Crazy Lady

It's official. I have gone running crazy!  Today, I set out to do a five-mile run using the local route which means two laps. By the end of the first lap, I was out of steam, so to speak. I was really hungry, despite having had my breakfast less than two hours previous. I made a decision to quit which is something that I have rarely done on this campaign. I came in home, grabbed some scones from the freezer, heated them up, smothered them in jam, had water and thought that's that. I fiddled around with e-mails, but before I knew what I was doing, I was out the door to do the second lap. I just couldn't let it go. You see, I had already swopped an eight-mile run on this week's schedule for a five mile. Skipping out of two or three more miles today didn't strike me as a good option. I did think about it. I took into consideration last week's exceptionally long run, my levels of tiredness all week and so on. Then, I thought, I need to train myself to run tired too. And that's how I found myself on the second lap within the hour. It was slow, but it was fine. Not too hellish. My expectations of myself are low at the moment.

It has been a funny week. Teaching is over for the year. Exams have started. Corrections are coming in. There are publishing and planning deadlines for the end of May. I need a new routine. That effects everything ... running, sleeping, productivity of work, even eating. Haruki Murakami in What I Talk About When I Talk About Running comments, "To keep on going, you have to keep up the rhythm. This is the important thing for long-term projects. Once you set the pace, the rest will follow. The problem is to get the flywheel to spin at a set speed - and to get to that point takes as much concentration and effort as you can manage (p.5)."  That is where I am right now, trying to get the flywheel to spin. I totally agree with him, once you get going, the projects themselves will  dictate a pace.  Until then, it's furrowed brows and scrabbling.  Clearly, I'm not at the beginning phase with the marathon project. It's just to be careful to protect my running space as I change my work routine. I have enjoyed running in the evenings this week, it's a bit like a treat at the end of the day.

I hope that I didn't overdo it with the long run of last week. As I ran yesterday's five-miler, I recognised my 'touchiness' and 'reactivity' during the week as that of an over-stretched child. I didn't feel it  in my muscles, just in a desire to give space to 'stuff'. Yesterday, I had some regular, honest chat with good friends. By the end of the day, I felt more grounded. I am looking forward to a gentle weekend.  

Sisters

The donations are rolling in. Thank you. I am touched both by the donation, but also the messages of good will.

I had a lovely local run last evening of 5 miles. It was as much for therapy as for training. I was cold and tired and felt the need to get the blood flowing after a stay of stodgy sitting and staring at (note I did not say correcting!) essays.

I'm tired and emotional. Those long runs definitely take their toll; Etty's posting of yesterday also has an effect.  A friend, a much loved friend, has suggested in the past that I try to say something of how Etty's illness makes me feel. I'm not sure that I'm able. I don't want to burden Etty any more than she already is. Even writing this feels odd. I know, from someone who suffers from Lupus, that part of the illness is worrying about  the effect of the illness on her family. I think that came through in Etty's post yesterday as she strained to give some quality time to her son.

I can tell you that I am frustrated because right now I am not in a great position to go to America, although I admit to pondering it. That frustrates me and taps into some of my personal issues, namely the weird guilt that can hover around my own childlessness. Yes, one of the most irrational feelings is that I can feel guilty because Etty, who is a mother of three children, is sick; I am hail and hearty and unburdened by the responsibility of children. I can down tools, relax and go to bed early (my greatest luxury in recent times) when I like. I don't have huge amounts of housework to do and so on. I am pretty sure that most of you can understand how I might feel guilt, most of you will also recognise (as I do myself) that this is utterly irrational.

This is where the marathon comes in. It coincides with my inability to travel much right now and my discovery of running over the last two to three years.  I can do this for her. I can offer her some spiritual support, perhaps, by doing an event for her, particularly one that requires some long-term planning and effort. I can raise funds for a related cause, particularly one that offers support to people as well as research. A blog, it dawned on me, offers an opportunity to raise awareness. I have seen in Etty, and in my Lupus friend, the way these chronic illnesses can eat away at their lives. I have found over the years that sharing, people knowing or willing to listen can ease a burden. I am hoping that this campaign does that. I might not have pursued it, if it were not for early expressions of support and interest. Thank you.

There are other feelings too. I am reminded of these this morning as I chat with my mother whose sister is moving further into Alzheimers. We spoke about the importance of sisters. When Etty was first in the throes of being diagnosed, I was quite surprised at how emotional I got when telling one or two close friends. At the time, you may recall from Etty's earliest post, there were very frightening illnesses being bandied around. Mind you, episodes as described yesterday seem as frightening now. I felt utterly vulnerable, quite shredded, by the prospect of something happening to her. It felt as if a valuable, indeed a necessary, prop might be removed at any minute. I would fall down.

Let's cut through the 'mush'. Etty and I are quite different. Sometimes, I want to shake her loose a bit, move her out of her head a bit. Sometimes, I think I annoy her with my exuberance and enthusiasm .. . maybe? Yet, I have the greatest respect for her. In college, I would even say that I was full of awe for her grace, musical talent and her beauty. I felt quite ordinary beside her. I might even say, on reflection, that I lived a little bit virtually through her social life, although a not-so Holy Nun myself. I went to concerts and with her friends afterwards for a pizza or ice cream, as dictated by our collective budget.  She and I met and chatted over long cups of cheap student coffee and confided thoughts on those around us assuming, I think, permission to gossip to a sister where we might not to other friends. That's it, really, isn't it? If you are good friends with your sister, that friendship brings a level of loyalty beyond friendship. She became part of the new found freedom of thought that comes with leaving home, but with the freedom to include thoughts on home.

We worked together, I like to remember, when our parents' marriage collapsed. There was a bit of minding to be done of littler ones as the elders found their way. Etty was just finishing finals. I told her to stick with it, I would keep an eye now and over the Summer would be her turn. And that's what happened. In more recent years, I have known the pleasure of chatting about family stuff, knowing that she is intelligent and trustworthy enough to not be influenced in her relationship with other members. I have known the pleasure of shared recognition of faultlines, influences, values to be kept or discarded and so on.

We can cope with the distance. I don't pine for her to be closer anymore. I can live and manage that in today's technological world. I am distressed and frustrated to think of her ill, for her sake. I get scared when I think of her ill, for my sake.

Storms...

Little Guy and I took a walk the other day. It had been a hot and humid, sticky day, our Arizona bodies still not quite used to the humidity of the northeast, a thunderstorm brewing in the distance. Still, Little Guy was calling out for some one on one time and Oversized Dog was restless and bouncy. He needed to get out too. "Let's go!" I said "Although, I can't go very far or very fast." "I know Mom. We can just walk down Country Club Drive and back". Country Club is a beautiful little dead-end street perpendicular to our street and literally across the road from our house. It is less than a 1/4 mile long, it's flat at the beginning and then slopes gently downhill. We leashed up Oversized Dog who was now bouncier than ever, sensing a jaunt was in the offing, and off we went, Little Guy releasing all of the chatter he had been saving for this much coveted time alone with mom. We walked down our driveway, crossed the street, paused to wave hello to the neighbors on the corner and set out.

The street was so pretty with cherry, magnolia and apple trees in full and glorious bloom. Massachusetts really knows how to do Spring! We felt a little spattering of rain but neither one of us wanted to turn back. With each step I noticed my breathing getting a little more labored and a irrepresible need to cough every few steps and we were still walking on flat ground. We had just started the downward slope when there was a flash of lightning followed by a deep growl of thunder. Ten years living in the Arizona mountains and enduring summer monsoon thunderstorms had long ago replaced any fear of thunder and lightning with respect. The thunder didn't bother me but Little Guy's hand tightened its hold on mine. "You okay?" I asked. "I don't like it mom." "I know but it's still far away, we'll be fine". We continued our downward trek, I, coughing a little more. Another flash of lightning and roll of thunder. "I want to go back Mom!" "Okay" I said. Our little adventure had lasted all of three minutes.

We reversed our direction and headed towards home, walking gently uphill. But there was more of an urgency in our walking now, the sky was darkening, the upward grade was challenging my breathing. Soon, within seconds in fact, I was out of breath, struggling to find that breath to take us home. Then the coughing started. Not a cough that desires to clear out your lungs but almost like the airways have gone in to spasm and can't stop. I pushed us ahead now, cough, cough, cough, ever more urgent as the rain started to fall and the thunder got ever closer and Little Guy said "I'm scared" I had no breath to reassure him, cough, cough, just a hand hold. Soon we were across the road and walking up our driveway. I was bent over, walking, coughing, I had been here many times before. When this started the only way I could stop it was with my inhaler or nebulizer. Hubby was still at work. it was such a panicky feeling. Cough cough, "I need...cough cough, in hale..cough..inhaler...cough cough...upstairs..." I could only manage one word in between coughs. "Mom, are you okay?" Little Guy asked. "Yes, cough cough, just need..cough inhaler..cough cough cough cough, and..cough cough, I'll be cough cough cough cough ...fine" I was at the top of the stairs now, somehow, throwing things off my nightstand trying to lay hands on that inhaler, the nebulizer would be better but take too long to set up by myself, where is it anyway?. Sweat was pouring out of me now, my lungs burned, my abdominal muscles ached from the effort, so much effort, so exhausting, so much coughing. Inhaler in hand I took the first puff and immediately coughed it back out. That wasn't going to help much I'm sure. I tried again, trying to time it just right between coughs. It took several attempts. I lay on the bed, curled up in fetal position and coughed into the covers. "Should I call Dad?" I heard a little voice ask. "No, cough cough... he's on ..cough... train ...cough cough..., he'll be ...cough cough ...home soon ...cough cough cough cough..." It took so much effort to talk and cough and breathe. Was the medicine going to work this time? It needs about 15-20 minutes to work I reminded myself. Hang in there, you'll be okay, stay calm! "Can I call Dad?" Little Guy asked again. I couldn't answer, all my energy was being absorbed by this incessant coughing...cough cough cough cough cough, into the bed, stay calm, it will pass, the airways will relax, cough cough cough...sweating out my back...cough cough... The room was silent save for my coughing; short, irritating, unproductive coughs that had adopted a rhythmic chant I was desperate to interrupt. The minutes dragged on...And then there were urgent footfalls on the stairs, stairs taken two at a time, the door opened, a hand on my back, soothing, calming, gentle. I couldn't look up, too exhausted, too absorbed in coughing, but I knew it was Hubby, home from work. "I called Dad", Little Guy said. And there they stayed, rubbing my back, rubbing my feet, reassuring me that it would pass, the airways would calm down again, the lungs will relax...and the coughing slowed, the airways gradually gave up their rhythmic pulsing. Spun out I lay there, recovering from the physical effort involved in such an episode, berating myself for thinking I was ready for a walk, mad at my body because I couldn't manage a simple walk with my son. I don't understand what causes these coughing fits, bronchospasms the doctor calls them. Clearly my airways are still inflamed from the illness although the infection has resolved. I don't understand it, all i know is that it's a scary place to be sometimes.

Later that night in the intimacy of the dark and before succumbing to sleep I turned to Hubby, "Was Little Guy scared? Just what did he say on the phone to you anyway?" "Well" Hubby replied, "He said, "Dad, will you make dinner tonight because Mom is coughing on the bed?"".

What can I say, he's a growing boy! I'm just telling it like it is!

Mindgames

There was much to learn from Saturday's run and for the last 48 hours I have had a ferocious need to blog or, at least, write and reflect. I am pretty sure that Saturday's run is the closest that I will come to the full marathon and, all going well, I think that I have identified a set of stages for myself:

1. Warm up (1-5 miles)

2. Cruising (5-11)

3. Tired 1(11-15)

3. Tiredness 2 (15-18)

4. Confusion/give-up point (18/19).

5. Commit again, use mind, trust body and plod on (19-26).

While this is, by no means, an exact science or map. It does give me some idea of how to mentally prepare myself for the day. Any big challenge that I have faced I have usually rehearsed in my mind. Last Saturday now gives me some vague sense of doing that for June 6th. Recognising the stages gives familiarity, keeps me relaxed and gives me control, at least to a certain extent. I am learning to run through the various levels of discomfort. And, the discomfort is coming a little later each time. Recognising the stages, also reminds me to pace myself at the earlier stage of the run because I will need some reserves to manage the later stage.

I will blog about the managing later, maybe. I have read some interesting stuff on the relationship between the mind and the muscle fatigue.

Back to last Saturday. The training plan suggested 19 miles for Saturday's run. When I looked at Sheep's Head, however, and realised that I could loop back to Durrus over 22 miles, I was determined to do it. I saw it as an opportunity to test my mettle beyond the 20 miles prescribed by the programme and I knew it was a beautiful location. I was keen to get as close to practising the mental and physical exhaustion of the end stage, as possible. I also figured that it would give No.1 an opportunity to get in some cycling. He could loop back and forwards and hither and thither and still provide me with water. The rucksack with the water is very heavy over distance. Besides, it would be almost like our hillwalking days, a good old-fashioned day out in the fresh air.

Unfortunately, or rather fortunately, I (we) miscalculated our distances and, despite factoring in the Kilcrohane hill while planning, forgot that the mountainy hills form a spine along the whole length of the peninsula. This brought complications for the last hour of the day which I shall explain later.

 

At 11:15 on Saturday we were unloading the bike in Durrus for No.1. Minutes later, I was heading out the road, feeling more in need of a little nap than a run, but I got over that. It was a beautiful day to be out, although rather warm for running. It was one of those hazy dense days, the sun was shining down on me for much of the way out and I was sheltered on the East side from any prevailing breezes.  I was running only feet from the shore, looking over at Schull peninsula, squinting against the light to try and see the 'golf balls' (some kind of radio towers that are spherical in shape and very much part of the landscape). It was a warm Summery day (19-21 degrees Celsius), it was also a magnificent spot to be running. It was a real privilege to be out there. By Ahakista (5 miles) and the Air India Disaster memorial, I was well over the warm-up stage.  My slow, shorter start-up steps had lengthened, my breathing and general movement had fallen into a rhythm. The stiffness in my Achilles tendons had ceased squeaking at me. I was moving along nicely.  Occasionally, I talked myself down into a steadier more sustainable pace, there was the tendency to go too fast.

Then, for some inexplicable reason, I was really cruising. I became aware that I was slowly pulling upwards, out of a cooler brief wooded area, heading towards Kilcrohane, but with very little effort. It felt great.  When it happens, this is my favourite moment of the long runs. It's as if all the separate processes and motions required to run are working in harmony. It's like being a purring smooth engine. Before I knew it, I had arrived in Kilcrohane, hot and fairly dripping in perspiration. Reluctantly, I had to stop. I needed to attend to a growing blister on the arch of my right foot and I needed a comfort stop. I stopped my watch to attend to these matters before heading over the hill.

I knew the hill was fairly challenging from previous visits to Sheep's Head and from the map (it rises to six or seven hundred feet). I was determined not to let it burn me out too quickly so I took baby running steps and  walked, at times. I did not have anything to prove or to gain by running smartly up this hill. It was imperative that I did it in a way that conserved energy for the later part of the run.

The hill was fine and, of course, the rise brought beautiful sea views out over Dunmanus Bay on my right.  At the top of the hill, I was rewarded by views of Bantry Bay, Hungry Hill, Adrigole, Dursey and Bere Island. I was still feeling quite comfortable and found myself pacing along, probably not as fast as the outward leg of the journey, but nonetheless, comfortable. I was also distracted by the views, wishing that I was an owl so that I could swing my head around 360degrees! It was beautiful, not perfectly clear, but still so wild, and quite free of noise and traffic. There was the odd car and a tractor with dog in tow. I had a wonderful sense of freedom. A lot of the time, I could run in the middle of the road, feeling more like a child out playing than someone training for a marathon.  The word 'gambol' came to mind. I imagine that my running style was somewhat loose at this stage, I was too busy soaking in the scenery and just the freedom and openness of it.  I did pause at one stage to ask an elderly couple how far to Durrus, but they didn't know either. They told me that they too were visitors. I wasn't too bothered. I was enjoying the freedom of just running along, confident in my pre-run map reading. But pride cometh before a fall.

The return journey on the Western side of the peninsula is at a higher altitude than the outward journey which is almost close to the sea level.  To my right, Schull peninsula, Dunmanus Bay, the little village of Kilcrohane and the rugged landscape typical of West Cork. To my left, the fields fell away to the sea where, at this distance, silent white waves were crashing against the rocks. A pheasant flew straight past me. A pair of Goldfinches flew off to my left. Probably all were attempting to distract me from their respective nests. How could they understand that miles, not nests, were my preoccupation? Another three or four miles and I began to feel tired. Not impossibly tired, maybe not even slowing too much, just aware that my legs were getting heavier. It wasn't difficult to remember to keep my pace down, at this stage. My legs, chest, even my tummy, will volunteer to remind me that my resources are limited and that I should keep within my endurance speed limit. Otherwise, there will be penalty points later.

The road presented me with occasional dips and hollows. As I went on, I began to feel these little rises more and more. As I moved towards the 17/18 mile point at Kiloveenoge, I began to ask each little rise if it will be the one to take the last of my fuel. It's usually at one of these points that the change of pace from motoring to climbing, fails to return to motoring.  It's really quite extraordinary, it can just be a tiny extra effort that burns out the last of the fuel. At this stage, I am also wondering where No.1 is who had gone on to Sheep's Head. At Kilcrohane, we had had a quick discussion and I told him to go off and enjoy his cycle.  Another miscalculation of distances. I check my phone, I had received a text message from him ten minutes ago. He had just arrived at Sheep's Head. I was certainly more than ten minutes from Sheep's Head by now, running or on a bike. I rattle my water bottle. There was enough, just. (On reflection, I should, of course, have stopped at one of the houses and asked for a fill-up.)

At mile 19ish, I have the 'fall apart' moment. I suddenly realise that I will have to cross back over the hill to get back down to Durrus! Duh! I had not spotted that on the map. Besides the road that I had planned to return was not the road that I had travelled on before. I had overshot the runway, so to speak. I should have taken the road signposting me back to Ahakista. I was headed towards Rooska. At this stage, I did not know that the N71 or main road to Bantry was only 4 miles away. I make a call to No.1, leaving him a panicky message.

It was time to ask. A kindly man told me it is 'a bit on' at a sharp corner. The same man stopped in a car later and told me that I would be better heading to the N71 and then to turn back in the Creamery Road to reach Durrus because the climb over the hill would be too hard. I refused, explaining I am in training and that I have to meet someone. He waved, smiled and wished me luck. By now, I am half running, half walking and not at all comfortable. I am in a dispirited space looking for the sharp turn and the road over the mountain to Durrus.  No.1 was on the road back to Ahakista, he too had misjudged distances and our familiarity with the peninsula.  The road in our heads and the road on the map I had intended to take did not match.  Lots of sharp corners later, I realised that I have probably missed it.

Then, just like that, I crossed through the confusion and agitation. As we say at home, 'Come hell or high water', I was determined to finish that run. I was a woman on a mission and that was that. I paused to take out my phone, checked my google map (grateful for modern technology) and realised that the N71 was only four kilometres away like the man had said. I knew what needed to be done. I took charge. I texted No.1, to tell him to meet me at the junction near the West Lodge. Just to be sure, I sent a second text to say that he should bring the car! I had visions of us both arriving at West Lodge, he on his bike and me on foot, and the car back in Durrus.

Anyway, at that point,  I recognised the determination that has often frustrated those closest to me. Imagine trying to parent such single-mindedness! Nothing was going to make me stop on that run, that Saturday! Neither man, nor lack of water were going to have me stop at this point. I plodded on, dependent now on determination and mind games.  I tell myself to relax, it's ok.  "In three minutes, I will be at that cream gable end." or  "In five minutes, I will be opposite that point on the island.  Stay cool."   It dawns on me that my mind has the potential to be my greatest foe and my greatest friend. I have to manage it. I must silence the doubting, I must not waste time on struggling and just do it! It's not easy, but it's doable.

And that was the best thing about Saturday's run. I had read that training of the mind is as important as training the body. I experienced that on Saturday and we spoke about this afterwards. I can only do the marathon on my own. (Is that what is meant by the 'loneliness of the long distance runner'?) I was glad we got lost, I was glad I had to persevere on my own. I clicked into, by accident, a tool I will need on June 6th, exercising commitment, exercising my deep, deep desire to do this event. I want to do it for Etty, I want to do it for me. Saving serious injury or illness, I will.