Confidential Medical Results

There's nothing like a letter marked 'Confidential Medical Results' to give you letter-opening anxiety. I got one the other day and I knew exactly what results they were talking about.

Remember my post about bowel cancer testing? That's the only test I'd done recently so I surmised that it was those results (and the fact that it had National Bowel Cancer Screening Program printed on the envelope doesn't detract at all from the brilliance of my deduction). I hadn't been at all concerned about the results of the test. But the moment I saw those words 'Confidential Medical Results', I assumed the worst.

I have a tendency to do that. If a police car is behind me in traffic I'll assume that I'm going to be pulled over even if I've done nothing wrong. If the shop-lifting alarm in a shop goes off as I'm going through I automatically feel guilty. If one of my kids complains about having a headache I usually jump straight to brain tumour, aneurysm or viral meningitis. I'm sure this is a rational response in situations of potential crisis - assume the worst so when it doesn't happen your sense of relief and gratitude is almost like an endorphin high.

I had to talk sternly to myself before I could actually open the letter. Something along the line of -'Chances are that it's probably okay and just because it looks ominously official doesn't mean that it is. And IF you did turn out to be that one in 2000 women who ends up with bowel cancer, wouldn't you like to catch it early when it's treatable?'

When I finally had calmed myself enough to open it I only had to read one word to know that everything was just as it should be. Pleased. They were Pleased to advise me that the result of my faecal occult blood test was negative.

It was just like getting my exam results back in my uni days. But without being graded. This test is only pass/fail but it made me wonder if they had to grade it, what would I have been given. As I can be a perfectionist and a little competitive at times, I'd like to think that I got an A+. After all they did start the letter by thanking me for taking part and sending back my sample. I don't think I'm reading anything into it by thinking they'd only thank the highest performing participants.

But onto more important issues.

Today's Tuesday and Tuesday means only one thing. Speed session.

My love/hate relationship with speed continues. I love going. I love catching up with the squad. I love breakfast afterwards. I love it when I can get all my intervals at around the same pace. I love the recoveries. And I love that I can really push hard this year.

But I hate how hard it gets as the session goes on. I hate the 100m recoveries which seem way too short when you've run 1600m hard. I hate that despite my best efforts, I do tend to slow down. And I hate that Coach Chris really enjoys seeing us in pain - the more we hurt, the happier he is.

When it's over I love the way I feel - like I've worked really hard, because I have. We all have! And the fact that there are more loves than hates means that I keep going back week after week after week.

I may need to do as Toby is to get me through the day today. Some days I'm extra grateful that I work from home.

Saturday Is Long Run Day

I had a hard time wrapping my head around what time I had to set my clock for this morning.

Yes, that really is a.m. And I even woke up before it went off. Just call me an over-achiever.

Why was I waking up at this ungodly hour?

Toby had no answers to that question. Not even turning the light on and poking him was going to get him up. His internal alarm doesn't go off until at least 6 am and even then he pushes the snooze button a couple of times before the sound of dog food hitting his bowl rouses him from his dreams of world domination where deforestation is outlawed and butt-sniffing is de rigueur.

I had to get up early today to get to the first longer run of marathon training. 

Early is a relative term. I actually thought getting up at my usual 4:45 am was early. And, seeing as it's still pitch black outside I'm happy to still call it early. But if I was to run most of my 24k in company I needed to get 4k done before meeting the group. Yes, I could have gotten up even earlier and gone out with the group that left at 4:00 am (and I will be doing that in the up-coming weeks) but it was hard enough wrapping my head around the 4:15 alarm. I have no idea how I'm going to cope with one that starts with a 3!

One of my squad friends had kindly volunteered to meet me early so I wouldn't have to run alone in the dark so that's how I found myself loitering in the dark car park of a bottle shop at 4:55 in the morning. The things I do!

Helen and I managed a nice easy 4.5k before getting back to the bottle shop car park by 5:30. Funnily enough it didn't seem quite so dodgy to be hanging around there when there were lots more runners around. And it felt pretty good to have a few k under my belt before setting out with the group.

I haven't run anywhere much over a half marathon in the last couple of years so I wasn't really sure how it would go. After the last couple of years my default mode is to doubt myself unless and until I've achieved my goal. I knew I'd be good for at least 21.1k but after that it was anyone's guess.

It was good to have company to 14k. It was good to have someone to discuss the aesthetic virtues of low-cut running tops and non-supportive running bras versus the long-term damage to breast ligaments and the potential for topless photos that look like they're out of National Geographic. Gravity can be a bitch.

The stretch home was a solo effort - even without the dulcet tones of Buble, Manhattan Transfer and Newton Faulkner to keep me company. And it went surprisingly well. Sure, I got a bit tired but I think that's pretty normal for a run that long. But I was nowhere near as tired as I used to get last year for runs even as short as 12k. And I finished knowing that I could have kept going (but happy I didn't have to).

My knee held up remarkably well. I'd used some Rocktape (same type of stuff as Kinesiotape) and I've been doing my strength stuff all week. There was no pain during the run and, even better, no pain after I'd finished.

The solo run home was a reminder of exactly why I wanted to do another marathon. I secretly love doing the training. I love feeling hard-core seeing those big numbers tick over on my Garmin. I love adding up the totals for the week. I love pushing myself through the tough parts of the run and feeling like I've won every single time I meet my goal. And I love seeing how many calories I've burnt by the end of 150 mins of running. Yes, I don't mind if I do have that piece of chocolate.

And I really, really love that post-run, Saturday afternoon nap. Where you sleep like you've really earned it - because you have! 

 And I'm not the only one who loves those Saturday afternoon naps.

Embracing Strength Training

My knee has been playing up.

Not happy! I'm just into my second week of marathon training and it's been just a little bit niggly. Right when I want everything to be perfect - or as perfect as they can be in this ageing body.

I know what the problem is. ITBS - Iliotibial band syndrome. I've had it before. A few times.

First time was when I was training for my first half marathon and it was uncomfortable for weeks. I had to scale back my training and visit my friend Chris, the physio, quite a lot. But it did eventually get better and I was able to run my half quite happily. Or maybe I should really say I ran it pain-free because I do remember that there were some not-so-happy moments in that event - like throwing up over someone's shoes when I crossed the finish line.

It reared its head again a few years later and again Chris's magic fingers put it right. Plus this time she showed me how to strap my ankles/arches so I could keep the problem at bay.

That was about five years ago and apart from running a half marathon on a very cambered road which caused another short relapse, I've really had no problems with it.

I ran the Sydney Morning Herald Half back in May and during the race I started to feel that old familiar tug around my knee at around the 17k mark. But diligent stretching and rolling whipped it back into line pretty quickly. Then after the Gold Coast 10k I felt it again. I managed to get through the whole Jetty to Jetty race before I had any issues this time but the 45 minute drive home made my knee seize up.

Back on the roller, tennis ball, heat pack, stretching and ibuprofen and it's not too bad now. I was able to run the speed session yesterday without too much issue but it's left me a little concerned about the long runs that are ahead of me.

As chance would have it, I had a coffee date with Chris yesterday and was able to talk to her about it. She agreed with my theory of why it's raised its ugly head again which basically all stems back to the health issues that Yaz caused me. I lost a lot of muscle strength because of the lack of testosterone and because I was so exhausted all the time, I didn't bother to do any strength work. My core and hip strength has suffered.

I'm okay over shorter distance - up to 12k or even 20k if I'm not running hard. But once I start to get tired my form suffers, my hip drops and my ITB starts to tighten up.

Exhibit A

Luckily the cure's not too difficult. It just means that I can no longer ignore the need for at least a little bit of strength training. I had been doing some hip strengthening exercises but I have to confess that I was a bit slip-shod about them. If I didn't feel like doing them I didn't. I can't do that any more and I also have to do a lot more (a lot more than nothing really isn't that much) core work.

So I started last night. All those hip exercises that Chris and Sam had given me and the dynamic core work that both of them had suggested. Planks are passe now - unless they involve movement. And I thought that just holding it still was hard enough.

Guess what? Today I'm a bit sore. Not my knee. Just all those muscles that haven't had to work for a couple of years - they're complaining like a dole-bludger who's been forced into a work program to keep his entitlements. Gotta love DOMS! Means I'm getting stronger.

Jetty To Jetty Half Marathon - A Lesson In Pacing

I did it!

I got under the 1:50 for a half marathon - just! 

Yes, it's probably a surprise that I was actually racing yesterday. I kept it on the down low so as not to put much pressure on myself. I hadn't done a whole lot of longer runs in the month leading up to the Jetty to Jetty so I didn't know where I was fitness-wise. And let's face it - I don't do pressure that well. 

So it was a very relaxed me that left home at 5:30am yesterday. I even managed small conversations with Iven without feeling the need to puke. That's always a good sign.

We made it to Redcliffe about half an hour before the race was to start and I made Iven drop me off near the porta-loo queues and told him to meet me back at the playground when he'd found a park. I'd stupidly taken my bag out of the car and was going to hand it over to him when he got back but 15 minutes later he still hadn't arrived and I started to get a little anxious. Luckily JT, a squad-mate, was passing by and offered to take the bag so I could line up at the start. I made it there with less than ten minutes to spare. Hmm, I think Iven and I need to work on our communication.

All week I'd been obsessively checking the weather forecast and it hadn't looked good. Wet for most of the week then clearing to a very windy day. Not great conditions for my 1:50 beating attempt but we runners have to take whatever the weather gods dish out. But as it turned out, the day was perfect. Yes, there was a bit of wind on some of the course but certainly not the gales they'd predicted. No rain and perfect temps made me a happy starter.

I found myself just behind the 1:50 pacer and even though I had a loose plan in my head (to try to stay in the low 5s for each kilometre), I decided that I must have been meant to follow him. And this was a mistake that I'll never make again.

I stole this from the Jetty 2 Jetty Facebook page. If you look hard you can see my head just behind the man wearing the blue singlet.

                           

The gun went off and my pacer took off like a scared rabbit. There was a little dodging and weaving but not too bad. I was staying in contact but felt like I was running a little harder than I would have liked. But we did have to go up a hill nearly straight away so I decided that it was okay and just trust the pacer. I got to the first k (by my watch - there were only a few kilometre markings through the course) at 5:10. I knew 5:12 was the pace I had to beat to go under 1:50 so I was going okay.

Soon after we passed 1k the pacer started to speed up. So I sped up too. I didn't notice it at first because I was just trying to keep the same distance from him but the 10m that he was in front stretched out quickly to around 20 then 30. The second kilometre beeped - 4:57. Okay I'd banked a bit of time on that kilometre but it was faster than I'd planned.

Now any normal, rational and intelligent person would have decided at that point that the pacer had some Machiavellian plan to try to destroy any of the runners that were attempting to keep with him. A normal, rational and intelligent person would have switched to their original plan because to continue blithely on would be folly in the highest order.

I am obviously not a normal, rational or intelligent person. No, I decided that I'd done two kilometres (yes, ONLY TWO out of 21) at a faster pace than I had run for some years so I'd be fine. Yeah, it might hurt towards the end but I'd be right. The next kilometre clicked over at an even faster pace. I was laughing and spitting in the eyes of the running gods. Apparently they don't take kindly to that sort of behaviour.

Kilometre 4 had a hill and a water stop so my pace slowed a littler - 5:02 - but I made up for it in the next kilometre 4:50. The pacer was almost out of sight at this point so I was effectively running my own race but it didn't really slow me. I got to the 10k mark about one minute slower than I'd run the 10k at Gold Coast just a fortnight ago. Alarm bells were going off in my head but something, let's call it blind optimism, kept me from slowing.

We'd turned back at around the 10k mark and the course changed from mostly road to footpath along the water. It was just gorgeous!. Blue sky, blue water, pelicans, dogs running on the beach. The support was sparse but enthusiastic and the volunteers were friendly and supportive. 

I got to 15k still managing respectable splits but I'd borrowed too much and the energy debt-collector was there wanting to be paid. My 16th kilometre blew out to 5:21. There were still 5k to run, I was getting a stitch and I was ready to stop. People started to run past me. I'd try to hang with them for a while but would have to give up before long. The few people that I did pass I did so with respect because I knew that they were probably hurting worse than me.

But on the bright side, I caught the 1:50 pacer and his single follower. And I left him eating my dust - for about three k until he decided to ditch her and finish the race alone. I also passed the guy who was towing his friend on roller-blades who was taping the race. One volunteer asked if I was okay and I smiled and nodded, thinking that I hoped I didn't look as dreadful as I felt. But she let me pass without calling the paramedics so I must have faked it well enough.

I've run the first section of this race a few times before in the 5k and 10k events and there's a hill at the end that is a heart and spirit breaker. I was already hurting pretty badly and had started to dread the hill. And it wasn't the only hill before I finished. There were a couple of little rises that were also going to be testing close to the end of a half. 

One of those rises came in the second last kilometre. And I actually made it to the top .. then promptly stopped and walked a bit. I wasn't the only one but that didn't make me feel any better. I'd totally stuffed up the race pacing but I hate walking in a race. But my fear of the killer hill was what made me want to catch my breath. 

Another hill came and I made it to the top but managed to keep running this time but I was still anticipating that awful hill and was convinced I'd have to walk some of it. Someone yelled that it was all downhill now. But I knew that my nemesis still had to be conquered. So I held back a bit. The crowds were getting thicker and I could see the race precinct. I looked at my watch and there was only a few hundred metres to go so I picked up my pace. I turned the last corner to see the clock ticking up to the 1:50 but I couldn't make it in before it had ticked over. But a glance at my watch showed me that I'd done it! All pain forgotten. 

So where did that last hill go? Either the hill that I thought was the second last was the last hill but I remember it as harder than that. Or they changed the route slightly. 

So the lessons learnt from yesterday are to stick to your own race plan. Don't be afraid to change plans mid-race if what you're doing isn't working. And maybe stretch a little more before you get back into the car for the 45 minute drive home. But when all's said and done I still ran the fastest half that I've run since 2010 so it's not all bad.

Bet You're Jealous

I love getting parcels in the mail.

Usually they're filled with fun stuff - running shoes, running singlets, sugar flowers to put on cupcakes. Sometimes they're filled with utilitarian stuff like vacuum bags or ink cartridges for the printer. Sometimes they're filled with stuff that you just don't want to have to deal with.

The parcel that I got this week fit into that category. I know that I should be grateful to have gotten it. And I know that the parcel was just the government's way of saying 'we care about every tiny little detail of you'. I also know that by doing what the parcel required of me could possibly save me from a very horrible and painful death. But that still doesn't stop me from being squeamish.

Yes, I was squeamish. Me - who used to stick her arm up the backsides of cows and still, to this day, enjoy expressing the anal glands of our little fox terrier. I just wanted to chuck the parcel away and ignore the fact that I'd ever received it.

But a little voice inside me head wouldn't let me. And so I sucked up every last bit of preciousness and dealt with it.

This was what was in the parcel.

It contained lots of instructions and vials and labels and stuff. All very scientificky. Reminded me of my university days and those hours spent taking samples of intestinal fluids from different areas of a sheep's gut.

The instructions were pretty straightforward and apparently hilarious if you're not the one who has to undergo the test. #1 son, Sam, didn't even try to keep a straight face when he was reading out the instructions to me. He particularly liked the stylised drawing of the faecal sample (poo to those of you who haven't had my scientific background and s#@t to the rest of you who like to call a spade a bloody shovel).

I felt the pressure of performance all week. I didn't want to have to do the test on my running mornings because delving into ones own faeces at 5:00am is beyond what my sensibilities can deal with. And taking it on my run just in case it was one of 'those' runs didn't seem like a fun option (although the vials would have fit nicely into my Spibelt). Having to explain to someone who's seen you squatting behind a bush that you were just doing a highly classified scientific experiment for the government would probably see you on the end of some very sceptical stares.

 I was very relieved (no pun intended) when I could finally post off my samples - in a normal letterbox with other people's important mail. I said a little prayer as the parcel disappeared down the gaping maw of the box that I'd screwed up the test tubes good and tight. And then another little prayer for the person who's job it is to have to open all those returning parcels. Because as much as I thought mine was a pretty horrible parcel to receive, theirs is infinitely worse.

I guess I wanted to overshare my experience as a heads up to those of you Australians who read my blog who haven't yet turned 50 so you know what delights are ahead of you. And to you non-Australians - aren't you jealous that you don't have a government who's so 'anal' about the health of their constituents?

I couldn't finish this post on that unsavoury note so I'll leave you with a couple of photos that are way more pleasant.

The wattle is out at the park that I run through near my home. I suspect that it's that wattle that's been making my eyes itchy - because they've only been itchy since the flowers have come out. But I'm happy to endure itchy eyes just because they're so pretty. My nodding acquaintance that you can just see at the bottom of the picture agreed that it was a beautiful sight and she didn't think it was at all weird that I was taking photos of it on my run.

More cupcakes! I haven't had so much sewing to do lately. Had my week's work finished by Wednesday afternoon which left me with nothing to do on Thursday and Friday except bake. Vanilla berry cakes were what #2 son Josh suggested and this is what he got.

Don't Mess With Me

I had an interrupted night two nights ago.

Iven was re-enacting the Texas Chainsaw massacre in the bed next to me but without any blood or killing. Just sound - no pictures. I'd been asleep for only an hour and half and no amount of prodding was effective in getting him to roll onto his side.

So I did what any marathoner-in-training-who-needs-their-sleep would do. I crankily picked up my pillow, stomped out of the room and walked down the hall to the only spare bed in the house (that's only spare because #3 son is house-sitting).

It was NOT FUN having to warm up another bed. And it was NOT FUN remembering that #3 son hadn't changed his sheets probably since the last time I changed his sheets because I couldn't stand their mankiness. That would have been over two months ago and I was pretty sure that the white sheets were no longer white. And that they may have had microscopic things crawling in there eating my dead skin cells. Exfoliation by dust mites isn't a beauty treatment that's particularly desirable.

It took me a long time to get back to sleep.

I finally got up at 7:30 am, feeling a little hungover from broken sleep. Walked up the hall to find our bedroom door shut and when I opened it there it was ... an unmade bed!

I know it's not a big deal in the scheme of things but in our house who-ever gets out of the bed last has to make it. Iven had broken one of the unbreakable rules. And it added insult to injury to have to make it after not being able to sleep in it. And the worst part about it was not being able to vent!

I texted him a very curt message (which he didn't read until he got home from work that afternoon). But that wasn't good enough so I spent the rest of the morning trying to plot my revenge.

I am not very creative in the vengeance department. All I could come up with was tampering with baked goods or re-tuning the TV and making sure his favourite station wasn't there any more.

And then I had a stroke of genius. I completed his puzzles (Sudoku and the crossword) in the paper.

Yeah - that showed him! Don't mess with me cause I'm ruthless with a pen.

Marathon Training - Day 1, Week 1

Firstly, thank you to everyone who commented on my last post re the running nausea. I'll definitely be looking into the ginger gummies to try on my long runs. And the dietitian referrals were also appreciated Liz. I'll be looking into those.

What's wrong with this photo?

If you said the little bit of mud on otherwise pristine shoes then you'd be right. Sad face! My new shoes no longer look new. But considering that today was officially the start of my Melbourne training maybe a little mud's not a bad thing. They're only going to get dirtier as the weeks roll on so I may as well get over the disappointment early. It's a little like getting the first dent in your brand new car - a pity but inevitable.

The training session was quite a restrained one as far as speed sessions go. I think that Coach Chris is getting soft (and I think I'll pay for that comment next week at speed because he generally reads these posts). I couldn't believe it when he said we were doing 500m reps with 500m recovery. Usually it's something inhumane like 400m reps with a 50m recovery or 1k reps with a 100m recovery but I guess it was the first speed session back after Gold Coast for a lot of the group so it was a matter of easing us back into it.

Long recoveries are awesome! They let you push yourself that little bit harder on the rep while knowing you'll have plenty of time to recover before you have to do your next. But in saying that it didn't seem that much easier while I was actually running the rep. Every time I'd get to the spot where I knew it was only 200m to go and I'd be thinking 'just hold on and keep your legs moving'. Then for the first 200m of the recovery I'd be wondering if I could do another anywhere near as fast but by the time I'd hit the 500m mark I'd be raring to give it another shot.

Strangely there was no music playing in my head today. Maybe it was because the songs on the radio on my trip over were ones that I didn't know. Or maybe I need longer reps to get my inner gramophone working. (For you sweet young things who don't know what a gramophone is, think old-style MP3 player without the portability or the clarity of sound)

It was interesting to compare my times with older sessions. At the end of last year I'd done some 500m reps and they were all in the 2:25 -2:30 range. Today's session ranged from 2:09 to 2:13. A graphic demonstration of the benefits of a normal hormone balance.

Because last week was so light running-wise I had to resort to other means of getting my happy fix. Butter, sugar, flour and eggs plus a little inspiration are all that's required. A sugar high's pretty much the same as a running high isn't it? 

Last week's creations were The Kryptonite (thanks for the great name Lauren) They're my favourite chocolate cupcakes but the twist is the centre of choc-mint ganache, the choc-mint buttercream and the crushed peppermint crisp on the top. 

 And for those who are fond of desserts, here's one in cake form - Apple Crumble Cupcakes. I used my vanilla cake recipe and added cinnamon instead of vanilla then put a layer of stewed apples (just apple - no sugar) in the middle. The icing was maple syrup and cinnamon buttercream with a generous topping of crumble.

It's just as well I'm back running more this week because my jeans may have started to complain if I'd had to continue to taste-test new creations. 

So how do you other runners cope when you're not running as much?