My hamstring’s a little tight and I think I have a slight abdominal muscle pull. A pulled hamstring started this litany of detours; I don’t want to start over. So this morning was yoga, concentrating on my hips and back. Though I prefer racking up the miles and burning a ton of calories, that wasn’t in the cards today.
The attention to my hips and back was necessary attention to a couple problem areas. Though it wasn’t the opportunity I wanted, it was the opportunity I needed. Yesterday’s post covered that, Rolling Stones lyrics and all.
Today’s post starts there, goes beyond just finding plan B.
I spent concentrated time on a physical activity that will ultimately help my body. That’s a solid win. It’s not a “well it’s not much, but I guess that’s all you could do” win. That approach is an exercise in turning wins into losses. If there are moral victories, this would be a moral defeat.
Overcoming a challenge is a win. Take the win. Feel good about it. Don’t weigh it down with conditions that diminish it. Well, I couldn’t run today, so I made do with yoga.
No! You found a creative way to help yourself in spite of an obstacle. That’s the very definition of a win.
Do that on a regular basis, and your life will change, even if you weren’t the top bad ass every day.
Outside an ill-advised 5K last weekend, this morning was my first post-Covid run. Under normal conditions, I’d have been in running heaven. It’s 55 degrees this morning where I am, with moderate humidity. No bugs. No snakes. No gators.
Under normal circumstances, I’d have flown. This morning I didn’t.
The first mile or so wasn’t too bad, but I wound up walking quite a bit in the second half of the four-mile run. It was like in the beginning, when I got out as far as I’d go and dread the prospect of getting all the way back.
Keep in mind, just six weeks ago, I crushed my previous best 5K time, shaving minutes off my personal record, which is quite a bit for a relatively short race.
In the old days, I’d have been kicking myself for the amount of walking I did this morning. Sure, you just had a disease no one understands and the last time you ran, you felt like a steam roller had gotten you for a couple of days, but come on…show a little passion and backbone.
This morning, I smiled as I turned and headed back. There was still a little dread about the return and the hills just killed me.
Odds are pretty good that Covid will continue to slowly let go of me and that within a few weeks–maybe sooner–four miles won’t be a challenge again. It’s also possible that Covid has changed me and I won’t get back to where I was.
That’s tomorrow’s concern.
For today, I was out there, and though it wasn’t everything I wanted it to be, it was wonderful.
That’s not only enough, it’s more than I have a right to demand.
In Florida this year, May was unusually cool and every pleasant morning run was hailed as the unexpected gift it was. Sweating buckets will tell you seductive lies when you weigh yourself after a run, but peeling your clothes off and throwing them in the dryer because they’re sodden isn’t any kind of fun.
Airplane! really captured the essence of a summer run in Florida.
This morning it was 55 degrees when I started my run. I was still a sweaty, disgusting mess by the time I got done, But my sneakers aren’t soaked.
I ran seven miles, up some farm roads, taking a route I once had to take on the school bus (cough cough) years ago. Back then the world was bigger and it seemed like the bus went halfway to Vermont before doubling back and (finally) dropping us home.
I ran to farthest portion of that neverending bus route, then turned around and ran back.
It was, for lack of a better word, fun. I enjoyed it.
Most runs this time of year are torture. From the time you step outside into the sauna until you finally stop sweating half an hour after you’re done, they’re miserable. It’s a payment you make on bigger, better runs to come when it stops being Satan’s armpit outside. They’re deferred joy, along with a feeling of accomplishment for doing what no sane person would do at a time of the morning when no sane person would be outside. (You have to. It’s far worse then the sun comes up.)
The sun was up this morning and the run was glorious. When I got to the far point and started back, it felt good to bludgeon that long-ago bus route to death.
But the real joy was in the run itself. There were no shorts fused to my hips and butt. There were no ropes of sweat running down my legs. There was no heat halo surround my head.
There was just me and a road–recently paved and smooth, which it wasn’t back in the day.
And there were hills–some slight enough in a vehicle that I never realized they existed before running up them. Some smaller than I remember. A couple were much, much bigger than I remembered and my legs drove home the discrepancy.
And then I was done. And for the first time in a long time, I was a little wistful at the run being over.
In a good life, joy comes in the mundane, in the standard things you do every day.
After a hardcore July, my legs and body begged for a break. And so it came. Four days of no running following by a hot, stinky run that was almost fun. Then another day off yesterday as I drove from Pittsburgh to the Capitol District area in upstate New York.
And then a seven-mile joy run this morning.
Every day I seek out things to be grateful for. I’ve been thankful a number of times for being able to run. Today I’m thankful for the run itself. It was incredible.
I literally got to the race area as they started. No time for mentally preparing and less than a minute to stretch. Then the horn sounded and we were off.
The Freakin Hot 5K, so named because it’s freakin hot in central Florida the first full weekend of August. Official estimates put the race temperature at about Satan’s Armpit level.
I started near the back, along with a lot of the walkers and strollers and people who were there to get a little exercise before the afterparty. My running style for the first quarter mile was more Barry Sanders than Usain Bolt (if he were timed with a calendar).
Note to reader: I would throw in some awesome Barry Sanders highlights here, but the NFL doesn’t have enough money, so they’ve blocked all the highlight videos from WordPress.
As I ran, I paid attention to my pace–and it was fast for me. Thursday night, I did five miles at a 10:30 pace, which is blazing. Every time I looked at my watch, my pace was under ten minutes. A couple times, I purposely slowed down because I knew I couldn’t keep that pace.
The goal, as the race unwound, was to finish with a pace under ten minutes.
About two-and-a-half miles in, I couldn’t do it anymore. (Well, I probably could if my life depended on it or if someone were chasing me with a snake, but beyond that, it was too much.) I walked about a hundred yards, got myself together and figured the ten-minute barrier was out of reach.
As I rounded the corner to the finish and saw the finish line, I said f### this s###, I’m done, and came as close as I could to a sprint to the end, then found some water to drink before the vodka they offered.
I could’ve avoided the walking by slowing my pace a little earlier on. The run certainly would’ve been more comfortable and I’d save myself the embarrassment of the walk of shame. I consoled myself by saying I’d done my best and, as the great Tony Horton said to the one-legged guy during Plyometrics, that’s always enough.
But it is what it is, so I got some water and some sort of energy drink, then the vodka drink, then a beer. The time wouldn’t be that bad, definitely better than the 10:21 I ran at the race I did on July 4.
Then I checked the text they send you with the results.
I walked part of the way and I still got a 9:44. That’s a quarter minute off my personal best, run on a cold February day, and more than half a minute better than the July 4 race.
I walked because I took an aggressive approach to the race. If I’d gone slower, I wouldn’t have walked, but I probably wouldn’t have gotten this time. I also finished in the top half of all finishers, a new thing for me. But I’m still in the bottom half for dudes and my age group, so there’s still work to do.
But it’s a good lesson. Sometimes in life you go in a little hotter than you’re comfortable with. Don’t pull back. You can always take a break later, but give it a shot. Push yourself a little. You might be pleasantly surprised by the results.
Last weekend, I ran a 5K, wearing my employer’s logo. I finished in 88th place. In my age group.
I ran hard–hard enough that I thought I might throw up as I approached the finish. And I broke a ten-minute pace for the 3.1 mile course.
Of course, me being me, I was thrilled with the time they texted me–for about ten minutes. It was clear from the almost-throwing-up that I couldn’t have done better during the race.
I’m not talking about the day of the race, or the day before. Or the month before. I’ve run enough in the past month that I’ve had to back off and give my legs a little time to recover.
But there are things I can do to get a better result. The first isn’t directly tied to effort. It’s research. If I’m going to start being serious about things like race times, I need to build some knowledge. I’ve started that process with a couple podcasts–neither of which is right for me. So I need to keep looking.
Then, rather than just running to run, I can run with a purpose. In my case, I aspire to finish a marathon. Given the issues I’ve had completing thirteen miles, that’s a lot of work. Given that summer is coming, it’s going to be miserable work.
This is supposed to be running in hot weather. I have that much sweat after three steps.
But I want to know what it feels like to cross that finish line.
I also need to be more focused on my diet. I don’t eat the way I did when I was 23–but I can do a hell of a lot better. The lack of improvement there is just laziness. Junk food only has the intrinsic power you give it. The M&Ms guys aren’t junk-food sirens luring people to their dietary deaths.
Hey, big boy. I got a little something for you. I’m a green M&M, baby.
And finally, I need to train smarter. I need to find out how to properly stretch. The days where I could get away with kind of stretching this and that and the other are gone. I can’t run through potential injuries any more.
And I need a specific plan. One that’s manageable for me. A couple of friends have a plan they use–and it might be the right one. But they’re a lot younger than I am, so it might not be.
So I’m pleased with my run time. But I’m not comfortable about it.
I’m not saying I was 87th loser. But I sure would like the break the top forty next year.
And I really do want to know what it’s like to cross a marathon finish line.
Five years ago, I couldn’t run a hundred yards. Today, I can say I’ve run faster than I ever have before. That’s a big accomplishment–and cause for gratitude. But it’s also just a taste of what’s possible.
I posted once online that I ran eight miles. A Facebook friend posted back that it would take her hours to run eight miles. I replied that it took me months.
In a couple of weeks, barring injury, I’ll complete a half marathon. I’m treating the 13.1 miles as a formality at this point. It’ll be a long formality, and there may be internal angst. But I managed 12 yesterday and they give you a t-shirt at the end, so…
In mid-October, I was struggling to get more than three miles. Six months ago, I was doing a lot of walking. A couple of years ago, I was doing the same, mostly walking. It didn’t take me months to get here. It took years. And yet here I am.
And two friends of mine just completed their first marathon. One of them took a picture of their Garmin watch reading 26.39 miles (why she ran the extra two-tenths, who knows?).
They’ve been training a year for this. Wake-up calls before 5 am to get the miles in before work. Long runs in the dark when it was Satan’s Armpit degrees outside. Running lengths on hot days that sound like violations the Geneva Convension.
Mandatory Miroslav Satan picture, showing both armpits. I wish it were that cool.
I wonder what it feels like to look at your watch and see the numbers 26.39. To know most people will never do that. To know that there were significant times, perhaps even the same day, when you thought you would be one of those people.
To be clear, I’m not saying marathoners are somehow superior. They just focused their attention on a specific thing and worked their asses off, and achieved it. (I can vouch–my friends have very small asses.)
Maybe it’s not a marathon. Maybe it’s writing a novel. Maybe it’s painting a beautiful picture. Maybe it’s playing your favorite song on an instrument.
Whatever it is, it’s there for you. All you have to do is take it. And my take it, I mean put in hours of work over months or years of time. I mean doubt yourself and consider yourself unworthy and your goal stupid (and continue anyway). I mean find someone who will cheer you on, get in with you, and kick your ass when it’s necessary. I mean pour your soul into it.
All you have to do is that, and you’ll achieve your goal.
As I said, I’m going to run 13.1 miles in a couple of weeks. And already, I want more. I want to see what it looks like for my running app to say 26.2.
That means I want to drag my ass out of bed and run long when it’s Satan’s Armpit degrees outside. I want to cruise by people who are happy and comfortable in their beds and consider myself a freaking moron for not being like them.
This could be you. Idiot.
I want to have to say “No, I’m sorry I can’t do that–I have to train,” or “Love to, but my legs are just completely shot to hell right now.” I want to hate running and to decide I’m never going to run another freaking step (until my next scheduled run).
Because, as with any goal, those are the building of getting to the good thing that you want.
In order to add some kind of movement and structure to my life, I’ve been practicing yoga of late. As I read of recovery stories from ME, yoga and meditation play an active part in most of them.
When I was pressing play for P90X and P90X3, yoga was among my least favorite routines. I want to sweat when I work out. I want to feel my heart pump and experience that glorious burn through my muscles. I want to feel the exhilarating fatigue of the first few steps after a long run. I don’t want to stumble around like a drunk on a roller coaster trying to do some movement that the chick in the yoga pants performs perfectly on the video.
Except for the Santa suit and the parking garage, this is what it looks like when I do yoga.
But, right now, yoga is what I can do.
I would tape it and show you but I still have a little vanity left. Put another way, practice is the right word. If the town of Halfmoon, NY saw what I was doing this morning during the Halfmoon segment of 30 Days Yoga with Adriene (Day 15), they would sue me for everything for defaming their good name.
Halfmoon. A community forever diminished. By me.
I. Am. Awful. At. Yoga. Period.
What I’ve learned–no rocket science here–is that’s okay. To assume I’d be good at it on the 15th day is an insult to the people who work hard at it every day. And make no mistake, when yoga’s done correctly, it can be very difficult. And I don’t mean the vinyasas. They’re physically demanding, but you can muscle through them.
It’s the parts you can’t muscle through that kick my butt. Like the halfmoom.
Sure, it looks easy on that Poses Against Humanity card, but try it. I eventually held it–more or less–on each side. But the result was less than graceful.
And that’s okay. For one thing, I’m coming off a seven-month layoff. My core is shot. For another, I never did yoga on a day-to-day basis. And that’s too bad.
When Tony Horton talked about yoga on the DVDs, he talked about loosening up all that ancient gristle in his joints and muscles. I never understood that. But I understand it now. No one will confuse my flexibility with Gumby’s (dammit!), but the differences are there. And as much as I still don’t like the everyday practice, I am glad of the results.
You’re as flexible as a pretzel stick, dammit!
So instead of feeling like someone trying to master golf, I feel like a beginner–like someone blessed to be able to do anything at all. And while the stumbles don’t excite me, I accept them. I have to. The alternative is to not go forward, and that’s no alternative at all.
I can still do a vinyasa. The real deal. Start in plank, go to chaturunga, maybe throw in a push up every now and then, then go to upward dog. No knees on the matt. No cobra pose. The real deal for me (your mileage may vary and that’s perfectly okay).
Except mine was, you know, manly
I used to be able to do that as many times as Tony Horton ordered. No more. Six months from now, maybe I won’t be able to even do one. Or maybe I’ll do than I can now.
Right now, six months from now’s not important. Right now is about what I can do today. I came, I did the yoga. I feel good.
Right now is about what I can do today. It’s about me. Not about what that guy buzzing down the running trail did. It’s not about what the woman on her way into Orange Theory did.
I could have sat and felt sorry for myself for not being able to do those things, but I did what I could do. Some people can do a lot more. Some people struggle to get out of bed. But they aren’t helped and I’m not helped if I worry about what they can or can’t do.
Right now is about what I can do today. I can’t run 17 miles any more. I can’t pump out a dozen pull ups. I can’t do the mother of all our movements, jump knee tucks. I can’t do whatever torture the evil Shaun T has in mind. So what?
Jump knee tuck. The mother…
I could do yoga and I did it, to the best of my ability. You can’t do better than your best.
Life ebbs and flows. Sometimes you’ll find yourself blowing away what you’ve done before. Some days it’s a major victory just to get out of bed.
Whatever the limits are, that’s what they are. Done. End of story.
Wishing they were different, comparing your limits to what you did last year or to what others can do, that’s grounds for defeat.
Right now is about what you can do today.
Take care of today today and when tomorrow comes, worry about what you can do then.
I’ve got a nice little fitness routine. Pop in the DVD, do some work. Start running at some point. Complain about running in the heat. Do Tough Mudder. Later. Rinse. Repeat. I don’t master everything there is, but I am a master of this routine. I know what to expect and when to expect it.
Enter my friend Cathy.
“Hey,” she said. “I’m doing this Go Ruck thing where you haul around a ruck sack full of bricks all night long and I need someone to come with me. I’ll pay.”
They don’t even give you a free beer at the end of this thing.
Dammit.
I have no excuse. I can’t plead poverty. I’m supposed to be into these types of things. So, I expect that the first Friday in April, I’ll be hauling a ruck sack full of bricks around all night, having some guy yell at me while I do God-knows-what.
Nobody better bring a jelly donut to this thing.
This morning’s workout was P90X3 Eccentric Upper–pull-ups, push ups, curls, and the like. And with this event in the future, I paid more attention than usual to form. I worked harder. I tried not to sneak in a break where I normally sneak one in.
Hey, I caught you taking a mid-set break. We’re only doing ten plyometric pushups. What the hell?
So that’s good.
But P90X3 is half an hour. Even when I run long, that’s no more than two and a half hours. It’s not ten-twelve hours. The thing that scares me about this event isn’t the physical part. I’ve been yelled at before. I’ve worked hard before. I’ve been sore and wet and miserable before.
I haven’t done it for half a calendar day. Even in my first Tough Mudder, there was never a doubt that I would make it. Now, I doubt.
Now, my workouts aren’t just about the physical. After all, the hardest muscle to change is the one between your ears. It’s not about just working hard now. This Go Ruck event is about how much you really want it. And really wanting it–going all out to make a goal–that’s never been a particular strength.
That’s why I’m scared. And that’s why my workout was different this morning.
Certainty can be good. I think it will be in this case.
A common complaint about working out, especially from beginners, is about being sore after a workout. Muscle achiness can turn even the most mild-mannered person into a maniacal anger monster.
I worked out two days ago and I still hurt and if I could move, I’d beat you to death.
Why are you sore? Is it good for you? And what can you do about it?
When you work out–or do anything else that’s physically demanding–you cause small tears in your muscle fibers. When those tears are repaired, your muscles become stronger and bigger. But these tears are tears; they hurt. In other words, to strengthen your muscles, you need to hurt a little.
The pain is typically worse when you first start a program, when your body isn’t used to what you’re doing. If you keep at what you’re doing, eventually, you’ll feel less soreness doing the same thing.
And that soreness is good for you–to a degree. This type of pain, typically called delayed-onset muscle soreness (or DOMS) typically sets in as early as eight hours after a workout and peak within a couple days, then gradually recedes. It’s not a stabbing pain, but a more general soreness. If your pain isn’t like that, or if it starts during your workout or lingers significantly beyond two days, you might want medical attention.
More pragmatically, if the soreness causes you to miss workouts, it’s not a good thing. You aren’t doing yourself good if you overdo it in a workout, then wait several days and start over. If that happens, back off a little, then try again–only not quite as intensely.
(If it helps, even people who work out regularly can experience this kind of soreness. It’s the newness of the activities that will cause this kind of pain. Put another way, even though I could run ten miles, when I started P90X3 again, my body was pretty sore for the first week or so as I completed my daily workouts. By the end of the second week, the soreness was much more manageable.)
If you experience this type of soreness, you can treat it with ice (heat might help at first, but some ice will speed healing), increased protein and Omega-3 consumption, Epsom salt baths, sleep, and massage. Foam rolling is an option for the massage.
Ironically, moving around–more exercise–can help, too. You don’t have to go nuts, but moderate exercise can help with the pain, as well.
Chris Hamilton's Stuff 