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Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Lost in space

Apart from the rehab exercises, I haven't broken a sweat in, ummm... counts under breath five days. I don't feel like it. I don't even miss it. I feel odd - not bad or unhappy or anything, just a bit numb and lost. As though I'm floating. Ridiculous self-indulgence is all it is. I need a bloody good smack upside of the head. Count your damn blessings and get off your sorry arse, woman!
And another thing - we're going to America in four weeks (!!!!) and I'm not that excited. Mild interest about sums it up. I don't think I actually believe it. Any of it. I really do need a good smack upside of the head.

Saturday, November 26, 2011

this arrived in the post on Thursday

I'd forgotten I'd ordered it. I really like it.
What three words would you hang around your neck?

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

I did it

A salutory tale in which our heroine learns that slackness never goes unpunished.
I went back to the physio last night. He looked at my foot again and got me to stand on one leg (which is quite tricky) and then lie down and raise my leg and then looked at my shoes. Then he told me that my core muscles are so pathetically weak that they have created torsion from my hip all the way down to my toes which is why my foot (and everything else) is buggered. Basically catastrophic overload of poor biomechanics. I now have many difficult exercises to do involving activation of the core muscles independent of the abs. Many people can do this easily, I gather. I hate them all.
This kills me. You see, I've had this problem before, about seven years ago after I had Noddie. I wasn't running so much then so it presented as mostly hip pain. My physio and I worked really hard for ages to sort it all out and make my core strong and active and all that a core should be. Over the years, though, I somehow got into the mindset that it was all fixed so I didn't need to worry about it any more...and I stopped doing my core exercises. This last year it's been all I could do to get the running done, what with the move and uni and J struggling at work and me being sick, let alone cross-training and strength work excuses excuses bleat bleat blah blah blah.
That'll teach me. If you fail to be diligent about things they will sneak up and bite you, and take your Goofy medals.
I've had a good cry about this whole mess and will probably sook some more but the milk is well and truly spilt now and I just have to suck it up. That came out wrong. Eewww.

I've always said that if you can't be a good example then be a dire warning. You're welcome.
More anon.

Monday, November 21, 2011

WWaAD?

I've stopped crying over the fact that I won't be doing the only thing really I wanted to do or bringing home the only souvenir I really wanted from this whole J's Bucket List/Big 5-0 US Dream Trip. These things happen. No-one stole my birthday. I'm still sad. It's ok to be sad when a Big Dream dies. Not to mention having to wear flat shoes All The Time oh the trauma.
When I'd run out of sparkling shiraz and dark chocolate with rum and raisin (it's go hard or go home here at the LBTEPA Emotional Wallowing Centre), I sat on the couch icing my poor sore foot ow ow ow and asked myself a question.
I'm an athlete. It says so in my sidebar.
What Would an Athlete Do?
An athlete wouldn't sit on the couch bleating about her rapidly expanding rear end, that's for sure. There are far more important things to bleat about, like my poor sore foot ow ow ow, boring rehab exercises and my ugly flat shoes oh the trauma. An athlete would HTFU and BE AN ATHLETE.
So I got the F#$% up off the couch, and got the F#$% onto my bike and into the pool.
ROOOAAAAAARRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!

More anon, my ducklings

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Out.

Sms to the Spousal Unit:
sports physio says sub-talar joint is bad, possible heel spur needs x-ray maybe cortisone, biomechanical problems making things worse. No running min 3 months. Goofy is f#$%ed.
After the appointment I just sat in the car for about 20 minutes. I just couldn't move.
Then I went to the supermarket and bought some chocolate and sprkling shiraz.

Bugger, eh?

More anon.

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Sunday seven

1. still icing my poor sore foot every hour or so.Still wearing flat shoes oh the trauma.
2. still not running. The podiatrist said we should wait at least another week before I even try it. After the last attempt a couple of weeks ago, when it was a bit sore at first then settled down then suddenly felt as though I was being STABBED with every step and then hurt like #$%& #$%&ing #$%& for days and days and days, I'm sticking with caution. It still gets more and more painful as the day wears on which is a worry.
3. I'm not sure I really like my new podiatrist. I want someone to tell me if you do x then y will happen, preferably with x = ice and rest for a few more days and y = completely recover and be able to run without worrying about it ever again. That's not his way, apparently; he's more a we'd better take it carefully for another two weeks and then make a decision from there. Boo. At least he's made me some orthotics that actually do something.
4. I feel flabby and weak, and irritable, and hungry, only not really hungry, just irritably hungry. I am putting in some bike trainer time and have been swimming once but it's all so depressing.
5. I've watched a couple of incredible documentaries while I've been sweating in one spot. One was about two young blokes who kayaked from Oz to New Zealand. At the finish, one chap commented that doing amazing things and chasing down big dreams wasn't so much about the doing itself, but about coming home at the end and living a richer life becuase of what you'd done. I love that. The other one was about the Pikes Peak race in the US, which makes Goofy look like a pathetic doddle. Lots of gravity involved there.
6. I'm so sad to hear about Peter Roebuck's death. Nobody's said anything about a cause yet, which usually means that the person found life's path too rocky to struggle along any longer.
7. Sometimes I've got my head around the fact that Goofy is pretty much stuffed, and sometimes I haven't. Le sigh.....

More anon, philosophers!

Monday, November 07, 2011

what, me worry?

Here at the LBTEPA Institute for Behavioural Modification, the cycle of tape-ice-ibuprofen-wear-flat-shoes-feel-sad-worry-about-Goofy-weigh-myself-feel-worse continues. I'm sorry if I'm letting the side down but there you have it. As I bleated to the ever-supportive Spousal Unit yesterday, most of my other marathons have been #$%*ing train wrecks, I don't know why I thought this one would be any different (the Institute includes a Self-Pity Pool for daily wallowing). The Spousal Unit, bless him, said I've always finished my marathons before even with utterly crap preparation, so I shouldn't worry hahahahahahahaha.
But you know what the thing is? The thing is, I expect to get sick in the winter. Totally across that. Over it, but across it. It happens. It's been well over two years since I was injured, though. More than two years, and this rat-bastard plantar fasciitis decides to move in and hang aound now? When I've paid huge amounts of money to fly the family across the world and race 63.3kms over two days, less than 9 weeks from now? I feel very very sad about this, and very scared as well. I wake up at night and try to reframe it or feel hopeful or make some kind of Plan and I can't. I just don't know what to do.
Let us, then, wheel out the boffins and study this scientifically. As my saintly mum would say, what's the worst thing that could happen?
In no particular order:
- my foot isn't better enough to even have a go at the half when the mighty Mary Sunshine has coughed up airfares and race fees to come all the way to Florida from Ohio and run with me.
- I run and get injured and the rest of the holiday is stuffed up for the others.
- I run and can't finish under the cutoff = no bling and huge, huge disappointment.
- everybody I've yapped to for this whole year of planning for my Big Dream why do I talk so much? Why? asks me how it went and I have to tell them I didn't get it done. Because I was injured. And then the sneering, patronising, condescending you're pathetic you're lazy you're not good enough you've let everyone down I knew you couldn't do it demons will eat me.
I need to share something about Big Dreams with you, my five faithful readers. The worst thing about them is that even though you know they're stupid and unimportant in the grand scheme of things, you still work stupidly hard for them and you love them stupidly dearly and the thought of losing them is just too horrid to contemplate.
I. Need. A. Plan.
Thanks to the Spousal Unit, I have one (not "don't worry about it sweety" which while well meant is infuriatingly unhelpful and will get him a dong on the noggin if he keeps it up).
The Plan Is This:
Do everything possible to start the half marathon with the mighty Mary Sunshine! Woot!
If I finish in time and in one piece, decide whether to have a crack at the full.
The flaw in this plan is of course that it only covers Jan 7th and 8th. I might have to occupy myself in the meantime with some freestyle freaking out (is that an Olympic sport?) unless someone has any better ideas. Don't say "get stuck into the chardy" either because I've reformed but am terribly easily led.
More anon, bravehearts!

Thursday, November 03, 2011

She will wear them with panache

My awesome new shoes arrived today, and because I can't wear them while I am recovering from plantar fasciitis (and some other awful-sounding ankle/achilles thing that I forget the name of), now properly diagnosed by a real live physio, as opposed to Dr G00gle - who was spot on, btw - which means no running at all except in the pool (bike workouts are ok though) for at least another week and maybe up to three more weeks, I gave them to my Mum because she looked stunning in them.

no running at all for maybe up to three more weeks

It's 63 days until Goofy
What am I going to do?

Wednesday, November 02, 2011

The lengths to which I will go

Because I am absolutely dedicated to Goofy (=recovering from this stupid sore foot asafp), I wore flat shoes to the races. On Cup Day.
Flat shoes = pants = NO HAT = nowayIcan'tbelieveyoudidthatwowyouaresodedicated
I can't believe it either but I can prove it. Look! More anon, flutterers!