Say Cheese!

I don't like people to look at me while I exercise.

I understand that this seems strange when I say I work out with a trainer or run with a running group. But mostly I don't want people who are not working out to watch or see me work out. I am not an attractive athlete. Some women glisten when they run, their perfectly coiffed ponytails bouncing as they exercise. Think Jane Fonda on crack.

I am not one of these people. Should you encounter me running around the streets of Chicago (and you can easily find me by following the screams of women and children as they catch sight of me), I will resemble a beet on fire. My face will be bright red, sweat will be pouring down my face, my clothes will be disheveled and my hair will be sticking straight up.

I don't like exercising in front of people not just for vanity reasons, but also because when you're all-out running, you feel out of control, almost vulnerable. Whether someone sees you at your strongest, powering through the finish line or taking a hill with force or at your weakest, dragging an injured knee behind you as you limp towards your endpoint, spectators see you at your purest, without the trappings of everyday life to shroud you. It's a scary feeling.

Last week I was taking my usual weekday run along the Chicago lakefront. My standard route takes me through a lakefront park that is one of my favorite views of the entire city. Standing at the edge of the park - essentially a peninsula in Lake Michigan - you get two of the best views of the city and Lakeshore Drive. It is, in a word, breathtaking.

Running in my own world I pounded down the sidewalk, paused to glance at the stunning skyline, and realized something was in my shoe. Instead of just stopping and looking in my shoe, I continued to jog, shaking my foot to the side in a motion that resembled an injured vaudeville act.

Sensing something was in front of me, I suddenly stopped, foot in mid air, deer in headlights look on my face and aforementioned general air of sweaty grossness, only to see I had just wandered into my worst nightmare.

I had stumbled into the background of an engagement photo. The adorable couple, dressed to the nines, was approximately five feet in front of me. The photographer had lowered his camera and was staring at me. The couple, blissfully unaware, were still smiling, thinking the city skyline was in the background instead of a big sweaty stumbling mess.

I mumbled an apology and awkwardly stumbled to the side thinking not only had I violated my number one rule about allowing people to watch me run, but also had now been captured on camera doing so.

So congrats to that couple - may you have a long and happy life together. Can I get a copy of the photo?

All I Really Need to Know...

To all eight people who read my blog, this is Grover. He’s five. Likes: salsa, driving in cars, stuffed animals and Twizzler’s Pull n Peel. Dislikes: water, cats, crowds and Major League Baseball (he’s been to two games).

At the beginning of yet another season of marathon training, with a year and a half of training, illness and disappointment behind me, I came to a realization: everything I should have known about running and training, I could have learned from Grover.

1. Run like you mean it. Run like you stole something. Run like you’re being chased. Run until your hair whips behind you and your legs are a tangle of pavement pounding fury. Why go for a run if you’re just going to put in the miles in an uninspired way and go home? If you’re going to do that, you might as well just forget it and nap in a well-lit area of your house.
2. The whole point of running is what you see along the way. If you get to the end and haven’t stopped to look at something fun or contemplate why in God’s name the park smells the way it does, you weren’t really running.
3. Despite the aforementioned necessary fury, if you need to stop, stop. Actually, if you need to stop, no matter where you are and at what time of day it is, do so. 5pm rush hour and you’re crossing the busiest intersection in the city? Take a breather pal. You can’t expect your body to go all out all the time.
4. Don’t feel intimidated by any other runners you encounter. All you need to run is a passion and some legs. Who cares if the person next to you is bigger, stronger, or wearing a snazzy coat? Not your problem.
5. Always drink water with wanton disregard for what people think. Hydration is important. If the water gets all over your face, don’t worry about it.
6. When you’re done running, don’t forget to stretch reeeaaaallly well and take a nap. Points for napping outside.

I’m exhausted just thinking about running. Time for that nap.

Flying Through the Air With the Greatest of Ease

When you’ve been out of the athletic/training game for a while, there are certain benchmarks you hit that let you know you’re starting to devolve athletically. For some people, its feeling tired all the time and for the extremely athletic, it’s noticing an increase in time or a decrease in speed.

For me, it’s falling. You see, the big guy upstairs (that’s a God-reference, not any sort of reference to my neighbor because I actually live on the top floor) did not decide in his infinite wisdom to give me what some might call grace.

I am a grade-A klutz.

Sampling of the injuries I have sustained from just walking/sitting/standing:

- Sprained ankle (2 left)
- Sprained knee
- Torn ligament (right foot)
- Torn ligament (left foot)
- Sprained, possibly broken finger
- Bruised chin
- And many more!

I was out of commission athletically from August until the beginning of November. That’s a really long time. Everyone told me that my training wouldn’t go to waste; I’d bounce back, etc. And for the most part I believed them.

Then it started.

At first it was a simple slip in the lobby of my apartment.

Later, a stumble down a few stairs at my parents’ house.

Followed by an ankle twist and skinned knee while watching the Chicago Marathon.

Then it was a trip outside my office, resulting in a grapefruit-sized bruise on my butt.

After that, a tumble at my office Christmas party in which I skinned both knees, ripped my tights and spent the first 20 minutes of the party in the bathroom trying to stop my knee from bleeding after two of the guys I work with told me I looked like I’d been shot.

I chose to ignore these falls, believing there was no way they were indicative of an athletic backslide.

Then it happened.

About a week ago, I was doing some chores around the house. As I walked down my front hallway, I slipped Looney Toons-style, my legs shooting out from under me. I fell hard on my side, bruising my hip and the side of my ribcage. The most painful part of the experience, however, was that when I fell, I cracked my head on the corner of the wall, causing a huge bump that resembled a devil horn perfectly placed on the side of my already sizable head.

As I lay there seeing stars, unable to sit up, I began to think of a few things:

1. I live alone, and should I continue to injure myself in my home, I may come to a situation
where I seriously hurt myself and no one is there to help me.
2. I should be careful where I walk
3. I just nearly knocked myself unconscious by walking.
4. I might just finally be willing to admit that my clumsiness has returned.

I hear admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery.

My name is Kate, and I have no balance.

Tap tap tap. Is this thing on?

Is anyone still out there?

If you are, hello again, I’m sorry for leaving you hanging, and why the hell are you still here?Anyway. Considering most of you that read this blog (meaning my mom and my coworkers – gotta represent for all four of my readers) know what has gone on in my life athletically over the past month, let me apologize for the recap. But, here goes.

In August I had a nasty case of bronchitis that knocked me out of the triathlon. While I was busy moaning about all of the things I couldn't do with bronchitis and cursing the doctors (two separate ones) that forbade me from competing, my bronchitis worsened until I had full-blown pneumonia. Know what you can’t do with pneumonia? Walk, let alone complete a triathlon or run a marathon.

So in the greatest O. Henry sense of irony, I spent all spring and summer training for two events that I couldn’t compete in. Why couldn’t I compete in these events? Because I overtrained and didn’t take care of myself. It’s like a sick ying and yang of crapiness. When I was able to get back into working out in late October/early November, I had backslid. Big time. I got back into running very slowly, and started weight training again with a trainer, but things were and are rough.

However, during my two and a half months was a whole host of people, places and things that helped me, the wannabe athlete, get back on my feet. And now, I’d like to just say thanks. Cue the sappy montage folks, here we go.

1. To the maker of the cool nebulizer that the urgent care gave me during my first visit to try to clear out my lungs. 10 minutes of puffing later and hysterically giggling later and I realized I had a serious, SERIOUS jonesing for White Castle. Coincidence? I think not.
2. To the masseuse who I went to after my first day back in the gym. She insisted that massage would help sooth my ribcage and back muscles after months of coughing and inactivity. She also insisted on massaging…erm….the front of my ribcage if you get my drift.
3. To the creepy acupuncturist I saw who told me that my bronchitis was related to weight gain, and I needed Eastern medicine to get “the sludge out of my nervous system.” I have a sludgy nervous system? Come again?
4. To the makers of the two types of steroids my doctors put me on. My coworkers and friends thank you for introducing them to a female version of the incredible hulk that yelled at the drop of a hat and ate everything that wasn’t nailed down or was moving slowly.
5. To all the friends who listened to me cry and told me I'd be able to do it again next year. Specifically to those who volunteered to do the events with me next year. I’ve written your names down.
6. To the nasty man who worked the chip return desk at the marathon expo. When I went to turn in my chip, he asked me if I “was dropping out because I hadn’t trained and was scared.” When I responded that I had pneumonia, he turned to my friend, who was pulling out as well because of a fractured foot, and said “what about you? Do you have ‘pneumonia’ too?” He even used air quotes. You sir, are an asshat. Thank you for giving us another reason to do this next year.
7. And finally, to all the people who told me to get back to blogging. In the words of one well-meaning reader, “for the love of God, woman, you can’t end your blogging career on that pathetic, depressing last post you left us with.”