Prior to starting running, I had read several times in my life (allow me to paraphrase), things like: "all you need for running is a pair of shoes!" And, "running is so basic and natural! Why, everyone ran around as a child!"
But I never read anything that said, "in addition to those (expensive) running shoes (that will need to be replaced a few times a year), you will also need to purchase all of this other stuff that, by the way, costs a lot of money!" Or, "yes, running is basic, if you keep it under 2 or 3 miles. If you want to be a fast runner or an endurance runner, you will need to make sure X, Y and Z, etc., etc., etc......."
So, I started going out on this wonderful (paved) trail on my lunch breaks at work. I would quickly change my clothes and then zip down the street to the trail where I would alternate walking and jogging for a few miles, then turn around and walk back. There was a lovely stream along the trail, fresh air, nature... During those 50 minutes I'd completely forget I was on my lunch break. My brain would process several thoughts, I worked through things that were bothering me calmly and rationally; it was very therapeutic.
However, there was a creepy "goat dude" always hanging out on the trail, and one day I could have sworn he was using his phone to record me running. I call him "goat dude" because the city had hired him to keep watch over a flock of goats that were out there grazing on the invasive grasses growing on the hillsides. (I gave a nod to the city for tackling the grasses without the use of chemicals.) Needless to say, I decided to stop jogging over there for safety purposes.
My coworker told me of another place nearby where she has gone running before, so I decided to make the switch. Now I was walking down the street in the opposite direction, jogging a lap around a lovely park (2 miles), and then walking back. This was in the middle of summer, in Sacramento, at the hottest time of the day. Needless to say, when I returned to work, I was red-faced and very, very sweaty. I received many a strange look, and comments about how I needed to be careful running in the heat, blah blah blah, on the daily. All were immediately dismissed. I was on a mission.
The mission was to keep this up 5 days a week (Monday through Friday) for 3 weeks, because "it takes 21 days to make or break a habit."
This is when I made my first non-shoe purchase at the running store: a water bottle that I can drink from whilst running. Approximately $20. This wise investment enabled me to run longer in the heat without having to stop for water breaks.
After about five weeks, I decided I was committed enough, and had developed enough self-discipline, to change up my jogging schedule. I had been jogging on my lunch breaks because I knew that was a time I could commit to. I mean, what else would I be doing on my lunch break if not jogging? Eating?? Bah! I could do that at my desk at any time!
But now that I was invested and knew I could, and would, make the time for running on the weekends, I was ready to change it up. My new schedule was 3 miles of running on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, and 4 miles of running on Saturday and Sunday. 17 miles a week. I found a park nearby that was 1 mile around and decided it was perfect. Four quick laps on Saturday; four quick laps on Sunday. Genie (Jeannie) nod. I was so excited about running at this point, I signed up for a 10k, a month away.
The first weekend of doing these one-mile laps, I had the sense to change my direction between Saturday and Sunday. Saturday I went clockwise; Sunday I went counter clockwise. The second weekend of doing laps, however, I decided it probably isn't very important to change directions. After all, I was seeing the same people out there running each day, and they weren't changing directions. "I might as well not be the salmon swimming upstream! I might as well go with the flow!" I thought to myself. And besides, I never read anywhere about needing to change directions when doing laps, therefore, it must not be a big deal!
Well, let me tell you, it is a big deal. I majorly stressed out my right hip flexor (which I didn't even know existed prior to injuring it) by running eight mile-long laps in the same direction.
Another thing you don't ever read about (unless you either have a BFF who runs or you subscribe to a running magazine prior to starting to seriously run) is stretching. Stretching is probably obvious to someone coming from an athletic background, but it seems like a silly waste of time to anyone else. Especially to someone who has only read before that running is so basic and natural!
So, even though after my run that Sunday, my right hip felt super tight to the point I could not walk normally, it did not occur to me that it was necessary for me to stretch it out. I had had no problems with stiffness or soreness up to that point, so I just figured it would be fine by the time I needed to run again on Tuesday.
Tuesday came and my hip was still stiff and sore, but I still suited up and went out for my run as planned. I pushed through the pain for about a mile and a half and then had to stop. I turned around and limped almost a mile back to work. By the time I got home that night, I was not able to walk upright. I could not go up the two steps to my porch without holding on to the post to pull myself up. It was the most disabled I had ever been in my life. "So, this was the cost of getting healthy?" I thought to myself. "Here I am, trying to improve my mental and physical health, and this is what I get for it?!"
I still did not start stretching. Nobody ever said to me, "Girl, you need to start stretching that hip out!" I just kept thinking, "It's going to go away any day now." After about a week, I started to walk laps around my work, limping the entire time, hoping it would help loosen me up. After about another week, I decided to try to jog again even though my hip still hurt. I took a deep breath, raised the leg of my bad hip up in the air and was about to complete a stride, but when my foot came down, the pain shot up and my leg almost buckled.
Feeling deflated and defeated, I limped back to work, got on my computer and emailed my doctor. "I need to get better ASAP because I have a race in a month!"
Saturday, February 7, 2015
Life Before Running - A Boring Segment You Should Probably Skip
I started running consistently about five months ago.
Prior to that, my history of running, or maintaining any form of exercise consistently for more than two weeks, was as follows: (this space intentionally left blank)
So, in other words, I have never been athletic in my life. In fact, no one in my family had ever been athletic, either, so it wasn't in my genes or even on my radar growing up. I did not understand why anyone would want to torture themselves with that much exertion, not to mention the time commitment involved. Did not compute.
At the same time, though, whenever I would see someone running (seemingly effortlessly) down the street, head up, perfect form, I would marvel at how strong they looked, and I wished that could be me. Then I'd just shake my head and drive away. "Maybe in my next life," I'd think.
I'd often, but inconsistently, go for walks on my lunch break. "Just 30 minutes of exercise a day, no matter what it is, keeps you healthy." I would do that, as my schedule allowed. My heart rate just always stayed safely below 100 and I never broke a sweat (except for the few times a year I went on a hike or did some strenuous gardening, but due to the infrequency, I hesitate to even mention it).
Well, about six or seven months ago, I was struggling with really bad PMS. This "really bad PMS" was striking for probably a year or so at that point. I am talking about literally feeling like I was possessed by a monster for two weeks out of every month. As long as nobody rocked my boat, I was fine; but if my feathers got ruffled, the monster came out. By monster, I mean, bitch from hell. Imagine a super bitch engulfed in flames (but the flames aren't burning her) running toward you with mouth agape and brows so crossed they practically overlap, and you just knew she was from hell. That is probably what I looked like during my fits of outrage.
When not flipping my wig, I was super sensitive and neurotic, which would lead to my feathers being ruffled, which would bring out the monster again. A vicious cycle, for about two weeks, out of every month.
After complaining about this to someone one day, they advised me to talk to my gynecologist about possibly getting on some medication, like Prozac, to help keep me more even-keeled. I hesitated for months and then finally decided, in the best interest of my family and of saving my marriage, I should give it a try. I sent him an email and explained my symptoms and asked for a prescription for Prozac. He called me within the hour.
"Are you getting any exercise?" he asked. I stumbled over my words a bit and then said, "No, I haven't exercised in a while." By "a while" I meant, several months. He said he would put in a prescription for Prozac, but he recommended I try exercising, first.
Well, I never picked up that prescription, but I did start thinking more seriously about exercising, and more specifically, about running. I started to imagine myself tying up my shoes, leaping out my front door with gusto, and running out into the sunshine (of course in perfect weather, with birds chirping in the trees above), and just feeling so strong and "hard core," and free, and invincible.
I was just about to turn 39 at the time, and the thought of turning 40 gave me the willies. I decided, to help me cope with my transition into "the dark, downward spiral of my 40s"(as I imagined it would be), I needed to go into it in the best shape of my life. "I am going to start running!" I decided at that moment, and I sealed it with a "I Dream of Jeannie" type arm cross and nod.
Prior to that, my history of running, or maintaining any form of exercise consistently for more than two weeks, was as follows: (this space intentionally left blank)
So, in other words, I have never been athletic in my life. In fact, no one in my family had ever been athletic, either, so it wasn't in my genes or even on my radar growing up. I did not understand why anyone would want to torture themselves with that much exertion, not to mention the time commitment involved. Did not compute.
At the same time, though, whenever I would see someone running (seemingly effortlessly) down the street, head up, perfect form, I would marvel at how strong they looked, and I wished that could be me. Then I'd just shake my head and drive away. "Maybe in my next life," I'd think.
I'd often, but inconsistently, go for walks on my lunch break. "Just 30 minutes of exercise a day, no matter what it is, keeps you healthy." I would do that, as my schedule allowed. My heart rate just always stayed safely below 100 and I never broke a sweat (except for the few times a year I went on a hike or did some strenuous gardening, but due to the infrequency, I hesitate to even mention it).
Well, about six or seven months ago, I was struggling with really bad PMS. This "really bad PMS" was striking for probably a year or so at that point. I am talking about literally feeling like I was possessed by a monster for two weeks out of every month. As long as nobody rocked my boat, I was fine; but if my feathers got ruffled, the monster came out. By monster, I mean, bitch from hell. Imagine a super bitch engulfed in flames (but the flames aren't burning her) running toward you with mouth agape and brows so crossed they practically overlap, and you just knew she was from hell. That is probably what I looked like during my fits of outrage.
When not flipping my wig, I was super sensitive and neurotic, which would lead to my feathers being ruffled, which would bring out the monster again. A vicious cycle, for about two weeks, out of every month.
After complaining about this to someone one day, they advised me to talk to my gynecologist about possibly getting on some medication, like Prozac, to help keep me more even-keeled. I hesitated for months and then finally decided, in the best interest of my family and of saving my marriage, I should give it a try. I sent him an email and explained my symptoms and asked for a prescription for Prozac. He called me within the hour.
"Are you getting any exercise?" he asked. I stumbled over my words a bit and then said, "No, I haven't exercised in a while." By "a while" I meant, several months. He said he would put in a prescription for Prozac, but he recommended I try exercising, first.
Well, I never picked up that prescription, but I did start thinking more seriously about exercising, and more specifically, about running. I started to imagine myself tying up my shoes, leaping out my front door with gusto, and running out into the sunshine (of course in perfect weather, with birds chirping in the trees above), and just feeling so strong and "hard core," and free, and invincible.
I was just about to turn 39 at the time, and the thought of turning 40 gave me the willies. I decided, to help me cope with my transition into "the dark, downward spiral of my 40s"(as I imagined it would be), I needed to go into it in the best shape of my life. "I am going to start running!" I decided at that moment, and I sealed it with a "I Dream of Jeannie" type arm cross and nod.
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