Un-greetings.

There are two women who walk in my neighborhood, usually two nights a week. They don't live here; they drive here and park their cars at the end of my street and then walk together. I see them all the time because they tend to walk around 8-ish and that's often when I head out for my evening -- OK, night-time -- runs.

Anyway, I've seen these women about 3 dozen times. I've made eye contact, raised my hand in a little wave, and said, "Hi!" about 3 dozen times. And you know what? For each of those 3 dozen times, I've gotten no response whatsoever. None. Nada.

These women are not deaf. I hear them talking to each other.

These women speak English, so I assume they know the word, "Hi."

They simply do not respond at all to my greetings. How d'ya like that?


So I gave up and stopped greeting them. I saw them about four times after I stopped and then I didn't see them for a while -- we were away, maybe they were, too. Whatever, I hadn't seen them in a while. Last night, though, they were out walking while I was out running.

I passed them as I was entering one of the cul-de-sacs. I made eye contact with one woman. I raised my hand in a little wave. And I said, "Hi there!" All cheery-like.

NOTHING.


Not even a half-smile or a murmur. Nothing.

So I kept running and then, wouldn't you know it, I was going to be face-to-face with them as I was exiting a different cul-de-sac. Fine, ladies, let's see what you've got. I looked at them. They did not look at me. As I got closer, I thought about saying something again, giving it another shot, but no. I didn't. They weren't looking in my direction so I just ran by. Silently.

Who are these women? What have they got against greetings?

Dunno. Guess I won't ever know. Oh, well!

And, oh, yeah. About that run, the first of this half-marathon training cycle. Umm . . . it sucked. Seriously. Really sucked. Go, half-marathon training, go!


Eh, what can you do? I rarely have a cruddy run so I was probably just due.

Run on, folks!

~ Felice

Soaking.

For the past few days, my lungs have felt like ladyfingers soaking up espresso and rum to provide the spongy goodness in tiramisu. Only, there's been nothing good coming from my spongy lungs. And instead of espresso and rum, my lungs feel as if they are steeped in muck. The muckity muck of the common cold.

Yuck to the muck.

Owen had it first and it hung on for what seemed like forever. I thought for sure I was going to get a pass because of some sort of super post-pregnancy, nursing immunity. But, no. I guess that doesn't happen. Or at least not to me.

I loaded up on vitamins C and D. I kept up with my running. And yet, I caught the cold. Or whatever it is.

Since Saturday, I've had the spongy lungs, crazy coughing and a sore throat. The cold hasn't knocked me out, though, and I was able to get in two really good runs over the weekend. The worst part of the whole thing is that I often get coughing attacks while I'm nursing or trying to put Niall to bed and the horrendous noise startles the poor little guy. And the last thing anyone wants at a 3:30 am feeding is a startled baby. It doesn't make getting him back to sleep all that easy.

Oh, well. It won't last, I'm sure. I have a run on tap for tonight and I'm hoping some high intensity exercise will burn the bug out of my system!

I did recently read that flushing your ears with hydrogen peroxide will reduce the length of a cold. Sounds weird. Has anyone tried that? If you have, or you have any other works-for-me cold remedies, let me know!

~ Felice

Stop judging yourself!

Be warned -- a bit of a rant ahead . . .

Stop judging yourself!

That's me (The Happy Runner) yelling at the other me (The Self-Judgmental Runner) for getting into a yuck-o running funk where I tell myself that I suck as a runner. Where I judge my abilities and determine that they are sub-par. Where I look at what I've accomplished and feel like it's not enough.

Stop judging yourself!

What I should probably be saying is, stop comparing yourself to the rest of the running blogosphere.* It's not exactly productive.

See, that's what has been happening. Counter-productive comparisons. Gradually, since I started blogging and reading other people's blogs, I've started to look at the number of miles they run each week, or the speed of their 5ks, or the number of marathons they run each year, or whatever, and I compare myself to what they're doing. What you're doing. And I've let it get me down and it is silly.

Back when I ran my first (and, so far, only) marathon, I was SO HAPPY with my time. I wasn't a super runner and I trained by myself just tacking on miles to my long, solo run each week. I thought I'd run a 4:20 and I crossed the line in 4:12. Talk about a happy moment! That year, my husband gave me a framed 8 x 10 of me with arms-raised-in-triumph crossing the finish the line. And I love it.

But, somewhere from there to now, I started to think that it wasn't so great. Another blogger wrote about how she's seeking "marathon redemption" in 2010 after running her first marathon this year in 4:11. Hey, that's only one minute faster than I ran! Should I be seeking marathon redemption? Was my time actually a cruddy time?

And then there are the days when I go for enjoyable 5-milers and then read about others who've logged 16 speedy miles. And I feel like a chump.

If so-and-so can run that fast, why can't I? If so-and-so can run that much, why can't I? If so-and-so can run that many races, why can't I? What is WRONG with me?

What's wrong? For starters, I'm not taking my own advice. I am not running my own race. I'm looking at what others are doing, comparing myself to them, and coming up short. I'm being judgmental -- and overly harsh in those judgments. Instead of running my own race, I'm trying to fit a mold. But there isn't one mold. There are many and I need to realize that my life is its own mold and it is a perfectly fine one at that. I need to run my own race. I need to stop judging myself!

If a friend spoke about herself the way I've been talking to myself, I'd let her have it. I wouldn't stand for it! So, I shouldn't stand for it when it comes from me.

Easier said than done, I'm afraid.

I want to be a better runner, just as I want to always strive to be a better mom and a better wife and a better friend, daughter, writer, and person in general. I guess I just need to find the balance between striving and being overly self-critical.

Am I alone here? Gosh, I hope not. But, in keeping with my advice, if I am, I guess I need to accept that. And run my own race. Stop judging myself. Just get on with it.

I need to get back to being as happy with my accomplishments as I am with everyone else's accomplishments. Fear not -- I'm not going to get all Stuart Smalley here. I'm just going to work on not judging myself when I run. Or when I don't run. Or when I don't run as fast as I'd like to. Or . . . you get the picture.

Have you struggled with comparisons? Self-judgments? How have you shaken the thoughts?

I, as always, appreciate any and all advice :-)

Have a great day, everyone!

~ Felice

* It might seem like I'm blaming blogs, and I'm most definitely not. Reading running blogs, and the comments left here, have helped me to become a much better and smarter runner! I love this virtual community!

Queen of Self Diagnosis.

You know me as the Happy Runner. Or maybe by my given name, Felice. But, truth be told, you should get to know me as Her Royal Highness the Queen of Self Diagnosis.

If there is a sore muscle, tendon, ligament, joint, what have you, on this here body, I will concoct a diagnosis. It might not suit me and it might not be correct but I will -- with a confidence better left to someone who spent some long amount of time in medical school -- declare my diagnosis to anyone who cares to listen. Like my trusty two-year old. Or my cat. Or, if he's not already bored by my stream of declarations, my husband.

Torn meniscus! Or just an interior thigh muscle that needs to be more properly stretched.

Runner's knee! Or just a twinge that will disappear after a few days off.

One leg longer than the other! (Leg length discrepancy syndrome?) Or just not.

Raynaud's syndrome! Or just really poor running attire choices.

You get the picture.

So, imagine, if you will, what HRH The Queen of Self Diagnosis must be like when called upon to diagnosis her precious little toddler. Her only son. Heir, as it were, to the throne.

Well. You can't imagine, sorry. I just don't think you can truly imagine the level of hysteria that can come in to play.

About a month ago, I found a tick on my son's head. You may recall that I wrote about how checking for ticks is an important summer ritual, and one that everyone should get in the habit of doing. I've been in the habit. I've checked and re-checked. Checked my body, checked my son's body. Check, check, check.

But, that weekend one month ago I failed. When I finally noticed the tick it had not only bitten my son but had become grossly, disgustingly engorged. It took me several panicky minutes to pull the thing out of Conal's head.

Since the bite, I have been on Lyme disease watch. Or, more accurately, blowing-every-little-thing-out-of-proportion-because-it-could-be-Lyme disease watch. Every little thing that happens and . . . Lyme disease! The boy has Lyme disease!

Prickly heat? You've got to be kidding. That rash is clearly indicative of the bartonella co-infection! OK, so it wasn't but it could have been.

Bad dream? What?!?!?! A child crying out in the middle of the night is most certainly a sign of . . . something Lyme-related.

I can't take the paranoia. It stinks and it is all my own doing, this I know. Being the Queen of Self Diagnosis, though, I'm inclined that way. It's been a month since the bite and my son hasn't shown any major signs of Lyme disease. I should relax and pay less attention to the fabricated symptoms and more attention to, I don't know, maybe my tight piriformis? But it is just difficult. I'm scared about this Lyme disease.

Oh, well. I'll get over it. You know, once Conal is a healthy teen and I have nothing else to worry about!

Until then, I'm hitting the treadmill for speed work this afternoon. That should wring out some of my paranoia, right?

~ HRH The Queen of Lyme Disease Paranoia

(Hey, when you're queen, you get to change your name whenever you want!)

The un-post.

Does this happen to you?

I had a whole post written this morning. I re-read it and got a little nervous and so I deleted it. I'd described a situation and, well, it was a bit of a complaint. I mean, not a complaint complaint but sorta. You know, I laid out wacky little scenario in which I run (fast! and with perfect form!) and someone bugs me. That's it. Yes, there was more (the post was rich with details! and humor! one of my best efforts yet!) but that was the general idea.

And I deleted it. I was just too scared. What if someone stumbled across my blog and read that post and knew what I was writing about and got angry and then came to my house and beat me up? It could happen. It's normal to be scared like that. Right?

Right?

Right. So, um, the post is gone. And once it was gone I realized I was plum out of ideas. What would I say? That I hung out with six toddlers and their moms this morning and we planted seeds*? That the house is a complete disaster now, with corn muffin crumbs ground into the floor and toys everywhere? How is that related to running?

Well, it's not. So, let's just change the subject, shall we?

I went for a run yesterday! Fartleks! On the hills! Yep, nice run. So much of my speedwork has been intervals recently that shaking it up with fartleks felt good.

The end.

~ Felice

*My Earth Day celebration. Happy Earth Day, everyone!

Bit the bullet.

After years of complaining (really, years), I finally made an appointment to see a podiatrist about my bunionized toe. But, get this -- the earliest appointment I could get is June 10th. That's over two months from today. Where's the instant gratification in that? Nowhere, that's where.

And you know where else there is no instant gratification? Shoe shopping. I took all of your great advice about shoes and went hunting for a new pair. Ha! That was a big failure. I believe that I tried on almost every brand that people suggested and the shoes either didn't work with my toe or they were out of stock in my size. So, online I went!

That was a bummer, too. A lot of out of stock shoes, which means I may have to resort to wearing my Birkenstock clogs out of the house. In public. These guys. I mean, they're fine. It's just . . . well, they're ugly. And they're my inside shoes. They are, more or less, my ugly slippers. It's just weird.

I'm sure I'll get over it.

Speaking of getting over it, I'm so over that mean, mean lady in the minivan. Thank you all for supporting my rant! It helped.

I would like to make one thing clear, however: I have nothing against minivan mamas. Nothing. I drive a station wagon, after all (Yes, I know. You pictured me in a sporty coupe, right? Sorry to disappoint.).

Happy Monday, everyone!

~ Felice

The ranty runner.

My run today was wonderful. I enjoyed running in shorts and a sleeveless top after months of layering against the cold, and I had to smile at the rooster that gave me a hearty "Cock-a-doodle-doo!" as I ran by. My legs and lungs felt good, which was a relief after my lousy run earlier in the week.

And yet, this is me:


I am ranty. The Ranty Runner. Full of comic book curses for a mean, mean lady in a silver minivan.

Let me explain. My run today included about 1.5 miles on a moderately busy road (I would say 10 cars passed me over those 1.5 miles). I'm pretty careful on that road, because I know there are more cars on it than there are on other parts of my run. So, I was running on the strip of grass on the other side of the shoulder from the road. In other words, I was not technically on the road.

So, there I was running along, about 6.5 miles into my terrific run when a mean lady in minivan, driving toward me, lays on her horn and gives me the WTF? hands.

The horn scared and shocked me: I think I jumped a little. Looking at her, I could see her mouthing, "Get off the road!" at me, as both her hands were off the steering wheel, waving in the air to show how utterly appalled she was.

Really, lady? Do you really think that it is smart to drive with your hands off the steering wheel while your kids are in the car? Do you think you're setting a good example for your kids who are in the car with you by honking and yelling at a runner? Really?

GAH! I so wanted to yell something back at her. Comic book curses, or something. Don't worry -- I didn't. I just continued along as if nothing had happened.

The thing is, I wasn't even on the road. I'm not oblivious to the fact that cars travel the roads so I make sure to hop off the road or shoulder whenever a car is coming toward me. When this mean, mean lady honked at me, I wasn't even close to being on the road. I was fully on the grass, so there was no need for her to yell, honk or give me the WTF? hands. That was overkill.

Grrrr . . .

Anyway, the run was great, no thanks to the mean, mean lady in the minivan (did I mention that she was mean?). 7.65 miles in 1:08:21, 8:57/mile.

Enjoy the rest of the weekend!

~ Felice