Let's Give This Another Shot

I briefly stumbled into a kind of shame for finally starting a blog. I realized I was too embarrassed to tell anyone I was blogging, which makes publicizing the thing kind of hard. And if I'm not publicizing, then I'm just live-journaling. And there's a road I don't want to go down.

Running update: after two great Feldenkrais appointments at the Balanced Runner, I've moved on to try neurological chiropractic therapy with the amazing Dr. Pam Charles. She sent me for a lumbar spine xray (which makes me a bit concerned for the state of my now-irradiated reproductive organs), and determined that my spine had some slight scoliosis and that one hip point was much higher than the other. Dr. Charles works both by adjusting, like a traditional chiropractor, but also leads patients in brain-based exercises. So far, my IT band pain has been greatly reduced, but that may be the effect of low weekly mileage.

Through December I was running about four times a week, but just about five miles each time. I was supplementing my running with more cardio at the gym, all the while promising myself that I would hit the weight room (or a Total Body class, or yoga, or something) soon. It's easy to make yourself those promises, and since I was exercising some anyway, I just kept procrastinating about the strength portion. During the week between Christmas and New Year, Andrew and I escaped to Crested Butte for some snowboarding (just missing the storm that held the whole northeast snowbound for days), so I got to be active without too much gym time.

During this time, too, I started reading The China Study, which led me to think about my eating habits, not for the first time. In the book, Dr. Campbell shares tons of scientific data from peer-reviewed studies and trials that make pretty clear that a Western diet (and, indeed, diets that have high levels of animal protein) will kill you. A recent health concern (unrelated to my stupid IT band) has maybe made me more willing to try something that may seem extreme... so I'm going for it. I'm not super strict. There are still some veggie burgers that I eat that list "milk powder" low on the ingredient list, and, while I try to be vigilant, I sometimes forget to ask at restaurants if the meal is cooked in butter or oil. (Note: Baluchi's in New York will make veggie entrees vegan, but the default is butterful.) AND I still have the occasional piece of fish. But I'm over dairy.

This dietary switch has taken a toll on my baking, for sure. Growing up, one of the best parts of the holiday season was the arrival of Archway Cookie's gingerbread men. Soft, frosted, and topped with sprinkles... mmmm. My mom, sister, and I were known to eat a package in a sitting. So, about two years ago, Archway folded, and the cookies were gone. My mother was devastated. Christmas was going to be ruined. I took up the challenge of trying to recreate the cookies with the help of my 1964 version of The Joy of Cooking. Success!!! (It's just the traditional gingerbread men recipe. The ones in more updated copies of the cookbook seem to leave a little to be desired: the cookies are a little tougher and not nearly spicy enough.) This year, my mom discovered she'd developed a gluten intolerance. That development plus my new dietary restrictions meant we would need THREE versions of gingerbread cookie: vegan, gluten-free, and regular. It reminded me of a (completely copy-written and hence not present here) New Yorker illustration captioned "The Last Thanksgiving" featuring a table full of people labeled with their various food restrictions. In any case. While the vegan baking is coming along, the gingerbread cookies could have all stood for some improvement.

But while all this snowboarding and vegan baking were going on, the weeks flew by, and now I'm staring down this month's Manhattan Half Marathon (part of the Continental Airlines Grand Prix), and I'm woefully under-trained. I'll need to ramp up the milage and intensity a little this week (and maybe even early next) just enough to get across the finish line without re-injuring myself in the process. It's two brutal laps of Central Park, which I've run before in the same race as well as for the course of the More Half Marathon.

So, while I'm still a little wary of sharing my blog with anyone I actually know in real life, I think I am going to try to keep it going for now, if only to keep reflecting on running. And vegan cookies, maybe.

The Oblivious Runner, or What I Think About When I Think About Running

Before I went to my Feldenkrais appointment, I squeezed in a couple of laps around the bridal path in Central Park. In November, the bridal path becomes a much more desolate place than it is in September and October—those months being the ones in which the cross country and last-eight-weeks-before-the-marathon seasons take place. In early fall, you cannot run on this path or on the reservoir track without risking being sideswiped by a sweaty, half-naked college student. As titillating an experience as you may think this to be (and, let’s be honest, who doesn’t daydream about it from time to time?), it can really throw you off your game, mentally. Well, it can throw me off mine, at least.

See, while I’m running, I’m not thinking about much in particular; contrary to what my physical therapist believes, I’m not obsessing about my form or worrying the whole time about how my knock knees are going to inevitably lead to injury. Instead, I’m usually wondering about what I can eat when I’m finished running, or whether or not I remembered to pay my rent, or imagining what Kate Middleton’s wedding dress will look like and whether or not it would be worth it to be a princess if you also had to have the Queen as a grandmother-in-law. But also, when I’m running, I tend to feel pretty good about myself. I stop worrying if my thighs have gone from “thunder” status “to just plain freakish,” and I never think about whether my mascara is running or if my hair looks ok. I’m content. I’m running.

THEN with only the warning of rumbling footsteps, some collegiate cross country team glides past. They’re young, attractive, and so much faster than I will ever be. Up until that moment, I was cruising; I was pretty-fast-for-a-girl; I was someone of whom people referred as “a crazy runner,” which all runners take as a compliment. But behind a bunch of 19-year-old athletes, I’m just old and slow. It’s a bummer. It snaps me out of pleasant dreams of a unicorn-emblazoned finisher’s medal back into the reality in which I have not even completed a marathon this year. In this instance, it’s better to be oblivious.

Then again, from another perspective, I should be a little more tuned in. I went to meet Jae of the Balanced Runner. Just to preface this, I still don’t know really what Feldenkrais is. Before Jae got to work on me (or we got to work together; it’s still hard to say), she told me she was skipping the basic runner’s session and moving me right into something more targeted to my IT band pain. The downside of this approach, she warned me, was that I may still not get the “why” part of Feldenkrais yet, since she was passing over the introduction in our session. So, I am not really going to try to describe what Feldenkrais is all about because I will get it wrong and may either mislead or offend people.

What Jae asked me to do was to run some short distances while she watched, and each time, she asked me to think about a different aspect of my running: my foot strike, my angle of incline to the ground, my arm swing, my pelvic movement, etc. Now, it’s not that I’ve never thought about these things. But I’d never bothered to compare if my right foot, arm, half-of-pelvis, and rib cage were moving any differently than those on my left. And the worst part is that, even after running while thinking about it, I still couldn’t really say.
Now my mom has called me “oblivious” more times than I can count and my boyfriend is terribly patient every time I try to stop and figure out why I’m mad or upset, and then struggle to articulate it. I know I’m not a really reflective person, and I tend to refer to myself as a “big picture” thinker. Now, however, I’m confronted with the possibility that I’m not just oblivious, but that I cannot understand the way I feel (physically, in this case) even when I’m trying to. Scary.

So there I was, standing in the cold darkness in the middle of 11th Street with someone whom I’d just met, trying to tell her that it wasn’t that I didn’t notice a difference between my left foot strike and my right, but that I couldn’t tell if they were different or the same. Like I was tone deaf, except in my feet. Jae was also terribly patient and nodded and said encouraging things. She then brought me back inside (which was great, because I was wearing just a t-shirt and jeans and it’s November) and set me up on a table and basically moved me around for forty minutes or so. When she was done, she asked me to stand, walk, and run again, and she asked me if I felt different. I did—definitely. However, there is no way I can explain how. What I told Jae was that I felt “heavier but in a good way,” which is not terribly clear and sounds like the opposite of what ever runner wants. What I think I meant was that I felt more connection to the road below me, which is also not that useful.

I haven’t had the chance to run since. Yesterday was filled with work and physical therapy appointments and dog walking and family-related obligations; every time I tried to find a twenty minute window to at least get a little sweaty, something would come up and stymie my attempts. Louie and I will run today, and I will try not to think about my knee, as Brynn, my PT, requests, but at the same time be in tune with my foot strike and torso rotation and arm swing. It’s a lot to think about and not think about all at the same time. I’m wishing I could stay oblivious.

DN...eff

DNF stands for "did not finish," as in, the race you were running.

A week and a half ago, I DNF'ed for the first time: I dropped out of the New York City Marathon at mile 15, mostly due to IT band pain near my right knee. This marathon should have been my third. While I completed the NYC marathon in both 2008 and 2009, IT band syndrome has plagued me since I've started training for this distance.


(That's me on the left, sporting Kinesio Tape and an IT band strap in addition to my favorite beanie and Hudson Dusters singlet.)

My original goal was to qualify to run the 2012 Boston Marathon (which means that, by the end of 2011, I need to run finish in under 3:40:59). My new goal does not supplant that goal, but has become more important. I want to train for and complete a marathon-- actually, many marathons-- without being hampered by this injury. Or, really, any injuries... but let's not get carried away.

Some of the therapies I've tried so far, in addition to abstaining from running, resting, icing, and taking frequent doses of Advil, include physical therapy (with amazing Brynn at Finish Line PT), acupuncture, and strengthening of some key muscle groups. I am also completely attached to my foam roller and TP Quadballer (yes, feel free to laugh at the name; I did. Do not feel free to try to bring it on an airplane without taking it out of your carry-on and placing it into the plastic bin along with your laptop and liquids). I also really like this website created by a fellow IT band syndrome sufferer.

Tonight, I'm trying the Feldenkrais Method with Jae at The Balanced Runner. I'm really excited to see how that goes. Much in the same way I approached acupuncture, I'm heading into this thinking positively. Can't hurt, right?

My purpose here is not to tell you how to cure your IT band issues or how to qualify for Boston. I'm not an expert in either arena. I haven't done either. But I'd like to document my attempts to do both. I like writing, and things tend to make more sense to me when they are put down in words. (Ten years ago, I would have said "on paper.") Maybe in writing about running, I can observe some patterns or notice my mistakes. Maybe I can start a discussion that could prove helpful-- to me or to someone else. I have a friend who is "crowd sourcing" his life: asking the opinions of facebook friends and twitterers to weigh in on his decisions, both personal and professional, in accordance to his belief that knowledge is in the group. I'm not ready to do that (though, by all means, share your opinions). But I'm done stewing about this in my head or, even worse, launching into soliloquies when someone is polite enough to ask my how my running's going. So I'm trying this instead.