V.I.B.

V.I.B. = Very Important Blogger

So I came home recently and found a package in the mail for me.  Now anytime it’s not a bill, junk mail, or a letter from my parole officer (jk) I am all too excited.  And my cause of excitement this day was due to this package from Clif Bar, my favorite, mostly organic, pre and post-workout fuel.

Now I would like to snow myself into thinking that I am a V.I.B. and that Clif Bar has read my blog and heard of my running endeavors. Thus being so, naturally they would want to send me their products to rate and review so I could let my massive readership know how great they are, too.  Yeah, right.  I know better.  I’m sure that one of the races or running groups to which I belong sold my information to Clif Bar, and I am one of many consumers that was mass marketed to promote their product and up their sales.  But if Clif Bar only knew how I subsist on their products, they wouldn’t have wasted their product or postage to preach to the choir about how great their products are. 

(Just a small sampling of my Clif products.)

But many of you are V.I.B’s to me, such as Ivory, Castorgirl, and Lisa.  You read my rampant ramblings, send virtual hugs when I need them, send words of encouragement for my recovery, and in general offer your support.  And for that, you make me a V.I.B. (very indebted blogger).  Many thanks to all those who read this insanity.

 

You're worth the effort. You're worth the battle.

“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.” ~ Oscar Wilde

“You’re worth the effort. You’re worth the battle.” Keep reading to find out who said that and why.

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Needing some inspiration today after having such a bad day yesterday, I looked up the definition of hope and this is what I found:

• To wish for something with expectation of its fulfillment. (http://www.thefreedictionary.com/Hope)
• To cherish a desire with anticipation; trust (http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/hope)
• The feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best. (http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/hope)

Lately, even when I've been at my darkest and most desperate, I know that it doesn't have to last forever. I know that, as Julia Roberts says in Steel Magnolias, “There are still good times to be had.” And I always remind myself of what Colleen Dewhurst says in Anne of Green Gables, “Tomorrow is always fresh with no mistakes in it.” Each tomorrow can be a do over of today. And that is what I HOPED for yesterday: that today had the potential to be better.

And I can say as of this moment I haven’t struggled as much as I did yesterday. And that is for what I had hoped.

I’m still under the weather with the flu. No more fever, but my glands and throat still hurt, and whatever has invaded my body has decided to journey to my chest, causing me to wake the dead with my hacking. I’m still taking the Emergen-C and Benadryl and am impatiently waiting for the bug to run its course.

To add to the fun, I had an epidural this morning for my reoccurring back pain that I briefly mention here and here. It took the doctor several tries to get the needle in my back because I couldn’t stop coughing and sneezing. Good times.

Because of the epidural, I can’t run or work out today, not that I feel like it anyway. But being this inactive makes me feel so icky and gross. I feel very unhealthy right now, and I’m not used to that feeling. Without exercise and running, I feel psychologically dirty and unclean. In addition, I feel I’ve gained five pounds from lounging on the couch all day. Some would argue these are just mental distortions, and maybe they are, but they seem so real to me it’s extremely painful.

But I’ve had time to finish Catcher in the Rye (hope I never have to teach that to my students. The book has excellent literary devices, but I hate Holden Caufield) and started Water for Elephants.

Of special note, No More Bacon posted a blog today that really filled me with hope and positivity again. His words augmented me with motivation to know that I will get over the flu, I will run again, I will run a marathon, I will conquer my demons, I will . . . etc. He relates one of his personal struggles and how he overcame it. I suggest everyone run and read it. It made me cry, and I really wasn’t expecting that from a blog.

And with that I know I may be in the gutter right now, but his post made me want to look at the stars. . . again.

Just for tonight

Went to bed not feeling well last night. Woke up this morning feeling even worse. Fever. Sore throat. Glands hurt.

Being sick =

Which = bad body image

Which = unhealthy eating.

Which equals relapse:

I'm trying to keep this blog a positive place:

But today it's a struggle.

But there's always tomorrow:

And a chance to start over.

But for tonight, I am going to cry.

And cry.

See you in a better place tomorrow.

XOXO

Book Snob

I have one book left to read for the summer, and need some more. Now since I’m a pathetically poor college student, I’m on a tight budget. No bueno for someone who is a voracious reader and needs books to breath. So I went to a *insert shame* used book store with a bag over my head and picked up a few books.

Pictures of hollis woods. Patricia Reilly Giff. ISBN: 0-439-69239-3

Silent to the bone. E.L. Konigsburg. ISBN: 0-689-86715-8

Someone like you. Sarah Dessen. ISBN: 978-0-14-240177-4

One thing I’ve learned about myself is that I’m a book snob. I DON’T LIKE USED BOOKS. I don't like their smell, worn, tatty pages, or discolored edges. I don't like the idea of someone else's fingers touching my book. It's just not right. And I can save just as much money on Amazon.com.

I feel very passionately about his. Too passionately. I think I need a support group for people like me who can't stand used books.

"Hello, my name is Missing In Sight and I'm a book snob." "Welcome, Missing In Sight."

After I left the nasty, old, decrepit, never-to-be-seen-again used book store, I went to my university for a little running and yoga.

I did a five minute warm-up jog, 45 minutes of tempo work, and 20 minutes of the elliptical machine. My views weren’t as pretty as the trails, but here is what I stared at for about an hour.

While on the elliptical, I ditched obnoxious, bratty Holden Caulfield in Catcher in the Rye and watched Maria Sharapova win the semi-finals at Wimbledon. As she was graciously waving to the crowds

it reminded me of one thing I need to do:

Nuff said.

I topped my exercise off with some serious stretching in yoga. I love that we have the lights off in yoga and form a circle. It makes it so much more intimate and reflective.

Note to self: Nike Tempo Shorts are NOT appropriate attire for yoga class. I treated the class to a view of . . . well, you know. Embarassing!

When I got home I wasn’t feeling well. I feel like I’m coming down with a cold, so I took a nap. Guess who kept me company?

All in a days work

So what does an obsessive, compulsive runner do on her rest day without giving in to bad behaviors? She, along with her Crew, try on different perspectives and outlets to channel her running energy. So that’s what we did today. We explored our options.

The morning got off to a rocky start. We burned our bagel, spilled our beloved walnuts all over the dirty floor, ran out of almond butter *gasp*. But the day was looking up.

By 11:00 we had loaded and unloaded the dishwasher, including the dreaded silverware, folded two loads of laundry, went grocery shopping, and caught up on blogs.

We decided to try our hand at our once loved baking, so we baked a Chocolate Pudding Pie that turned out badly.

(Yes, it’s from a box. Don’t judge me.)

And made two burned pumpkin pies.

(Trust me. You don't want to see the other pie.)

While looking for our pumpkin pie spices we found an old friend.

Hi, there, you "intoxicating" Captain Morgan. (We have a date later. *wink, wink*)

We threw a little love in our day with Johnny Depp and POTC 3.

And gave our piggies some much needed TLC and paint.

And made time to love on these two ugly pound puppies.

So rest day was hard, but we made it a success with no misbehaving. All in a days work, my friends.

XOXO

1/2 Marathon Musings

*sigh* Okay. At the behest of Dietician, I am bowing out of the Atlanta marathon on October 30. When I told Dietician I had scheduled the ½ marathon for October 2 and would run the full marathon October 30, she literally laughed at me and told me I was crazy. It wasn’t the best idea to her. She said my body wouldn’t have time to recover from the ½ marathon and then get geared up for the full marathon. I disagree; I think it would only take me a couple of days to recover from the ½ and I’m very already very close to marathon mileage. But I thought maybe, just maybe, the diplomas lining her office wall might mean something, and maybe I should follow her advice.

So instead of running a ½ marathon and a full marathon in the same month, I’m signed up to race a ½ marathon on October 2 and another ½ marathon on Thanksgiving. There is a full marathon that I can race in March, and I will be better trained and experienced for it. At least that is what my recovery voice is trying to tell me.

In any case, Sundays are still my long run days. I ran 19.14 miles today at a 8:43 second pace. Why I’m running 19 miles when I have no full marathon to train for is a topic for another post. It’s excessive, I know. But in any case, my long runs are times when I think and meditate.

(Another favorite spot of mine. It's on a bridge over a golf course.)

And just like last Sunday when I compared a marathon to recovery, more similarities hit me again today.

When running today, one thing I noticed was how when I stop to refuel (eat my Gu gel or drink my Powerade), it is always so hard to get my legs running again. I stopped at mile nine to refuel and when I hit the resume button on my Garmin and started to run again, my legs weren’t having it. I even stumbled a few times before my legs obeyed my brain and got me back to my running pace.

I pondered how recovery is similar to this. When I stop in my recovery or slow down, when I miss a meal or a snack, it is so hard to get back on track. This past Spring and early Summer were prime examples for me. I started missing meals, not fueling for runs, and ignoring the advice of my treatment team. My recovery was glad because it didn’t have to work hard anymore. It could take it easy. But when I tried getting back on track and doing the things necessary for a healthy me, it was damn hard. My figurative legs wouldn’t move. I had rested in my recovery too long and it showed. But after considerable effort and lots of stumbles, I finally found my recovery legs again.

Another thing I noticed on my run today is how my pace slows down when there are no other runners around me. It’s not that I’m tired or feel I can slack off since other people can’t see me; it’s that there are no other runners to keep me motivated. When I see other people on the trail, it’s like a silent competition. I think to myself, She’s still running. Maybe I can keep going, too.

(Post-run fuel.)

(I think I was a little sweaty when I had my post-run fuel. What do you think?)

Recovery is similar. When we are by ourselves, when we cut ourselves off from other people, when we don’t have the support of a treatment team or friends, our recovery can slow down and lack the encouragement we need to keep on going. I know this very well.

For example, there is a recovery group that meets on Wednesday and Saturday where I live. I’ve noticed that when I stop attending these meetings, it’s the first sign I’m on my way to relapse. Without the support group, I lose focus. I lack encouragement, motivation, and determination to keep on going like my fellow support groupies. But when I attend my meetings, I’m filled with resolve and purpose to be active in my recovery and keep on metaphorically running for my recovery.

So don’t slow down. Don’t stop. Surround yourselves with others, on-line or in real life, who are like-minded and focused on recovery and getting better. Recovery IS a marathon. And as cheesy as it sounds, you can make it, one foot in front of the other, until you reach that finish line.