Keeping the Pace

As far back as when I was ten I remember loving Billy Joel. My first 45 was SOS Take Your Time (Do It Right), but my second 45 was Billy Joel It’s Still Rock & Roll To Me*. When I first heard the song Keeping the Faith I had no idea what that idiom meant and to my ken had never heard it prior to the song. So, probably my stupidest mondegreen to date is that I thought the song was Keeping the Pace. I say it is my stupidest because by that point it was on MTV and I probably had it on 8-track or cassette** and though I could read the name of the song I held my belief that it was Keeping the Pace for way longer than a smart girl should.

This weekend I had the wonderful experience of actually keeping the pace. I am a member of Team Red Lizard. They are a running group in Portland and they pace the Portland Marathon. I joined the team this past March. About a month ago, on the message boards was a notice that they were looking for pacers for the Rock & Roll half marathon. That I had not successfully completed a half marathon since my ACL surgery did not at all prevent me from signing up as a pacer. Also, I selected a time that was much slower than I normally run at, 2 hours 30 minutes finish.

Up to the race Andrew and I were training. I was steadily increasing my long runs and achieved a 10.5 miler. The problem was, that every time I ran my calves would get really painful — for days. I have switched to a the New Balance zero rise shoe (excuse the following geekery) – this means there is no heel support. Prior to these shoes I had switched from an 8mm rise to a 4mm rise and was already getting calf/Achilles pain. The pain is from changing your foot strike and will eventually lessen and go away, but the first many miles, there will be pain. I knew then that the solution was to go all the way all at once. And, hey, why not change your running shoes two weeks before a race?

The day before the race I had to man the Team Red Lizard running fair booth. I sat there and answered many questions about pacing that I mostly made up the answers to because I had never paced anyone before. I chatted people up about their goal times and encouraged them in their pursuit of running. Then I strolled around the fair. I came upon the CEP booth. I have heard a lot about compression sleeves/socks and have seen a lot of people wearing them, but I had no idea what they are for. Apparently, compression allows your muscles to relax and more blood to flow to them so that you can run longer or heal faster. Compression is the C in RICE (Rest Ice Compression Elevation). Recently I’ve been reading about whether or not icing is truly helpful for long term injuries and while I haven’t found significant evidence that it is, it seems compression is quite helpful. So, I bought a pair of compression sleeves for my calves.

I did not wear them for the race. While I have no qualms about getting new shoes two weeks prior to a race, I’d had time to break them in a bit. But, I had no idea how I’d run in compression sleeves. The whole experience of pacing made me quite nervous. It’s one thing if I fail during a race that I want to do well in; but, to fail when others are relying on me was untenable.

Luckily though, I did not fail. I did, however, manage to piss off my pacing partner; but, not until mile 12 of 13.1, so I consider that a win. She and I had different theories on pacing. Mine was to get the runners to the finish line around 2 hours 30 minutes and if we were a minute or two fast no harm – better than being too slow. Her’s was to direct me on how fast or slow I should be going.

Every. Thirty. Seconds.

I don’t really blame her though – her day job is data management, I am sure me being out of her margin of error was killing her. Eventually my inability to control my type-A personality shone through and I very impolitely told her to manage her own time and not mine. Boo. I could have handled that better, somehow (like, by blogging about it, for the world to see). Anyway, in all it was a lovely day AND the easiest half marathon I ever have run. Like, ever. Like, ever, ever.

I got home, showered, ate and passed out.

When I woke up, my calves were mooing. I could barely stretch and walking looked a bit more like bad modern dance from the 90′s. That’s when I remembered the compression. I put the sleeves on and waited for something to happen.

About twenty minutes later and for the next 4 hours I would tell anyone who would listen (or who had no choice but to listen because he is my boyfriend and wouldn’t want me to feel ignored or like he wanted to put me on mute because he’d learned that lesson when he muted me while we were on Skype one time while he was out of the country – no I have not forgotten that, but neither has he) how amazing these sleeves are. I mean, my calves still hurt, but not to the same extent. And I could flex my foot without pain.

Please know – I get no advertising dollars for any of this. I am but a tiny blog. But, if you want to do your legs a favor, go get some CEP compression socks or sleeves. They are worth it!

* Billy Joel’s B-Side was Through the Long Night (not his best work, to say the least). SOS cleverly put the same song on the B-Side as their A-Side recognizing and embracing their own destiny as a one-hit wonder.

** Yes, I am old enough to have had a record player and 45′s and 78′s and we had an 8-track player in my dad’s car and a stereo at home with an 8-track and dual cassette deck (fancy times).

There was an old lady who swallowed a fly….

I solved the age old question.

I do know why she swallowed that fly.

It’s because she went for a run at lunch in a park. It was a lovely day and she was with two coworkers who were having a pleasant conversation about their kids that attend school together. That lady was not joining in because she didn’t have kids, or anything to add to the conversation. And, so, she just concentrated on her breathing – out on every second footfall with the left foot, the in will take care of itself. Mind you, that lady and her friends are not super speedy, just a nice 9:30 pace on a paved park path. There was no reason for the fly to jump into the ladies mouth as she inhaled, she certainly wasn’t aiming for it (though apparently the fly was).

I know you are wondering if that lady was me, and let me say a few things about that.

1) a fly hitting your uvula is disturbing AND painful

2) It is a bit disconcerting – I am not sure if I swallowed the fly or if it bounced out of my mouth

3) almost 38 does not qualify me as “an old lady” and I resent any reference to such in the song.

I am done talking about this – which is a good thing because that run made me so hungry, I could eat a horse…

What a Pain in the Neck

You know how when you find five dollars in your laundry or maybe on the street, you almost can’t wait to spend it? It’s as though, suddenly, everything costs only $5.00 and you have exactly that unexpected amount in your pocket.

My real-job medical benefits kicked in 6 days ago. That’s right, I no longer am relegated to the VA, reading Guns & Brides in a waiting room that smells not unlike an OTB. Apparently my body was ready to try something new and while I was on my foam roller Monday morning working out a kink in my back I threw my neck out.

I am not sure how I did it. All I know is that one second I was getting off the foam roller and the next I was supporting my neck with my arm and whimpering. I lay there for several minutes trying to relax and convince myself that it was all just a figment of my imagination that it was impossible to move. After about 10 minutes I started to cry, not from the pain, but because I realized I would have to call Andrew to help me get up, and I hate asking for help.

Andrew grabbed my phone and my work computer, where I let everyone know I would be late and rearranged my first meetings of the day. He gave me a light massage until I was able to get up and take a hot shower.

I sat at my desk and started calling around for emergency reparative services. Acupuncture, massage, chiropractor, Jiffy Lube, I called everyone that was open at 8. It all seemed expensive – or would be too long a wait. That was when I remembered I had medical insurance. I called my provider and found out that I needed to select a “home base.” Then I called that place and found out that since I don’t have a primary care physician and they couldn’t get me one in short order that I just needed to go to immediate care.

Meanwhile, the cleaning ladies Andrew and I have come every other Monday finished up and one of them left me the number for an acupuncturist she used to work for. I called him up too. He could get me in quickly, but was also mildly expensive.

I had Andrew pack up my work computer and some workout clothes (for when I was all better so I could go to CrossFit) in my new backpack and borrowed his car to head to the immediate care facility. The immediate care facility was immaculate and looked pretty newly minted. Which begs the question, why do I have to wait in a waiting room with no WiFi like an animal? Also, let’s rename the facility to eventual care, immediate care is more of a “goal.”

Eventually, I was beckoned into the medical office and my vitals were taken, my issue noted, my allergies confirmed. The doctor came in and mispronounced my name so badly I though he was introducing himself as Ed. Turns out his name is Julius. I told him what I’d done and how I’d done it. He made sure I didn’t have nerve damage, then he offered me drugs. Et tu Brute? I don’t want drugs, I want you to fix me. I told him I wouldn’t take medicine and could I just see a chiropractor or something and his already guarded and irritable tone turned for the worse. “Well, a chiropractor won’t fix you, and if you were my sister I would tell you to rest and take pain medication.”

“And I would tell you that you were adopted.”

As an aside – What did he mean by if I was his sister? I mean, I am his patient and he told me the same thing. But, aside from that, am I to think that as a patient he would take less care of me than he would his sister? I would assume that the level of care would be the same. Do doctors only have a limited amount of available “good” medical advice and they hoard it for the use of their family members? From now on I will wait for the medical advice and then say, “Yes, but what would you tell me if I was your sister?”

I left without any pain medication or relief.

That’s when I remembered I’d seen a chiropractor a little less than a year ago. He was well priced and could always get me in quickly. I called them up and made an appointment for twenty minutes away (the exact amount of time it would take me to drive there). An echoing ring of anguish hit my ears. Then I realized that was me screaming as he adjusted me “gently”. Within ten minutes I was on my way. I picked the wrong career. 10 minute appointments at $50.00 a pop (literally)! A person could work half a week.

Sadly I did not make it to Crossfit yesterday. I am going running today (I don’t need to turn my head for running, I can just jump into traffic – it’s how I do it even when my neck doesn’t hurt). Tomorrow I will have a massage. I imagine by Thursday I will be ready for overhead squats.

Funemployed

Today and tomorrow I am unemployed or between jobs.

I slept in today until 8:30. I got up and slopped the chickens, collected eggs, cleaned that cat box, fed the cats and ate a couple of fried eggs.

Then I sat on the couch for two hours playing mindless Facebook games.

Then I took a nap.

Then I got up and got a massage.

Then I took a nap.

Then I went and performed improv at Curious Comedy Theater.

I am exhausted. Think I will turn in early tonight.

Apparently unemployment is a lot like mononucleosis without the swollen glands.

Nuun for Me

Sad face emoticon.

Despite my undeniable adorableness, Nuun has decided not to select me for this year’s Hood to Coast van.

I am going to try again next year. In the interim, I am doing my very best not to be a sore loser (so difficult).

I imagine I was not selected for insurance liability purposes – maybe telling them I would probably injure myself was not the best route to take…

One last time, here is the fabulous video Andrew helped me make.

 

 

Happy New Year!!!

You know that friend of yours? The one that when you make plans with her it’s about 50/50 that those will come to fruition? The one that will say yes to just about any activity but then has to cancel? That girl is so irritating!

Also, she’s me. I’m your friend.

Hi, my name is Hadas, and I am a Flake.

About once every other month Andrew and I have this conversation:

Me: I feel so busy all the time.

Andrew: SIGH

Me: What?!

Andrew: We should record this conversation so that you can just replay it next time you want to cut back your schedule.

Me: I just feel like I have too much going on.

Andrew: You do.

And that is the crux of it. I do too much and want to do even more. But, there are only 24 hours in a day, and 7 days a week, etc. Some of those hours need to be unscheduled, as I am learning.

I use a calendar. Google Calendar even. If Google Calendar were my treadmill, I would hang my clothes on it. That is to mean, I don’t really use it properly. Sometimes I put appointments in the calendar. Sometimes I make appointments and don’t put them in there. Sometimes I make appointments where appointments already exist because I did not look at the calendar before putting an appointment in there. Sometimes I look at the calendar and am surprised that I have an appointment to be somewhere – across town – ten minutes ago.

All of this is super irritating, not just to the friends I cancel on when I have been overbooked for two weeks and need a moment of me-time, but to me. I hate being flaky.

As such, I am making a New Year’s resolution to be better at calendaring and to be less flaky.

It’s not New Year.

I know.

See the problem?

It’s a Blessing and a Curse

As the Divinyls said, it’s a fine line between pleasure and pain*.

I think between all the times I injure myself, my arthritis, and some sad childhood moments, I have a really high pain tolerance. Sometimes this is a bad thing. Like (hypothetically) if I push too hard on a recovering ACL surgery-ed knee and end up not being able to be any-kind-of-active for a month during recovery. But, sometimes, high pain thresholds come in handy.

This weekend I performed at Curious Comedy Theater in the show Fit to Print, where we take news articles selected by the audience, read them and then rif off of them for improv scenes. It’s super fun. When I go to Curious Comedy I often have already eaten, but Saturday night, I had not yet done so. I ordered some chilaquiles (it was cheat day) and also had some popcorn during the most excellent Ruby Rocket (a really fun show that is a noir-ish mystery partially improvised with audience members and written/acted by the inimitable Stacey Hallal). Then after Fit to Print I went home to get to bed so that I could get some sleep before an early morning Bridge to Brews 10K (the run was wonderful!).

It wasn’t until 1PM on Sunday, when I was on my way to an appointment and wanted a coffee, that I realized I’d left my tab open at Curious Comedy, and left my debit card. I wasn’t worried about the safety of it. I was worried about paying for my coffee and my pending appointment. I had no idea when I would be able to retrieve the card. I contacted the box office manager on her cell phone and begged her to bring me my card.

I also magically found $20 in my jeans pocket so I could buy a coffee. I know this was magic, or a miracle of God, because I am the epitome of a plastic girl living in a plastic world. I NEVER carry cash. And when I do have cash, because someone gave it to me – most likely to make a liar out of me saying I NEVER carry cash – I spend it almost immediately (this is another reason I don’t carry cash. It’s like if I have cash I feel like I have to find someone to give it to.).

And then I went to my appointment at Optic Nerve Arts, with D’Lacie McBride.

Daisies

Daisies

This is my third time being tattooed and is the largest piece I have. It’s going to take a fair amount of sittings because it is large and going to be colored in. My last piece took very little time and the first even less. But, each were so long ago I had no recall of what tattooing felt like.

It feels like someone is taking a vibrating needle and dragging it through my skin. I don’t even mean that to be funny. That is what it feels like. There are some spots that are more painful then others. Overall, however, it was not that painful of an experience. In fact, until my friend Randi showed up with my credit card that I had left at the theater, I was reading.

This morning I expected pain, or itching. But, really, it feels a little like a mild, healing, sunburn. I think that a life of pain and klutziness has amounted to an ability to withstand a good amount of pain. In this case, it was a blessing.

*I know you probably only remember her saying that she touches herself.