so far. But I will need a doctor's note.

CUE SAD MUSIC. Like maybe some emotional Backstreet Boys, or maybe some Justin Bieber, since that's what the kids seem to be into these days, idk.

I would like to do a lyrical pun here, but I don't listen to Justin Bieber.

Source

As I mentioned somewhere before, I do not have insurance currently. This is because I quit my full-time job in the industry I have wanted to work in since I was 12 in order to move to California with my boyfriend. Then my boyfriend and I got to California and broke up, which is the story of why I am currently in the Great White North. (Well not really, it is of course a much longer story, one that I will be happy to tell any of you in person if you want to come over and bring Kleenex and vodka and Cheez-Its, not necessarily in that order.) So upon hearing that the gym would require a doctor's note I did some asking around to see if I know any doctors who would be willing to give me a note.

I asked my mom, who lives next door to a doctor, and works for a doctor, and has a brother who is a doctor, and whose best friend has a son who is a doctor. She said no.
I asked my dad, who is the CEO of a healthcare non-profit and knows thousands of doctors*. He said no.
So then I resigned myself to my sad fate and found a free clinic in town. I will be schlepping there on Monday. It is a Catholic clinic, which is fine because I do not need birth control, but I am a little worried that it may burst into flames when I walk through the door. Which would be sad on many levels, including the fact that I would then need to have burns treated on top of my butt problems. It never ends.

*Back when I was having tumor issues, I emailed my X-rays to my parents so they could get an idea of what was going on. Unbeknownst to me, my father then sent the X-rays to literally DOZENS of random doctors I had never met, asking if they could take a look and offer advice. I started receiving emails from tons of men I had never met, all of whom had peered at my bones and were eager to share their thoughts. I called my dad and said, "Who are these men and why do they have opinions on my innards?" In retrospect, it was very adorable, but I find it highly suspect that now when I need a note about my butt, he can't be bothered to email one of them. However if the free clinic decides there's a tumor of sorts hiding in there, I am sure my dad will be all over it.

update (not really)

This is what I am currently sitting on:


Why yes, yes that is a chair with a full-sized bed pillow on it. I should sit on this even when my ass is not injured, because my butt is bony enough that this chair causes me pain after five minutes anyway. But the fact that I went through the effort to grab a pillow from my bed to sit on while I blog should tell you that my tailbone still hurts.

The plus side: it is getting better! It hurts less and I can do various things that I could not before, like get into the car without wincing and carry a ladder without wanting to kill someone.

The down side: well. It still hurts.

I finally gave in and called my gym this morning to see if I could freeze my membership while my dignity heals itself. The membership guy was not in, so I left a message. He's there now and hasn't called me back, which is a fairly accurate metaphor for life at the moment. If you need me, I'll just be hanging out here on my butt pillow, waiting for the phone to ring and contemplating various life choices, like which microwaveable dish I would like to eat for breakfast.

full-on frowny

Well. Nine days after literally busting my butt on the ice, I'm still walking painfully like a senior citizen, clearly have yet to run a single mile and have officially given up hope of running the Little Rock Half-Marathon. Which is in 25 days, not that it matters with regard to my sad life anymore.

UGH. I AM NOT HAPPY. Basically I am this:

Source

+ this:

Source

Only I'm less cute and more bitchy. Reasons I am not happy:

1. My stupid butt. I have a really bony butt, like embarrassingly bony, like I can't go to restaurants and sit on un-padded chairs because I will be in legit pain in about 20 minutes. I have the whitest white-girl booty you've ever seen. So of course it should have occurred to me that falling hard on said bony white-girl booty would probably result in a more-than-casual injury, because I have zero padding back there. Of course it did not occur to me, which just adds insult to the ongoing injury.
2. I can't go to the doctor to properly diagnose my butt injury because I don't have insurance, because I quit my job and moved to California to be with my now ex-boyfriend, where presumably there is no ice to slip on, OH MY GOD THIS BUTT THING IS JUST BRINGING UP RAGE ABOUT SO MANY OTHER THINGS. Through the magic of the Google, I have determined that my tailbone is in fact bruised and not broken, not that it matters because either way there's not much a doctor can do for it except offer ibuprofen and ice and pat me on the back. But still. It would be nice to know for sure.
3. I HATE QUITTING THINGS, and if I had NOT fallen on my ass and had been able to continue my last-minute training plan, I would have been able to run that half-marathon no problem. It probably wouldn't have been pretty but I believe I would have beat my tumor time, and I would have also gotten to spend the weekend with the giraffe, drinking wine and coffee and loving the balmy 40-degree temperatures in Little Rock. Now instead I am going to suffer alone, with my butt, in the Great White North. Probably with wine, as clearly alcohol is all I have left.
4. I hate the Great White North. Can I please move anywhere, except for back to Virginia? Can I please get a job so I can get out of here? It is so cold outside that every uncovered part of my body (aka my face, my hands) physically hurts after about 10 seconds of venturing outside.
5. (the kicker) When I am this crabtacular, running is basically the only thing that makes me feel better. Aaaaaaaand I can't.

Well, maybe that's not entirely true, because whining about things on the internet just now kind of made me feel better. KIND OF.

Anyway, probably I will keep blogging about ridiculous things that happen to me, but unfortunately my posts will probably not include any running for awhile, like until my butt TAILBONE heals. (I really have to start embracing the term "bruised tailbone" rather than "broken butt" because it is more socially acceptable, like I can't tell my boss I can't do things at work because my butt hurts, even though - surprise! - I already told her that like 17 times.)

As a sad final note, please observe the email I received from the Daily Mile this week:


Thanks, jerkfaces. Appreciate it.

And then I fell down (it was only a matter of time)

Uhh so. After a really great week of training, I spent two days eating things like this:

That's Midwestern for "gourmet breakfast" in case you aren't fluent.

We like anything that involves cheese.
Source

Cream cheese counts as a cheese.
Source

Cheez-Its are low-brow cheese.
Source

I don't usually stress about the occasional binge weekend because a) it's fun (look at all the cheese, who knew cheese even CAME in so many forms?!) and b) it doesn't matter if you go back to eating like a sane human shortly thereafter. Plus with all the running, I figured, who cares? Clearly this is the best part of running.

And then I slipped and fell on ice into my way into work yesterday, and now my butt hurts and I am walking like I am 80 and I don't know that is such a great idea for me to go running. Also did I mention it looks like this outside YET AGAIN:

Only less pretty and more annoying. And if I managed to injure myself walking at a slow pace into work, you can imagine what I would do to myself outside trying to contend with NATURE, or whatever. The end result of this is that I am crabby and I feel bloated from the trillion grams of carbohydrates I ingested over the past few days. The extra-sad part is that normally eating some Cheez-Its would make me feel better.

Through the magic of the Google, I have learned that if running doesn't hurt, it is probably okay to do it. So my tentative plan is to head to the gym tomorrow and see how it feels, though frankly if I get dressed and drive all the way there and go through my entire warm-up and then get on the treadmill to find that it hurts, I am probably going to be inclined to keep running just because, good lord, that is a lot of BOTHER. Maybe I will do some sweet warm-up jogs in the living room beforehand just to test things out. You know, give the cats something new to tell their therapist.

Unimpressed with me generally.

In closing I would like to say that if you are in the Great White North, walk very slowly when you are outside lest you fall and injure your tailbone. Said injury will lead to crabbiness and, at least in my case, concerned BlackBerry messages from my father inquiring about the state of my coccyx. Since then my power mantra has switched from "IT'S NOT A TOOMAH" to this:

Napoleon: What are you doing here, Uncle Rico?
Uncle Rico: Grandma took a little spill at the sand dunes today. Broke her coccyx.

F my life. My mom suggested icing it but I draw the line at icing my butt. I must retain what little dignity I have to begin with.

sometimes, not always

I forgot to add one thing to my list of "you should know's" regarding my blog which is this: I am not a write-every-day type of blogger. And probably I never will be, unless someone decides to sponsor my blog and pay me lots of money to write ridiculous things from my bed while I wear pajamas. I just get all twitchy if I start thinking of it as something I Have To Do every day, and also I am not interesting seven days a week. Tuesdays are boring and sometimes I take naps on Thursdays. It's just a fact.

Since my last post I have run twice. The first was indoors at the gym - 4 miles in 35 minutes flat, 6.5 starting speed, 8.1 ending - and the second was today, OUTSIDE, in the BALMY 32 degrees weather. My ears were very excited to be muff-less in the great outdoors for the first time in a month; my quads were less jazzed about the hills we encountered. It went okay, and I felt happy to be out again. I did 3.23 miles in 27:49, which is an average pace of 8:21, thus proving my theory that treadmill training will make you fast but it will also make you a big fat hill wuss. Since it's supposed to drop back into arctic temperatures next week, I am contemplating some treadmill hill workouts. I'm not sure how effective they are but it is probably better than nothing, so we'll see.

Because I don't listen to music when I run outside, I always gear up for my runs with a dance party in my bedroom. I do this with the door closed lest anyone wander past and see me, because I dance like a freak. Like this:


Except instead of joining in my cats just look at me with sadness and pity. Today's warm-up song was "Raise Your Glass" by Pink which morphed into "Teenage Dream" by Katy Perry while I was running. I then spent a good chunk of my run contemplating how pop music all sounds the same to me now, which I believe officially makes me about 86 years old.

Kindred spirit.

I was chatting with my blogging bff Melissa the other day (we go way back, like to the days of livejournal), and she pointed out that I had never explained my reasons for choosing to run the Little Rock Half. They are simple and boil down to this girl:
That is my bff, who I affectionately refer to as the Baby Giraffe due to her gangly awkwardness. She is living in Little Rock for the year with her husband, Cute Comm Boy (so named because I mildly stalked him in my sophomore year communications class), and suggested that we run the race together as a bonding thing. The giraffe weighs 10 pounds and could cut you with her hipbones and as such has never run a half marathon, which frightens me a little because I fear she may break in half right in front of me en route, and I can't sew or do CPR so I will be of no use if/when this happens. She has had the flu and has spent the past week or so vomming, and before that I think was right around my awesome running benchmark of 4 miles, so it remains to be seen how this whole half-marathoning-in-the-name-of-friendship will go. Because in case you have forgotten, allow me to remind you that the race is

36 days

away. And yes that did fill my heart with fear and panic when I typed it.

Obviously I do not have any grand GOALS for this race, although I would like to beat the time from my last half, which was 2:13. My training for that one was very on point until I went to the doctor for what I thought might be a stress fracture and left being told it was a "shadowy mass," most likely a tumor. My tumor sucked. I named her Phyllis, she was a wench. She looked like this:


The fugly whore is technically still in my leg, hanging out, and since it never changed shape or grew the doctors didn't see a need to biopsy it, and declared it benign ("enchondroma" is Phyllis' full name, if you are into the Google). But while they were discussing all of this I was told to stop running, so by the time the half rolled around my long run consisted of a single 4.5-miler. I was running the race with my dad, who has been a runner longer than I've been alive and has done Boston twice, and he was very kind to me when I hit the wall at mile 9. But I didn't walk once and still managed some semblance of a sprint into the chute, and of course I didn't lose my sense of humor or powers of persuasion, as some time around mile 7 I managed to talk my dad into doing this for one of the course photographers:

Why yes, I am racing in a cotton T-shirt.

So really my goal here is to get in at least one long run of about 8 miles and finish faster than my tumor time of 2:13. I think it's doable, especially since the giraffe told me to feel free to ditch her after the first mile. I don't know how likely that is, on account of I like her, but I am glad to have the option. And since I won't be listening to music on the course, I already have my pump-up strategy all planned out. It basically involves playing this on a loop in my head:

FOOLPROOF!

Edited to add: I just reopened this post to let you know that I cannot watch that video without dissolving into laughter. I have yet to make it through one time. I am a dork.

OH LORD HERE WE GO

I used to be wicked good at running and am trying to get back into it consistently, which is difficult given my many lasting running injuries (apparently one of my legs is longer than the other and this makes me all unstable; I am annoyed by this because it hurts my parts but also secretly vindicated as it presents a plausible explanation for the many times a day I fall down). I am in the wake of a traumatic train crash of a breakup, one that forced me to move back home to the frigid Midwest into my mother’s basement while I look for a job. It is not awesome, for many reasons, including the fact that most of my belongings — including my shoes — are in storage. I miss my shoes.

When I got here in the fall I was running consistently, but now it is winter and -4,000 degrees all the time and there has been many a day I have decided to eat bagels instead of put my shoes on and get out the door. I would like this to change for many reasons, including the fact that I am signed up to do a half marathon in Little Rock in March. I am so in denial about this that I have to Google to find out the date of the race every time I decide to think about it. I will now post said date here, on the internet, which will disarm my denial because as the spurned girl in The Social Network pointed out, the internet is written in ink not pencil. That’ll teach me.

Ugh. THAT IS SO MUCH SOONER THAN I WAS THINKING IT WAS.

So my first blogging goal is to keep track of my training, which will hold me accountable to complete said training. In the interest of full disclosure, I will add that it’s 2:15 pm, I’m still in pajamas and I spent the morning eating my weight in Saltine crackers and peanut butter, watching OnDemand episodes of Teen Mom. What can I say, I go a little nuts when I have the house to myself. I might do laundry next. Shit’s off the hook here.

If you decide to read my blog here are some things you should know going forward. 1.) I swear sometimes. 2.) I have many pets (two cats, one bunny) who drive me crazy frequently and since I am a whiner they will probably pop up here and then. 3.) Since I have been running forever I know about running things, like fartleks and tempo runs and negative splits. But since I started running in 1995 I am completely oblivious about many other things. I don’t know what a Garmin is. Nike+ (if that’s what it’s even called) is a mystery to me. I don’t run with music unless I’m on the treadmill; I sometimes still drive my runs to figure out how far I’ve gone. I’m a low-tech runner, is what I am saying to you now. Also I frequently wear cotton T-shirts (or wifebeaters) when I’m running and they do not cause me any problems. I realize this is sacrilege to many runners.

I have run one half marathon before, in April 2009 in Charlottesville, Va., with my dad. I had to stop training in the middle thanks to a tumor in my right shin (it was later ruled benign), so I finished the very hilly course in 2 hours and 13 minutes which for me is pretty slow. I would like to run a full marathon before I turn 30, which is a little more than a year away, and also hello, I am old. But of course I need to take baby steps here which today means I need to get off the couch, turn off the OnDemand and think about going go running. It’s still -4,000 out so this means I will have to put clothes on and go to the gym. But first I have to digest those 11 pounds of crackers and peanut butter. Cheers to a big Saturday.