Running...

I just read Niamh's last two wonderful posts and I am filled with pride, wonder, awe and love for her! What an undertaking this is, something that requires such dedication, strength of body, mind and will. She is truly an inspiration. Boston is gearing up for the Boston Marathon this coming Monday so our airwaves are full of marathon chatter and I have enjoyed the newfound perspectives and deep respect I have on the day to day life of a marathon-runner.

I have been quiet on here, I know. There are expectations that I feel unable to meet right now. I confess to being quite overwhelmed. It is all good, really, it is, but I have been struggling to find my center, to be grounded, to feeling "all-put-back-together-again". The needs of the children and of the upkeep and organization of the home seem to be constant and there is never enough time in the day to meet them all. It continues to feel like a positive move for us, there are no regrets in the least but, as Mam reminds me every week when we chat on the phone, there is such huge upheaval in moving, it takes time to settle...

I had another week of running (figuratively of course!) in and out of Boston to the hospital but finally, on Wednesday, I received my remicade infusion, only two days late! I consider it quite a miracle that everything fell in to place. The infusion went really well and the infusion staff were so lovely and kind that they made it almost a pleasurable experience! I usually feel quite tired for a day or two after and this time was no exception, it seems to take me until about day five before I start to feel the effects of the medication. I am so grateful that it all worked out and so grateful to Pulmo Doc for pulling it all together. There was an anxious moment just before the infusion when the nurse "read" my PPD to see if I had a reaction to the TB test that had been placed two days before. It looked like it was showing positive for TB exposure. The injection site was red and rashy. This would have been a complete show-stopper for remicade. After three different nurses looked at it, a call to the head TB nurse who reads these all the time and a consultation with Pulmo Doc they decided that I had an allergic reaction to the serum used for the injection and I got the all clear. Whew!

I will be thinking of you tomorrow Niamh: run well, run free, breathe deep and full, stretch those beautifully long and toned legs, enjoy the wind on your face, at your back, embrace the hills and love the straights and imagine us, all of us, running right there beside you, urging you on, loving you on, hear our cheers on the wind and whispering in the trees, run for us, breathe deep and full for us...

Tired Legs

Oy, Rhetorician. Where are you going with the 'awe', little or otherwise? Are you kidding me with your 600kms in 2011?

And, if it's any consolation, my legs are exhausted this evening. I have run 18 miles over the last three days and yet, I'm only half way through my mileage for the week. I have to run 18 more on Saturday which I find completely baffling because this evening, these legs are a tonne weight, just heavy wooden appendages to the end of my torso. I had planned to do some stretching, some yoga moves. Forget it! It's time to be still, real still. I might even sleep early. It's purely my legs. I feel good otherwise. I could feel myself getting slower and slower all day. The distance between the Newman Building and Ag Science seemed an almost impossible feat. As for the car, parked by the Sports Centre, I wondered could I get a lift? And speaking of lifts, someone was just coming out of the lift at the ground floor as I was going up to the second floor, at some stage today. You guessed it. In I popped and took the lift up to the second floor. I felt such a cheat, but it was worth it.  To add to my list of activities induced by tiredness ... those Rockie Roads in the Arts Block Café are gross! I love sweet, but these ... tired, depleted as I was, I couldn't finish it.  I'd been looking at them for weeks, wondering would I have one, on some really tired four o'clock time? That's now crossed off the list. For good!

Ok. That's my confession over for the day. I am a tired runner, not anxious or upset, but comically wondering how these legs are going to take me through 18 miles next Saturday morning. It will be hilarious! I should sell tickets! But, do you know, I've made up my mind to take it handy, treat it light, walk/run if I have to. I will do the miles, but I'm not going to worry about form. I have a week of recovery then and I will be more effortful(?) for the following extra-long run.  Really, there has to be a bit of sense in this too. I'll treat it with a bit of humour and lightness, I think. If you hear reports of an awkward, slow runner laughing to herself in the Park over the weekend ... maybe for the weekend (!!!) ... you'll know who it is. 

I was going to write all kinds of things here this evening, but it just wouldn't work. I'll let it go.  Just to say that, I've been thinking a lot about Etty, and about another friend who is currently in Cappagh Hospital for the umpteenth time this year - a Dad of two. Thinking about his wife too, of course. I've been thinking about a lot of people really.   I can't say I pray for these people, much, anymore. It's more a realisation that life can be strange, tough, and most unfair at times.  Sometimes, I'm plotting a visit or wondering if I can help. Sometimes, I'm just thinking of ye.  There are all kinds of marathons and ultra-marathons. In the most indirect ways,  we can inspire courage and offer solidarity.  After all, this amateur athlete runs, not only for pleasure, but to maintain friends with some of her own ghosts.

Rolling Onwards

Saturday is gone into the past. A new week with new mileage is well under way. Yesterday, I increased my short run to 5, heading out the Stillorgan gate, out the N11 to Stillorgan, turning right and then left to take me in the direction of Sandyford, but turning right soon after to bring me towards the Goat pub. This is all a bit of a climb, a slow steady climb, which is manageable. The advantage is that it leads into the final section of my route which is the lovely, steady descent from The Goat back to the Clonskeagh entrance of UCD. I find that my stride lengthens, regardless of how I have done previously, it really is pleasurable running. I manage a 5:45minute km.

Today, then, is the 8-mile mid-week route which brings me out the Stillorgan gate again, but heading left towards the sea and Blackrock on Stillorgan Park. Last week, I turned left onto Careysfort Avenue, but found that it was a busy school route, pedestrianly speaking, and I did have a few near collisions with Moms and kiddies. So, today, I wasn't a hundred per cent sure, but I figured that if I went on a little further in the direction of Deansgrange I would eventually bring myself onto Stradbrook Road (once the home of Café-Java brother and his wife). It would have, had I not turned off one road too soon, thereby bringing me down Rowan Park. I have no doubt, though, that it was along this road, my beloved sister-in-law tore along with my mother as a passenger in the old mini car that no longer had springs. My mother still talks of the contact between her 'b-o-t-tom' and the road ... with a grin! Only my sister-in-law would get away with it.  From Rowan road, I find myself back on Frascati Road, heading in the direction of the city until I turn left onto Nutley Lane. I deliberately extended my outward leg of the route in a bid to avoid Foster's Avenue at the end. I wanted a calm, steady run today. No dramatics today please. Just ordinary. I wanted to avoid the battle between will and legs on the final mile of Foster's Avenue.  This way, I turned into the campus again at the Stilorgan entrance. I was .4 short of my 8 miles, and just under the 6minute km.

I've been unbelievably lucky with the weather. As I left home this morning, it was lashing. I was expecting a drenching, resolved to run anyway. I had done some thinking about clothes, figuring bare skin would be less weighty and cold than wet leggings, but I had chosen to wear my Clonakilty half-marathon long-sleeve top (several sizes too large) for comfort, all kinds of comforts. The rain stopped as I prepared to leave the car. The Gods smile on me in so many ways.

Saturday is in the past, but it took a 'mammy-dinner' last evening, courtesy of Madeleine who feeds two teenage sons, before I remained some way 'full' for any period of time. And I haven't been holding back on the food front. My portion sizes have been large, my sweet tooth must think that it has died and gone to heaven! Still, as I say, last evening was the first time since Saturday that I did not think about eating at two hour intervals. I don't look hungry though; toned legs maybe, but not overall svelte (I love that word!).

And so, it continues.  Now, sometimes, I catch myself imagining the starting line ....

Don't forget the fundraising, folks. The mycharity.ie button is on the right of the blog.

Yesterday' Long Run

Thanks for the good wishes folks. Thanks to Rhetorician too for a pair of runners donated courtesy of her friend. It's the equivalent of being given a gift of a hundred euro. Perfect size, never worn and my brand!
I am enjoying the training , but want to think in a serious/systematic way about the end stage of the marathon. I do not want to get as low as the last mile of yesterday with six more miles to go.
Having done the maths, I think that yesterday's run was probably eighteen miles which I did at a 6:13km pace. I could live with that pace on Marathon Day.  I would like to do it in the four hours, but accept now that that may be difficult. I had mapped out my run on Friday evening using Mapmyrun and I also had the app on my phone on Saturday morning which maps out the route and time as I go, but the app crashed (unbeknownst to me for awhile) around the 7-mile mark as can happen and so I was left a little unsure of the route I had originally calculated. I decided to play it safe and just circle the park twice. I had already begun the route with a 3km on Chesterfield Ave (not Conyngham Road as I said in text to Rhetorician!) and I finished with another 3km down Chesterfield Ave. 
The park is great. The variety of landscape, the quietness from traffic and all the exercisers make it a great place for those long runs. Also, it takes me off the concrete/tarmac and so is better for my joints.
I won't dwell on the details of the long run. My mind is keener to consider the 'brushing against the wall' experience in the last mile. It was exceptionally warm for April. I had water to begin with. I took more water from No.1 when I met him, but actually ran out of it in the last two to three miles. I used two gel packs, but for the second pack I could have done with more water to wash it down. I don't think that I got it into my system really. I lost power on the last hill that I did (around Knockmaroon Hill) and had to walk and, for the first time in years, found it really hard to get the motion going again, although I did. The struggle began there, I just got 'heavier/stiffer/weaker', hard to describe. It also became hard to think. The feelings were also peculiar ... like a lost child or one who needed protection, utterly vulnerable. That's what the tears were about this time. I don't want to be melodramatic, but the cruelty of it was battling with the determination to keep going - and that is more articulate than I was, at the time.  Tears in the past have been disbelief that I could actually do a half-marathon. It seemed impossible that I could run that much. One time, after the 15-mile run, I know that there was release in it. Stuff was being left go.
Yesterday, I was quite 'weakish' for about twenty minutes post run. Once the water, banana and chocolate (I'd have put anything into my stomach in any combination!!!) hit in, I was fine. The point is. I don't really want that happening (at least that soon) on the day of the Race. Plan: take the gels more systematically. Make sure to drink plenty. Maybe, cut back on the bit of leaping and galloping I did when I got a surge at the midpoint yesterday. That said, I am going to experiment with the gel and hydration and a bit of gallopping (if I can) on my next long run, though. If I still run out of energy (quite literally), I will have to reconsider pace.  And, even though I have never done so much reading about running in my life. I need to consolidate and read more on the whole 'wall' thing. I think, secretly, most of us want to experience it, a rite of passage, if you like. But 'hang it', I really do want to get to that finish line.
This post is probably most boring for non-runners - sorry! I just need to think a bit. The Wall is quite simply the body reacting to depleted (near empty) stores of glycogen - the fuel in the muscles and liver that I have been building as I train over the last few months.  We can only carry enough to get us to about 20 miles, maybe, the professionals can build to more. After that, you have to rely on brute strength and determination - hence the cruelty feeling, perhaps. That's where I find Once a Runner, kind of helpful. They talk about the pain, fatigue, brain fog and so on. However, they recognise it, grow familiar with it and learn not to fear it. It's only pain that they have not experienced before that alarms them. I think I experienced that in my own small way last week as I tucked into the hill in Kerry. I was less afraid of the tugs in my muscles, knowing that there was more in there and they would ease once I got level. Maybe, the distances runs of the coming weeks are designed to familiarise my system (body and mind) with the fatigue of the post 18 mile stage of the race and to trust there is more there after it. 
Yip. I was quite tired for the day afterwards. I did another new thing though. I had a cold bath! It worked wonders, was most invigorating. I should probably have had another today. I did walk 5kms today, but had a very leisurely day otherwise. Jeepers, I have just realised that I am hungryish again. At the moment, I really do have hollow legs.

17 miles plus

I did a long run today in the Phoenix Park. I may have touched 'the Wall'. We now think it was closer to twenty miles than seventeen. I was running for 3 hours. When I stopped, there were a few small tears against a tree before I could speak.  My post-run legs are at their most tired since I started this campaign.  There were also some glorious miles at the 8-12 stage. The rest was surprsingly comfortable until the sudden change in the last mile/mile and a half. What a great day!

Race Number 328

Yes, indeed, just over eight weeks to go and my race number arrived in the post this week. I am number 328.  Exciting times.

D'you know something, I am nearly prouder of this 'muddle-through' week with all its imperfection, trudging and negotiation than I have been of easier, smoother weeks. 'Muddle-through' was a phrase used by a Spiritual Director of mine, one time, when I was young and idealistic and troubled by lack of perfection. He suggested that much of life is 'muddling through'.  I wasn't sure I agreed, but it's one of those odd little moments which, for no reason, stuck with me. I wouldn't like to be known as a 'mudlle-through' person for all aspects of my life, but I'm willing to take it for these weeks of long, many-miles-to-cover, running.  These two weeks are the peak of the programme really.  There are 17 miles to be covered on Saturday. Next week, the short runs become 5 (x 2), the middle distance run is an 8 and the long distance is 18. Then, it's a recovery week. Followed by the week of the 19-mile long run where the middle run is only 5. There's a recovery week and then the all-important week of the 20-mile run, again with only 5 miles in the middle run.  Then, it's taper back time.  So, you can see how these two weeks are the most challenging. Next week alone, for instance, I am supposed to run, over the 4 runs, 36 miles in total.

The difficulty is that it doesn't leave much time for 'recovering' so that I am heading into a run tired from the very beginning.  In the book I am reading at present, Once a Runner, the repeated, sustained effort of running long distances is a central theme.  One of the figures is known for his commitment to running every single day: "On the altar of consistency he offered up no less than two portions of his life per day, seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year (p.25)." Others join him, cheered on their first morning by the effortless pace, returning the next and so on until "the accumulation of steady mileage began to take its toll" and "The new runner would find it more tedious than he could bear.  The awful truth would begin to dawn on him: there was no Secret! His days would have to be spent in exactly this manner, give or take a mile or two, for longer than he cared to think about, if he really wanted to see the olive wreath up close (p.36)." It became known as the 'Trial of Miles', a process of separating the real athlete from the 'wannabe' athlete.   The book creates something of a mystical character out of the long distance runner, who becomes the untouchable, unfathomable hero, although living the ordinary life of a student in a university with Sports scholarships.  To prove their ordinariness, we are given accounts of the odd prank, of girlfriends and so on. 

Overall, it's a pleasant, beguiling read.  I'm not sure how much is credible; what would be considered downright old-fashioned and unscientific in today's world of athletics and how much is still applicable. There are aspects of their lives that resonate with me, however, particularly at the moment.  They run and run and run. The question of constant fatigue is a recurring theme.  He writes at the end of one chapter in which one of the characters is scoffing at those who write about running (!), particularly those who go on about the euphoria and mysticism of it. He sees those aspects as benefits, but not the end goal: "Running to him was real; the way he did it the realest thing he knew. It was all joy and woe, hard as diamond; it made him weary beyond comprehension. But it also made him free.(p. 123)."

 My satisfaction is personal, absolutely personal to me. It has nothing to do with outcomes, productivity, virtue or anything. It's just that, quite simply, in my own mind I fought the good fight this week.  I dragged myself around (albeit two miles short of the programme). That, for some reason, is satisfying.



Deer Park this morning

 Over the next few weeks, I'll muddle through.  

A Day in the City 3, (The "To-Do" List)

Pulmo Doc was concerned about the aspergillus exposure and also concerned about my recent exposure to TB while visiting Ireland in November last, even though the person with the history of TB had successfully completed the required treatment for TB several months before. "Because of the risks that come with remicade we'll need another PPD before we proceed" he said. A PPD is a tuberculin skin test that indicates exposure to TB. "We'll need to get you set up with a cardiologist too. I'll think carefully about the right one to follow you. It needs to be someone accustomed to following sarcoidosis patients as not all cardiologists recognise sarcoidosis in the heart. We'll need EKGs every three months or so to establish data and then see how we should proceed after that." The thought of this was making my heart flutter already! "We'll need to see a rheumatologist to follow the remicade infusions and of course you'll need to see an opthamologist to get regular eye exams to make sure you don't develop involvement of the eyes. And of course we'll need another CT of the chest and lungs to take another look at the lung cavity. It's best to get the remicade infusions done here in Boston at first so we can keep an eye on things and get your regular bloodwork established, then we can think about transferring you to an infusion center closer to home. And I'd like to read your medical history thoroughly and do some thinking and get together with you in a few weeks again". I felt myself wilting in front of him. I knew he was right of course, and I was grateful for his commitment to being thorough and in establishing good care but I could tell that the next several months were going to involve several trips in to Boston. I was going to get very good at this train thing!

All in all, it was a good visit. I had no doubt that Pulmo Doc was skilled in the treatment of sarcoidosis but I left with the feeling that perhaps Pulmo Doc wasn't used to treating sarcoidosis patients with remicade and that concerned me. There is a strong possibility that insurance will reject his request that I be treated with such an expensive drug. (Remember that my insurance requires me to get "permission" for any visits with specialty doctors and for any procedures). Will Pulmo Doc feel strong enough in his convictions to fight with them for me when and if the time comes? Only time will tell. My next infusion is due this coming Monday. I don't know if we can pull all of this together in time....