The Great Race of Agoura Hills

Here's where my mind goes in any 5K right around mile 2 - "Oh crud, I think I'm going to die.  I'm going to literally pass-out right here and now, they'll be scraping me off the pavement."  Racing on a fast course is no different.  At mile 2, the same thought creeps into my mind, as my face is turning blue from O2 debt.  Such is the pain in a 5K.  Last weekend, seeking one last build up to the CBad 5000, John and I, along with a talented handful of Santa Barbara runners, ventured south about 1 hour to race in The Great Race.  The Great Race is really a lot of great races as it features 6 different options, including a 5K (known as the Deena Kastor 5K), a 10K, two different 1/2 Marathons (Road and Trail versions), and a family fun run and kids mile!  They put together a very well organized event, with each race starting from a different location, but all culminating at one finish line at Chumash Park.  The expo is fabulous and the post-race activities are worth hanging around for.  For our race day, the weather was exceptional, as in sunny, no wind and temps in the 60's.

The Deena Kastor 5K course is considered to be PR friendly.  A "fast" course.  Let me emphasize that this in no way means it's easy.  If you want your PR you better arrive willing to work for it, dig deep and hurt.  There are a few key downhill portions but they are nicely off-set by uphill portions, making it essentially a rolling course.  The race begins on a very significant downhill (significant enough that it requires energy to hold back), and ends on a nice downhill slope.  I love reading race reports with lots of "during the race" details so I thought I'd write this race report in similar manner.

As there are thousands of participants in the events, it is important to arrive early to the venue.  We arrived at 7:30 am for our 9:00 am race and still had to park a mile away.  This works well for me though because I prefer a nice walk as a pre-warm up.  So we found our parking spot in the neighborhood of Agoura Hills, and walked with the masses toward Chumash Park for packet pick up and a look at the finish line.  We picked up and pinned our chip-timed laden race number, switched into our racing flats, checked in our bags to be baby-sat in our absence, and began our warm-up.

The 5K starting line is about 1/2 mile around the corner and up the hill so we jogged our way in that direction, along the course of other races that were already in process.  The race starting line was perched up at the peak of a hill and we jogged over the crest, down the hill, around a portion of the first mile and then made our way along the end of the course back to the park.  The air was still chilly, particularly in the shade.  I was finding it difficult to work up a sweat.  Unfortunately, because our bags and gear needed to remain locked at the finish line, and we needed to be up the hill at the starting line, we had to take off our warm clothing earlier than I would have liked and hoped to stay warm with movement.

Off we went back up to the starting line where we did our strides and drills and kept in constant motion until the "go" went off.  Thankfully they do the 5K in two waves which allows for fewer accidents at the start.  With a steep downhill start, my expectation was that too many people would be pushing forward at the start and it could be easy to be tripped.  Then also there were the speed bumps to be aware of.  But our start went off without a problem and down the hill we proceeded.  It wasn't too difficult to get into a rhythm and it seemed that most runners were making a reasonable effort to not overdo it on this first section.  Very smart.  I tucked myself in behind Rusty and Drea to help me gage my pace.  Clearly the first 400 to 600 meters were going to feel fairly easy, but soon after, the course would take a slight uphill slant and reality would ensue.

Because of that initial hill, I expected the first mile to be faster than usual and it was.  I came through the first mile in around 5:30, but at that point my pace had already headed back the other direction.  We were on a long gradual climb and the runners in front of me were beginning to thin out, most falling off the pace and dropping behind me.  There were a couple of younger looking females that I soon passed but up ahead remained Drea and another woman (the woman in orange).  Picking and using your pace at this point is important.  By running my own race I am able to gage whether those ahead of me ought to be ahead of me or whether I should be aiming to pick them off.  Drea began to pull further ahead, which was not at all a surprise, but I noticed too that the woman in orange also began to put more distance between us. 

We continued slightly up through the neighborhood and passed around a hair-pin turn which more or less marked the 1/2 way point.  Glances at my watch indicated my pace had slowed but still remained under 6 minute pace.  In my mind I focused on getting through the middle mile as I knew that the final mile had more downhill than uphill and I looked forward to that.  The second mile passed by in 5:56 which was both expected and a bit distressing.  It meant that my pace needed to pick up considerably from here on in but I felt like I was basically done, ready to pull off the course and suck in oxygen.  As we turned onto the long straight away that made up most of the final mile, we began encountering 1/2 marathon participants that were headed to the same finish line.  Thankfully they were fairly thinned out and although it required more mental energy than I had to give, it wasn't too difficult to make my way around them.  It did make it more difficult however to keep the woman in orange directly in my sight.  I had caught up to the man running ahead of me (a 5K'er not a 1/2 marathoner) and he and I competed from that point on.  We hit the sharp right turn both having to take a different line due to slower runners blocking the best path and then up the final hill we pushed.  This hill was, hmmmm, hard.  It lasted maybe 400 meters, crested and then shifted with a left hand turn into the final decent to the finish line.  I ran this hill as if the finish line was at the top waiting for me.  In doing so I was able to pull ahead of my male competitor, breaking him mentally.  He must have been focused on the length of what remained whereas I tried to forget that more remained.  I came up over the hill and more or less fell forward into the downward slope.  My mind was elsewhere looking for a happy place and my body seemed to move in a detached feeling.  A final turn onto the grass finish, with 1/2 marathoners all over the place, I gave it one last effort to the finish line. 

I have to be honest, I had hoped to finish under the 18:00 minute mark and without a finishing clock to look at, I had no idea what my time was as I approached the finish.  But as I strided toward the line I heard the announcer talk about one of the men ahead of me finishing just under 18:00 minutes, and it registered in my mind at that point, before I had crossed and checked my watch, that I didn't quite make my goal.  I ended up with an 18:06, which is my fastest true 5K ever.  Chip-timed on a USATF certified course, my watch confirmed the distance as 3.16, meaning it was very accurately measured.  I wanted to be really, really happy but I just took it for what it was.  I didn't feel elated but I felt satisfied.  My first thought was toward Drea who had finished up ahead of me.  If I ran 18:06 I knew she must have thrown down a keeper, and she did!  Way to go!  And the woman in orange whom I never caught up with, who was she?  Rumor was that she is a former Olympic triathlete from Canada.  I was impressed.  She was older than me and faster than me.  This always gives me hope that there are strong days ahead!

I had only a short time to wait for John to glide through.  His finishing time was excellent but didn't reflect the advantage of the beginning hill.  His journey down the hill was with caution and therefore he wasn't able to fully take advantage of it.  But he ran a solid race and has been consistently finishing in the low 19 minutes.

So that was The Great Race!  It was fun after the fact, painful during!  It was great preparation for what's to come.  On our journey back home we stopped along the way to "ice" our legs in the Pacific ocean.  Thankfully we remain injury free, mentally fresh and looking forward to the next race.  But first, one more hard week of training and then a taper.  Carlsbad 5000, Sunday April 7th.

Advice from the Front Runner

Steve Prefontaine had a philosophy about racing that I love.  He was a front runner in his track events because he didn't believe in sitting back on someone's heels and then stealing the race from them at the end.  He felt that if he was going to win, he needed to earn it. He ran with his heart from start to finish.  Could this be one of the reasons he is still relevant and admired?  I realize that strategy exists, especially on the track, but I have to admit:  I hate watching the best in the world running a slow race because everyone's saving it up for the last lap.  Pre had it right. 

Likewise, for me, I don't want to beat someone because they ran a bad race and I ran the same as I always do.  I don't want to win a race because the faster people didn't show.  I've always said, I'd rather run well and lose than run poorly and win.  I had one of each over the past month.

Run Poorly and Win:  After taking some time to recuperate mentally and physically in my short off-season, I came back to running with a couple of goals.  1. Do NOT get injured  2. Increase mileage and endurance above what I was doing last year   3. Get faster.  A part of accomplishing this plan was my purchase and use of the Hoka overstuffed shoes, which I raved about in the past few blogs.  These shoes feel so good to run in and I used them exclusively for 2 full months.  During this time, I ran two short races, a 4 miler and a 5K.  My fitness level is good and solid, so my expectation was to be able to run comparable to what I typically do, keeping a sub-6 minute pace while controlling the race and not let it control me.  Race #1 caught my attention when I failed to run even close to my past speeds.  I was well over a minute slower.  I felt confident that race #2 would fare much better with the additional weeks of training and speed work.  For race #2 I decided not only to train in Hokas but to also race in them.  After all, I discovered that after wearing these shoes, switching back to normally cushioned shoes was painful.  Race #2 was Roses en la Playa and I knew very well that I could and have run 18:18 or better on that course.  This was going to be a real test.  A test to see if my speed was returning; a test to see if the Hokas make good racing shoes; a test to see where I am in preparation for the race that matters.  The result:  I ran poorly but won the race.  I hated the race and I hated how I felt as I dragged my body up and down the hill.  Crossing the line as the first female yet knowing I shouldn't have is really not a good feeling.  That day, I really didn't win.  I ran 18:53, over 30 seconds slower than my previous efforts on that same course.  I felt inefficient, like I was fighting my body, fighting the ground.  And I finished shaking my head and wondering "what was going on?"

Hoka on the Left; Regular Reebok on the Right.

I made some discoveries that day and this is why we race and practice and train and know our bodies.  We have to listen to all of it and adjust.  What I discovered was that as much as I love the cushioned ride and feel of the Hokas, they were slowing sucking my running efficiency out of my legs.  The shoe does way too much of the work.  They take tremendous pressure off the calves and Achilles tendons but in doing so, they also weaken these essential tools.  My strength as a runner has always been my strong, efficient foot strike/push-off.  I am a mid to fore-foot striker naturally and therefore I use my calves and Achilles tendons a lot, which is why this tends to be my area of injury.  The Hokas were weakening my stride and I even noticed muscle atrophy in my calves, and the muscle definition was becoming blurred.  Additional evidence that this process was happening was the pain and difficulty that came every time I gave my old shoes a go.  Without the thick marshmallows doing the work, I felt all the pressure again on my body.  It was a shock and made it impossible for me to easily switch between shoes for speed work and racing. 

It took all of one second of realizing this to decide I would immediately switch back to full-time in my regular shoes.  I'm not totally forsaking the Hokas, but I am reassigning them to recovery days and extra long run days.  Once I made the switch and got through the initial soreness that ensued, I found my strong stride again.  My running began to feel more efficient again and every stride felt strong.  Best of all, I felt my body doing the work.  I felt the pressure in my calves, and the strain against my tendons.  I felt the muscles in my feet firing.  I felt the ground again.  And thus is how I have been training over the past month.

Run Well and Lose: Last weekend John and I traveled down to Newport Beach to compete in the Newport-Mesa Spirit Run 5K.  For me it was another big test.  It had to be different for me this time.  There was no reason for it not to be better, with the exception of the fact that we were going into the race fatigued from hard training.  There isn't any tapering for these lead up races so we have to factor in the possible effect.  Other than tired legs, I felt this was going to be a better experience.  I also had the opportunity to compete against a phenomenal Masters female who beat me 5 times last year.  I chased her all year but she was just a bit stronger than me every time.  Maybe this year would be different.  I planned on it being different.

The weather was cool, overcast and calm, even a few drops of rain on the starting line.  The course was neither difficult nor easy.  The first mile and a half was a gradual uphill, and the journey through the remainder was some down, some flat, some up, and many turns.  But nothing too drastic except one unfriendly hairpin.  As is always the case, my blond master adversary took off from the start running, in my opinion, too fast.  Knowing this I didn't panic nor feel like I had to go with her.  I was not planning on draining myself needlessly on the uphill portion of the race, so I economized.  I was rather more focused on how good my stride felt and how completely different I was feeling as compared to last week's race.  Although it was the toughest mile of the three, my first mile clicked off at 5:52 and I felt fine.  There she was, blond ponytail bouncing up ahead of me but I felt in control of myself.  We turned up a new street, still no reprieve from the hill and made our way around a block.  I put no mind to what place I was in because often it is hard to know.  I was running for some prize money in the masters category and unless it's obvious, to me everyone looks young.  I had no way of knowing of the few women I saw up ahead, who was over 40.  I just focused on the one ahead of me.

After our go around the block, we were into the second half of the race, and heading down a slope.  It wasn't a dramatic slope, just slight, just enough to allow a pick up in the pace or a moment of recovery.  Mile two came and went in 5:53 and I still felt in control of myself.  I was getting closer to her.  My pace stayed the same while hers had slowed.  We turned off the main road again for another loop and when we finally came back out onto the main road and she was just ahead of me.  At this point I knew I could catch her but the question was, did I want to catch her yet?  We still had three-quarters of a mile to go.  Was I ready to battle?  I decided to let my pace dictate itself regardless of who was in front of me.  I eventually caught up to her and ran on her shoulder, waiting for her to pick up the pace.  I didn't want to pass only to be passed up again.  Our course turned uphill again and we approached one more excursion off of the main road onto a short out-n-back on a side street. I pushed it, passed her and put some yards between us.  By the time I got to our side street I knew I had her.  She couldn't respond to my move and I pulled away.  Somewhere in here, the third mile clicked off in 5:55.  Once back onto the main road we had but a few meters to the finish.  There were two women just ahead of me and I watched them cross the line, and soon joined them in that heavenly place of the finishing chute.  I took a moment to pose for the photographer and shook the hands of the women ahead of me, and waiting for her to finish.  She doubled-over and then managed a handshake.  She ran a decent race, I ran a better race.  I didn't beat her because she ran poorly, I beat her because I ran well.  This time.  I'll meet her again in a few weeks.  We'll see how that goes.  I respect her because she has been at the top before and she is fierce.  Incidentally, I was the fourth overall female, and third overall master female.  Masters women took four of the top five top women's spots in the race.

This was a USATF sanctioned event and the course was certified and chip timed.  I ran 18:34 on this day.  But the extra difference is this.  On this course, my Garmin showed that we ran 3.16.  On the Roses en la Playa course, which is not accurately measured, nor certified, my watch showed 3.09.  The difference between the two courses was .07 which is around 112 meters or about 20 seconds.  Taking this into account, this weeks race was almost 40 seconds faster than the race the week before.  Running with accurate timing, on an accurate course is so important if you want to know what you are truly capable of.  I have to say that because of this I am often frustrated by approximate courses  and old school timing techniques.  The inaccuracies make a big difference to me.

So I had a better race, beat a particular opponent for the first time, got a realistic idea of where I am.  We have one more build-up 5K in Agoura Hills in a few weeks and then it's on to the Carlsbad 5000.  I'm hoping the CBad brings the best out of me.  That's really what I'm chasing.  To just be the best I am able to be.

Off-Season

A beginning and an end.  A starting point and a finishing point.  Races have a start and a finish.  You warm up into your start, and after you cross the line you get to have coffee.  Seasons have a beginning and an end.  Sport seasons, though some can be lengthy, have a beginning and an end.  An on-season and an off-season.  A time to build, taper and peak, and a time to let go and recover.  In high school, our entire track season was built around peaking at the State Championships.  Everything leading up to that was preparation.  And after the championship concluded, a period of rest awaited.  The rest was even sweeter after a State Championship trophy was hoisted.  Our high school girls track team won 4 state championships in a row (Freshman thru Senior year for me), and our girls cross-country team won 2 state championships in a row (my Junior and Senior years).  I loved the idea of a track "season" or a cross-country "season."  There was always an end in sight and as long as you knew that off-season was there, you could push through the tough part for just a little longer.  Wouldn't it be some kind of hell to have to run a race to which there was no end?

So what is it with us runners.  It occurred to me some time ago that adult/post-collegiate runners, ultra-runners, road racers, often don't have an off-season.  There isn't a time each year when road races occur and a time when they don't.  There isn't a road racing season per say, at least in Southern California.  If a runner is not careful, they may find themselves on a treadmill with no "off" button.  One race leads into preparation for the next, and the calendar fills up with options too plentiful to refuse or naviagate.  The mind, always looking forward, thinks, "I want to do it all."  No plan.  No relief.  No release.  No coffee after the race.  No off-season.

For a few years, I opted for the treadmill with no "off" button.  After a while though, my body decided to create off-seasons for me.  Only these off-seasons, thrust upon me as they were, came in increments of 8 months.  A "not my choice" off-season is not the same thing.  It was not planned and it most likely came because I was too foolish to admit that I needed an off-season on my terms.

Hopefully as a sign of growing wisdom, I planned an off-season on my own terms this year.  However, I regret to point out that I was one week short of reaching my off-season on my terms.  Instead, pushing my tired legs when I shouldn't have, an injury occurred, cutting the end of my planned season short by one race.  But, the timing was indeed almost perfect so I was able to embrace this off-season with joy, relief, allowing myself to let go mentally.  It helped too that the winter temperatures were no fun for runners, so it was easy to find my way to the gym.

I couldn't run for a bit while getting through the impinged ankle nerve (see my last blog for details), but I wouldn't have been running anyway.  Instead, I filled my time with Stairmaster, Elliptical, Swimming, weight lifting, and all of it was done without pressure.  The workouts were nice and friendly.  I didn't worry about losing fitness, though inevitably I did.  I looked at it as my off-season and I was supposed to be recovering, both physically and mentally.  It wasn't about grinding through the rotations in intervals of oxygen depletion.  It wasn't about visualizing my goals, my opponents, the race courses, feeling the drive.  It was pure, no pressure.  I needed it.  I badly needed it.  And I took it.

My off-season lasted 8 weeks.  By the time I was ready to begin building into a new season, my body was healed and my mind renewed.  It wasn't long before I began feeling fresh again.  I wasn't chronically tired and sore.  I wasn't dealing with nerves as races approached.  I put no pressure on myself.  And I was looking at a new year, as a new year.  Not as an extention of the past year.  That's one of the beauties of having an end and a beginning.

I was hungry for training again.  The cross-training and sweaty gym was ok, but I wanted to feel the ground again and to hurt.  To begin training and to be reminded of how brave and gutsy I will need to be in my upcoming endeavors.  Goals were roaming all over my brain.  Excitement. 

My good friend and running buddy Jeff, already a highly accomplished masters runner, smashed his 1/2 marathon PR (at least his PR since being a master), running 3 minutes faster than his typical, already ridiculously fast, times.  This has motivated me.  Jeff is training for Boston so he's loading on huge miles.  My body probably can't handle as much as he does, but I know that those base miles are hugely important.  As I head into my new racing season, that's my first order of business.  My runs are averaging out to be 10 miles per run and I'll keep building until I find my happy place.  Endurance is a good thing.

My other good friend and running buddy Dax recently achieved a huge running goal.  He broke 40 minutes in a 10K before his 40th birthday (he's a waning 39 year old).  Dax is an ultra-runner but he's been doing speedwork.  This has motivated me.  My next order of business is a good speed-workout.  I'm three weeks back into speed work again.  I'm not where I was when I ended last season, but I'm not so far off.  I remind myself daily that the fitness will be back, strong and bold.  Stay fresh, push through the tough parts of the workout, and keep the excitement.

I love watching master runners who keep getting faster.  It inspires me.  My sweet husband John has been training and running and his race times are on a nice downward spiral.  He's never quite satisfied because he was a very fast young runner, but when he compartmentalizes his running career into the "then" and "now," he finds hope that he can still keep going.  He races against some of the most competitive guys around.  Man ... old people are FAST!  This has motivated me.

I threw in a fun race a few weeks ago.  The Super Bowl 4 Miler.  I really never race when I'm not ready to but it was used as a marker so that I knew what I had and where I was as I began my new season.  I struggled with being disappointed that I was over a minute slower than my last race on that course (2 years prior) but I didn't come into it race ready.  I had done no speedwork and really hadn't pushed myself.  So it was all in all a nice race on Superbowl Sunday.  And I won a totally cool full sized football!!

I have one more fun race planned next week, and then I look to the Carlsbad 5000 in April.  My first serious race this year.  The season's begun.  Things are slowly building.  Challenges?  Yes.  Always challenges.  Poison oak is apparently hard to recognize during the winter.  My body was recently ravished by poison oak of which I am super allergic.  It looked as if I rolled in it.  I'll not go into the horrid details except to say that this was not the kind of pain I was hoping to put my body through in training but it was how it played out. 

Ahhhhhh.  You can't have beginnings if you don't have endings.  Thank you "off-season."  You make me feel like I'm in high school again.  Watch out - I feel another state championship coming on.

I've Got Nerve!

Last week I found myself on the torture table; on the slab of punishment; the table of terror; I was asked to endure and participate in this torture -

The journey to this point began just before Thanksgiving.  After a fairly uneventful running season which included 14 races over a 7 month period, something crept up.  Well, really is just jumped me when I was looking the other way.  Just one more race to go and then the "off-season" would bring lighter training and mental recovery, but I just needed to get that last race in.  It was our sweet Turkey Trot 4 miler and it didn't need to be the race of my life; it just needed to be a race.  A few days before the Turkey Trot, a sharp pain began to nag in the infamous right side, void of my ankle.  Surely it was nothing so I put in a few gym workouts and laid off the run until the morning of the race.  I let the warm-up dictate how I would approach the race.  If there was still pain, I'd hold back a bit; if I felt fine, I'd push it.  One mile into the warm-up things looked promising as there was not much discomfort, and bit of a relaxed spring to my stride.  However, the next half mile revealed that indeed things were not fine.  The pain increased, became sharp and stinging, undefined, radiating, moving about my ankle.  Then came the mental struggle.  What do I do?  Run the race anyway?  Was there any point at all to do that, no.  But still, surely I can push my butt and drag my leg 4 miles.  I already paid, picked up my t-shirt, pinned on the number, carefully selected the outfit.  Jordan, my 17 year old son looks at me and bravely suggests, "Mom.  You shouldn't run the race.  If you run and hurt yourself you might not ever be able to run again."  Blink blink.  Think, ponder.  I think I'll race anyway.  After stretching for a long time, trying to find the right area to focus on, I rose again to do my final preparation of strides and drills.  Five steps into the stride, my body informed me that I would NOT be doing the Turkey Trot this year.  I actually couldn't even run.  The pain was so intense, so unreasonably cruel.  Why now?  Resigned to the inevitable, I dealt with it, put it away and decided to cheer for the 900 others that were able to do the race, including my husband (whom I love to cheer for).  But the dread and disappointment was hard to shake, and it lingered.

So I was sentenced to the wretched gym workouts again, day after day.  As the air grew colder outside, I decided it wasn't such a bad thing.  I would have been doing this anyway.  It was my plan to hit the cross-training anyway.  I just didn't like the fact that it was again thrust upon me rather than being on my terms.  And there was the added lurking fear that something was really wrong and I was looking at another year of rehab'ing a stupid running injury.  How many sidelines would I be sitting on this time around?

My visits to my sports Doc increased and he did his magic, and I didn't run.  However, every week I gave it a go on the treadmill to see if things were getting better.  Every time I strode slowly on the treadmill, about 1 mile into it, the "sharp, burning, impossible to endure, non-descript" pain hit me and I rolled to a stop in frustration.  Week after week for 4 long weeks I refrained from doing anything to aggravate the area and my visits to the Doc continued.  I was beginning to get desperate and was considering that I might need an MRI.  No matter how much therapy I got and no matter how much I laid off running, it did not improve, and in fact got worse.  Whereas it was taking about a mile before the pain hit, how it came after 1/4 of a mile.

One Friday night, just before Christmas, I set aside another "trial" to see if I could run without the stabbing ice pick doing a tattoo on my ankle.  I should have known something was even more "not right" than usual because the area had become increasingly "tight" in feel, even when I walked.  But ... you know ... I needed to give it a go.  The first step hurt, with an immediate stab of pain, burning, radiating, sharp pain and a sense of something pulling inside.  I jogged on to see if it would improve as I warmed up and I tried to move my foot in different ways and land differently, but no matter what I tried, indeed it got worse.  How can this be after such a lay off and so much work to get it resolved.  I sat by the track, and dropped to the ground to stretch and to probe and try to pinpoint what hurt.  There was no area that hurt to the touch, no swelling, nothing notably tight.  After a stretch I decided I'd just push through it and jog a few laps.  No more than 10 steps later, probably fewer, in an excruciating burst of pain, something literally "popped" or pulled away, or gave way.  I couldn't tell which but when it happened I knew "something" just happened.  I assumed my Achilles ruptured but as I dragged myself back around the curve to my stretching spot, I thought about how my Achilles has not been the issue this time, so why would it rupture?  I sat down, and as the pain subsided I dug my fingers into my ankle and the tendons and muscle all around it trying to feel what just happened.  My Achilles was still fully intact and not at all sore or painful.  Still there was no swelling - that was a relief, but there was a significant radiation of pain when I pressed my toes against my hand.  I was pretty sure it was time for an MRI, but my doctor was out of town for Christmas so I didn't want to do anything until I checked with him.

In the meantime, I was sore for days but I continued to hit the gym to keep my fitness and my mind in check.  The first thing I began to notice as I emerged from this fog of soreness was that the tightness I had been feeling was gone.  Another week of cross-training in the gym passed by.  Hello stinky people, noisy equipment, stale air.  I wanted out of the gym and the more I wanted it the more I became afraid to test out my nimble, fragile leg on the treadmill.

Enter ... Hoka.  You know Hoka.  As in Hoka One One.  As in Hoka One One Bondi.  The overstuffed lightweight training shoe that is raved about by the Ultra-running community.  I don't think it's caught on that much yet with us road-runners, but I began researching the shoe.  I needed pillows to run on and if I was going to test my nimble, fragile leg on a run, I didn't want to do it in the same shoes that I was using when I incurred the injury.  So.  I read, and read, and read about the Hoka.  I read reviews, I read stats, I watched videos and I had a runner friend against whom I bounced the idea.  His reply - I am on my third pair of Hokas.  Love them.  Plain and simple.

They are not cheap shoes.  Thank you, thank you Santa Barbara Running, for donating gift certificates to the Santa Barbara Grand Prix.  Without that generous prize, these shoes might have been out of reach.

As soon as I could after Christmas, I went to SB Running and nabbed a pair of Hoka One One Bondi B Low road running model shoes.  I had to test them out on the treadmill before purchasing them of course so I was now going to once again test out my nimble, fragile leg as well.  The first few steps on the treadmill were exactly what I was hoping for.  I was running on pillows that were as light as fluffy, puffy clouds.  My foot strike sunk into the shoe and it took the impact that my foot usually takes.  The shoe flexed easily, was freakishly light, encouraged proper foot strike and was literally mind blowing.  I was so taken by the feel of the shoe that I forgot to notice that I was running and not having an ice pick hacking away at my ankle.  I'm running on the treadmill and it hardly hurts!

In hinds sight, it was determined that I had a nerve, a significant nerve, impinged in my heel/ankle.  My doctor continued to work on the tight muscles that could have been the culprit, but it was now improving since on that fateful day before Christmas when something "popped," the reality was that the nerve was finally released.  And healing began.

So, with my new Hokas in one hand and my ability to finally get out of the gym and into the fresh air to run in the other hand, my son Ryan and I hit the city college to do stadium steps.  It was the stadium steps that landed me on the slab of torture that I mentioned at the beginning of this post. 

With tight, sore hamstrings and a doctor determined to not let the nerve become impinged again, he informed me that I wasn't going to be too happy today.  You know what ART is?  He does that, he invented that.  So I endured and even participated in my own torture as I had to move my leg back and forth while he applied ... um ... pressure.  It's like purposefully keeping your hand in a flame, or repeatedly kicking your shin bone against a piece of sharp metal.  But it was magic.

For me it's hard to write about running when you can't do it.  As I write this, I am running again and feeling just fine now.  The healed and released nerve is part of the blessing, and the new shoes are the other part.  I believe that Hokas were made for me, and are made for anyone who has to spend so many miles on hard surfaces.

I'm finally able to look at the Spring and plan the races I will do.  This year will also include some triathlons so I am enjoying great bike rides with the SB tri club as part of my ongoing cross-training regimen and also am looking forward to the Carlsbad 5000 which I haven't been able to do for several years.  But this year it's going to happen.  John and I are populating our calendar with our race plans and it just feels good and right and I am not looking ahead with hesitation and having to wonder if I will be healed by then.  I am healed now.

SoCal USATF Cross-Country Grand Prix

Cross-country is not road racing.  Characterized by varying distances, often in between specific measurements, all sorts of surfaces and terrain, elevation gains and dips, run in seemingly remote locations, nature under you; over you; all around you, no worry of a PR because every race is a PR.  I took a break from the roads and did a small cross-country season and loved it.

The Southern California Association of USA Track and Field offered a sweet cross-country grand prix.  They compassionately offer prize money for the master's division and I always appreciate that.  As it turned out though, some of the toughest competition was in the master's division.

As previously reported, the first race for me in the series was a few weeks ago in Ventura, the Twilight's Last Gleaming 4 miler.  It was an awesome race featuring a long, steep climb in the first mile, the "Wall" in the 2nd mile, and an irate, dis-compassionate, unsportsman-like lunatic of a coach in the finishing mile.  That was last week's news.  The past two weeks brought a final qualifying race and a championship race.

The qualifying race was held last weekend at Will Roger's State Park in Pacific Palisades.  This spectacular park sits up in the Santa Monica Mountains and features an almost continuous view of the Pacific Ocean.  The park also possesses the only remaining polo field in LA.  When I arrived on the crisp, dry Saturday, I was first greeted by a herd of grazing deer.  No matter how many deer I see in my lifetime, I will always find them breath-taking to behold.  They paid no mind to me and I watched them buck around, drink and graze while I began my warm-up.  The air that morning was too dry, too hot and I knew that regardless of pace or effort, it was going to hurt to breath.  Dry air is a nemesis of mine and causes my bronchial tubes to rebel into spasm and chaos.  Unfortunately, this tends to begin with my first hard breath, and in this case, lasted a whole week following the race. 

I got a nice verbal course description from one of my fellow competitors.  She told me the 4.5 mile course is two loops up to Inspiration Point.  What?  Two?  Up?  Yah, so basically you go 1 mile up, 1 mile down, 1 mile up, 1 mile down, and then you drag your butt around the polo field to the finish.  See, cross-country is so cool.  It is fully unpredictable. 

The races were run by gender, so our race featured the 8 female competitors who needed this race to complete their two race requirement for the grand prix.  There were 4 open women (39 and under) and 4 master's women.  Need I say I began to worry about having to bring up the rear? 

There was no gun.  There was simply a "go."  What is it with these LA women - they have no sense of pacing.  Everyone took off like they were running a downhill mile and there's only 8 of us so you have to hang.  It's hard to run your own race in such a setting.  But it wasn't long before everyone began to slow, string out along the course in a particular order, and breath with much difficulty as the course wound up onto the first loop of the switch-backs to the top.  I settled in somewhat near two of the other master's women, but didn't keep track of anyone else.  I had no idea what place I was in, nor did it matter that much to me.  I knew a few were behind me and a few were ahead of me.  I was in pain.  Every breath hurt from the beginning and the 80'ish degree air at 8:00 am in the morning might as well have been 100 degrees in Death Valley.  The only race urge in me was to simply keep moving in forward motion hoping for the elusive "top of the hill" to come very soon.  I tried to put out of my mind the fact that this was only loop #1.  Up, up, up we strode and I may have passed someone, I'm not sure.  When we crested the top I saw a few ladies not far ahead, striding into the long, gradual downhill.  They were right there, yet they were so far away.  I had hoped the downhill would bring recovery and relief but though the pace naturally quickened, my lungs still screamed for mercy.  Dry, hot, dusty air and spasming bronchial tubes.

On the next loop, the female directly ahead of me finally gave in to the relentless climb back up and doubled over for some gasps of air.  I passed her feeling the urge to encourage her but having no strength of voice to force the words.  I could relate to the pain she must have been feeling but in my mind I reminded myself to just keep moving - once I made it to the next top, it was downhill from there.  So I journeyed on with painful breaths, saw the gap widen between me and the other "old lady" ahead of me.  Finally to the top of the second loop, I fell into the downhill with grateful loping strides but still found it difficult to push and to breath.  I did my best to let my body do most of the work using gravity instead of power.  I held my own and finally found the finish chute in 4th place.  Beaten by only one Open woman, I finished as the third master.  Old ladies rule.

My lungs were very unhappy and I struggled to breath for a while after I finished.  Each breath remained painful for the remainder of the day and into the next.  From there I suffered with a lingering sore throat while coughing to remove stuff that shouldn't be there. It was like I had this awful chest cold, only I didn't have a cold.  I just had all the symptoms. This lasted through the week and unfortunately followed me into the final championship race.

The Championship race was held this past Saturday at Kenneth Hahn Park in West LA.  This park has a reputation.  The reputation is ... gophers.  Randomly in the days before, three different people mentioned to me the issue of gopher holes at this particular location.  This park features a crater-like grass oval that can only be described as a gopher and ground squirrel's best friend and a runner's worst nightmare.  The course was of European design which meant, all grass, and was a 3 loop 6K distance.  To say that there was no fair footing to manage on this course would be an understatement.  It was fully riddled with trap-doors of collapsing tunnels, tufts of crab grass mixed with thick soggy areas, random holes and to make it all the more fun, a steep climb up a root infested hill onto a gruesome false flat.  And this was to be done three times.  It was awesome!  Like, true cross-country with the real threat of bodily harm.  John and I laughed audibly many times while warming up and trying to do strides on the opening 25 meter stretch had me almost rolling on the ground with "you gotta be kidding me" belly giggles.  The funniest thing though was listening to the other master's runners, especially the men - in fact only the men.  They were like the biggest weenies, complaining about the injuries they were sure to get.  The "I'm too old for this" cross-sectioned with "well, I'm not going to be able to do more than 10 minute pace on this junk."  "Should I keep my bi-focals on?  Can't see the contour of the ground as well with my bi-focals."  Then the guys tried to psyche themselves up.  One coach called his old guys together for a huddle and pep-talk.  "Shoot.  I didn't come to this race to get injured."  "Huh, you should have seen last year's course - it was even worse." 

So the master's men and women toed the line of this championship course while the race director, who was also running in the race, explained the course.  "The red flags are always on your Left, and the green flags are always on your Right, the blue flags just mean go straight on either side."  Wait a minute, the red flags are on the left, or right, can't remember.  No gun, just a "go."  And we were off like a limping flock of albatross trying to catch flight but unable to muster the speed.  The first thing I notice is a couple of orange cones ahead of me.  He didn't say anything about cones. Which side should I take to go around them?  That lunatic coach is watching.  Oh heck, I'll just jump over them.  Oh, is that a big hole - out of my mouth comes, "Um, I guess those were there for a reason."  But no broken ankle yet.  What is it with me and the orange cones?  Dead on, I hit the next orange cone, like I'm attracted to them or something.  Cones, I discovered, mean "hazzard".  They needed about 500 more orange cones out there.  Down the grass, around the big tree, back up the grass, arms flying all over the place, around the next bend, through the sloshy, thick, wet grass section, up the steep ground squirrel mountain, over the roots, yes, lungs burning already and it's only loop #1.  The best footing was up along the rim and we actually had the option of jumping onto the pavement up there for a short stretch.  Ah ankle and knee relief, but back onto the grass for the "if you make it down without breaking something it's a miracle" downhill portion.  From there it was through the desert of gopher holes (and this is where the tunnels will cave in under your feet so step lightly), around another tree, but make sure that green flag is to your right, um or left, can't remember.  Back up through gopher hole haven (must have been a resort area for them) around another bend and back to the start for the beginning of loop #2.

Three of those and then finally, and although it was only 23 minutes, it felt like an hour so when I say finally, I mean FINALLY, I make some sort of effort to finish strong, or at least to finish standing up.  The finish always means one thing first ... Oxygen.  They placed the medal around my neck while I was leaning forward shamelessly on my knees.  My predecessors were lying around in heaps so I know we all had a similar race.  Three seems to be my lucky number.  I was yet again third master's female.  With this concluding race being worth double points, I also secured third place in the grand prix.

Cross-country as I said, is unpredictable.  That's what makes it so fun.  I enjoyed my short little cross-country season.  It was a fitting end to a long come-back from a year of injury and to make it through these last three grueling races without re-injuring myself must be a good sign.  Challenges strengthen us.  I feel stronger.

While in West LA, John and I visited the Nike store in Santa Monica.  We saw a replica of Steve Prefontaine's track shoes made by Bill Bowerman in 1969.  It had "Pre" still visible on the heel and featured sandpaper for added traction. How cool is that.  A real piece of running history.  Oh how far our shoes have come in just a few short decades.

The Twilight's Last Gleaming

As a possibly historic storm system is bearing down upon our East coast, I jest to a New Yorker on the phone today, "Yah, ummm.  It's ummm. It's 85 degrees and pristine today.  How's it looking for you."  I did wish the New Yorker safety and truly hope all our fellow countrymen stay safe and protected through the storm.

On Saturday, John and I took an evening trip to Ventura to compete in the first race of a Southern California USATF cross-country Grand Prix Series.  Well, it was actually the third race in the series but the first for us, and will be followed by another cross-country race next weekend, and will culminate the week after that with the SoCal USATF Section Championship.  Three cross-country races in three weeks.  It almost feels like the college cross-country season again ... except I'm not 22 anymore.

The weather Saturday was as it has been lately, hot and dry and the later evening hour didn't cool the air at all.  We were inland running the trails of Arroyo Verde Park.  It is a new favorite running spot of mine.  We arrived at 4:00 PM to register for The Twilight's Last Gleaming Cross Country Challenge.  The race cost a mere $10 per runner ($8 for return runners) and you had to pay a $5 penalty for registering early.  Andrew, the race organizer (he refers to himself as the race disorganizer) has a sweet sense of humor.  In fact, he must have been laughing a deep belly laugh 27 years ago when he planned this USATF certified 4 mile race course.  His primary course description goes something like this:  "This course is un-runable.  It is manageable only by Sherpas and mountain goats."  He finds humor in this.  I found challenge in it.  The first mile includes a lengthy steep, unrelenting slope up a city street.  But more on the course later.

I decided a few weeks ago, as I have been already dabbling in some of the SoCal USATF races and grand prix series events, to compete in the Cross-country grand prix.  In order to fully qualify for grand prix prize money, I would need to complete two events plus the championship event so our friendly Ventura race was a must do.  The remaining two races take place in Los Angeles.

So here we were, warming up on a grassy knoll in a wooded park that formed a valley, or maybe it was a wide canyon, in the middle of mountains.  I read the course description twice.  Neither time did it make a bit of sense, nor did it make any more sense when our humorous race disorganizer described it at our starting line.  The race is challenging and has a lot of up - that part I pretty much grasped and I otherwise hoped for a lot of volunteers or at least lots of chalk to define the particulars.  The Twilight's Last Gleaming has a 27 year history, and is characterized by uniqueness.  For one, it is indeed an evening race, run in the twilight.  Also, it is inexpensive and there is no chance of pre-registration.  It is not a profit making event but rather an event of community and camaraderie; runners doing what they do.  The age groups are segmented by 6 year increments instead of 5.  My age group was 42-47.  The fee covered only the essentials of park rental, sanction and insurance fees and awards.  We registered by writing our name and address on a piece of paper, no race numbers were used.  The average amount of runners to attend is 60, but there were fewer this year.  There were only 6 females in this year's race.  Andrew keeps a Top Ten times list and age group records.  The female record is help by Sylvia Mosqueda, a former elite American runner and still a formible Masters runner.  The four mile course takes approximately 5-7 minutes longer than the same distance on a normal course.  For a female to go under 30 minutes would be a huge accomplishment and only a few have ever done it.  This is just one of those unique perfect little races.  Just my kind of race, just my kind of course.

Now to the real point of this blog post.  Controversy and anguish.  There was an LA team attending this year's race, among which were all men, and one female.  They were fun and friendly, and like everyone else, were feeling the dry air in every pore wondering what kind of hell they were about to enter.  Many of the other racers in attendance were those who never fail to show up to the yearly challenge in the twilight.  There was also a 52 year old long time racer who held many of the top 10 times run on the course, including the record for my age group.  Unusual for me, I was calm and looking forward to the hills and the challenge.  I felt no feeling of competition but rather I felt we were all in this together - one of those "watch out for your fellow runner and leave no man or woman behind."  But too, I was running for grand prix points, so yes, I did intend to win.

Sometime after 5:00 PM our race disorganizer called everyone to the starting line.  He spent a gracious 8 or so minutes telling us the history of the race and detailing the ups and ups of the course.  First there was the steep road mile, then the pitted hard and soft ground which constituted the trails that lead back down and through the park.  There was this hideous thing called "The Wall" that was to hit around 2 miles, but there were a lot of other ups before The Wall, and many treacherous downs as well.  So on he spoke while runners stretched and fidgeted, with a few nervous chuckles thrown in.  Then finally the gun (and yes he used a gun - he's totally old school - I love it).  We took off with long strides up, over and down a grassy slope, onto the park road, through the skinny, narrow "you could lose some skin here" gait out of the park, up a steep "are you kidding me" cliff and whew! out into traffic, up the street to the other street.  The other street is the steep street and there was an immediate separation of men from mice.  I had already settled well close to the front, with mostly LA running club guys in red ahead of me, with a few of the locals in there too.  No girls though.  No girls anywhere close.  This was just one of those slow, steady, short strided grinds and you just do it.  You just get it done.  Up, up, up, very steep, then a leveling off, almost a slight down slope but then turn the corner and even more up, up, up.  But now I can see where runners are leaving the street back onto the path and I know exactly how much hill hell is left.  I shuffled past the first mile and received a nice "great job" from Andrew who had dragged his car up the hill in time to read out splits - not that you really want to hear 8:05 at your first mile, but he did warn us that this would be our slowest mile of the year.  Now the narrow downhill along a ridge line lay ahead and I followed a youngster down this spine, wanting to pass but having no room to do so.  I hung behind until we got vomited out (it was like a straight vertical path formed by water run-off that fed us onto another trail) onto a new and wider path and I challenged my young running buddy as we began to ascend another relentless part of the course.  We came to an even steeper hill and I though surely this must be the dreaded "Wall."  No, it wasn't.  The Wall was still to come.  Up, up, sometimes a little level and down, up, up we climbed toward the top of the park.  There came a time when the trail stayed level and went straight but our course turned right and bam, there was "The Wall."  I'm not a mountain goat and my lungs were beyond dry and dusty and screaming at me but I was catching the two guys ahead of me, Mr. Yellow and Mr. Sweaty Gray.  We finally crested this monster and were greeted by sandy, soft switch backs back down to the park and I hung with Yellow and Gray and tried to enjoy the ride.  We past the Beware of Rattlesnakes sign and proceeded straight across and followed the little flags that showed us the course.  Unfortunately there really weren't many volunteers to help us find our way so, here it goes, Mr. Yellow and Mr. Gray ... and I ... missed a right hand turn that was to take us to a path just above where we were running.  We followed a different set of flags and soon found that we were in the wrong spot.  I have never, and I have run competitively since I was 9 years old, ever gotten a course wrong.  Never.  The three of us at some point knew that we were running parallel to the course but off of the appropriate path.  We stopped, U-turned, ran back several yards until a spectator showed us we were supposed to be on the path just above.  With me now in the lead, we climbed up a steep ravine (thank you very much) and got back on course.  The remainder of the race was along this path, across the grass, onto a path on the other side of the park, up and down, until we came to a hairpin turn, down to the BBQ area, up around the round about full of palm trees, back onto the park grass until finally we had a 50 foot run up to the finish line.  It was on this final up hill that I was greeted by the angry accusations from the LA coach that I cheated.  He yelled at me as I was still running, so that for sure everyone in the area could clearly hear, that I skipped a section.  He also informed everyone in the vicinity that I was not an official finisher (just me, apparently Mr. Yellow and Mr. Gray get to be official finishers but I don't).  I crossed the line in 30:55 and my GPS showed that I completed 3.99 miles.  Mr. Yellow's GPS showed 4.17 miles (and mind you, John's GPS said 4.00 exactly and he ran the proper way).  We did indeed miss a right turn but essentially ran the same distance and the same basic slope in parallel to the trail up above.  I knew we had made a mistake so that wasn't so much of an issue.  What was an issue was the insinuation that I did so on purpose.  Like I really need to cheat to beat a girl I was already 2 minutes head of anyway.  It got even more ugly.  I was fully aware of our mistake and was fully prepared to let the race disorganizer do what he thought was best.  I did NOT appreciate a rapidly approaching LA coach yelling at me that I was disqualified from the grand prix.  I told him I know we accidentally missed the turn and that once we discovered it, we back tracked and got back on course.  I showed him my watch which showed the mileage I ran (he didn't bother looking at it).  When his girl came through to the finished he yelled, loudly mind you, good job, you're the first woman. This was to clearly inform me and everyone else that I indeed didn't count.  He looked back at me and informed me that I missed some huge section of the course.  Really, I missed a huge section of the course but yet still ran the same distance?  Later, one of the many compassionate on-lookers took me on the section I missed.  Like I said, we paralleled the course.  I ran virtually the same course except down below it and did not in any way miss a huge section of the course.  We also had backtracked, ran on a grass and wood chip path instead of dirt, had to stop, panic and u-turn, and ran up a steep hill to get back to where we needed to be.  I felt assaulted by this man and for what?  There was no logic in his motive except that he was looking for a cheap one single point for his female runner whom I easily beat.  But the fact remained and I knew it, that I did not complete the USATF course.  I could blame it on poor course marking and/or lack of direction on the course, or I could blame it on Mr. Yellow and Mr. Gray whom I was following.  But the fact is, it was my responsibility and I had to settle in my mind that this year's cross-country grand prix was not to be.  If I was disqualified I wouldn't have enough races to qualify for prize money.  It was in the hands of Andrew and Andrew had already been well informed by LA coach that I was not the official winner, that I cut the course, that I didn't complete the officially measured USATF course.  In the midst of this, the theme of The Twilight's Last Gleaming faded as the sun set.  I did not feel camaraderie any longer.  I felt attacked by a fellow runner/coach, relentlessly and discompassionately. 

I turned in my finisher's card and wrote on the bottom that I had missed a turn, ran the wrong way, back tracked as soon as I knew, and that my GPS read 3.99.  When Andrew was placing the finisher cards on the results board, he called my number and I walked up and began explaining.  He gently interrupted me before I finished and said, "I know what happened, and this is how I'm going to handle it.  I'm not going to disqualify you because that would put you out of the grand prix.  However, I can't name you as the winner but will still award you with your age group win.  Your time won't count for any records or Top Ten."  He pointed out that he himself is in charge of the scoring for the grand prix and since I'm in the Master's division and my fellow LA competitor is merely in her 20's, there is no reason why my race should be stripped as it would be no benefit to her anyway.  I thanked him exceedingly for not disqualifying me and for allowing me to collect the points, received my age group award tile pictured above and went home with John feeling like I had snakes in my belly.  I couldn't easily or readily get the whole experience out of my mind.  My time would have placed me 7th on the top ten list but I will have to wait one more year and hope for another strong race next year in order to officially post it.

Next Sunday I will head to Pacific Palisades to run another cross-country race.  I will see LA coach again.  Perhaps he will be less vocal this time, especially since John reprimanded him for his conduct.

It remains to be seen how this will really play out.  I'm unclear on how I will be scored for this race and don't know if I will even be listed among the participants in the results.  Will I be listed with an * next to my name which let's everyone know of my mistake.  Oh, and by the way, Mr. Yellow and Mr. Gray were completely unaffected by this little mistake.  No one even noted that they too had missed a turn.  LA coach could care less.  He was interested in pointing the finger only at me because he felt his runner had something to gain if I was disqualified.

I believe Andrew is an excellent race disorganizer and he handled the situation in a way that worked out for everyone.  By next week, hopefully this will be out of my head and I'll be ready for the next one, and then onto the championship race and possibly a little prize money.  And like I told Greg, the coach from San Fernando Valley who apologized to me on behalf of all coaches for the conduct of LA coach, it's yet another lesson learned.

Beware of the Super Anti's

I'm a self-proclaimed "naturalist."  Don't know the term?  That's ok.  I think I just made it up.  Here's an explanation.  I like to live my life naturally as much as possible.  Or at least as much as I deem comfortably, but not obsessively, possible.  I gave birth to both of my children at home with a mid-wife, no doctor involved, no hospital involved, certainly no drugs involved.  They were both born with the highest possible APGAR scores and could hold their heads up without support from their first intake of O2 into their strong lungs.  Something else I'm natural about.  My health care.  As a rule, I don't take prescription drugs, nor over-the-counter drugs.  I try to keep my body strong by using it for exercise and feeding it right.  When I have a sinus infection, cold, random symptom, I let my body work it out.  No drugs, no antibiotics.  I one time sat with John in a doctor's off and listened to a physician, who knew nothing about John, didn't know the cause of his ailment, had not run any tests, etc..., tell John he was going to prescribe him Lipitor.  "Well," says the physician, "when such and such and so and so happens, at such and such an age, we like to see our patients take Lipitor."  I felt my blood pressure rise and tried to control the quiver in my voice, working hard not to jump at the well educated professional's jugular, as I turned to John and said, no ... you don't need that drug.  Lipitor, one of many drugs which has side effects that are worse than the problem they are meant to fix.

Well this "naturalist" had a Urinary tract infection crop up a few weeks ago.  Because I knew this was one of those issues that if left unattended to, can become a much bigger problem, I visited a doctor knowing I would likely be prescribed a mild antibiotic.  Tetracycline or maybe a penicillin drug, which I knew were generally safe.  This was a big deal for me to visit a doctor and working through the dilemma of needing help to rid my body of an infection.  I have to, even in my desire to be as natural as possible, admit that our environment challenges our natural health and sometimes, yes, we need a drug.  So yes, off to the doctor, yada yada yada, 30 minutes and $100 later, boom, yes it is confirmed a UTI.  No big deal, we'll just give you this drug and you will be a new person.  "You will be a new person" were his exact words.  It's been a long time since I've taken an antibiotic, years and years.  I didn't realize the mostly harmless Tetracycline and penicillin drugs are basically obsolete having been overtaken by a new generation of Super Anti's.  I got my prescription ... wow, I only have to take 6 pills?  That's only three days and then I'll be a new person.  I picked it up at the window and in my busy day, rushed back home to resume my workday.

I read labels.  I read the extensive list of potential side effects of this Super Anti - by the way Cipro is it's formal name.  It is a fluoroquinolone - more on that in a moment.  I read the label from top to bottom and side to side and was suddenly conflicted.  I didn't want this stuff in my body.  Maybe I shouldn't have read the label and just mindlessly took the poison.  What happened to the old school antibiotic, the pink bubblegum stuff which I know would have sufficed?  This stuff was an automatic weapon and I was afraid it would take out more than just the infection.  Options, options, options.  What do I do?  Do I just take the stupid stuff - It's only 6 tablets total?  I was stressed with work, had no time to go back to the doc's office, was experiencing discomfort and feeling run down with a low grade fever and I wanted this infection to just be eradicated.  I tossed this all around in my head, and finally decided to go ahead and take the junk. 

Here's what Cipro (and all flouroquinolones) can do:  A far too common well-known "side effect" is spontaneous tendon ruptures, especially of the Achilles tendon.  The doc who prescribed this knew I was an athlete.  Cipro also causes toxicity in any number of body parts, most commonly in muscles/tendons, to the Central nervous system, eyes, liver and kidneys.  In 10% of the population, the body cannot rid itself of the drug ever.  A very recent article in the New York Times outlines in dramatic fashion, the dangerous side effects of these new widely used antibiotics.  Please feel free to read the article itself: http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/09/10/popular-antibiotics-may-carry-serious-side-effects/  There have been numerous lawsuits filed.

For someone like me who just hates medication, this has been a hellish month.  I had immediate effects from the drug including nausea, light-headedness and dizziness, heart and respiratory issues, and yes, a severe reaction in my R posterior tibial tendons.  Just a few days after finishing the three day cycle of ingestion of the poison, I attended the Tuesday evening track workout with Mike Swan and the gang.  I felt ok prior to the workout, but once we began the intervals I was surprised to find that I quickly fatigued within even the first 200 meters of each interval, feeling like I had a tight rubber band strapped around my chest.  I was wheezing and my heart was working inefficiently.  I had to drop out of the intervals several times and couldn't recover in between.  I ended up leaving the workout early, feeling dizzy, wiped out, and frustrated. 

The next day, without direct cause, I woke up with an odd feeling of soreness in my inner lower calf.  It was clearly swollen and I could feel a soreness with my walking gait but the muscles and tendons themselves didn't seem to be directly involved in the motion of walking.  The soreness seemed to be in the stabilizing muscles and tendons and hurt acutely when I rolled my ankle from side to side.  I swam that night instead of running, and while in the pool began to experience the same constriction I felt the night before on the track.  I was in oxygen debt even while just warming up and I could feel the lack of oxygen all the way to my fingertips.  I wasn't able to draw in enough and my heart was working too hard for such a minimal effort.  By now I wasn't wondering if this was Super Anti related, I knew it was.

The following day I did my usual moderate pushed pace run, and handled it cardio-vascularly but had intense pain in that posterior tibial area and in my hip (how random is that).  I don't have issues with these body parts ever.  I ended the run limping and swollen.  From there I decided to cross-train until I could see the Chiropractor early the next week.  The issue persisted even though I wasn't running and seemed most effected by non-running movements.  This wasn't a "running" injury.  It made no sense and although one area was clearly swollen, the pain was manifested in various places.  This happened to be an area of the leg that contained many deeper tendons which attached the calf muscles to the ankle, foot and shin bones.  They were clearly all inflamed as confirmed by the Chiropractor. Is it a stress-fracture, is it a deep vein thrombosis?

A week later I was running a 10 miler with a fast running buddy, and felt pretty good, and was spending time being thankful that I felt pretty good.  But around mile 3, my heart began fluttering (palpitating) and pumping inefficiently again, and I felt as if all the blood (along with its O2) drained out of my body.  I had immediate fatigue down to my fingertips and felt dizzy.  I figured I'd keep going until I dropped or until my heart corrected itself.  Thankfully my heart did correct itself and so I mentioned nothing to my running partner.  It happened one other time on that run.

I have poisoned my body.  I took a drug that was literally poisonous and toxic.  Yep, I am indeed a new person doctor.  Thanks.  But I had it easy compared to many, many others (if you read that article above you will see what I mean).  Others have lost their vision, have psychological issues, seizures, weakness and loss of all manner of strength, and kidney failure.  The Super Anti's, which should only be used for life-threatening infections, are being widely prescribed for every little thing.  It's like killing a fly with a machine gun.  The fly isn't the only thing eradicated unfortunately.

Over the past week or so I have had complete resolution of the posterior tibial issue.  It's gone, completely without a trace.  My visit back to the track this week was a bit better although I still felt some constriction and difficulty with breathing, but it was much better than a few weeks prior.  It is my hope that my body is capable of ridding itself of this toxin, and that seems to be the case, but I don't feel completely back to normal yet.

Tomorrow John and I will be competing in the Santa Monica 5000.  I am in good fitness but I have this big question mark - how will my body react when I push it to the limit?  Will my heart flutter?  Will I be able to breath?  It makes it hard to have competitive confidence, but I am hopeful for a good race.

My plea to anyone who reads this is to be proactive regarding your medical care.  I should have asked questions when this drug was prescribed.  I should have asked for the most mild possible remedy and insisted on it.  If you aren't already, be aware that today's antibiotics are harmful and don't be fooled by the lie that side effects are rare.  Everyone has side effects from these drugs.

So onward to Santa Monica and free breathing (even though we will be breathing in LA air which is also toxic).  I wish the best to all of those who are racing this weekend in various places: Goleta, Solvang, Long Beach, Chicago, 100K ultras ... Do your best!