Remission and other cancer terms

(Disclaimer: Please bear in mind that the opinions expressed here are mine and relative to me alone.  I do not intend to belittle or negate others feelings or opinions related to their own cancer diagnoses or identities.)

sur·vi·vor [ser-vahy-ver]

n.

1. a person or thing that survives.

2. Law. the one of two or more designated persons, as joint tenants or others having a joint interest, who outlives the other or others.

3. a person who continues to function or prosper in spite of opposition, hardship, or setbacks.

As many of you know, while I was going through treatment, I didn’t care for the word survivor when referring to myself.  I still don’t think that I survived cancer (cue dramatic music) since I never really felt like my life was hanging in the balance.  Perhaps I was and I’m still in denial.  I didn’t need a special label; I knew I would survive whatever I had thrown at me.  Someday I won’t, but for now, I’m too stubborn to not survive. J

I never felt sick or ill before I was officially diagnosed with cancer.  I looked normal, felt normal, acted normal well, normal for me anyway. I had no idea that my body was losing a battle with cancer until we found the lump.  Even then, I felt fine; I just had a pesky lump in my breast.  While that pesky lump spread its pestilence to my lymph nodes and possibly beyond, I was oblivious.  I didn’t know that I was going to have to survive anything.

war·ri·or  (wôr-r, wr-)

n.

1. One who is engaged in or experienced in battle.

2. One who is engaged aggressively or energetically in an activity, cause, or conflict

While I was trying to rid my body of the disease that has pervaded our lives for almost the past three years, I did consider myself a warrior.  A warrior is someone who fights for a cause.  My family, my medical team and I were fighting to get the cancer out of my body.  My cause was my family.  I was not “surviving”; I was too busy fighting and living.  I still am.  Yes, it is a simple semantic difference, between the words survivor and warrior, but one that I differentiate when talking about myself.

While going through treatment, I was not only a warrior but a patient as well.  As much as I don’t like it, I still am and continue to be a “cancer patient” for the next seven years despite the fact that I am now in remission.

re·mis·sion  (r-mshn)

n.

1.                  a. The act of remitting.

b. A condition or period in which something is remitted.

2. A lessening of intensity or degree; abatement.

3.                  a. Medicine Abatement or subsiding of the symptoms of a disease.

b. The period during which the symptoms of a disease abate or subside.

4.                  a. Release, as from a debt, penalty, or obligation.

b. Forgiveness; pardon.

Remission is a wonderful word to a cancer patient.  Every additional year of remission is special; it’s one year further away from when one was sick.  And, it generally means that your likelihood of developing the disease again is lessened a little more. 

Because of the “advanced stage” of my disease at diagnosis and my age at diagnosis, the doctor’s will continue to monitor me for another seven years.  They do with everyone actually, but they are especially keen on keeping close tabs on me, not just because of my cancer staging and age, but because, after three years, they know how strong-willed and independent I am.  They want to make sure that nothing goes unchecked.

I’m a good girl and dutifully go in for my check-ups with my oncologist and my surgeon when they tell me to.  Most of the time, I feel fine; I feel “normal”.  I always hesitate to mention any little ache or pain to them.  It always turns out to be nothing or something very minor, not even related to my cancer diagnosis.  I should feel so loved by those family and friends that have ratted me out to my docs when I hold things back.  Instead, I feel stressed and annoyed that people are making such a fuss over things that are invariably minor in the grand scheme of things.  It bothers me that valuable resources are being wasted on me when there are others that truly have a need of all the tests that I’ve been put through for my little aches and pains since my cancer diagnosis. 

In the past four months I have been poked and prodded and scanned more than I ever was while going through cancer treatment.  I have had a full cardiac work-up, blood work, chest x-ray, bone scan, CT scan and MRI of my brain.  You know what they found?  I was diagnosed with reflux and sinusitis.  Like I told them, it was nothing major.  All that money and time… :-/

Now, I can hear the collective chastising: How could you say such things?  It’s because we love you and worry about you!  We just want to make sure you stick around for a good long time!  I know which of you I’ll probably get the emails from telling me exactly why it was important to go through all those silly tests.  I stand by my opinion though; it’s a waste of valuable resources.  I knew with each minor complaint that it was no big deal.  LOTS of people have reflux and sinusitis. 

I know my body and I know when something is wrong with it.  I wish other people would just trust me in that regard.  I know you all care about me but I really don’t like to worry people needlessly.  If it’s important, I’ll letcha know.  Honest.

** Postscript: I made it through two different courses of hardcore antibiotics to get rid of the reflux and my sinus infection.  While on the antibiotics I was true to form; I had many of the usual side effects (nausea, vomiting, headaches) and the less common side effects – numbness in my arm and hand and extreme fatigue.  The good news is that the reflux and my headaches are almost completely gone and my blurred vision is gone completely.

Woof, woof, woof… Translation: Joe finally caved!

I know that I am very tardy in blogging.  Life has been moving at the speed of, well, Matchette so you know what that means -- I’ve been busy!

Here’s a brief recap:  The Little Mermaid, Jr. was a HUGE success!  Jamie nailed his performance as Flotsom, one of Ursula’s evil pet eels.  We (the family) spent most of the first weekend in May at the theater helping out backstage or, in Jamie’s case, on-stage.  Each night I took home at least an hour’s worth of mending.  Kids being kids, they were hard on their costumes, but boy, oh boy did they look great! :0) I figured out that I personally made over thirty costumes and helped with about thirty more. 

Jetsom, Ursula and Flotsom -
The boys costumes were the hardest to design!

Everyone said they could see Joe's shiny head on stage so we had to help him out a bit.

The main cast - I loved making Scuttle, Sebastian and Flounder's!

Ready for the kids.  It was organized chaos backstage!

Here's a link for one of my favorite scenes from the show.  Jamie and his buddy Spencer really hammed it up! 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GOVyGb3TLAI&feature=youtu.be

The second weekend in May, one of my BFFs and our sweet, funny, and lovely Goddaughter came out from Las Vegas for Josie’s First Communion.  Alyson and Josie picked up right where they left off in Hawaii, as did Carolyn and I.   I needed some serious stress relief and spending the weekend with an old, dear friend is the perfect remedy!  It was a laugh until your sides and head hurt kind of weekend with some pretty dresses and a lovely church service thrown in for good measure.  BTW, my Josie girl did an awesome job doing a reading during the service!

Our  beautiful daughter and our beautiful Goddaughter

Jamie and Mic were impromptu altar-servers for Josie's First Communion Mass.

She was so nervous about "doing it right".

Josie and her beloved Godmother being posers.

And then, there were the end of the school year activities.  HOLY COW!  I felt like a pinball, bouncing from one school/ceremony/party to the next!  All the kids finished out the year well, but Jamie took the prize for most end of the school year awards.  Even his principal jokingly referred to his 5^th grade graduation ceremony as “the James Matchette Show”. 

Josie just had another birthday and, as usual, the first thing on her list of desired gifts was “a Golden Retriever puppy”.  When I relayed this information yet again to Joe, he casually said, “Okay.”  WHAT?!  I felt his forehead for a fever.  This is the man who has been giving us the Heisman for the past two and a half years whenever the subject of a dog came up.  I was at a race on my birthday and met a sweet doggy that needed a home and Joe said no – on my birthday!  When he said, “Okay” I figured he was just delirious from the heat and let it go.  We had agreed, no dog until we moved to Colorado and had the space for a big dog to run. 

In addition to a dog, Josie wanted a "purple mermaid tail cake".
It's not up to Lynn's caliber, but the girls didn't mind.

And then the kids went to tennis camp for a week…

The kids did a one-hour each day tennis camp for the first week of summer break.  On the very last day, a woman showed up with what looked like an adolescent Golden Retriever mix on a harness.  The dog seemed well behaved so when the kids asked if they could go pet him, I said yes.  When they all clamored back into the car, Josie announced that the dog was really sweet (all dogs are sweet to her) and that he neeeeeeeded a home, Mom.  Since I have always been on the “Let’s get a dog bandwagon”, I asked the kids if they would like me to go talk to the owner.  ALL three (even Michelle who has been decidedly on Joe’s side) said, “YES!”

By this point, kids from the tennis camp were swarming all over the dog.  He was so obviously over-stimulated and was not minding the owner whatsoever.  Despite the overstimulation, I could tell that he was very good-natured.  Big shocker there considering he looked to be part Golden, right?  The woman admitted that neither she nor her husband had ever had a dog and they had come to realize that the dog was a lot more than they could handle.  The dog, named “Chief”, was actually about two and a half years old, was a Golden Retriever and Australian Shepherd mix, and they were his third family.   He’d been bounced from his original family to animal control to another family and then to his current family.  Somewhere along the way, there were legal proceedings surrounding this poor pup, but they didn’t know what specifically. 

Our first look 

My number one question was if “Chief” had any experience with cats.  The woman, Kelli, said that they actually had a kitten and that the dog was really good with her.  So, I snapped a couple of pix and texted Joe.  He gave his consent for a doggy trial, Kelli and I exchanged numbers and we agreed to meet for the doggy handoff on Sunday.  When I got in the car, all three kids were excited, but Jamie was the most.  He has that quiet way about him and I could tell that something about this dog caught his attention, just like it had mine.  

The rest of the weekend, I pondered his name and Jamie asked how many hours it was until we could go and get Chief.  I was not at all crazy about the name “Chief”; it just didn’t sit well with me.  Like human babies, I think a pet’s name has to suit him.  I never changed Louie’s name because, well, it just suited him.  My other pets’ names have all just “popped into my head” and they were the right ones for those pets. Suddenly on Saturday night, Chief’s new name popped into my head – “Beauregard” and we would call him “Beau”.  That is, if Louie got along with him.  We figured Murphy wouldn’t take kindly to any dog, cat, turtle, fish, baby or even an alien that we brought into the house so we weren’t too fussed about her, but our Louie was the one to impress.

Chief/Beau happily got into our car and went home with us on Sunday, much to the dismay of one of his young masters.  I felt horrible driving away watching that little boy turn into his dad for a comforting hug, but Kelli told me later that it was the right thing for them and for us.  She had been trying to find a new home for Chief/Beau on Craigslist for weeks with no bites, so to speak.  Then, the night before we met, she prayed that she would find him a forever family.  Lo and behold, there we were on Friday at tennis camp.  I, in turn, thanked her for all the hard work that she and her family had put into Chief/Beau in the six months that they had had him!

So, Chief/Beau came to our house, tugging and biting on his leash and stealing any and every shoe left within a five-mile radius, but gung ho for this new adventure.  Louie took one look at him, puffed himself up as big as he could, hissed, smacked Chief/Beau HARD upside the head several times and then retreated under our bed until THAT interloper was sent AWAY, or at least crated for the night.  By the next day, Louie was coming out, curious to see what this large misbehaving creature was, so I knew we’d be okay.  Louie knew that HE was higher on the food chain tha some unruly upstart of a dog!

Here's a link that shows you just who really IS in charge -

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Lw-_Zi0k_g&feature=youtu.be

Chief did not respond consistently to his name or to any command for that matter on the first day.  Jamie and I took him for a walk/drag-fest that afternoon.  We, of course, were the ones getting dragged.  Oh boy, did we have a lot of work to do!  On a chance, I called Chief “Beau” and, amazingly, he responded like it was his name all along.  Well, that was easy.  “Beau” he was immediately rechristened.  The kids weren’t too keen on the name “Beauregard”, but I explained to them that it meant “handsome/good look” and that since he was such a handsome dog (He is.) and that he was getting a “new and good look” at life, his name was rather fitting.  Kids being kids, they didn’t agree, but couldn’t come up with a better name.  Besides, Beau knew that “Beau” was supposed to be his name even if they didn’t.  :0) As a consolation, I told the kids they could give Beau his middle name.  After several days of nothing, Josie threw out the name “Scout” as Joe and Jamie were heading out to a Boy Scout meeting.  It stuck, and we all agreed “Scout” was a very fitting name since scouting is such a big part of our lives at this point. 

So there you have it. 

We would like to formally introduce: 

Beauregard Scout Matchette, aka, “Beau”.

DOB: ~ December 15, 2010.

Our boy Beau!

Beau has been with us a week now and he’s settled in quite nicely.  After the first drag-fest, I got down to business with training.  Beau and I have training time everyday.  Beau is a wonderfully sweet pup, but he has some bad habits/manners.  

We work on different skills each day, but a lot of it is still leash training and trying to get him to “come” and “sit” consistently.  He is easily distracted and has a bit of a stubborn streak.  Also, you can tell that he has herding dog genes since he tries to nip at heels.

I think he’s come a long way in just a week, but he still has a long way to go.  I feel badly for Beau, not knowing what his life was like before.  I told the kids that he’s like a toddler that’s never had any guidance; he doesn’t understand boundaries or rules.  Beau knows that I’m alpha/mom, but he still has a hard time understanding that he has to listen to the kids as well.  I think he doesn’t quite know what to make of Joe.  While he thinks it’s fun to chase Louie, he knows that Louie will wallop him (and does!) if Louie gets too annoyed.  We’ve hardly seen Murphy, which is just fine with Joe and me.  Michelle says that she’s been hand-feeding Murphy in her room each day.  I doubt that will continue when she goes away to college, so Murphy will just have to come to terms with Beau’s presence.

A boy and his dog - what could be better?!

He's not a purebred, but we don't mind!

Dog is my co-pilot.  

We even got him his own pool.

It’s a bit strange having a dog again after almost seventeen years without one.  Cats are so easy; dogs, not so much.  The logistics that go along with caring for a dog have tripped me up a couple of times, but overall, I’m enjoying having a dog again.  It’s comforting to have a dog put his head in your lap at the end of the day or gently nose your hand for some attention (when he’s not stealing shoes to get one’s attention).  He’s absolutely beautiful to watch bounding and leaping (seriously) across the yard as he rushes to chase his toys or greet the dogs on either side of the house.  Overall, I think, like Louie, Beau was just meant for our family. 

Now, you’ll have to excuse me.  It’s time to feed the dog. 

Happy tails!

Gen =)

Time to walk the dog...

EN Outseason Week 14, aka “Final Test Week”

This was it.  It was the week to determine if the proof was in the pudding or not.  Had all the training been for a good cause?  Was I faster, stronger, better?  Was I going to be able to porpoise to the front of the pack in a single dive?  Burn rubber as I tore it up on the hills?  Actually finally be able to keep up with Coach Joe during a training run?  ACK!!!!!!! 

The good news was that I knew what to expect.  The bad news was that I knew what to expect.  It’s like giving birth a second or third time.  You are somewhat prepared for the pain, fatigue and everything else, but that doesn’t make it any better.  It’s times like this that you have to do some real soul searching to remember exactly why we do this to our bodies, our psyches, our families and ourselves.  Why exactly?  Oh yeah, fun and fitness.  J/K…  For me it really is for both of those reasons, but also because it reminds me that I’m alive and I need to stay healthy for Crazy Coach Joe and our three little (well, not so little anymore) Crazy Joe Juniors.  And yes, like most of us, because I really love to eat!

As luck would have it, things got a bit topsy-turvy during this test week.  Well, they’ve been a bit crazy for the past couple of weeks with Easter and spring break. Let me explain about this week -- Back in February, I volunteered to help with costuming for Jamie’s school’s spring musical.  His school is putting on “The Little Mermaid, Jr.”   The music director at his school is amazing and is a “go big or go home” kind of guy.  He technically “has” a budget, but doesn’t really understand the idea of buying on sale and with coupons with big-ticket items like fabric.  Fabric for a colorful undersea adventure ain’t cheap! 

Since I sew and I knew that the costumes were going to eat up a huge chunk of his budget, I offered to help.  I went to the fabric store and purchased several patterns (on sale) that I thought might suffice for a few of the main characters.  He loved them, but also showed me a few pictures that he had found on-line.  He had much more faith in my sewing skills than I did!  I made some suggestions, secretly thinking there was no way I could accomplish what he wanted!  I started purchasing fabric (on sale) and making costumes.  That was in March.  Since then, our dining room has been taken over by fabric and sewing machines.  If I’m not riding my bike, running, sleeping or cooking, I’m sewing!  Jamie has had to try on more costumes than I think he has in his entire trick or treating career.  He’s been a good sport, but is definitely glad he’s not wearing a pink sequined mermaid tail.  Jamie, my all-boy, is going to be Flotsom – one of Ursula’s wicked eels.  Mr. Dudley Doright is all about being a nasty, I think because he’s such a good kid normally.  And, who doesn’t like to be a bit naughty every once and while?

Sea turtle costume made by Joe

Mersister costume

King Triton

Flounder

Merman costume

Seagull costume

Sebastian

But, how does this pertain to my training?  Time is moving forward and I am running out of time to finish all of the requested costumes!  I’ve asked for help and have gotten some, but apparently not enough moms (or dads) know how to sew or how to sew well.  I’m thankful for the friends who have stepped up as they have relieved some of my stress.  I am learning to delegate and to prioritize and just say, “No, we can’t do that,” to the director.  I’m hustling to get through workouts to then sit down at the sewing machine for hours on end.  Can you say, “Oooooh!  My aching back!”?

My one workday a week has also been going through a shift as well.  I had been working on Mondays since it was a rest day (Halleluiah!), but have had to transition to Tuesdays since there were too many of us there on Mondays.  That means I have to get up early to knock out my workout before work.  As much as I don’t like four-thirty in the morning, I am sadly getting used to this.  You Ironman crazies do this regularly I know, but for we lowly age-groupers, that’s a lot of dedication.  I already get up at four-thirty on Sundays to get my long runs in before church.  The thought of getting up an additional day so dang early was not appealing, but such is life.  As I’ve said before, I’m not a big fan of working out after work when the kids are home and need my attention.  Plus, the idea of taking two showers each day seems excessive to me.  Not that spending ridiculous amounts of money on running shoes, clothes and powdered/gel nutrition isn’t, but hey, it’s all about perspective. :0)

Oddly, getting up at four-thirty hasn’t been too troublesome.  My brain knows that I have stuff to get done and I think that’s why I can get out of bed without too much mental wrestling.  It doesn’t help though when I leave our nice cozy bed that Joe and Louie nestle into the spot that I have just vacated. 

The bike test was, as usual, awful!  I don’t think that I pushed myself as hard as I have for the past two tests; my wheezing incident after the last one is still pretty vivid in my memory.  I tried to keep my power right at my already pre-established threshold.  I was tired and I just didn’t have the mental oomph to push myself any harder.  A small part of me was disappointed in myself, but the rest of my GSF (“give a $&^# factor) could have cared less.  I felt like I do a couple of weeks before a big race and I’m sick and tired of training. 

Beautiful music

Next up was the run test.  Coach Joe wanted me to do a 5K test instead of a half-marathon or 10K test since most of what I do is short course.  I had done a 10K last week anyway.  Alas, I haaddddd to go to Asheville with my Miami Mommy Friends for the weekend.  I was NOT down with doing a 5K test at 4000 feet when all of my training had been on the treadmill at a 2% grade.  Not to mention that I was already short of breath at my normal altitude.  What to do?  Coach Joe told me to wait a week or two and then find a local 5K to race.  Shucks!  You mean I have to forgo my run test to hang out with my friends in a cabin in the mountains with a stream running through the property.  Darn. :-)

My Miami running buddy, Melissa

I did run twice while I was in North Carolina – once with my friend Melissa (and consequently the only one still in Miami) and once solo.  While I spent the entire weekend feeling slightly winded, poor Melissa was totally knocked for a loop.  We ran at her pace – five minutes on, one minute off.  Before the first interval was over, she was breathing hard and slowing down.  I, on the other hand, felt great for me.  “This is what it’s like for Joe when he runs with me,” I thought.  Wow!  We ended up running only three miles, but I was raring to go afterwards, once I caught my breath of course. 

On Sunday, I dutifully got up at o’ungodly to try to get a medium-length run in before we headed home.  I forgot to take into consideration that we were surrounded by mountains and that it takes a bit longer to get light.  By the time it was light enough for my comfort level, I bagged the idea of running six-eight miles and settled on four.  Having not run very much outside nor in the mountains, I was pleased with my pace.  I was not prepared for the cool mornings, having left my hat and gloves at home.  Thankfully, I had a long-sleeved tech shirt that I wore over my short-sleeved one and then removed after about a half of a mile when I warmed up.  I ended up wrapping my hands in the shirt, but they were still pretty stiff and cold when I was done.  I didn’t realize just how cold they were until I hopped into the shower.  The water felt scalding hot on the rest of my body, but the water that hit my hands and face felt cold.

After a six hour journey I was home again, home again, jigeddy jig and onto my trusty treadmill.  Eight miles later, my psyche felt better.  I’ve been running twelve miles every Sunday to keep my legs used to it (Don’t’ judge - it’s a mental game with me), but last week was rest day and the day before I’d only run that 10K.

So, quick assessment of the Outseason Plan –

Do I think it helped make me faster? 

YES!

Would I do it again? 

YES!

            Why? 

Because (yes, I’m starting this sentence with a clause) I know that I have gotten faster and stronger.  It also taught me how to appreciate intervals and hard work.  Not that I wasn’t a hard worker before, just not a hard worker when it came to biking workouts.  Don’t get me wrong; I still do not like the hard work.  I have taken to chewing on my shirt when the intervals get hard to keep me from barfing or yelling.  I still curse Coach Joe out during some of my tougher workouts for getting me started on this insanity, but I can appreciate the work for what it is and what it yields.

What I liked best? 

The no-brainer routine of the weekly workouts – no changes in what to do each day other than the numbers – Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday- run, etc.  I like routine – A LOT!  I did have to write out my intervals, but my short-term memory is so bad that’s nothing new.

I also learned to really really really appreciate my rest days.  Before the OS, I would get so antsy on my rest days.  I needed a task, preferably not housework, but even that would suffice.  During the OS, I relished acting like “normal” people that get up and put regular clothes on in the morning instead of spandex.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t employ the sleeping in tactic of weekend rest days as the teenager needed a little regular prodding get out of bed for school on Mondays and Fridays.

            What I liked least?

That now I don’t know what to do with myself.  I think that I’ll just repeat the VO2 workouts until my next race to keep my newly developed skills fresh. 

Wait!  Did I really just type what I think I did?  WHOA!  I remember being petrified of those workouts.  Now those workouts are still challenging but there is comfort in the routine of them. I still haven’t

decided on any races, but I’ll probably do the ones I do every year.  I’d really like to do an Olympic distance this year since I have never done one and methinks I just might like that distance.  I’m not a good sprinter, despite the multitude of dust collectors on my dresser.  Coach Joe and I are looking to see what might fit in my schedule.  And, as much as I said last season that I wouldn’t do a half-Ironman this year, I feel so good and strong that I just might consider doing one of those as well.  Oh my God!  I’d better stop typing lest I get it into my head to maybe try a full IM…  NAH!!!!!!

Even Louie enjoys my rest days

EN OS, Week 11 (Another week, another injury)

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...

EN OS Week 10, aka, the old workout “switcharoo”

Due to last week’s unexplained albeit painful hamstring strain, I got creative with my workout schedule this week.  This was a bit challenging for me as my EN workout routine is now firmly engrained in my brain – rest Monday, bike on Tuesday with a transition run, etc.

Instead of taking a rest day on Monday, I decided to take it on Tuesday for two reasons: 1.) My coworker needed me to work on Tuesday instead of Monday and that meant if I worked out on Tuesday, I’d have to get up at my usual Sunday time of O’dark-thirty to get on my bike.  No thanks!  One day a week is enough.  2.) I wanted to give my hamstring as much of a rest as I could before Wednesday’s interval run, if I even attempted it. 

I continued to ice, ibuprofen, stretch and Biofreeze my hamstring into submission throughout the week.  (I think my butt has finally thawed out from all the icing I was doing.)  I attempted to do a little transition run on Monday after my bike workout, however I hadn’t even made it up to Zone 1 (easy pace) before I started whimpering. Instead, I called it a day.  Coach Joe applauded me for my uncharacteristic weakness.  I just wanted the pain to go away.  **Coach Joe says that it wasn’t weakness it was prudence.**

Surprisingly, by late Tuesday afternoon, my hamstring was feeling remarkably better.  Don’t get me wrong, it was still sore, but not that stabbing pain that stopped me in my tracks on Sunday morning.  I found a somewhat comfortable pace that I thought I could maintain and then ran three miles with the fast kids from the elementary school’s running club.  I didn’t even balk when they ran a little ahead of me to which several kept turning around to see if I was going to bark at them to slow down.  Those kiddos will tell you that I am a FREAK about safety!

My darned hamstring continued to plague me throughout the week, but I soldiered on with my workouts.  On Wednesday, the local bike store started their evening rides back up.  Of course I went, cold and windy as it was.  Wednesday rides this early in the year are really more social rides than anything else.  I was not planning on doing my run intervals to give my hamstring even more rest, but my legs were feeling somewhat numb after getting off of the bike so I decided to give it a whirl.  If my hamstring started to hurt, I would stop.  Yeah, right.  Seriously, I was.  I needed to be as pain-free as possible for Saturday so I wasn’t gonna monkey around.  The running club kiddos were running their first 5K and I had promised them that I would pace whoever wanted me to, hamstring strain or not.  I couldn’t let my kiddos down!

Saturday was duathlon day for this chica.  I got up before the crack of dawn to get my bike intervals in and then headed out for the race.  Many of the kids from the running club were there.  It was a treat to see Jamie hanging out with his buddies at the start line before the race.  (Apparently, running club is one of the cool clubs for 5^th grade boys at school.)  All three of our kids had their iPods and handheld water bottles and were ready to roll.  Yes, we are secretly trying to raise a new breed of endurance athletes.  Surprisingly, Mic wasn’t pitching her usual fit about being made to run.  Perhaps Joe read her the riot act before they arrived…

The family that races together
stays together. :-)

Jamie planned to run with his friends; he wasn’t the slightest bit concerned about winning.  I guess we need to work on his killer instincts – just kidding!  Our friend Cori graciously offered to run with Mic.  Cori was just getting back to running after recovering a month-long deployment and a pinched nerve in her shoulder so she wasn’t planning on breaking any land speed records.  I was pacing Josie like I always do, figuring that I could also pace some of my running club kiddos, as they needed me. 

My buddy C

We headed out and Josie was holding a pretty good pace for her.  She was jamming to her tunes, singing out loud with reckless abandon as she ran.  We were about ¾ of a mile in when we came upon my first running club kiddo that was struggling.  C is one of my fastest kids, if not the fastest, and I fully expected him to win his age group.  To see him limping along in tears stopped me in my tracks.  I sent Josie on ahead knowing that she’d never get far enough ahead that I’d lose sight of her, put my arm around C’s shoulder and started walking with him.  He was complaining of being dizzy and an upset stomach.  It was a beautifully cool morning for a run, so no worries about heat stroke.  I kept him walking and talking.  He told me he’d had an upset stomach on and off the day before as well, but no fever.  Hmm.  I asked him if he thought maybe, just maybe was it nerves?  He grinned at me sheepishly and agreed.   

After walking a bit and with a little bit of Momesque TLC, he felt good enough to run again.  So, we ran.  And then, we walked.  And that was how C finished the race.  As we got to the last half-mile and I knew he’d finish, I told him about how Crowie (Alexander Craig) continued to run and then finished the marathon at Kona last year even after he knew that there was no possible way that he would podium.  I shared with C the importance that it’s not always winning, but how sometimes just finishing and doing so with grace is one of the most important parts of sport.  I think he got it. 

Josie crossing the finish line 

As we came to the last corner, C looked up at me, smiled weakly and told me that he was gonna run the rest of the way.  I smiled back, and told him, “Let’s go then.”  I upped my pace and off we went.  C crossed right before me – time: 30:37.  I immediately enveloped him a hug; the poor kid looked like he could use one.  Neither of his parents was able to be there, so I took on the role of proud parent.  And, I truly was!  This kiddo is a swimmer and he went out of his comfort zone to try something new.  It didn’t turn out how he had planned, but he persevered and I think the next time he runs a 5K he’ll be all right. 

Mic crossing in front of her pacer, our friend Corin

I’d be remiss if I didn’t say that my own babies did well.  Jamie finished a minute or so before we did and was chillin’ with his buddies as we crossed the finish line, cheering on other racers.  Joe ended up pacing Josie who came in shortly after C and I did.  Mic and Cori came in several minutes after that, earning Mic (my non-running child) her very first 2^nd place age group finish.  Perhaps I should have gotten them iPods and handheld water bottles a long time ago…

My boy and his wonderful teacher

After my early morning bike intervals and a 5K, three friends and I went on a windy 26-mile bike ride.  How windy was it?  So windy that two of us almost got swept off of our bikes at one point.  I felt like Piglet when he gets swept up into the sky on the very blustery day and Pooh holds onto his scarf to keep Piglet from being blown away.  Forget the intervals - that was great resistance work.

Sunday’s long run was, thankfully, just that – long.  While the hamstring was achy, I didn’t let it stop me.  I knocked out the intervals and then some.  Around mile 10, I even started got a runner’s high.  I get runner’s highs when I run outside, but I’ve never gotten one on the treadmill.  It was a very weird sensation, pleasant, but weird. 

Joe says that he doesn’t get runner’s highs.  I’ve tried to describe it to him – that feeling of floating along, that you could run for miles and miles, that you are invincible.  Nope.  He’s never had it.  Wow.  That’s a pity.  Curious, I have also asked him if, when he’s running, he’s ever felt his muscles moving in synchrony or marveled at how they all work individually and together.  Again, nope.  Now, I know I’m really in tune with my body, but perhaps I’m just a little too in tune…