I am forgetful. I blame my work. Being employed in the interactive media industry has made me ADD (it’s true, ask the New York Times).
I’ve also been known to forget key items when packing for the gym. Continue reading
After my big doctor appointment today, I headed home, had dinner, did some chores and cut my toenails. I was lucky I didn’t cut myself — it was very odd to not have feeling in my third and fourth toes.
I couldn’t feel that small area on my right foot, because my doctor injected me with a medicine to kill the tip of my pinched nerve. (That numbness will only last about 24 hours.) Continue reading
On this, the morning of what I hope is my last podiatrist appointment until I have a head full of gray hair, I told my trainer: “I have a new goal… I want to do a triathlon, a sprint triathlon.”
“Your goal,” he kindly but sternly said, “should be to have two shoes.” Continue reading
I have been working very hard at continuing to maintain my five-day workout plan — despite my injury, my teaching responsibilities and my hectic work-mornings-one-day-work-nights-the-next-and-working-mornings-again schedule.
That means that I still get up at 5 a.m. every morning, even if I didn’t get home from work until 11 the night before — and even if I don’t have to be at work until 2 p.m. later.
It’s tough. Trying to keep my body clock on its regular schedule while I fill in some gaps until I can hire a Web producer is physically and mentally exhausting.
Take yesterday, for example.
I grabbed my gym bag, popped on my snow boots, dug out the car and headed to the gym. I swiped my card and started walking to the locker room — proud that I had once again woken up on schedule to tackle the crazy day ahead of me.
Halfway to the locker room, I stopped in my tracks. “Sh**,” I said out loud as I looked down at my feet. “I forgot my gym shoe.”
(Ha. That’s not a typo, I have to wear my fun little stress fracture boot, which I remembered for some reason, on one foot and a gym shoe on the other.)
I stood in that spot a little too long as I tried to calculate as quickly as possible (using my un-caffeinated brain) the benefits of cutting into 20 minutes of my workout time to go home to get my shoe and head back.
There were none. I decided to bike sans shoe (which the gym probably frowns upon).
My barefoot, er sockfoot, workout was not an insignificant one. I biked 45 minutes at level 15 (that’s pretty decent resistance), with varying hills and I made a goal of keeping my RPMs above 80 on the climbs and as high as possible for the flats.
It was a good ride – I went about 14 miles – and I was feel pretty good about my prospects of continuing to get in shape while injured.
Until today, that is.
Despite the fact that I again got up for a bootcamp I can’t fully participate in, I did my biking, my rowing splits, my lifting, my squats and my core work.
I was in high spirits looking toward my doctor appointment today at 1 p.m.
And when I got on the scale for my Friday weigh in, and it said I had gained a pound, my spirits crashed.
When I got to work and Geoff asked how I was doing, I am embarrassed to say I let a few tears out. I am terrified that this injury isn’t healing, isn’t going to heal well, and if it does, that it won’t do so in time. I have a lot of runs – Shamrock Shuffle (March 21; probably out), Soldier Field 10-miler (May 29), Chicago 13.1 (June 13) – planned leading up to my debut marathon in October. And if I can’t train properly for it, I shouldn’t run it either.
I’m struggling to try to keep a positive attitude.