On Sunday Ambrose and I went for a run, on what seems to have been the last nice day that Boise will see for a while, unless you happen to like cold rain and freezing temperatures. I have actually run in the snow, and I've enjoyed it, but Ambrose is less than inclined to take to the streets when he could run in a nice warm gym. Relatively warm. They actually keep it pretty cool to prevent everyone from overheating.
So we did 5 miles on the greenbelt. I started off slowly, warming up, letting Ambrose build a little lead while I made myself go nice and slow to warm up. It might not be necessary, but it's how I've learned to compensate for the issues with my gait. I have to be in control of what I'm doing, and that means starting off slow.
I still passed him in less than a mile.
And I was still paranoid about the last time I ran oh-so-confidently on the greenbelt. I ran all the way up to table rock, and had to walk ignominiously back down because I'd tweaked my ITB issue and couldn't fix it, no matter how hard I tried. That day Ambrose beat me home, and I almost couldn't stand his understandable gloating.
Running on the pavement is different than running on the track at the gym. The gym track is softer, and has an advantage - if you need to stop, the exits are never more than a fraction of an eleventh of a mile away. When you run outside, you have to finish your route, or turn around, to get to a place where you can stop. I think it's mostly my imagination that makes me feel more prone to injury on the pavement, but I could feel the pain starting to tick up in my right knee after about two miles.
I adjusted my stride, and almost had a meltdown when it didn't change anything right away. Fortunately, a couple of minutes later the adjustment helped and the pain faded.
I kept running.
The path that we took began on pavement, transitioned to sidewalk and then to a rock path before ending on pavement again. Just as I was getting used to running on the paved area, I had to switch not only to sidewalk, but to uphill sidewalk, crossing the bridge over the river. Then came the rocks. Ambrose had recently run this path, and told me about how much the rocks hurt his feet. He wants to toughen them up. I was ready for the rocks in my head, but my feet are not at all tough right now. It was as if I could feel every rock, and I had more than two miles to go.
The rocks, and the people walking along the rocky path knocked me out of the correct stride a few times, leading to more pain. When I was running without the knee pain, I would try to run faster so that I could be done sooner. This led to different pain. Those pesky lungs sure love to have oxygen, and when they want more than I'm giving them, it hurts. I used to think of this as bad pain, meaning I should stop. I've since come to recognize it as constructive pain. If I don't push my lung capacity now and then, it will never grow.
By the time I got off of the rock path, I had had to recheck my posture and stride several times, but each time I was able to fix what was going wrong and continue running. I knew I had only about a half mile to go, but I wanted so badly just to stop and sit down on the path and cry. I was hurting, pushing myself in speed and distance, aching and nauseous. I thought if I stopped, I would puke. I didn't want to puke. I kept going, pushing as hard as I dared to get done.
I made it to where we had started and stumbled to a halt. I paused my music player, thinking I could use it as a timer, since I hadn't brought a watch. I remembered which song I had started on, so I should be able to calculate my time by going back through the tracks played and adding up the times. Then I sat on the curb and fought not to puke. I drank my electrolyte laced water from the hydration bladder I was carrying on my back. I stretched a little bit and tried to muster the energy to stand up and get home, a ten minute walk at an easy pace.
I couldn't manage an easy pace. My pace was more like a shambling zombie speed - not like those fast new zombies. I did some lunges on the way home, which probably slowed me down further, but I've found that walking lunges are part of my running routine. If I skip them, my right hip feels tight later, and I'm prone to feel the ITB pain creep back going down stairs.
I made it home and somehow managed to get started on my music time project. I hadn't been home more than ten minutes when Ambrose arrived. He was excited that I hadn't beaten him home by much, until I told him I spent a lot of time sitting on the sidewalk after I finished my run.
I ended up with a time of 62:08 for a 5.02 mile run. On average, 12:22 minute miles, which is not bad for me right now. I know I can go faster, but I need to work up to it. This whole rehabilitation of my gait has taken time to show the results that it has, and I know speed will come as I get the re-aligned gait to be the default mode for my running.
Overall, my ITB passed this test. It tried to tweak out, but was receptive to my corrections in gait. I'm trying to run five days a week now, to prepare for a 5K in March. Ideally, I'd like to run the 5K in under 21 minutes. Realistically, my goal is to finish in less than 30 minutes. I've never run a mile faster than 8 minutes, let alone the under 7's I would need for that ideal goal. Then again, for a long time, my running was focused on just doing it. Last year I wasn't running at all because of this ITB issue. Now that I'm on the right track with my gait, maybe that goal isn't as out of reach as I think it is.
Jeanne Bustamante on fitness and backpacking, new posts every Wednesday
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Thursday, October 24, 2013
The Limits of My Winter Bike Commute
I'm the kind of driver who insists on seat belts. The kind of driver who gets paranoid about going over the speed limit. The kind of driver who signals lane changes and turns and (mostly) stops when the light has turned yellow.
Okay, let me qualify that. I do these things in Idaho, because even after seven years of living here, I don't feel like a resident. This is not my traffic comfort zone. Give me Chicago and its suburbs, and I'll dance close to ten miles per hour over the street limits and push fifteen to twenty over the highway limits - more if it keeps me with the flow of traffic. I'll gun through yellow lights, especially downtown where not to do so could result in less than pleasant confrontations with fellow drivers. Drivers in Chicago are crazy, but it's a crazy I grew up with and learned to accommodate.
Drivers in Idaho are an entirely different sack of potatoes.
Take winter driving. Believe it or not, it snows here on a regular basis. You wouldn't know it by the way drivers react to the first (and second, and third) snowfall of the winter. I'll admit it's not as bad as Santa Fe. There, they see a good amount of snow every year, and every year the drivers retreat to a snail-like mentality, treating their cars as if they were never designed with snow in mind. In Idaho, people just drive as if there were no snow on the road. Unfortunately, seeing as there is, in fact, snow on the road, this does not produce the desired results.
Along with being too cheap to invest in snow tires for my bike, that's the reason I won't ride my bike when it snows, especially now that my entire route is on streets instead of mostly on a bike path. Bad enough that I fear for my life every time I approach the Broadway and Beacon intersection, because turn signals are apparently optional in Idaho, but to add the factor of less control not only for my own vehicle, but for every other vehicle on the road? No, thank you.
I'll brave the cold on my bicycle. After all, I can prepare for that with ever increasing layers, and it doesn't take that long for me to ride to work. I'll brave the traffic that doesn't understand the importance of turn signals and seems to find my presence on the road an annoyance at best. But I will not brave snowy streets on my bicycle.
At least, not with the way cars are driven in Boise.
Okay, let me qualify that. I do these things in Idaho, because even after seven years of living here, I don't feel like a resident. This is not my traffic comfort zone. Give me Chicago and its suburbs, and I'll dance close to ten miles per hour over the street limits and push fifteen to twenty over the highway limits - more if it keeps me with the flow of traffic. I'll gun through yellow lights, especially downtown where not to do so could result in less than pleasant confrontations with fellow drivers. Drivers in Chicago are crazy, but it's a crazy I grew up with and learned to accommodate.
Drivers in Idaho are an entirely different sack of potatoes.
Take winter driving. Believe it or not, it snows here on a regular basis. You wouldn't know it by the way drivers react to the first (and second, and third) snowfall of the winter. I'll admit it's not as bad as Santa Fe. There, they see a good amount of snow every year, and every year the drivers retreat to a snail-like mentality, treating their cars as if they were never designed with snow in mind. In Idaho, people just drive as if there were no snow on the road. Unfortunately, seeing as there is, in fact, snow on the road, this does not produce the desired results.
Along with being too cheap to invest in snow tires for my bike, that's the reason I won't ride my bike when it snows, especially now that my entire route is on streets instead of mostly on a bike path. Bad enough that I fear for my life every time I approach the Broadway and Beacon intersection, because turn signals are apparently optional in Idaho, but to add the factor of less control not only for my own vehicle, but for every other vehicle on the road? No, thank you.
I'll brave the cold on my bicycle. After all, I can prepare for that with ever increasing layers, and it doesn't take that long for me to ride to work. I'll brave the traffic that doesn't understand the importance of turn signals and seems to find my presence on the road an annoyance at best. But I will not brave snowy streets on my bicycle.
At least, not with the way cars are driven in Boise.
Friday, October 18, 2013
The 5 Stages of Cold Weather Bike Commuting
Stage 1: Preparation
You're smart. You know that layers are the way to go here. Normal pants and shoes will do for now, just keep that core warm. Fleece vest, windbreaker, mesh armor jacket, check. Close-fitting balaclava to go under the helmet, scarf to protect the face, helmet, check. Gloves, check. Headlamp over the helmet to combat the early morning darkness and remind cars that you're on the road, check. Time to step out of the now-sweltering heat of the house and find out that...
Stage 2: Gosh, It's Cold
The beginnings the worst part, you think. It will get better once you're moving.
Right.
Better.
The faster you pedal, the harder the wind whips across your exposed flesh. Your legs feel frozen in seconds, and your feet are a lost cause. You ignore them and keep pedaling. You know that it won't take too long to reach...
Stage 3: Acclimatization
See, just because the wind feels like it's going to freeze your eyeballs doesn't mean that you can't persevere. The exercise has heated up your core, and you can't feel your legs or feet anyway, so who cares, as long as you can keep ... moving ... crap. That stoplight, you can never get through that stoplight cleanly, it always makes you wait for it, all the while terrified that some car's going to come up from behind you and make a right turn in front of you, like they do. But then the light unleashes you, and you stand on the pedals and pump it for the next four blocks until you find yourself...
Stage 4: Overheating
Even though your feet, legs and face feel like chunks of ice, your torso has been covered in so many layers of insulation that you find yourself sweating. You're torn between continuing the hustle, and possibly making yourself so sweaty that you'll stink all day at work, and going more slowly, which will prolong reaching the best part of the journey...
Stage 5: Thawing
You've made it to the office. After peeling off all of those layers, you fix yourself a cup of hot tea, and tuck your legs under your desk with the heater turned up full blast. You've earned it.
You're smart. You know that layers are the way to go here. Normal pants and shoes will do for now, just keep that core warm. Fleece vest, windbreaker, mesh armor jacket, check. Close-fitting balaclava to go under the helmet, scarf to protect the face, helmet, check. Gloves, check. Headlamp over the helmet to combat the early morning darkness and remind cars that you're on the road, check. Time to step out of the now-sweltering heat of the house and find out that...
Stage 2: Gosh, It's Cold
The beginnings the worst part, you think. It will get better once you're moving.
Right.
Better.
The faster you pedal, the harder the wind whips across your exposed flesh. Your legs feel frozen in seconds, and your feet are a lost cause. You ignore them and keep pedaling. You know that it won't take too long to reach...
Stage 3: Acclimatization
See, just because the wind feels like it's going to freeze your eyeballs doesn't mean that you can't persevere. The exercise has heated up your core, and you can't feel your legs or feet anyway, so who cares, as long as you can keep ... moving ... crap. That stoplight, you can never get through that stoplight cleanly, it always makes you wait for it, all the while terrified that some car's going to come up from behind you and make a right turn in front of you, like they do. But then the light unleashes you, and you stand on the pedals and pump it for the next four blocks until you find yourself...
Stage 4: Overheating
Even though your feet, legs and face feel like chunks of ice, your torso has been covered in so many layers of insulation that you find yourself sweating. You're torn between continuing the hustle, and possibly making yourself so sweaty that you'll stink all day at work, and going more slowly, which will prolong reaching the best part of the journey...
Stage 5: Thawing
You've made it to the office. After peeling off all of those layers, you fix yourself a cup of hot tea, and tuck your legs under your desk with the heater turned up full blast. You've earned it.
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