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.

Archive for the tag “walking boot”

WHERE have you BEEN??

Ah, wait.  That’s me that’s been missing.

Sorry there, Boy and Girl, deepest heartfelt apologies and all that blather.  Kinda lost focus and direction for a while.

Wait.  Let’s look at this another way.  I refocused and recommitted.  Rather than New Year “Resolutions” I prefer the term New Year “Recommitments”.  Like many, as the year wanes I look back:  what I hoped to achieve, how I went about it, were the goals met?  If so, how?  If not, why?

I started 2013 the same way I am starting 2014 – injured.  My goals for the year were a marathon and a 50K, working up to 58K spring 2014.  Hubs wisely refrained from arguing with a brick wall and said nothing of the loftiness of those goals in view of the fact I’d run about three times in the past three months.

The goal should probably have been to get healthy, but I didn’t know how since I didn’t know what was wrong, I only knew pain.  And I was trying to get better, I just didn’t know how.  BRFF “Becky” found Dr. W who was a huge help on the journey, and I kept moving in the right direction, albeit with a few side jaunts.  As I repeatedly discover, you do learn something new nearly every day.  It may only be that you were wrong again, but, heck – learned, right?  A year later I know that it was not a matter of doing things wrong, it was a matter of time for things to come together.  I’m very hopeful that what I’ve learned and the places and people I’ve been led to are a solid part of the solution.  That, and a bit more time.  Thank God I’m at peace, for today, at taking a bit more time.

Two days ago I ran a total of 25 minutes easy, with walk breaks and adding 5 minute walking w/u c/d for a total of 35 minutes/3 miles – the first time I’d run outside exactly 10 weeks.  I’d done a mile or two on the treadmill a couple times earlier in the week.  I figured that was safest, if anything happened I wouldn’t be half a mile from home.  Well, actually I would, I’d be further – at the Center – but I’d have the car, right?  I can hop to the car.  I’d look like an idiot, of course.

“Oh, look at that lady hoping down the hallway on one foot.”

“Well, Madge, maybe it’s a new fitness routine.  Let’s check the schedule.”

“I don’t think we should, Maude, the ‘girls’ would be flopping mightily.”

“True, Madge, true.  We could get a concussion.”

So, I ran.  It was glorious.  Bright shiny day, cold, breezy, I ran my favorite route looking at the skeletal trees, leaves thick on the ground, the drainage stream crisply frozen on the edges.  Running slowly I looked up at the beautifully twisted bare branches making sculpture against the bright sky, sharp curling grey-ish shapes against the dazzling blue.  This is really why I do it.  All those horrible hot days, the runs that feel like I’m slogging through mud, the days I feel like my head and body are not even connected, there is no communication, legs or lungs go on strike singly or in unison, those days are for this day, completely aware of life surrounding me, enveloping me, fully alive in this living breathing world.

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Heartfelt

Good cheery sunny wintry day, my friends, Boy and Girl, I know you’ve been bereft and probably devastated at the dearth of chatter over here at rundogcatcatme.  I’ve missed you both terribly, I thought of you at least twice in the past three weeks or so and by this you can tell that I am very torn up.

Chunker is currently hauling her poor ratty baby (formerly some fuzzy squeaky toy) around, mewing at it as though it will somehow animate and become the baby her un-baby-making body is apparently yearning for.  Who knows why, maybe she has some hormones still hanging around?  Years ago I had a cat whose ovaries grew back.  What the hell?? I asked the vet, can she get pregnant?!?  He rolled his eyes slightly; pointing out that her uterus no longer existed even if the ovaries were trying to make a comeback.  Well, the damn ovaries are growing back, how do I know the missing uterus might not suddenly become sentient and return to sender?  For the rest of her life, several times a year, she hauled her little babies around for a week or so, mewing sadly.  Just as Chunker, she was a poor mother, leaving the helpless and hapless babies strewn about the house in high traffic areas, ready to be stomped deader.

Munkerandbaby

Chunk and (soon to be abandoned on the stairs so I can nearly break my neck trying to avoid slipping on it) Baby

Speaking of slipping on the stairs and not breaking my neck, that is exactly what I did a week and a half ago, and I’m still hurting and still have a good-sized bruise for the experience.  Suddenly I wish we had carpeted the stairs.  The one thing I’ve been most worried and cautious about – and of course it happened.  Why did I not spend all that effort worrying I would win the lottery, if that’s how the gods are going to handle my life?  Just as I got to a point that my foot was mostly pain-free I returned to constant pain – the first couple nights it hurt so much that I woke every time I turned (or tried to turn) over.  I managed to land on two treads at once so mid-back to upper hip were one large pain fest.  But, hey – sh*t happens, right?

The first of December, bored out of my un-exercising mind and needing something to focus on (not that I’m OCD, I just have a one-track mind at times which, oddly, Hubs pronounces “stubborn”) I had the brilliant idea of knitting scarves for some of my progeny.  Five, in fact.  Five 7-foot long scarves.  Hey, easy breezy, right?  Four-five hours per scarf, gives me something to do in the evenings while repeatedly scanning 573 channels for something – please Baby Jesus, anything – to watch on TV, an effort I quickly abandoned and set myself up, instead, in front of Netflix where I watched three seasons of Chuck, finally surrendering even that attempt because my match-maker heart could no longer stand the ever-dangling relationship with Sarah.  Unfortunately it turned out it was more like 10-12 hours per scarf but I’ll be damned, I started it, I’m finishing it, so my life faded into a tunnel-visioned knit 2 purl 2 with some life crammed in around the edges trying to get ready for Christmas.

While getting ready for the holiday was a bit of a rush, the week of Christmas was great as we did something we’ve never done:  the entire family met in Gatlinburg for the week, except for number 1 son and our great new daughter-in-law, whose work schedules prevented them from coming.  We had a 4-1/2 bedroom cabin in the mountains outside Gatlinburg, beautiful views of fog covered ridges; Christmas Eve it snowed a bit and we woke Christmas morning surrounded by snow frosted mountains.  We’d agreed no gifts except for the B’ster and did Dirty Santa instead, although as mom I felt compelled to give a few little gifts such as the aforementioned marathon scarf knitting.  Later that morning we hiked, even the B’ster and I were able to go along for a couple miles of easy trails to a waterfall and an abandoned cabin.

Thanks to T-1’s girlfriend I have become a jigsaw puzzle convert and while I am not OCD I did spend several hours peering through my trifocals at the brightly colored shapes, feeling a bit like a little kid getting a piece of candy every time I managed to complete a section.  Very self-rewarding, at least for a while.  I brought along knitting, Christmas cards, two books and several movies as though I were going to have time for all that; I managed to knit about six inches of an attempt at a boot cuff, read three paragraphs one night before collapsing into a dreamless sleep, and the only movies we watched were B’sters – which were more fun anyway.  We played games, hiked, shopped, went site-seeing and ate about every 3 hours.  It was perfect.

Yesterday morning we woke bright and early, the twins and girlfriend were heading back to Chicago; T-2 will spend the week there and fly back to NYC January 1st.  I watched them drive away, tears rolling down my cheeks, my heart and my heart driving down the road.  Everything changes, everything stays the same.

Suspicious Minds

Well, Boy and Girl, this is my 200th post.  You’ve both been very faithful supporters.  You repeatedly encouraged me to blog; when I did you were my first two followers, and I thank you.  Everyone else wishes you’d kept your mouths shut and I will not use your real names to protect you, but thank you both, “Hermione” and “Sylvester”.  Somehow 712 people have chosen to follow this nannering, wandering blog, I thank you all also and sincerely apologize for all the lost hours and brain cells.

Things that did not happen yesterday:

1.  The tree is still not decorated although it’s fluffed and has a few shiny things hanging on it.  This time it’s because I can’t decide the best way to keep the cats from declaring it their new home and then redecorating it to suit their tastes, which is all the balls knocked off onto the floor.  I don’t like that look.  It’s…crunchy.  The vacuum doesn’t like it either, apparently and to my regret.

2.  My foot was not miraculously healed.  This made my very devout mother sad.  You’d think after all these years she would give up, but, no.  She’s absolutely convinced that at some point she is going to pray someone out of something.  Who knows?  She very well may have already, because I figure if she did then we would not know because they would have gotten prayed out of it.  My question is, what does God do up there, have a stopwatch and an excel spreadsheet?  “Okay, then, Sally beat Janie by .37 second on the praying for rain/praying for no rain, toughski shitzki, Janie, it’s going to rain on your wedding.  Pray faster next time, and also I will put you in the lose column and you’ll get a 3 second advantage on the next prayer.”

If either of you two faithful followers are still following after reading that blasphemy you should probably at least climb under your desk to continue.

This means that Dr. Awesome v.2 made my mom sad.  I should have pointed this out to him, but I expect he would still not have changed his mind.

In fact, I did sort of point it out.  I told him that he had not read the script correctly; his line was supposed to be, “WOW.  I made a mistake.  Your foot is not broken at all, I’m SO sorry.”

I would have been the bigger person here, too, and I would not have gotten upset.  I would be all magnanimous and wave my hand slightly – “oh it’s nothing, I’m sure it happens.”

But, no.  No healing.  Four more weeks and see him again.  And you know what?  I suspect that he is a very suspicious man.  He doesn’t seem to trust me and I have no idea why.  Rather like Hubs thinking I would not wear the boot.  Cynical, even.

Would this conversation make you suspicious that someone was suspicious about you?

Dr. A v.2:  “See me in four more weeks.  Call me in two weeks.”

Me: “Um, OK, why?”

Dr. A v.2:  “So I can talk you down.”

Me:  (Innocent) “What?  You don’t trust me?”

Dr. A v.2:  “You’re a runner.  I know what you will be thinking two weeks from now when your foot doesn’t hurt so much anymore.  Call me and I’ll talk you down.”

Me:  *Sigh*  *dammit*

Little Merry Sunshine

Things that did not happen in my house yesterday:

Despite laying everything out in the den and giving clear instructions, the Christmas tree did not fluff and decorate itself.

The clothes did not march downstairs, jump in the washer and then the dryer and return to their original starting positions.

Nor did the dishes do anything similar.

And the bed stubbornly refuses to make itself even thought I’ve repeatedly encouraged it.

The good thing is that everything I do takes half again as long while I lurch slowly up and down stairs, dragging three extra pounds around on my left foot.  This gives me hope that the extra time and weight will keep me fairly fit for the rest of my life since that’s how long it feels I will be in this boot.  I do see Dr. Wonderful 2 this morning so more on that later.  Personally I’m planning on him smacking himself in the forehead and exclaiming OMGOSH IT’S A MIRACLE YOU’VE BEEN HEALED, GO FOR A NICE LONG RUN! and you cannot convince me otherwise even with my foot still swollen and tender.  That’s just residue from the miracle.

Between 7-1/2 hours spent sitting in front my computer this weekend watching online modules so I can take a test to become a Certified Race Director (learning many important things such as runners should be able to see the START banner) whenever I realized I could no longer feel my butt – which (segue) by the way, has not tried to fall off once since I broke my foot.  Coincidence?  I think not.  I lean toward a conspiracy.  But more on that later, I’m still trying to figure it out and they know I’m sticking close, watching them –

Anyway, whenever I realized I could no longer feel my butt, sitting here peering blindly at the computer trying to find the sweet spot in my trifocals, I paused the video and did some laundry or washed dishes or something.  I know, I’m wild and crazy but there is no stopping me.  And I’ve decided that probably the tree could decorate itself but it’s just being helpful by giving me something to do, lurching about fluffing branches and trying in vain to kneel down on this boot to reach the lower branches, burn some calories there, Terri, get that HR up a bit.

So – ShuBootAh is being helpful too, making extra work for me.  OH – and – she is hot and I don’t mean whoa she’s fine.  That sucker holds the heat.  So I’m saving money on utilities also.

I have to say, I’m really pleased with all this positive thinking I have going on.  Most of the time I’m a bit cynical, but this morning I’m practically glowing with positivity.

You know who’s cynical even though they say they aren’t?  Hubs.  Hubs is cynical and you cannot convince me otherwise because I’ve seen his cynical eyeball roll about 1,237,698 times, and I think 1,237,657 of those were caused by me.

The other day he watched silently as I put ShuBootAh back on (I’d taken her off to get a break, putting my foot up for a minute).  I looked at him from the corner of my eye.  

“You thought I would not wear the boot like I should, didn’t you?”

He hesitated.  “I have to say, you are doing much better than I expected.”

Number of days in ShuBootAh: 18

Number of times I’ve thrown her across the room narrowly missing poor Murphy: 1

Number of days since I did so: 13

I’m like little freeking Merry Sunshine over here.

merry sunshine

Zooming through my Zoo

5:05am and wide awake again.  I think I may start trying to do the elliptical.  I hate to drive to the center just to ellipticize for 20-30 minutes but I’m going to have to do something to use up some energy and calories so I can quit waking so early with nothing to do.  The exploding head would probably blow off some energy but it’s so much messier.

exploding-head-zone

You know, it’s fairly easy to find an argument on Google for whatever you wish to find permission to do, so I did use the elliptical at Killer’s on Friday for 20 minutes.  I actually did it for about 10 minutes, with a rest every other minute because I have, indeed, lost that much fitness in five weeks and had to stop and breathe every other minute.  We will not dwell on that.  I balanced on my heel with no pressure on the forefoot and it didn’t hurt.  I haven’t tried again; I don’t want to screw anything up even though, as I said, it didn’t hurt – I’ve been burned by the Injury Fairy so many times in the past 15 months that right now I’m gun shy.  However, from what I could find on The Great Oracle Google, it’s OK to do the elliptical if I’m stabilized in the boot.  Now I shall consult the other two Great Oracles, you, my two faithful followers of my world-famous blog.  Should I do the elliptical or not?

Remember, the safety of my family, the animals and my foot lie in your hands.  No pressure.

Meanwhile back at the Zoo, waiting for the Shrine to heat up, I let Murphy out.  Hubs said, don’t forget Murphy.  I said, it’s 5:15 in the morning and it’s cold and rainy, he won’t last five minutes out there before he’s scratching on the door.  On the way out to the gym hub’s final words:  just don’t forget Murphy.

So, of course, I did and now he is not in the yard.  dammit.  It’s 35 degrees and raining lightly and I’m out on the deck in the darkness (I tell you, I hear shuffling.  Do snakes shuffle?  Maybe it’s a fox.  Rabid racoon?  I know it’s not Murphy because his collar jingles.) yelling softly (and how stupid is that?  can you even yell + softly?  Isn’t that just talking?)  MURPHY MURPHY but no response.  I’ve had no coffee.  I really really do not want to go down the steps of the deck and hobble around the yard in the dark, in my sock feet sans boot, stepping on razor sharp edges of hickory nut shells which the squirrels constantly drop from the tress, littering the path.  I go to the kitchen door and stand in the carport MURPHY!  MURPHY! and the damn cat scoots out the door and under the car.

I do not have my boot on and I’ve had no coffee.  I’d intended to get a cup of coffee and then get ready for the day.  Now I don’t have time to get my boot on because if the damn cat gets under the deck the story is over and I’ll be crawling in rainy drizzly cold wetness in the dark where snakes might live and that’s going to happen exactly:  never.  I try to peer under the car to see if I can grab her, but I can’t see anything.  Oh, wait, it’s FIVE EFFING O-DARK-THIRTY IN THE MORNING and it’s pitch black outside in the dark rainy morning in which I’ve had no coffee.  Plus I can’t bend all the way over because then my forefoot bends *ouch* so I’m kind of hunched like some crabby old cat lady whispering dammit Chunk!  I hobble back into the house and grab the broom, meanwhile trying to intimidate Mo enough that he won’t go near the open door, which is open in the useless hope the damn cat will run from under the car back in through the open door and into the house.  Plus, intimidating Mo is like candy from a baby, there’s no need and it’s mean so now I feel bad.

I swipe the broom under the car and she scoots out … and directly around the corner to the front porch which is freeking dark as night because it IS night.  I hobble after her in my sock feet on the pebbly surface of the carport *ouch* *ouch* *ouch*.  I can’t see her on the black hole of a porch so I hobble back into the house and around to the front door and turn on the porch light.  Scurrying like a crab I return to see the damn. cat. scoot back under the damn car.  

!@!#$!!!   &^%$!!  *&(*&&^!!!!  and  @#$%!!! I mutter as I sling the broom under the car, swiping wildly.  Where is the damn cat??

Oh, I see.  There she is, so cute and fluffy, sitting in the kitchen doorway watching me attack nothing under the car.

“Whatcha doing, mom?”

Munker and baby

Look at that sweet innocent face, taking good care of her baby to show me how it should be done.

Then I drove  around the block twice trying to find the dog.  I gave up and went home only to find Murphy right there in front of our house, peeing on the neighbor’s bushes.  Tucked tail, ears down, he runs into the back yard and onto the deck.  OH, look, here I am!  Right where I should be!

I’m going to have to do something to use up some energy and calories so I can quit waking so early, forced to be responsible before I’ve had coffee.  The exploding head would probably blow off some energy but it’s so much messier.

explodinghead

Getting the boot.

I abhor Velcro.  Velcro is in collusion with this damnable boot to drive me over the edge, clinging fearfully to the wrong side of the boot, grip of iron, it won’t let go “NO NO! you can’t make me!” as I desperately attempt to get even a fingernail slipped between the clinging Velcro and the boot.  I try folding it neatly back upon itself so when I put the boot back on I can just unfold it and tighten.  No.  The moment I turn my back all the Velcro straps flop open and take turns sticking to each other and the other side of the boot.  Nanner Nanner Nanner they say, passive-aggressive payback because they know – they KNOW, they are SENTIENT and they know that I secretly hate the boot and, thus, I hate them.

THEY started it.  Both boot and Velcro black as night, I can’t see the end of the Velcro strip hiding like cowardly Velcro chameleons behind the boot, my foot held captive as I stretch to the left and to the right trying to peer at the back of the boot.  Oh, I know what you are thinking, there, all smug in your shoes.  You’re thinking, just take the boot off, straighten the straps and put the boot back on.

I can’t!  They KNOW!  I tried!  I took it off, I pulled the Velcro nice and straight and slid my foot gently into the boot not to disturb them.  Distracted trying to keep my jeans from bunching into a baseball-sized-knot rubbing a sore on my ankle, I looked away for just one second – just one! and they turned into super-glued velcro spaghetti.

I am an adult.  I am stymied by a strip of fabric.

Even better, today when I finally got the boot on – and Boot needs a name, by the way, so we are having a naming contest, winner gets 47 majillion points so post your nominee to the FB post linked when I publish – I got to wrap it in garbage bags and duct tape it shut so I could wander around the RRS half marathon all morning in the rain.  I bought a rain suit at Bass Pro Shops.  It was a size medium.  I failed to realize that many of the Bass Pro Shop customers are hulking males who can heft big guns and large dead animals.  The result was me hobbling around in a garbage wrapped boot (which probably further angered the Velcro, I’m sure they all felt I was dissing them) in rain suit pants which reached from just below my armpits to about 5″ past my heel; rain coat hanging halfway to my knees and to the tips of my fingers:  lurch-thud, lurch-thud, lurch-thud.

And I’ve been nice to Boot.  I even decorated it yesterday.  It’s not Boot’s fault that I hate it, I’m trying to be fair here but if Boot and Velcro continue with this attitude things could go bad fast.  Which is a hollow threat because they both know I have no control in the situation.  *Sigh*

boot

Today one of my BRFF’s, “Lisa” brought me some awesome little foot/toesies covers to wear so my toes don’t get cold.  Her sister “Robin” (which may or may not be their real names, identities obscured at random to protect the innocent who never asked to be publicly associated with me) was in a boot (sadly) but (happily) she loves to knit and made the little Toesies.  One is a kitty, so guess which one I chose to wear first?  And you are both lucky I’d already put it on because while I love you both, faithful lonely followers of my World Famous Blog, I don’t love you enough to return to battle with the Velcro.

toesie

Isn’t it cute?  I will love him and squeeze him and call him George.  The Toesie, I mean.

Despite the travails of the Velcro War and lurching about like a man-made monster we did have fun today, in the rain, working the race.  The MRTC runners are AWESOME and we love them, crazynutjobrunners currently under- or un-medicated but we won’t tell.  After the race started another BRFF, whom I shall call Sara, and I drove the course, hubs in the backseat, doing the driving himself which I have no idea where he got that from, “watch out for that car!”  “watch out for that runner!” and how he saw them, nose deep in the newspaper in the backseat, I have no clue but should not be surprised because he did the same thing with the kids. Didn’t have to even look up.  DO NOT PUSH YOUR BROTHER DOWN THE STAIRS, he would state, calmly, in his booming voice.

We honked and beeped and waved at the runners, sometimes when the rain was not pelting sideways at one side of the car we’d open a window and shout at them.

GO RUNNERS!  YOU LOOK GREAT!  YOU CAN DO THIS!

They would wave back, rain dripping off their faces, miserable, whipped by 20-30mph winds with gusts.  They definitely earned their stripes today.

At the turn around we waited for Sara’s Doug which she says sort of like  ♬♪Doug♪♬ all syrupy so we almost got diabetes.  She jumped out into the pouring rain and waited for him, giving him a kiss and hopping back in the car.  Still staring at the paper hubs muttered, Terri wouldn’t jump out in the pouring rain to kiss me.

Well of course I wouldn’t.  My leg is currently firmly stuck to the fabric of my car seat by an angry rogue strip of !#&!’ing VELCRO.

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