A Running Post: My Final 10 Miles

1:23 in traffic delays and 10 sec because I was going in the wrong direction!

Including these delays: 1:43:04 was my time, which is a 10:17 pace. Without the lights and the misdirection (trying to recall the above map while running was constantly on my mind!), my pace was an ok 10:08.

Not as good a pace as I was expecting, but maybe during race time I'll be able to gain some speed.

I started slow today, waking up not as early as I hoped, at 6:30am. I scoured the kitchen for something to eat, and there was no yogurt, and the bananas had seen better days. I popped in an Eggo waffle, hoping it wouldn't cause cramps. I was out the door by 7:10am.

My 1st mile split was a slow 10:00 flat. I tried to keep it slow, so that I would last through the whole run.

It wasn't raining, so that was a great bonus. I still wore my tights and L/S shirt but I didn't need gloves. It was a tad windy but that came and went periodically.

During the quiet part of my run (it was pretty early in the morning), I could hear my left shoe cracking/squeaking! It was bugging the hell out of me! Something must have tightened up when the shoes got wet weeks ago. Argh!

Overall, the run went well. I hope I'm ready for the race next week! Now it's time to taper: Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday is 4 miles, 3 miles, 2 miles, respectively. I'm thinking of driving over the route to familiarize myself with the race, so I don't get so freaked out.

It's still freaking me out anyways.

Just a Litte Tear Drop

I've been sick, as you know, and not liking it one bit.

I've worked five whole days since March 25 and I'm sure my coworkers are coming to some conclusion by now that this is getting rather ridiculous.

I couldn't agree more.

At the risk of providing TMI, I'll spare you the details of how gross my sputum has become and where it's decided to lodge itself permanently and set up house. Whether what I've got is indeed pneumonia or not (I'm on Avelox, at $7 a pill!), it sucks even worse when compounded with excruciating lower back pain which boldly surfaces whenever I have to suddenly cough (and expel said sputum!).

So, in addition to Avelox, I'm also on Robax, an OTC medicine for backpain. Containing some magnesium, I have to delay taking it in the morning because of reduced absorption of the Avelox medication. So in the morning, I've got no meds to numb the back pain, usually until about noon. Afterwards, I'm good to go, popping two of those suckers every 6 hours, the max dose allowed. 500mg of Methocarbamol, a muscle-relaxant, and 200 mg Ibuprofen in each pill and I can at least get up from the toilet without crying out Momma.

But the physical pain doesn't compare to the mental anguish I got today from watching my kids leave the house with my parents. My 16-month old slept over at my parents' place last night, the second time ever, and twice this month, and I had a feeling he might stay over again tonight. It was really nice to not have to wake up in the middle of the night and rock him back to sleep as he requires, usually both of us cranky at this point, and waking up in the morning because you felt like it was actually a good time to get up. (Frankly, the only reason I got up was to pop an Avelox so I can take my Robax by noon, and not, as most would think, to pop in some waffles in the toaster oven for the The Big Kid's breakfast -- priorities, people!).

Although I'll see The Big Kid later tonight, I quietly cried at the window as my parents piled the two kids into their van. I can't carry my growing 25-pounder, nor kiss him lots, for fear of getting him more sick (he's still got a bit of bronchialitis); my back is too painful to cart him around like he likes me to. And suddenly a waft of sympathy fell over me, a little sliver of the pain my cousin's wife must have felt as her daughter was carted away from her as she battled her fight with cancer. Then I lost it completely, crumpled to the ground, reliving the agony.

I'm not equating my silly little ailment to something monstrous like cancer, but I felt a tiny twang of pain than must have been a billion-fold more horrendous for my dear cousin-in-law who passed away last October, leaving behind her husband and the sweetest little 2 year old you'll ever meet. I understood it then, but I feel it now.

But now is not the time to reminisce about something still so painful to our family. No, the focus is to take things into perspective and just get better!

Health is pivotal to everything in life ... doing daily tasks, caring for my family, and yes, doing the Daily Grind and working your ass off. I'm sure my husband would appreciate me getting better, as he (un)intentionally makes me guilty of him doing all the laundry and tidying up for me (I swear, being home all day does not benefit the beauty of our home, and in fact it's on a downward slide) and making dinner (oh, who am I kidding --- my cooking hiatus started way before I got sick).

So, my tears fell because I miss my life. I want everything to return to normal, whatever normal is. Just not THIS. I want to return to work, I want to return to running, I want to return to caring for my family.

But all that will have to wait until I return to health.

Sick of Being Sick

I tell you, this is the last time I don't fill a prescription right away!

I saw my doctor on April 1st, before the Easter Long Weekend, about this cough I've had for a month. It had escalated to some kind of flu during that week and I was afraid I had pneumonia of some sort. I was told my chest is ok, and given a puffer to use for a couple of weeks (it was a trial size, good for a month) and that I should be able to continue running with this.

And she gave me a prescription for antibiotics, should I eventually get (TMI....) gross-tasting, thicker phlegm. Being so straight-laced and having a penchant to listening to instructions really well, I pocketed the prescription, hoping I wouldn't have to fill it.

Well, the Long Weekend came and went, with a few people encouraging me to just fill the prescription, just in case. I know, I said, but never did. Well, last week I did really want to fill it, but now I realized I lost the bloody prescription!

And so the story goes...

I'm hacking away, coughing like there's no tomorrow, the phlegm coughing itself up, not quite making itself out, then back down where it will attempt to inhibit my breathing again at the most in-opportunistic time.

I've hunted high and low for that piece of paper, which I remember I folded in quarters, stuffing it into different pairs of jeans that first weekend, at the hopes I would pass by a pharmacy and be willing to fill it. Laundry's been checked, my bag and wallet taken apart. my jackets' pockets emptied: nothing.

Just sick of being sick!