Thursday 23 April 2009

Oh slackness, thy name is Rachel.

From Friday to Monday I was away at a small lovely country house and far, far too busy getting massages and mud wraps, eating as much as possible and drinking my way through Central Victoria to do any exercise at all. Today was therefore the first time I've even shown my face at the gym since some time last week.

Admittedly, I had been working through some dull roaring sciatica and the break has improved the pain in my hip somewhat (ie: it now hurts just at the front instead of all along the iliac crest), but geez Louise ...

Most of my PT session tonight was taken up with some extreme stretching. Ian, as David is away, seriously worked my calf and hip and they certainly felt much looser afterwards. As well as tight glutes, the muscle running along the outside of the calf and down the ankle is very tight, especially on the right which was my most damaged ankle (short story: ankles, twice, netball, ligaments, first time right side all ruptured, second time left side most ripped) and I really felt the pain in it. The stretching was great, especially when you get that sweet pain when something really gets worked out. For me that's in my glutes, when my right foot is raised and rotated over to my left side and my right knee is bent, and I'm pulling my shins towards my chest. Dear God, that's good pain right there.

I ran a little afterwards, and had a nasty shock when I kept checking my HRM (have I waxed lyrical about that yet? I became scarily obsessed with my own heartbeat when I first got it, and was freakily elated when I saw 37 BPM when lying down and reading in bed). I ran for 15 at 8, which I thought was a good place to start after a hiatus.

At about 12 minutes my HR was 196 BMP. Now that's not right. I'm shouldn't be working hard enough running so slow for such a short time to be pushing it that hard, nor am I so desperately unfit that my heart just can't take the exercise.

My legs were fine and not at all hurting; and I was fatigued but not so badly. I had a big bad stitch and I ended the 15 by counting in ten second sections to get through it. So am I really fit - working hard - or really unfit - working so hard to do something so easy? Neither really, but I'd like to know what's going on.

Monday 13 April 2009

Although I hate sounding like a whinger, the fact is that I am one. Perhaps with some justification, but I am.

Today I had every intention of running at the gym, and went for a walk with Buzz and Sam the puppy first. My hip was feeling sore, and at some stage I noticed that I was also getting sciatica pain. It's like having a nerve twisting and turning deep within the hip, with shoots and tingles down the thigh and sometimes to the lower leg too. Sometimes I also get a familiar pain in my lower back, but today it was all about the hip.

I ran around a footy oval once to see how it went (and let me just say that I now know beyond shadow of doubt that all my running goals are focused on a steady pace and minutes for a reason - I do not [yet] enjoy running outside where I have no speed control and especially no iPod: horror!), and it didn't go well. I felt uncomfortable and crampy, and it only got worse as we walked home. The last couple of hours have been worse, with me wriggling and stretching and whinging at the irritation in my hip and the tingling in my leg.

Although I'm sure that I would have felt fine once I'd run, I'm also sure that I would have felt a fair bit worse tomorrow. I haven't had discomfort from sciatica like this for a while, so I'm going to let it ride and see how I recover. I had a pretty heavy legs session with David yesterday (lunges are not my exercise. Just not, and my glutes will confirm this if you ask them) so I'll give in to my whinging and let them rest today. I think I should see a physio - between the hip pain, which hurts when I lie on it in bed, and the sciatica, and the damaged piriformis, I'm not prepared to let this become a regular reason not to exercise.

So I'm whinging.

Wednesday 8 April 2009

I'd love to pretend that I was over-training, but I won't embarass myself with such a porkie. I did complete a mega-workout last night (which my brand new Polar F7 tells me was worth 795 calories) and go to bed late, rising again at 6am so I could get a lift with my dad to the gym this morning so perhaps my recovery time wasn't great, but overtraining it ain't.

I did 10 at 8 last night to warm up and felt easy, positive and on good pace. This morning I felt a little less enthused but quite prepared to make it, until I started feeling the impact on my sore right hip. The pain there is present all day, and I feel it sharply when my right heel hits the ground and I roll forward to the ball of my foot. It's a strange kind of feeling - not just muscle soreness like how a good Pump class will make you unable to sit down without a gentle assisted lowering into a chair for a few days, or neuro like the tingling sciatica I get - but a pain that's hot, round, bruise-like and quite deep.

I felt it jarring hard within the first couple of minutes today, so I hopped off to do a few stretches focusing on elongating the hip to the side. This made some improvement for 30 seconds or so, but it came back unabated a couple of minutes later, and combined with my growing annoyance and unwillingness to perform yet another grumpy run, it made me stop altogether.

I was disappointed and things became even more farcical when the tready told me to slow down as I walked at 7, and then proceeded to trap my iPod under its belt when it dropped on the floor. I could really only roll my eyes and pound out some steep inclines with my heart rate high, noting that the hip pain wasn't there when I walked, even at 6 with an incline of 8.5%.

So it was a nearly-grumpy session today; I'm keen to run again soon but I would like to do some desktop research about this hip pain - I'm happy to live with some soreness and injury, but not one that stops me running and has me getting out of bed doubled up in the mornings. That kind of injury territory is reserved for serious runners, not dilettante joggers!

Fascinatingly (for me), my heart rate when running at 8 is about 176bpm after ten minutes, which is the same or even less than when I perform the hideous weight movements that David makes me do with painful regularity. I'm barely working at all in the150s; working very comfortably in the 160s; a bit out of breath and working moderately but sustainably hard in the 170s; and working very hard in the 180s (190s? I'd better be furiously angry to pump that out). This discovery really just encouraged me to start thinking of running as an activity I can just do - perhaps it's boring or I'm tired - but I can still physically do it without flogging myself. Like walking or the elliptical, the more I run the more the movement will become natural and I'll be able to focus on overcoming boredom or fatigue or having interesting daydreams rather than constantly being aware of the movement as an unusual thing for my body to be doing.

I'll aim for another 20 at 8 on Friday or Saturday.

PS: I am now completely and utterly obsessed with the Polar. Yesterday while on the couch and being very very lazy my hr was between 44 and 51 - pretty low, although this is primarily due to genetics rather than a Phar Lap heart (anything below 60 is technically bradycaridia. When less fit and my hr would go below 56, I'd start getting dizzy and light-headed - so I'm definitely in better cardio shape than then!). At work today it's happily 55 - 70, although I'm a bit concerned that if it's at 50 when I stand up it shoots to 100ish, and then drops to 70-80. Is a doubling of hr normal when standing up?

Saturday 4 April 2009

What a difference. After Tuesday's grumpy, struggling run and Retch-a-Riffic Thursday, I approached today's attempt at 20 at 8 with a more positive attitude but with expectations of pain and strife. But not! I found the run relatively comfortable - good pace, wasn't obsessing about time, could probably have gone to 25 if not for my "finish early feeling good" encouragment strategy - and had no stitch or pain at all, which I just realised ten minutes ago with a sense of incredulity.

Afterwards I managed 30 minutes on the elliptical and 10 or so walking, so I was far from exhausted. I'm really pleased with how I felt during and after the run - relaxed, working hard but comfortable, ready for a bit more - and now can't wait to push on to 30 at 8: I see it now, whereas on Tuesday I saw months of miniscule improvement accompanied by mega-crankiness and bitch'n'moaning.

Since moving to 8 from 7, the muscle strain in the back of my hips, where the muscles were straining as I waddled side to side, has disappeared. I still have the neural (perhaps?) pain over my right iliac crest which makes me limp sometimes, but I really think that's something I'm just going to have to work through and treat as necessary.

The aim for the coming week is to do one more 20 at 8, or 25 if I feel good, and to then move to a 25 at 8 which I'll try to run at least once. I have two personal training sessions this week as David was away last week, so I'll probably have fewer free sessions to run in. A run during the week and one next Saturday will do it, and I'm expecting my HRM (a Polar F7) to arrive on Monday so expect some serious nerdy boring stats to be forthcoming!

Thursday 2 April 2009

A funny thing. I got up this morning at 6, got on the 6:37 train, read my book to keep awake, got off, went to the gym, and by 8:28 I was back at my local train station heading home to bed.

Before I started exercising I felt like I was going to be sick. It wasn't just nausea; it was very much about to come up. I felt like I was extremely hungry, but I'd had a banana before leaving home and I don't usually eat breakfast during the week so there was nothing unusual there.

I intended not to run this morning; the ongoing pain in my right hip (not just muscular but sharp and strong enough to make me bend like an old man when I got up yesterday morning. If I develop a permanent running injury this will be it, and I suspect it's all related to the sciatica and damaged piriformis muscle I have on my right side) led me to consider a plain non-jogging session giving me three days to recover before running again on Saturday I hopped on the elliptical hoping that a slow start would settle me down. 5 minutes later I'd already stopped twice and decided to just pack it in.

One miserable dry-retching session in the toilets later, I decided to have a shower in case I needed to go to work because I didn't think I could make it home. I eyed off the communal drain and wondered if spewing into it was bad form. Slowly, slowly I got dressed and walked back to the station. Deciding that I'd rather tough it out and go straight home, I fell asleep and actually dreamed between stations, so by 8:30 I was back home and in bed.

I ate some toast, put myself to bed, read the paper and slept for two hours. I've managed a further short doze and 1 1/2 hours of napping as well, and I feel pretty good now so I hope whatever it was was transient and that it's not coming back. I was really looking forward to this morning's session (especially after the bowl of wedges I was obliged to eat for dinner last night; some pubs' vegan options stretch no further than deep-fried potatoes). Incidentally, it's not morning sickness. So don't ask, Mum :)

So that was icky today; on to Saturday and a proper sweating run please!

Tuesday 31 March 2009

I remembered to remember and took two ladyfinger bananas to work for my afternoon snack, mostly to avoid yesterday's perishing-by-6pm debacle but mostly because I can't believe that something you can buy in the supermarket can be called a ladyfinger.

I bribed myself by saying that if I ran my 20 at 8 then I could go home after 30 minutes, but I was secretly keeping from myself that after the run I reckoned I could have a little go on the elliptical and maybe do some walking. Big fail that one - I underestimated my own ability to overestimate my own abilities.

I took a couple of minutes to find my pace, feeling a bit wonky and slapdash as I went. Once I settled in again I enjoyed the pace and could see, half reflected in the windows in front of me, that I actually looked like I was running. Ten minutes in I was having the usual mental whine, but was pretty strict with myself and I powered on remembering how easy 10 at 8 (9 at 8 plus 1 at 10 really) was the other day.

By about 12 or 13 minutes I had agreed to stop at 15. My breathing was shallow and hard, and I could really feel myself getting to the end. I was disappointed and felt let down, as I'd been so sure that 20 would be totally do-able. My legs felt fine; it was just the effort of continuing, the breathing, and the pain down my left scapula (I've learnt to run through minor stitches, thank God).

So at about 14 minutes I was all prepared to stop. I'd run a bit less than 2.5km (including my three minute walking warmup) which was pretty dashing and was feeling terribly cross and annoyed with myself.

But I hadn't counted on the Gunners. Sweet Child O' Mine came on my iPod, and it's what I usually pick to round off the last few minutes - and here it was. I was damned if I let Axl down and turned him off. Thanks Mr Rose.

I made the 20 but was unpleasantly surprised at how difficult I found it. I had fully expected to be able to run for 25, and was going to stop at an easy 20 so that I was encouraged for next time. Not so - I was really run out after 20 minutes and what was worse was that I finished the run without any of the happy hormones or positive self-talk that I usually end up with. I felt flat and cross and I grumpily walked for a cranky 15 to finish off. My 20 minute run and 5 minutes of warm up/cool down time led me to just over 3kms - not good at all if that's as far as I can make it at this slow pace.

I'm happy that I did what I said I would - 20 at 8 - and that I am definitely wanting to run at 8 as my standard pace - but I'm really disheartened about how difficult I found it. I'll try to try once more this week and on Saturday when I have a gym date with my dad, but I will really be looking for improvement soon to encourage me on.

I've also decided not to sign up for the Run Melbourne 5km. It would require some real commitment and I'm just not willing to take on any more commitments whatsoever under Operation Simplify My Life. If I'm on track beforehand and there's room to sign up I might do it, but I won't be training for it specifically and I won't consider it a finite goal. So there!

Monday 30 March 2009 (2)

Reminder to self: eat banana in afternoon. That way you won't feel so famished by 6pm that you couldn't possibly go to the gym because you'd dry retch.

Alarm set for tomorrow morning to do that 20 at 8. Bananas at the ready.

Monday 30 March 2009

There's obviously been changes afoot at Chez Rach. Today I'm feeling strangely flat and alnmost teary - definitely a rare occurrence for iron-eyes Miss T - but it's making me look forward immensely to my run. My usual coping strategy involves going straight home and devouring whatver is sweet/salty/fatty/carby/near to hand, but today I want the hormonal adrenalin surge that sweeps through at the end (especially when I crank Sweet Child O' Mine) and makes me shiver.

The aim is for 20 at 8, and hopefully that'll blast out the cobwebs and set things back where they should be.

Saturday 28 March 2009

I pretended I was 'training' today and worked (read: "worked") on speed and technique.

I wanted to see how 8km/hr felt; during my 40 minute run last Wednesday I moved from 7 to 7.5 for only a couple of minutes but felt it more intensely that I would have imagined, so I really wanted to start afresh and get a feel for a faster pace.

8 felt great (oh rhyme! oh fine!). The pace felt manageable and my gait was natural and more run-y that the bizarre waddle-jog I do at 7. I could feel that I'm not quite fit enough for any extended period of time at 8 though, but I felt comfortable that within a few weeks it could be a really good pace for me. I felt like I was really running, not duck-waddling.

I spent 9 minutes at 8 and then thought I'd just have a leedle weedle look-see at 10. The guy next to me was managing at 10 with a funny sort of fast trot so I was sure that a minute for me would be a nice attempt at interval training.

10 hurt me; I looked forward to the end of the 60 seconds and felt my usually-extraordinarily-non-asthmatic-lungs tighten. I stopped at the end of that minute really breathing hard and uncomfortably. In fact, while at about 9 minutes at 8 I was pretty sure I could make it to 20 minutes, with the addition of the 1 at 10 I was only pretty sure that I could make it to hop off the tready.

I spent the rest of the session on the elliptical and walking on the tready, working on moving my toes and hips in and trying to gain some more balance on the elliptical. I would hold my hips into position whilst working, which isolated the legs rather than letting me cheat with my hip-swinging power gains, and encouraged a rotation of the hip socket forward.

I stretched out at the end with the long cylindrical foam tube that when rolled slowly over my glutes is the sweetest pain possible. After using it with David on Thursday night to start breaking up the gluteal fascia that has tightened as a part of my duck-waddling and feeling the bruise-like pain all yesterday, I toughed it out and fully expect to be totally butt-sore tomorrow. Awesome.

A heart rate monitor is on the horizon, and this week I'd like to run for 20 at 8, as well as perhaps a 35/40 at 7.5.

To run, to run

I'm Rachel. I want to learn to run.

I'm turning 29 this year and never, ever, whatsoever in my whole life have I ever been a runner. I was accepted by default in to the cross country team at primary school when I was in Grade 4 - there were as many places on the team as there were ten year old girls trying out - and at the one and only race I entered I finished about second last. I walked quite a lot, and then I stopped to help a girl who had injured herself. She came last (I may not be very competitive, but damned if I was going to be beaten by a girl with a twisted ankle!).

Through periods of fit and unfit I have still never run. A couple of years ago, mid-bout of exercise obsession, I was as fit as I've ever been. I was at the gym twice a day. I was eating like an angel. But ten minutes was all I could manage before I fell gasping and sweating and swearing off the tready. An hour on the cross-trainer: love it. I could go all day on a walk. Backing up Combat with Pump? No wuckers darl. But no running.

So a runner I have never been. It's by bete noire, my antithesis, my equal and opposite reaction, my nemesis, my leastest favouritest exercise in the whole wide world.

A few months ago I was warming up before a Pump class (Oh how I love Pump! I love the strain; I love the pain; I love to feel tough and rough and I love that it's mostly women, all lifting weights and kicking arse), and spent ten minutes on the tready beside Buzz, my fitter-than-me-but-don't-get-a-big-head-please boyfriend. He ran a bit and I, about to introduce him to his first Pump class and determined to keep my superior edge, ran a bit too. I kept the tready at 7, and wonder of wonders - I could do it. I managed ten minutes before we had to go, but for the days following I turned and turned on one of my most deeply held beliefs about myself - that I can't run. But I did. I ran for ten. I ran easily. It may have been a jog, but it was feet off the ground.

I followed that with 25 on the tready, and a 35 minute run outside (up hills! down hills!) with Ian, the personal trainer I have when my usual guy, David, is away doing spectacular adventure-ish things. There was a short hiatus as I questioned whether I wanted to keep going, and dropped the idea altogether because I am at heart a lazy, lazy girl - but a couple of weeks ago I did an easy 15 at 7 ad felt great; backed it up with 30 at 7 last week; surprised myself with a bragging 40 at 7 during the week; and then decided to crack it out.

I'm not sure why; I'm not driven by the need to succeed, and I don't have a perverse desire to prove myself wrong. I just think I want to.

So for the immediate term, I want minutes on the board. I want to know how long I can go, and I want to do it inside on a tready so that I know - know - when I get on that thing that I can do it. And I want a bit of speed - 7 is the speed at which I ran for 40 and I can just about walk at that - so I want just a bit more acceleration going on.

My friend Nickii has also started to run, and is planning to do the 5km Run Melbourne race on 28 June. I'm pretty confident I could do it, but I am still activating the Simplify My Life Plan which involves excising commitments wherever possible, so I'm reluctant to commit in case I find it just another thing I feel I have to do. We'll see - I'm finding that my resistance to pressure is rapidly increasing and I'm more and more intolerant of any intrusions on to my time. That said - I'd love to run with Nic. I'm not sure where I'll go with this - I think for the moment it's a maybe-goal.

Some complicating factors: while I don't want to whine or find excuses, I am a ducky-walker. My feet turn out like a ballerina and to point them to a normal position feels weird and strange and icky. My turnout comes from the hips, which are extra stretchy and flexible so when I run I am almost swaying side to side and using the extra angles of movement in my hips to throw myself forward. I look ridiculous. And it hurts.

My trainer, David, and I are beginning to work on releasing my tight glutes (that's my butt! Yeah I said it!) and strengthening the hip adductors to help turn me in a bit, and I'm actively trying to get used to moving in that positions - and if you think it's not hard, you try walking with your toes out and tell me how you feel. I'm hoping that as I release some muscles and tighten up some others I'll be able to work on getting a more effective and sustainable gait going; one which doesn't involve me waddling about and looking like a middle-aged woman going for the bus.

The upshot is that I don't really think that anyone at all will find my sure-to-be-dreary blow-by-blow accounts of each gym session in the slightest bit interesting (except you, thanks Mum), but as I write, I'm going to turn something I find hard - the run - into something I find relieving - the write - and hopefully in 12 months I'll just be so embarrassed by my paltry beginner efforts that I'll delete this blog entirely and pretend that half-marathons are a breeze.