Workout recaps...sort of

I strained my quad muscles due to overtraining a few weeks ago.  I should've slowed down earlier, because I could feel an old injury in my hip flexor flaring up.  I just felt so good that I decided to ignore niggles, push through all out pain, and run multiple days in a row when I know my body starts to get angry when I run more than two days in a row.  Finally, after running three days in a row--again--and coming home in so much pain I thought I would throw up, I decided to take a week off of running.  It was a good call.  I actually took off 9 days.  I felt perfect after 5, but kept resting for good measure.  I found I liked resting...a lot!  So much so it took all I had in me to wake up this week for my runs...

Mon- 5 @9:09 pace, no pain

Wed-5 @9:30 Pace, no pain

Thurs-200m swim, during safety break.  Received the best compliment ever!  "You're getting faster, Mom!"  I really appreciated my kids cheering me on poolside, even if only for a few minutes.

Fri-3.5 @9:18, stopped run early due to tightening in quad.  No pain.  Came home and felt really tight and within a few hours had actual pain.  I re-taped, iced, and all that fun stuff. 

Sat- 1400m swim.  THAT IS ALOST ONE MILE!!!!!!!  I was in the water for about an hour, but actual swimming time was about 35 min.

KT tape is my best friend, if you didn't know that already.  

During my rest week, I traded my running days for swim days.  

Mon-700 m swim, (100m kicks, 5X100m freestyle, 100m kicks)

Wed-900m swim (can't remember the breakdown, but it was similar to Mon, just with more laps)

Fri--700m swim

Sat-800m swim

I am getting so much better at my freestyle.  I can now breathe bilaterally, and am very comfortable breathing from my left side. I also feel much smoother in the water.  I still need to hire someone to help me out on my form, or at least have my husband record me.  

Today I started learning the breaststroke.  I have a long way to go, but after a few drills I was able to swim 100m breaststroke.  By the last 25m I felt like I was getting a bit of rhythm, or at least I was at a point where I could say "I get it!...I think."  Haha!

I can't swim, but I want to Tri

I am not a swimmer.  Before this Summer, I think the last time I swam a lap was in the 6th grade during a swim class.  At that time in my life I really loved to swim.  I remember asking my mom if I could join swim team.  She said swim team was only for the good swimmers. ** Ouch! Alas, I swapped training suits for cute tankinis and goggles for tanning oil and spent the next twenty years poolside.  Much like me in this photo.  

This is the life!

In May, Ironman Texas took place just minutes from my house.  I ran down and watched the swimmers and was bitten by a bug.  I can't do that! I thought. Swim two miles!  That's crazy!  But those kinds of thoughts get me thinking and I thought and thought and realized that I want to do that!

But I can't swim.  My mom told me so when I was in the 6th grade.  I'm probably going to drown.  All these thoughts passed through my brain as I slipped on my goggles for the first time a few weeks later
.

My heart raced and panic ensued.  I'm gunna die! I'm gunna die!  Then I realized I could still reach...and the side was two feet away if I got in trouble.  I swam 400 m, stopping every 25 m to catch my breath.

I got home and watched about a zillion youtube videos on swim technique and breathing.  Just four lap sessions later, I swam 700 m and only had stop every 50 m.  Improvement.  The most major being that I don't think I'm going to drown anymore.

I've got a long way to go.  But don't say "Can't" in my hearing. I might just respond with one of my favorite childhood poems.

Feeling pretty cool after swimming 700m.   Don't worry. My ego
was tempered by the babies that passed me in the fast lane!

"Listen to the mustn't, child.  Listen to the dont's.  Listen to the shouldn't, the impossibles, the won'ts.  Listen to the never haves then listen close to me...Anything can happen, child.  Anything can be."--Shel Silverstein

**As a sidenote, I must add that my mother is amazing.  She is not a mean person, just human.

Taking on Challenges to beat a Challenge: Post-Partum Depression and Anxiety

Depression.  Anxiety.  Meds.  They all felt like dirty words.  I didn't want to admit that maybe I had it, or maybe I needed them.

The hopeless feelings started shortly after the birth of my fifth child.  I think it was a build up of a few things. Lingering feelings of loss after my miscarriage ten months before Luke's birth, the difficulty with being the primary caregiver for five children, and possibly from  the hemorrhaging that left me weak and tired for the next few weeks after his birth.  I don't know.  Maybe it was just my turn.  Maybe even if none of those things happened, maybe I would've been depressed anyway.

These guys are always my biggest cheerleaders.  I love them so much!

Luke ended up hospitalized at three weeks old.  He had the flu.  I was already exhausted but watching my tiny baby hooked up to tubes and monitors took what little bits of myself that I had managed to pull together and rip it all apart.  Luke came home after a few days perfectly healthy.  I pretended to be. I blamed my exhaustion on the recent birth, my short temper on the trials of taking care of five kids and a household.  As soon as my husband would come home from work, I would hand over the responsibilities and lock myself in my room.  

I knew I wasn't feeling right.  I would lose my temper at the drop of a hat--but I've always been passionate.  It was easy to write off initially.  But then new feelings were also taking over--things that usually would be a breeze for me kept me awake all night.  Planning for Cubscout day camp, something I had done a few times before with minor annoyance, kept me awake for more than three weeks straight.  

I blamed it on my birth control.  I called my doctor, switched meds, and weaned my baby.  All those things helped.  Thinking my hormones were the only issue, I decided everything was fine.  

This is where I didn't want to go.  It's a stressful vacation with babies,
and my anxiety was already crippling me.  I wasn't sure I could handle the added stress.

Only, it wasn't.  Anxiety over an upcoming vacation (that I really didn't want to go on) was crippling me.  My husband and I were fighting constantly about the vacation.  Somehow we made in onto the plane without killing each other, only to come off it with a three month old baby with a fever.  

That week was hell.  I was already on the edge, but then I was stuck in the middle of nowhere (literally more than an hour from the closest hospital) with a feverish baby who couldn't sleep.  The diagnosis of pneumonia pushed me over.  Or maybe it saved me.  A week of people trying to convince me my baby was fine, when I could see he was clearly not, made me think that I might truly be crazy.  I was glad to know that I wasn't, but wondered why I couldn't calm down.  

Now that Luke was on the mend, shouldn't my heart stop racing?  Shouldn't I be able to sit back and enjoy life?  Luke was sleeping again, shouldn't I be able to sleep?  But none of that happened.  Instead I slept less and felt less.  The only thing I did feel was a growing hatred to my children, particularly my two year old girl.  

She looks tired in this picture. All her pictures from this period look tired.
 I think I did that to her.  She was confused. My doctor let me know that I was not alone. That I could be cured.

Can you imagine how horrible it feels to know you brought a life into this world and you wished that life was gone?  I wish I never felt that way, but I did.  Even now, knowing it was the disease and not me, I don't want to admit that I had those feelings. I needed to admit I had them.  It was the only way to get the help I needed.

Back at home, I would call my husband often and begged him to come home from work.  Big deals at work meant he never could. Luckily a friend called out of the blue one day and asked if she could watch my kids the next morning.  I took her up on that offer and many times after.  She always seemed to call when things were at there worst and offer me what I needed most--a few hours child free.

I hated asking for help.  It was like admitting I was a failure at my vocation of choice--motherhood.

I knew I needed to change.  Running had always been my solace.  Emily, a person I had never met before, posted on a Facebook page that she was new in town and in need of running partners.  I'd given up running two years before.  But I needed something and running and always provided that something before.

Within a few weeks, I had worked up from barely being able to finish three miles, to barely being able to finish five.  It felt great.  I felt better.  

Or so I thought.  Running didn't heal me, but it certainly helped me see through the haze.

Driving down the road and imagining running off it doesn't exactly equal better.  Screaming at children for the literal spilled milk doesn't exactly equal better.  It was time to call my doctor.  She offered me medication.  The "M" word.  Reluctantly, I filled the prescription.  

I caught myself singing.  Luke smiled and I was singing.  I smiled.  When was the last time I had sung my baby a song?  I couldn't remember.  I wanted to cry.  Only a week on the medication and I was singing.  And snuggling with my two year old.  And loving it!  I love to snuggle.  Especially with her. I had forgotten that I liked snuggling with my babies...and my big kids!  Suddenly they wanted to be near me, too, now that I didn't yell at them for looking at me funny.

This is the little girl that I know and love.  Whimsical and fun.  Always a treat! (unless it's nap time)

But still I wasn't better.  The medication let me see that.  It made things clear. It separated reality from the dark-fiction my mind created.  I could see I had a long way to go.  But now how to overcome?  

I needed a project.  A big one.  Something that would help me find me again.

Normally, when I need a big project, I choose my writing.  But writing pulls me right where I didn't need to be.  Writing locks me in a room, alone, for hours on end.  Something that normally I'd enjoy.  But now that was exactly what was hurting me.  I couldn't be there fraternizing with my demons.  I needed to be fighting them.  This time, that was not the way to go.

The answer was found at 5 am on a dark street. 

The marathon.

Running a marathon isn't about the last 26.2 miles.  It's about the hundreds before it.  It's about the black toes and sore muscles.  It's about the runs that feel easy and like you could fly.  But especially about the ones.  The ones that should be easy but leave you wanting to cry half a mile in.  It's about doing something hard, just because you can.  It's about making friends.  It's about being lonely with your thoughts and realizing you're not alone.  It's about finding your demons and then not only fighting them but destroying them.  

I love running.  I love finding my demons.  I love finding my "can'ts" and "won'ts" and "shouldn'ts."  I love doing the impossible.  Each step had been a fight against my depression.  Each step has shown me that I'm more than PPD.  I'm more than my anxiety.  

And maybe today I didn't complete that last repeat.  I can go home and cry about it or I can run tomorrow.  

And, fingers crossed that I won't strain my piriformis again, I will be running tomorrow.  Because it is a new day and a new chance to fight.  

I know.  Bad Picture.  About mile 6 of the marathon.
With my running buddy and one of my best friends.

Finally!

I think I've hit a breakthrough with my postpartum depression and anxiety.

Cub Scout Day Camp was last week.  Last year, I couldn't sleep for weeks before.  This year, I decided to not stress and I didn't.  If you've ever known anyone with depression or anxiety then you'll know that saying "Don't stress about it" is futile.  I promise, I wanted to be able to control my emotions.  I just couldn't.  But this year, I could.  And it felt good.

PPD is something I've been wanting to write about for a while.  I just don't know where to begin.  I will take this issue up soon.  Hopefully my experience will help someone.  Just know, that you if recently had a baby or are pregnant, and you don't feel right.  If you feel sad or helpless or even feel like you don't love your baby--YOU ARE NOT ALONE!  Yes, I did just yell.  You are not.  Get help. Don't be embarrassed.  PPD is treatable.  Don't let it take over your life.  You will get better.

A Little Bit of Everything

"Our Nation honors her sons and daughters who answered the call to defend a country they never knew and a people they never met."--from the Korean War Memorial

Happy Memorial Day.  A Big Thank You to all the men and women in this world who fight for freedom.

I am so grateful for all the members of the military, but especially my Papa and Grandaddy.

My Papa served in Okinawa.  He was a chaplain during WWII.  He had the heart of a warrior and the soul of a poet.

My Granddaddy served as a paratrooper (among other things) during the Korean War.    Bill Bone was a man of honor and integrity.  He was also the best Grandaddy in the whole wide world.

We've been having a blast the past few days.  Hanging at the Pool...

Going to the zoo...

 Falling down the stairs, and breaking our arms, and having emergency surgery...

Oh, wait!  That was not fun.  But it certainly was an adventure.  I did manage to make dinner once or twice this week.  Mac & Cheese or Ramen anyone?

I also cleaned my closet.  This was not fun, nor was it an adventure, but it was certainly rewarding.

And this little Crawdad was running down the street with us for a bit.  We also saw the most beautiful sunrise and a duck chased us for a bit.  At least it wasn't a skunk. (I've come across those before on the run.)

Happy Running!

Fighting with my feet.

For the past several months, on and off, I have had hip flexor pain and arch pain.  The pain in my hip flexor is very mild.  It went away for several weeks and then worked its way back in.  So not fun.  The foot pain is like a stabbing pull in my arch.  It goes away if I stretch my foot.  But it's not fun either.

After some field research (meaning I wore a new pair of shoes-my NB 5000 flats-- and, tada! The pain was gone!) I decided it was my shoes.  I really had to try something new for everyday trainers.

Mizuno Wave Riders have been my trusty go to shoe for years.  But I think I've outgrown them.  On long runs my feet start fighting them at the end.  I can't seem to get the lift and push that I want.  On shorter faster runs, the acceleration is not there.  When I wear my flats I feel like I'm flying.  Where as with my Waver Riders, I feel like the driver of a stalled engine at a busy intersection.  Come on!  I just want to go!  But there's no power behind the gas pedal.

I wore my Saucony Mirage 3's for a super short run this morning.  I ordered them months ago, but haven't really worn them for running.  I was too afraid to try something new during marathon training.  But now, since I'm not really training for anything, I thought it was a good time to pull them out.

Today's run was just a slow run with my son, but I felt good.  No sparring going on between my soles and my toes.   I also have Kinvara's arriving in the mail today.  I'm hoping one or both styles will be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

5k Time Trial #2

Guess I need to revise my training plan yet again cause I nailed my second time trial.

23:17.6 was my time for 3.12 miles. My goal was 23:59, so needless to say that I am pumped.  I dropped 1:20 off my last trial and came in :40 seconds faster than my A goal.  I guess that means I need to work harder and aim for higher goals.

My splits came in at 7:28, 7:39, 7:24, and :46 for the .1 (a 6:54 pace).  Yesterday was a nice day, not cold, but in the low 60s and low humidity. Hopefully that doesn't disqualify my results as I've been training in 80 degree heat for the past few weeks.

Mile two is mostly uphill so the slower pace doesn't surprise me.  I'll need to run some hills to cut off a few seconds from that stretch.  I was so happy to see that my final mile was my fastest.  It was a hard mile, but I pushed and was able to meet that goal as well.  Last trial, my final mile was my slowest.  I really want to work for a strong finish and I think I am getting there.

I wore my New Balance 5000.  Maybe this gave me an edge?  I don't know, but I felt so good out there.  I really watched my breathing and made it match my pace. Especially during the last few tenths when I was really tired.  I forced myself to breath harder, breathing one breath for every step--instead of one for every two (or one for every three) like I had been doing through out the rest of the race.

I've decided to aim for 22:59.  The temperature has been much hotter lately (this week a cool front came in--that's why I decided to run my time trial early), so I don't think it will be as easy as this week's trial.  Time to shave off the seconds!  Slowly but surely, it will be done.  22:59 here I come!