I have a blood blister underneath the nail on the "this little piggy stayed home" toe on my left foot. On the one hand, this blows. Obviously. But on the other hand, at least it's on the other foot. That's right, folks, this blood blister is the first running pain, whether it be knee-, shin-, or foot-related, that has afflicted the left side of my body. Up until this, it's only been my right knee that wants to pop off, my right toes that get jammed up and sore, my right shin that has flames, flames on the side of my leg. Now I know that I can potentially hurt all over! So... yay?
Tonight I went running on a small track two blocks from my apartment. There were two guys messing around with a soccer ball on the field inside of the track, and some kids running around being dumb because they're kids and can get away with that. I felt stupid setting up my stuff, spending 5 minutes stretching, and then just... walking, so as I walked the first couple of laps, I swung my arms around, kicked my legs up behind me, and generally made it clear that I wasn't walking, I was still warming up. This isn't what I came here for, strange men and children whom I will never see again! This is the start of something big, believe you me! I'm gonna live forever!
I think after 15 minutes of me walking in a circle, they might've seen through my ruse. After 20 minutes of walking, the kids and soccer ballers had left, and I began to run. Stacey had schooled me before I left the apartment on why I need to start following the training schedule. I'd been doing my own thing, partly because the training schedule has me doing run 8 minutes/walk 1 minute, and I can't handle that, but also partly because I'm a rebel. A loner, Dottie.
I went with a routine of run 3/walk 1, and when I was finally getting into the groove after a few splits (Warning: I may not completely understand the meaning of the term "splits"), someone came to lock up the track and kick me out. El Bastardo! He also called me the last of the Mohicans. Just call me Daniel Day-Lewis. Or whoever it was that played The Last Mohican. If you must address me, though, I really prefer "The Highlander." There can be only one...
I ran home, dropped off my water bottle, and went back out to make the sidewalks my b-word. (I apologize for the salty language.) I was supposed to be at a low-medium level intensity during the "run 3" portion. Stacey explained that as when you're able to talk to someone running beside you. I scoffed, because I don't have enough breath left over for talking when I'm running at any level of intensity, but after about 25 minutes of run 3/walk 1, I decided to test it out and see if I was in compliance with The Schedule. Sure, I was breathing heavily, but maybe once I actually tried to form words, I would surprise myself with my amazing ability to speechify.
Or maybe not. I thought of a sentence that I would say. "Hey Stacey, look at me, talking while running!" This is what I imagine to be the runner's version of "Look ma, no hands!" I got halfway through thinking about saying that sentence before I got too exhausted to continue. That's right. I was too out-of-breath to even complete a sentence in my mind.
After 30 minutes of run 3/walk 1, the balls (teehee) of my feet were hurting, so I stopped on a slightly slanted bench next to a doggy park that technically doesn't allow dogs in it. Story time: Around New Year's I was dog-sitting for a friend and took le chien andalou to the non-doggy doggy park. As I was standing on the grass next to some sign that my eyes had skipped over, two security guards drove up in a golf cart and stared at us, then pointed to the sign. "No Dogs Allowed," apparently. This is not a very effective sign.
As I was saying, I sat down, then lay down on my back. "This is nice," I thought. "Who needs music? The night sky, a doggy running around smelling things nearby, my feet get a break..." 2.5 seconds later, all the blood in my body rushed to my head, almost causing me to black out. 3 seconds later, I realized that I hadn't given sitting straight up a fair shot, and really, the view of the outside of the public bathrooms was just as relaxing as the sky.
A few minutes of sitting, and I hopped back up and started running home. At no time was I running with any impressive speed or form, but by this point my "running" was looking more like "awkward hopping." I passed by two men I know, smoking outside of a bar that they had previously only seen me inside of, and we exchanged bright smiles (me) and confused waves (them). I completed my allegedly 4.6 mile-long trip, if I can trust MapMyRun.com, which I'm beginning not to, by falling asleep in a kitchen chair. Impressive!
Nothing too exciting happened on Monday and Tuesday. I could only go on the treadmill at the gym during lunch, so I didn't have much time, either for stretching or a warm-up walk, and both days I only managed a couple of mixed walking/running miles, with burning shins both times. So where do I stand? I think I stand pretty well, actually. I managed to go for 40 minutes with 30 minutes of running, or at least "running," which is the longest amount of time I've handled so far. Saturday's 90 minutes don't count, since I was mostly walking. All that's left for me right now is to figure out a way to shower without having to get up off this couch. If you have any ideas, please leave them in the comments.
Hey, I'm not going this for my health! Well, I sort of am, but I'm also doing it to help find a cure for Crohn's and colitis. Please donate and help me get to Boston to complete my journey!