Three more weeks. That’s it. The workouts are getting tough, but this chick is tougher! Well, tougher than the Beginner OS Training Plan anyway. I’m still thankful to all the ENers that convinced Joe to NOT get me the intermediate plan. Instead of collapsing into bed each night before ten, I’d probably be falling asleep at the dinner table! So, whoever you are, thanks!
That being said, here’s a synopsis of week 11:
At the beginning of last week, I was feeling better. My hamstring pull was healing well and I was beginning to be hopeful that I could start adding in my intervals during my runs again. Tuesday’s transition run went without a hitch, and then came Wednesday…
|My post-injury regime|
I felt fine for the first ten minutes and, right as I was ramping up for my first sprint interval of my warm-up, WHAM! Same pain as the week before, just in the opposite hamstring. WHAT!? How could this happen again? If I hadn’t given up swearing for Lent, there would have been some other choice words, but I restrained myself, got off of the treadmill and immediately started the regime of stretching, icing, KT-tape, and ibuprofening the heck out of my hamstring. And this week, I also promptly called my trusty massage terrorist, Ron. Perhaps, I reasoned, some of the root cause of my recurring injury was because of my back. I’ve been sitting for hours on end in front of my sewing machine, working on costumes for Jamie’s school’s spring production of The Little Mermaid Jr. Yes, I stupidly and blithely volunteered to help with costuming. Yes, I know, I’m a sucker.
While I couldn’t get in to see Ron that day, I did manage to get an appointment the following day. I guess I sounded desperate as it’s really really hard to get an appointment that quickly with Ron. Sure enough, L1, L5 and my sacrum were out – again. :0/ Guess that means more core work is in order. Ron sent me on my way with my back and my hamstring feeling slightly better and with instructions to do more targeted stretching than I already do. Ugh. Perhaps I should also adjust my pace numbers a bit as well? Maybe I’m doing too much, too fast…
Bike rides were fine – I even got out and rode on Wednesday with the gang, holding a decent pace for me and not pushing myself, despite the wicked wind again. I even went up one of the hills without having to drop down into my small chain ring. Whoo-hoo! No go on Saturday’s transition run – OW! Okay, I told myself, just rest.
I ignored my 0430 Sunday morning wake-up and laid in bed cramming in as much extra sleep as I could between bands of strong wind, rain and thunder. I need to rest my hamstring, I reasoned. Uh-huh, another part of my brain retorted, you need to try to get a run in. And so, while I really don’t like to exercise after church, I came home, changed and hopped onto the treadmill, determined to get some semblance of a run in after almost no running this week. Coach Joe gave me his blessing with the EN mantra of; Your injury is your coach.
I’m just gonna run a comfortable pace, no intervals, I told myself. Z1 felt okay - just a little niggling ache in the hamstring. (Why oh why is there such a significant jump between Z1 and Z2 paces, I ask you?) I didn’t want to push too much, but, with each passing mile, I crept closer to my Z2 pace from the first eight weeks, which is now in the no-man’s land between my current Z1 and Z2.
In the end, I ran eight miles with only mild discomfort. I am continuing to stretch, ice, tape, ibuprofen, repeat… I’m hopeful that this upcoming week, I can get back to doing some intervals and my long run. As long as I can remain new-injury free, it seems doable, but then, consider the source.
|Louie channeling Elton John|
Last week I posted a picture on Facebook of Louie keeping me company while I did my Thursday trainer ride. He had me in stitches; who knew a kitten could amuse someone for two hours! As usual, after I moved one of his favorite stools from the sunroom where it had been stationed next to my treadmill to next to my bike trainer, he hopped up and settled in. I, of course, baby talked to him between intervals when I could actually breathe. After a time, he hopped down and wandered towards the kids’ rooms. Suddenly, he came bounding out of the hallway dragging a lilac feather boa, commandeered from the depths of the girls’ closet. He proceeded to wrap himself up in it and drag it around the living room, like an Elton John wanna-be. Next, he decided to rip it into submission. The feathers and tinsel (it was an extra-fancy boa) soon littered the floor. Tiring of that, he got his feather stick and spent the next hour chasing the feathers on one end around in circles while holding the stick end of it in his mouth. He would only stop when he ran into something. Honestly, he’s as entertaining as having a dog, except for when he expects to get fed at 0500 and again at 1730 each day!
Louie is a very social kitty and likes to be where the action is… unless, of course, he wants to nap. He can most often be found hanging out on one of the stools in the kitchen or curled up nearby wherever we are. Remember, three of the five of us was rooting for a dog, so his antics and adoration of us is well received.
Joe has, for as long as I’ve known him, tried to make each and every one of our cats a lap cat. My oldest girl Tasha was, but since then, no dice. Tessa was a lap cat with only me, he can’t stand Murphy (and the feeling is mutual), and Sneakers was only a lap cat with me at the very end of his life when I was on my little cancer adventure.
Enter Louie – a kitten, easy-going and malleable to Joe’s wishes. Alas, Louie is not going to acquiesce so easily to Joe’s wishes. Joe tries, the kids try, I try. Louie tolerates being picked up and held in all sorts of positions, but Louie is not a lap cat. Louie, Joe and I have decided is a “nearcat”. He wants to be close to you, but not entirely on you. How close, you ask? Case in point -- last night, I was doing something in the kitchen. Louie wandered in, looked up at me with that contented squint that cats do and then proceeded to flop down with his back resting on my foot. Had I immediately sat down, there would have been no way he would have climbed into my lap. Instead, he would have just nestled himself in the crook of my knees or up against my hip like he does to Joe each night. Louie is not a lap cat. Nope. Louie is a nearcat.
|My bike workout essentials - bike, fan, computer, iPod, cat.|
And so, as I do almost everyday, I move his favorite stool back and forth between rooms so that we can keep each other company during my increasingly long and difficult workouts. I think he finds me as entertaining as I find him. Maybe Joe will get lucky with the next cat, or maybe we will get a Labrador who wants to be a lapdog. Until then, I'll just keep watching Louie's antics...