Run. Dog. Cat. Cat. Me.

Everything you need to know about running and life and any other random crap I find bouncing through my mind like a ping pong ball. And always be sure your shoes are happy.

Exercise and the Exorcist – Part 3

Yesterday was a BEAUUUUTIFUL DAYayayayay!  (background tunes for your listening pleasure: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3V8nu6e8eFY)

I woke:

The sun is shining! ♫ ♪ ♫

Birds are singing! ♫ ♫ ♪

Pretty trees are reflected in the sparkling lake!  ♫♪♫ ♪ ♫

And I’m GO-O-O-ING FOR A RU-U-U-U-N ♫ ♪ ♫♪♫

Which is a massive 360 from how I’ve felt for the past couple weeks.  After the CD Smith fiasco when Butt Falling Off Syndrome reared it’s ugly head at 9 miles (hahaha reared, get it?) I limped the last 3.5 to the car, bagging the 16 mile run at 12.5 and very happy to do so, although I do sincerely thank Doug and Sara for all their honking support.

But (haha – oh, nevermind) somewhere near the end, as I ran with nothing in my head but a vision of the car and the mantra *don’t quit* *don’t quit*, these words suddenly swam past my eyes like a Crab Shack banner behind a plane at the beach:

HOW…MANY…MILES…ARE…ON…THESE…SHOES?

Over 500.

Email Kelly:  I have over 500 miles on these shoes.  You think, a clue?

Immediate reply:  YES.  (ok, thanks)  GO BUY SHOES.  (yes, Ma’am)  SEE ME THURSDAY AT 3pm (sh*t)

I can’t actually tell you what type of child I was.  I think I was a tentative, insecure and rather shy thing but there’s no telling, there are only my memories and my mother’s; like all mothers, she’s biased.  Probably I did actually hang the moon.  And – while I know that both of the faithful followers of my World Famous Blog will not believe this – I was a child who followed the rules.  Rules existed to keep you intact.  Outside the rules:  Scary Mordor-like place.  Go outside the rules and Miss Morgan will put you in the corner during story time and all the other kids will turn in their seats watching you walk to the corner in disgrace.

For example, here’s a fairly standard running rule:  Turn your shoes over every 250-300 miles.  If you’re a younger person or you have the top 10% of perfect feet which God passed out you can go further and/or you can wear minimalist shoes, and also I hate you.  However, if you are an older female with fascist plantars living in your feet and very high arches you will probably need a bit more support.  Additionally – how fair is this? – the only place your body loses weight as you age is your metatarsal pad, thank you so not.  The one place you need more cushioning, buh-bye.

Follow the rules.  If you don’t buy new shoes:

I now have shining new shoes with the purchase date written large on the heel in black Sharpie.

Thursday Kelly announced the good news:  my butt was no longer on sideways.  The bad news:  I was more sore in more places.  I was not allowed to run Friday; if I felt like it I could plod a couple miles Saturday.  I did not feel like it.  This time, despite the exorcism and new shoes, there was no bounce, no spring in my legs.  Sunday’s long run of 18 miles was a heavy legged pain fest which was put out of my misery when I bagged at 16.

I’d done my run along the streets while the Finish Line Crew was working an off-road race and met up with them afterward for dinner at El Patron, a little gem of Mexican food heaven.  It was a bit tough for Beverly and Mike, sitting on either side of me in the booth, as my leg constantly twitched and I stretched, wiggled and squirmed like a two year old high on birthday cake, trying to calm it.  Beverly looked at me.  “You need to be taking potassium and magnesium.”

|: Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! |:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=__gnmuzq6HI

As a runner I sweat a lot.  Really – a lot.  Like, in the summer on long runs at the end I’m leaving wet footprints.  I’m careful to carry ECaps and drink Gatorade and take gels.  I forgot that in the winter I sweat too, which is why it took me five minutes to get my (sweaty wet) tights (glued to my thighs) off Sunday, as I hopped on one foot in the portajohn at the race site, trying to get changed.  (God only knows what the people outside the thing thought of the bumping and groaning going on inside a 3′ square PJ.) (Mommy, do you think someone needs help?) (NO.) (But someone could be hurt.  They sound awful) (NO!  Let’s go, Honey.  We can eat some cookies that are only meant for the runners, come on.)

Twitching and jerking, I drove immediately to Walgreens where I purchased the large sized magnesium and potassium and have been downing them like M&M’s since.

Everyday my legs feel better.

Follow the rules.  Don’t fuel properly and you’ll go down in flames.

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