Right round, baby, right round

Like a slow moving record, baby.

I ran the entire Back Cove last night for the first time during this training.

I was psyched. I am psyched. I'm telling anyone who will listen (there aren't many) and I'm telling those who won't (who can't help but hear me anyway because I'm kind of loud).

The responses I've gotten: "That's nice" and/or "You haven't already done that?"

No, I haven't. I've GONE the entire way around with some running here, some walking there. But last night was the first all-the-way-around-without-stopping-or-walking jaunt around the Cove. Woooiiee!

So nobody else gives a damn. That's cool. Doesn't take away from the bright, sunshiny feeling I've had all morning. I suppose it isn't all that big a deal for most - but for me, it's big. Really big.

The irony is that I've still got a lingering tendon issue. John Rogers said, "Take it easy" last night. So I did - I slowed my pace. And that, my friends, made all the difference. I wasn't breaking land speed records, but let's be honest, I'm never, ever going to be fast. Maybe the aching tendon is just the world's way of telling me to slow the hell down.

After the run I stuck around to hear a local chiropractor talk about running form. He had videotaped some of the runners in the group last week (not me - I don't need to be seen running in slow motion. I am not Baywatch material) and he used the footage to point out some common running form issues.

He even had some of the people recline back on a massage table so he could test out muscle strength and lord knows what else to try and pinpoint whatever problem he suspected was occurring.

It was much-needed information right when it mattered. It ties directly back to my ankle - and the fact that I'm probably lacking strength in other muscles in my legs, which then puts undo pressure on the weaker muscles, causing them to strain.

A few years ago I trained for a half marathon back in Chicago. I was much more diligent about my training then - a real stickler for the schedule. But I also weight trained twice a week. Nothing too intense, but I meddled with the leg presses and leg extensions and calf raises and whatnot.

Last year I didn't incorporated any strength training - and I ended up with an injury. This year, again, I've failed to incorporate any strength training and, again, I'm hurting.

So, looks like somebody has to get her round-the-Cove running arse to the gym.

My Achilles is a-killing me

After last Thursday's run, my right Achilles tendon was noticeably sore. I didn't think much of it - chalked it up to the aftereffects of a good run.

The next morning it was still sore but I don't recall spending much time worrying over it. By yesterday morning I had forgotten it had bothered me at all. That is, until I got home from my morning run and realized it really hurt.

Crap. Flashbacks of last year's Beacon-killing ankle injury come thundering.

Is it the shoes? My form? Just a random act of tendon transgression?

I e-mailed Reach the Beacon trainer Michael Gaige about it - he suggested I massage it (to stimulate 'the body's natural healing process') and stretch the Achilles frequently by flexing my ankle & holding for 3-4 seconds. I did that often yesterday.

This morning it was better, though the soreness seems to have crept over to the outside of the ankle instead. Damn.

Reminds me of a comment a friend made to me recently after gazing upon my absurdly thin feet (I think we were talking about our flip-flops at the time - nothing kinky). "How do you run on those razors?" she asked. And I laughed, of course, because if you get the visual right it's pretty darn funny.

But now I think maybe these razors ain't made fer runnin'.

But I also think maybe I'm being melodramatic. I sustain regular - and harmless - injuries on a routine basis. They're always lame, barely visible scrapes and bruises that don't amount to anything despite my attempts to build up the injury by thrusting the scabbed knee or scratched elbow into everyone's face and talking about it incesstantly.

The most recent of my physical calamities is an eyelash-sized cut on my finger given to me courtesy of a yogurt lid. Yes, a yogurt lid. How does that even happen? I don't know. I suppose that's what I get for going probiotic.

At any rate, I ditched the run this a.m., figuring that if I didn't aggravate the tendon it'd likely quit it's yapping in a day or two.

Ticked off and paranoid

Admission: I didn't run this weekend.

I meant to, but then I forgot to and went ahead and took a shower and then remembered, "crap, I need to run," but like I said, I had already showered and if I went running I'd very likely get sweaty and nasty and I'd have to take yet another shower (because - let's be honest - not showering would be harmful to the people around me and maybe you think that's OK because you're not a very kind person but I don't find that very nice at all) and another shower means more water down the drain (literally) and I'm an Earth-friendly person (some times) and I recognize what a waste that is and I couldn't very well live with myself if I were some kind of wasteful, selfish water hog (because we've got one planet, one chance, people!) so I decided, after much reflection, a mug of coffee and some morning haiku writing, to forgo the run in honor of Mother Earth.

I feel OK about it. Though it'd be nice if you could stop rolling your eyes at me. It almost seems like you don't agree with my logic. That's OK, not everyone understands it at first. Keep practicing, work hard and one day - if you're lucky - it'll make sense.

I did run this morning at Macworth (again). It was a fairly decent jaunt for a Monday (when we're all a little sluggish). But I couldn't enjoy it as freely as I normally do thanks to a bothersome insect paranoia I developed over the weekend.

Saturday I was over in Naples enjoying the Maine Blues Festival - I was sitting at a table at Rick's, minding my own beeswax and being altogether well behaved when I felt the slightest itch in my left underarm. I moved to scratch it and when I did I felt something. It was something small, like a mole maybe, but the mole detached from my skin when I grabbed it between my fingers. And FYI, moles aren't supposed to do that.

I looked down at my finger and there rested one small, hostile little tick. I don't know how I know he was hostile, but I figured if I was hovering over a Volkswagen-sized pile of cross-cut fries and some big-handed jerk plucked me away before I could dive in, I'd be hostile.

At any rate, for the rest of the evening I continued to feel phantom insects. On the back of my neck, on my forearm, everywhere.

And then this morning, as I'm jogging along an overgrown portion of the path, I run face-first into a fresh spiderweb. You know that feeling - one strand of it catches across your nose and you grab at it and your brain recognizes what it is and suddenly you get to feeling like you're covered in flesh-eating beetles.

It didn't help that I hit another one about 30 seconds later. I figured the spider call had gone out, and every arachnid on the island was bound and determined to put a stop to my web-destroying madness.

So I ran with my hands over my head (because the only thing worse than having a bug in your armpit is having a bug in your hair. Remember that story about the spider that laid eggs in some chick's hair? Urban Legend? I don't think so). [Insert shivers and look of nausea here.]

So there - that was sort of about running, right?

Having Fitz(patrick)

I've been a bad blogger, for sure. Only one entry all week and and then one at 2:00 p.m. on a Friday when - let's be honest - you've already mentally checked out for the day. And so have I.

But while I've been remiss in the blogging, I've been doing just dandy with the running (see, I bet you thought I wasn't blogging because I was ashamed of my poor adherence to the running schedule. Well, you're wrong. But thanks for the confidence. Sheesh).

I ran Monday and Tuesday on Macworth Island (love love love that place) which was a momentous achievement considering I hadn't run on my own in weeks. And that sure makes showing up (and keeping up) on the Thursday runs a hell of a lot harder.

So last evening I was feeling altogether proud of myself and ready to charge ahead. Trainer Michael Gaige directed us to Fitzpatrick Stadium (you know, that joint next to the Sea Dogs stadium) where we'd run 400s around the track. Yes, more 400s. I'm actually longing to get back onto the Back Cove again.

As evidence of the training group's hardcoreness, I snapped a picture of the runners climbing (or crawling) a fence that was blocking our entrance to the track. You may try to keep us elite athletes off your training ground - but your attempts will fail. We cannot be stopped.

Michael led us in some stretching on the field, which we'd never really done before. And it elucidated flashbacks from my high school years - things long suppressed. Like when I joined the soccer team and begged to be a goalie so I wouldn't have to run. My soccer career ended the following year. The laziness is with me still today.

After coming to terms with the surroundings and getting the muscles loosened, we were ready to start our four laps of 400 yards.

But first! John Rogers says, "I want you to run pick-ups up and down the field - get warmed up."

Um, warmed up? It's 80 degrees out here, feels like 90 in the blinding sun, and we just ran mile or whatever to get here. I think we're warmed.

But alas, you can't deny the trainer. So we ran the length of the field, paused, ran back, then ran down again, then paused, then ran back. I wouldn't have classified it as a "warm up" but more of a "prison torture method," but then, I ain't the expert.

We finally moved onto the track and started the first of our four 400-yard laps. Each one is followed by a 400-yard break (we walk it rather than run it). We run 400, walk 400, run 400, walk 400. By the end of the third run, most in my group were feeling the pain. I wasn't doing well either.

I usually hit a point during the run when I feel like everything's working. I feel fast and strong and smooth and in control. It only lasts 10 minutes, sure, but it happens.

Last night, though, I never had that feeling. My legs felt heavy. I felt like I wasn't moving smoothly and I might topple over at any minute. Not fatigue exactly, but more like I just had no control over my body. I know that can happen with severe dehydration, but I think my issue had more to do with the fact that it was just dang hot out.

At any rate, John told us that the fourth lap was optional. Who wanted to do it? I did.

Yea, that fourth lap was crazy slow. But hey, I did it so give me a little credit, OK?

Now, if you'll pardon me, I'm going to get back to the project I was working on this morning. And by "project," I mean "sandwich."

It burns, burns, burns. The run of fire

You, too, may have flocked to the sea yesterday. And while I'm only regurgitating information you already know, I must at any rate remark that it was (and still is) ridiculously hot. A thick, spreadable kind of hot.

So yesterday I met up with a friend of mine in Saco to bike to the beach (you know, cross training...plus I'd rather save the 5-$15 it costs to park and get a drink or two instead. It's called having priorities).

So we bike in and grab some grub on a restaurant deck and eventually meander over to the sand. Here I put on the almighty sunblock to protect my pale skin from the sun's late-morning lashings. Because that's what you do at the beach.

But - for the record - you can still get a wildly painful burn while on a bicycle - even if you're nowhere near the beach. So I just discovered anyway. All the sunscreen in the Americas couldn't save me by the time I was at the water. It was too late.

Stupidity ruled the day - I should have known better. I've been walking around in this easily burned skin for nearly 30 years. Yet each spring I fall victim to the same start-of-the-season flesh fry.

But I have been aptly punished. As a mark of my shame, I have been emblazoned with the mark of the devilish sun.

This morning I was treated to another learning: sunburn + sports bra = pure agony.

I've been slacking on my between-Thursday runs, so I was determined to get up early this morning and jog it out a bit.

I took the heavy humidity as penance for my procrastination and got dressed - well, started getting dressed. Soon into the endeavor I met with a screaming reminder of yesterday's burn. My skin was pissed. It was cranky. It was not happy to be burdened with the strap of a sports bra.

But when you're already awake, near dressed and determined to run...you run. Angry flesh or not. And that pleasant post-run feeling is my prize for the effort.

Life is full of punishments and rewards. Here's hoping my punishment doesn't linger more than a few days - and my reward lasts a lifetime...er, at least through the rest of the day.

Acts of nutrition

This week's training schedule reminded me of the nutrition clinic slated to occur after tonight's group run.

"This week we have our Nutritional Clinic right after the training session. We have nutritionist Karen Knapton covering the following topics: Diet, carbs, nutritional supplements and pre-workout/race, post workout/race nutrition for recovery."

Perhaps I'll skip it. I've already got an excellent handle on proper nutrition.

Breakfast of champions.

(Note: The term "champions," as used in this case, refers not to masters of athletic prowess but to persons for whom a half-jog around the Back Cove is the pinnacle of their physical capability.)

A time to run, a time to watch

Heads up, the first training run for the Wine Flight 5K is tomorrow (Tuesday). The calendar listing notes, "Each run finishes at a different restaurant or food-related business downtown, where you'll enjoy a nibble and a drink." It hasn't been decided who will be on hand to nibble the runners at the restaurant, but I've thrown my name into the list of prospects. [See the calendar listing for more details]

This run is a must-do in my opinion. No pressure to cross the finish line in under 22 minutes. As long as you cross it - preferably upright, but crawling will suffice - you can go home with triumph. Then Triumph and you can gnaw the Rolaids together or even cuddle up against the soothing coolness of your toilet's porcelain base.

It'll be worth it to participate, though. And I don't say that about every dang race that comes by. I believe whole-heartedly that some races are best experienced in the spectator position.

I'd guesstimate that most spectators along the course of a local 5K are friends/relatives/stalkers of an individual runner. They're there to support their buddy/daughter/future kidnap victim and give a hearty "Wooo! You can do it, [runner's name here]!" It's what supportive people do...so I'm told.

But sometimes it's worthwhile to spectate even if you don't know a soul in the running. Take this upcoming race, for example:

"The Mount Desert Island Marathon, voted Most Scenic in North America by ESPN, has created a new relay division open only to Maine police and fire department members. The MDI Marathon - Police & Fire Pursuit will feature teams which consist of five officers or fire fighters from the around the state. The winning police and fire departments will be crowned at the finish line."
[If you want more info on this race: www.mdimarathon.org or information@mdimarathon.org or 207 276 4226]

I mean, SOME people apparently enjoy watching firefighters. I've heard that, anyway. I personally don't really see what the appeal is. They're just doing their job - same as any plumber or tax man. Whatever the draw is, I'm sure not falling for it. Firefighters are nice and all but I don't...hold on. The firefighters are doing something outside...

...anyway, as I was saying, I...um...

...