So there's this crazy thing that I think I can do: it's called Whole30. I mean, if a girl can run a half marathon 11 times, she can cut out alcohol, grain, sugar, dairy, and legumes for 30 days right?
One can only hope.
This is based on a recommendation from several people for many reasons: it's an anti-inflammatory diet, which will help with my joint pain and back pain, it can help with my Hashimoto's and possibly hurry the balance of that damned organ, and it can help me figure out if I'm actually allergic to something without having to pay $500 for the test...to name a few of them.
Today, when first attempting to grocery shop for this crazy diet - as my start date is Sunday after my race and I want to make sure that I'm stocked and ready so there's no slips on day 1 - I was surprised at the fact that most deli meat, or at least the cheap stuff I'm used to buying, all has sugar in it. WTF? It's meat, right?
Sigh. Scratch that easy go-to off my list. I'm not paying $4.50 for half as much as I usually get for $3.99. Ask me again in week 2.
Apparently I'm gonna need to start eating eggs like it's my job to get the proteins and carbs I need with my exercise routine.
The intro to both the books I have in my possession regarding this diet start with "This is. Not. Hard." They go on to detail that giving birth is hard, coming back from Iraq missing a limb is hard, and dealing with a life-threatening, incurable disease is hard, but giving up sugar is not hard.
Okay, fine. I get it, not hard. But could they make the shopping for it easier? Thankssomuch.
I'll keep you updated on how things go. Also, I've signed up for NWM2015 in SF. And am 90% sure I'm going to do a marathon in September.
So much for only doing two races this year: race number one of three is on Saturday!
Ciao,
kc
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
Monday, June 15, 2015
We're Lost
One of the many things runners - long distance runners anyways - will grudgingly admit to, is that when your watch says .5 or .6 or .7...it's hard not to just finish that one last mile. Also, when we've committed to 12 miles, if we have managed to cover more than half the distance, we are now fully committed to a full 12 miles. 11.5 won't do, 11 miles isn't good enough, forget about 11.98, it ain't gonna happen. It's gotta be 12.
Saturday night, when everyone else was going to the Rodeo in Sisters, enjoying the last of the heat for the day, BBQ'ing and having fun, Jamie and I scheduled our big run for the day.
We have a half marathon in two weeks so this is the last "big" run until the race. We were supposed to end up doing 14 miles the day of my sister's wedding, but I was at my sister's wedding (duh) and Jamie thought running 14 miles was a terrible idea. I just wanted to see if I could do it. You know, a baby step towards the full I'm 90% sure I'm going to do in early September.
My new job is exactly 2 miles from Jamie's house, so to get my extra mileage in, I ran over to meet her. I was on board and idealistic for my 14 miler, and Jamie was solidly committed to 12 miles. Three miles in (so five for me), Jamie has an equipment crisis and we stand in the road considering calling her husband to come get her to fix it while I ran on and had her meet me down the road.
He was at least 20 minutes out.
"My work is just down the road, we could go there." I suggested. I had run the 2 miles to her house and then we turned around and retraced my steps: at this point we were a mile away from my work. "It's 20 minutes if we walk it, and if we can manage a jog it's less. We'd get there before he could get here."
"You're okay with that? I feel bad..." she said. I told her no worries, but I wasn't clocking anything we were walking for that mile. Breaks were one thing, walking that far on purpose is quite another. So we trekked the mile back to work, jogging when possible, but mostly walking.
Crisis averted, we turned around again. We decided to do an out and back, 4.5 miles out, turn around and run back to my car in the parking lot at work, where I would give her a ride back to her house.
Mile nine was the longest mile I've ever run in my life. It was never ending. We finally made it to the turnaround at mile ten (Jamie's mile 8) and practically cheered. Okay, we thought, four more miles and we're golden.
A mile and a half down the road we passed a turn off and had a brief argument.
"I thought we turned here?" I said.
"No, no, it's down the road," Jamie insisted.
"Should we get out the map on our phones?" I asked, unconvinced.
"No, I know exactly where we are. Collins [the road we're on] turns into Pinehurst [the road the distillery is on], we already made the turn." Jamie countered.
Dubious, but aware that my sense of direction is severely lacking, and knowing that my thyroid disorder has been giving me some very interesting short-term memory situations, I agreed and we ran on.
Three quarters of a mile later:
"Okay, Jamie, I definitely do not remember that flag," I said as we trotted past a huge, festive, bunting banner strung on a gate. "We are going the wrong way."
"I don't remember it either, but I'm pretty sure that's our turn off up there." She said, unconvincingly.
"No way," I disagreed and got the phone out. Sure enough, we had missed our turn. Going back would have taken longer at that point, so we continued on. We reached the 14 mile marker (her 12 mile marker) and we checked the map again. One mile to the distillery from where we were. Jamie wanted to call her husband to come get us, I bullied her into running the last mile.
"By the time he gets in the car and finds us, we could have just run the mile, between the traffic from the rodeo and the light," I pointed out, as it was now 9 PM and while not dark, it was definitely not light anymore. She agreed grudgingly.
I ran 15.03 miles on Saturday night. It took me 2 hours and 48 minutes, averaging an 11:14 mile. It's been two days and my knees are still killing me.
I can't wait to do it again.
Ciao,
kc
Saturday night, when everyone else was going to the Rodeo in Sisters, enjoying the last of the heat for the day, BBQ'ing and having fun, Jamie and I scheduled our big run for the day.
We have a half marathon in two weeks so this is the last "big" run until the race. We were supposed to end up doing 14 miles the day of my sister's wedding, but I was at my sister's wedding (duh) and Jamie thought running 14 miles was a terrible idea. I just wanted to see if I could do it. You know, a baby step towards the full I'm 90% sure I'm going to do in early September.
My new job is exactly 2 miles from Jamie's house, so to get my extra mileage in, I ran over to meet her. I was on board and idealistic for my 14 miler, and Jamie was solidly committed to 12 miles. Three miles in (so five for me), Jamie has an equipment crisis and we stand in the road considering calling her husband to come get her to fix it while I ran on and had her meet me down the road.
He was at least 20 minutes out.
"My work is just down the road, we could go there." I suggested. I had run the 2 miles to her house and then we turned around and retraced my steps: at this point we were a mile away from my work. "It's 20 minutes if we walk it, and if we can manage a jog it's less. We'd get there before he could get here."
"You're okay with that? I feel bad..." she said. I told her no worries, but I wasn't clocking anything we were walking for that mile. Breaks were one thing, walking that far on purpose is quite another. So we trekked the mile back to work, jogging when possible, but mostly walking.
Crisis averted, we turned around again. We decided to do an out and back, 4.5 miles out, turn around and run back to my car in the parking lot at work, where I would give her a ride back to her house.
Mile nine was the longest mile I've ever run in my life. It was never ending. We finally made it to the turnaround at mile ten (Jamie's mile 8) and practically cheered. Okay, we thought, four more miles and we're golden.
A mile and a half down the road we passed a turn off and had a brief argument.
"I thought we turned here?" I said.
"No, no, it's down the road," Jamie insisted.
"Should we get out the map on our phones?" I asked, unconvinced.
"No, I know exactly where we are. Collins [the road we're on] turns into Pinehurst [the road the distillery is on], we already made the turn." Jamie countered.
Dubious, but aware that my sense of direction is severely lacking, and knowing that my thyroid disorder has been giving me some very interesting short-term memory situations, I agreed and we ran on.
Three quarters of a mile later:
"Okay, Jamie, I definitely do not remember that flag," I said as we trotted past a huge, festive, bunting banner strung on a gate. "We are going the wrong way."
"I don't remember it either, but I'm pretty sure that's our turn off up there." She said, unconvincingly.
"No way," I disagreed and got the phone out. Sure enough, we had missed our turn. Going back would have taken longer at that point, so we continued on. We reached the 14 mile marker (her 12 mile marker) and we checked the map again. One mile to the distillery from where we were. Jamie wanted to call her husband to come get us, I bullied her into running the last mile.
"By the time he gets in the car and finds us, we could have just run the mile, between the traffic from the rodeo and the light," I pointed out, as it was now 9 PM and while not dark, it was definitely not light anymore. She agreed grudgingly.
I ran 15.03 miles on Saturday night. It took me 2 hours and 48 minutes, averaging an 11:14 mile. It's been two days and my knees are still killing me.
I can't wait to do it again.
Ciao,
kc
Sunday, June 14, 2015
Since January
So I'm pretty sure this has officially been the longest hiatus from blogging that I've ever done. And for that, I'm sorry.
Not that more than one or two people read my words or look at what I've said, but still. Sorry.
It's been a long six months.
I was diagnosed with a thyroid autoimmune disorder Hashimodo's in February, and the exhaustion, stress, and subsequent doctor's visits with that have made the very-real fatigue symptom that accompanies this disorder that much harder.
I finally said, "Uncle" with my job at the vineyard, which while I was loving the work, was eating me alive. Since leaving, that position has been split into two full time positions, rather than just one person that it had been (me). Granted, I had been lobbying for that second body since about January, having recognized the need, and my boss had finally found someone she felt was qualified who was interested in the position the week before I put in my notice, but still. That tells you how much I was working! Don't get me wrong though, I loved the job, but when I was offered a job at a local distillery, 30 minutes closer to home, with better pay, I couldn't help but say yes.
And running.
Oh the angst.
You would think that I would have learned to be kinder to myself with the back injury situation and subsequent recovery time. Remember all of those flowery posts about how wonderful it was to be able to run at all?
Ha.
Back to the mindset of "if I'm not doing it all, I'm failing at life."
A friend recently suggested that I work on changing my frame of mind. Instead of mentally berating myself, and/or having to grant myself "permission" to take a day off from go-go-go, I should instead celebrate what I did manage to get done.
For example: on Wednesday, my back was acting up and I was just tired. We had been in California for my sister's wedding for a week, with much travel involved, as we had done a quick trip to SF for a Giants game before heading up the coast to Arcata. We drove back late Sunday night and then I worked (hard) all day Monday and Tuesday. So Wednesday, I was justifiably tired. So I gave myself "permission" to skip my run that day, and then mentally agonized and felt guilty all day at how slothful and lazy I was and should have just gone.
Except I still managed to walk the dog. Go grocery shopping. Finish the laundry. Contact several clients and finish sketches for several contracts for Chalked. Mow the lawn. Clean the house.
I wasn't exactly lying around.
I'm sure exercise guilt is a cultural phenomenon, especially with the rise of "fitspiration," crossfit, and paleo. But I didn't realize how bad it had gotten in myself until my friend pointed it out.
"You had a full, productive day, and on top of your thyroid issues, travel-weariness and general 'it's my weekend' mode, you still managed to get a bunch of physical stuff done. There's nothing you should be 'giving yourself a break' about. Instead, recognize that it's okay to take a day off from running and working out if you're legitimately tired and recognize that you still managed to do all of these other things. Hell, sometimes getting out of bed in the morning is a victory."
So now I am going to try to focus - and use this blog to help me focus - on the things I've accomplished. Including exercise, eating, my business, etc. But even on the days where I should get a standing ovation for making it out of bed, I will make an effort to recognize that.
Wish me luck.
Ciao,
kc
Not that more than one or two people read my words or look at what I've said, but still. Sorry.
It's been a long six months.
I was diagnosed with a thyroid autoimmune disorder Hashimodo's in February, and the exhaustion, stress, and subsequent doctor's visits with that have made the very-real fatigue symptom that accompanies this disorder that much harder.
I finally said, "Uncle" with my job at the vineyard, which while I was loving the work, was eating me alive. Since leaving, that position has been split into two full time positions, rather than just one person that it had been (me). Granted, I had been lobbying for that second body since about January, having recognized the need, and my boss had finally found someone she felt was qualified who was interested in the position the week before I put in my notice, but still. That tells you how much I was working! Don't get me wrong though, I loved the job, but when I was offered a job at a local distillery, 30 minutes closer to home, with better pay, I couldn't help but say yes.
And running.
Oh the angst.
You would think that I would have learned to be kinder to myself with the back injury situation and subsequent recovery time. Remember all of those flowery posts about how wonderful it was to be able to run at all?
Ha.
Back to the mindset of "if I'm not doing it all, I'm failing at life."
A friend recently suggested that I work on changing my frame of mind. Instead of mentally berating myself, and/or having to grant myself "permission" to take a day off from go-go-go, I should instead celebrate what I did manage to get done.
For example: on Wednesday, my back was acting up and I was just tired. We had been in California for my sister's wedding for a week, with much travel involved, as we had done a quick trip to SF for a Giants game before heading up the coast to Arcata. We drove back late Sunday night and then I worked (hard) all day Monday and Tuesday. So Wednesday, I was justifiably tired. So I gave myself "permission" to skip my run that day, and then mentally agonized and felt guilty all day at how slothful and lazy I was and should have just gone.
Except I still managed to walk the dog. Go grocery shopping. Finish the laundry. Contact several clients and finish sketches for several contracts for Chalked. Mow the lawn. Clean the house.
I wasn't exactly lying around.
I'm sure exercise guilt is a cultural phenomenon, especially with the rise of "fitspiration," crossfit, and paleo. But I didn't realize how bad it had gotten in myself until my friend pointed it out.
"You had a full, productive day, and on top of your thyroid issues, travel-weariness and general 'it's my weekend' mode, you still managed to get a bunch of physical stuff done. There's nothing you should be 'giving yourself a break' about. Instead, recognize that it's okay to take a day off from running and working out if you're legitimately tired and recognize that you still managed to do all of these other things. Hell, sometimes getting out of bed in the morning is a victory."
So now I am going to try to focus - and use this blog to help me focus - on the things I've accomplished. Including exercise, eating, my business, etc. But even on the days where I should get a standing ovation for making it out of bed, I will make an effort to recognize that.
Wish me luck.
Ciao,
kc
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