Door To The Shore: The run I've been working for

15 mile run in March, photo by Susan MacDonald

DOOR TO THE SHORE RUN 
SATURDAY 4/27/13  
THE PLAN: <------------------------

9 A.M. - I'll leave our house alone, run over the Cahuenga pass into Hollywood, take a right somewhere like Sunset or Santa Monica Blvd, run for a while, then take a left somewhere, towards the ocean.

NOON - I'll get to the Santa Monica Pier around noon, kiss Darby and Es, and run right into the water on the north side of the pier to cool my legs and celebrate.

1 P.M. - We will head to Cafe Gratitude for lunch.


DOOR TO THE SHORE RUN
 THE BACKGROUND: <-------------------

In August of 2006, after driving across the country playing shows with my band for months on end, I stood at the edge of the Pacific for the first time. It was El Matador State Beach in Malibu. The sun had set, the moon had risen. I'd never seen the Pacific Ocean before, and it was one of the most beautiful moments of my life. While my ex-husband (the drummer) and the bass player pulled out their phones to text people back home, I just stood in the moonlight, letting the tide fill my ears, and breathed in the salty air. Touring life was hard for me, but in that moment I felt an overwhelming, complete joy. 

That night at El Matador I had no idea that a few months later I would move to L.A., quit touring, eventually divorce from my ex, become a yoga teacher, meet and fall crazy in love with my sweet n' sexy Darby, become a parent to two full-grown kids, and all the other stuff that has come to shape my blessed life. 

Sometime around last June I got this nugget of a crazy idea that, despite having only ever run 8 miles max, I would like to run to the ocean. Remember that List of 100 Things to Do? I added "Run to the beach" at #100.  Living in the valley it can seem so far away, but I felt a yearning to cover that distance and know that all I needed was the power of my body to get me to the western edge of the country. 

Around that same time I met a runner who confidently told me that if I had already run 8 miles, I could surely run a half-marathon. 13.1 miles. It sounded impossible, but I realized that if I trained for the L.A. half-marathon in October 2012, I would be on track to run to the beach by the last week of December. I signed up for the half to keep me honest in my training. 

During this time, as I have been racking up miles, I have been working on my writing as well. The two -- running and writing -- have been linked, and I believed that if I could accomplish the impossible (running to the beach from my house) then I could accomplish other impossible things (publishing my writing, writing a book). Impossible is a state of mind. Accomplishing both of these things seemed, well, Impossible. 

And strangely, quietly, in the back corner of my mind, possibly Possible.

Running has been my meditation on achieving my hopes, for showing up for myself, for not letting hardship derail my dreams, for getting to the finish line even when the going gets really tough. 

Planning to run from my front door to the shore has been a practice for setting my sights on something beyond my current ability. Since leaving the touring life of being a band on the road, I've been timid about looking too far down the road. Running from the Door to the Shore is a sight I set beyond what I could see. It's been a practice of having faith in myself. Committing to an idea. Becoming something new. Tapping into some kind of inner super hero. Trusting that I could grow beyond what I'd ever thought possible.

I run with superheroes. (LA rock n' roll half marathon 10/31/12)

Finishing strong for my first half-marathon in Oct 2012. Chip time was 01:58:01

The half marathon in October went really well, but the following week I developed an over-use injury in my foot that sidelined all my physical activities for a few weeks. The doctor ordered me to stop running, spinning, walking, and practicing yoga completely for two weeks to allow my foot to heal.  I was derailed by enthusiasm. This has happened before.  

It's pretty impressive (read: dismaying) how quickly the body softens from inactivity. Over November and December, I rested. I went to holiday parties. I baked a million pies. And then, after Thanksgiving, slowly began building up my miles again. On New Years I recommitted. On January 2 I started training again. I struggled to even do an 6 mile run. For all of January I kept going out, but every run I felt heavy and sluggish, as if I hadn't put in all those miles for the first ten months of 2012. I wrote about it on this blog. I kept track of my miles. I wondered if I'd ever again feel that inner superhero I channeled at the October half-marathon.

My second half-marathon on 2/17/13: Pasadena Rock n' Roll. chip time: 02:00:45

Finally, by mid-February, I built up to half-marathon distance again. In retrospect, I'm glad I'd signed up for the race, but it was tough. The six weeks of training kicked my butt. The race itself was so hard, I almost felt defeated. I bonked out at around mile 9 and when I saw the 2-hour pacer group fly by me -- they had started the race after me by a few corrals -- I nearly stopped right there. I was disappointed in myself before I even got to the finish line. I wanted to lay down on the side of the road at mile 10, but I had no savior who could come and get me so I kept going. At mile 12 (ish) I saw a friend and her new baby cheering me on from the sideline, and somehow found a last surge of energy. I picked up the pace a little -- at least, it felt like it -- and when I saw the balloons, I sprinted to the finish line, arms up in the air as if I was the first-place winner. Which of course I wasn't. But I'd finished. 

The next week I set out to increase my miles again. 

My third half-marathon: Hollywood Half on 4/6/13. Chip time: 01:59:59.5

At the beginning of April I ran my third half-marathon. By then I had increased to 14.6 miles, so I thought the 13.1 miles would be no-problem. I was wrong. Again, around mile 10 I started to bonk out. This time I had been running with the 2-hour pacer the whole time, and when I slowed at mile 10 and she sailed past, my heart sank. I don't know why I wanted to clock in under 2-hours, but I did. I really did. I begged my feet to move. I said things to myself like, "Keep it up, buttercup!" I bargained with myself. I pleaded. And then I found an extra store of energy at around 12.5 miles. With less than half a mile left, I picked up the pace. Again, when I saw the finish line, I sprinted towards it. I came in .5 seconds under the 2 hour mark. 

And then the week after, I ran 15 miles. 

Last weekend I did my first17-mile run - my furthest ever. 

Which brings me to now.  Five days till my beach run. I am ready.  My body and mind are trained. Here we go now --   DOOR TO THE SHORE. Saturday 4/27/13. 

Incomplete Thoughts on Boston

Another 5.5 miler today. Straight into 15 mph wind for about half. That brings my week's mileage here in Los Angeles to 11 since the Boston Marathon bombing. I just kept my head down and ran, and ran, and ran, trying to figure out what exactly it is I have been looking for as I've been reading essay after essay about the Monday's events.

The only times since Monday that my inner-agitation has ceased has been when I'm out running or at the yoga studio, teaching or practicing. The constant monitoring of media has made me feel like I'm a little boat on a big ocean, tossing around at every weather change. I've been trying to understand how everyone there experienced it -- the runners who finished, the runners who didn't, the spectators waiting for friends and family, the families of the injured and deceased, the experts, the reporters, the runners and writers who weren't there in person but, like so many, were there in spirit.

My sweet n' sexy man reminded me this morning that had I been running that race, he would have been waiting at the finish line for me, just like he does here in California. I shook that thought away. "No, I wouldn't have gotten to the finish line for another 20 minutes or more. It's not just place, but time."

He was right, actually, but I couldn't bear to think it.

The fact is, I would love to run the Boston race one day. I've wanted to since long before I considered myself a runner, long before I even knew it was so many distance-runners' dream race. I've wanted to since 2003 when I ran the last two miles of the Boston Marathon in my biker boots and a cowboy hat, drunk as a skunk on the margaritas I'd been downing with friends since the morning as we waited for my running  roommate to pass us on the course.

As I ran today I tried to quiet all the stories. The wind in my face was loud, louder than my thoughts, and I let it fill my ears.

Envisioning the Hollywood Half

15 mile training run on March 24, 2013. photo by Susan MacDonald

This Saturday, two hours before sunrise, my boyfriend and I will purchase round trip tickets for an early morning train ride to the Hollywood/Highland station three stops away. The first train leaves the North Hollywood station at 4:31 am, and we'll be on it. Despite the weather forecast for Saturday highs around 72, Los Angeles' dry air holds no heat in the dark hours. We will arrive at our destination by 5, shivering against the pre-dawn chill. As usual, I'll have second and third thoughts about what I decided to wear when I was laying out my clothes in the warmth of our house the night before. Is it better to be too-cold early or too-hot later? This is an internal debate I will consider throughout the morning as the sun rises over my 13.1 mile race route.

In the early morning dark, the Hollywood streets will flood with lights. The normally busy intersection will be empty of tourists. In their stead will be the nervous excitement humming with over 7000 runners and their companions. Fifty minutes later, under a lightening sky still thirty minutes from sunrise, a local diva will sing the Star Spangled Banner. My boyfriend and I will kiss goodbye. He will take my jacket and water bottle while snapping a few "before" shots. A fog horn will sound at 6 am for the first corral, and then 3 or 4 minutes later for my assigned corral. As I cross the start line I will think, "Settle in. You'll be running for two hours. Enjoy it."

It's funny to think of settling in to run, but for most of us, a half marathon is not something we can rush through. This will be my third half-marathon in the past six months. Between the races and the training runs, I know that at these distances I've got to maintain a steady, sustainable endurance. The excitement at the start line makes it tempting to race off at top speed when the fog horn sounds. Even without the costume that many will wear for the Hollywood Half, I'll feel like a superhero when the crowd cheers us off, but the excitement tapers a quarter mile down the road and then there's another 12.75 miles to go. As I cross over the start line into the rest of the race I'll forget about the destination - the finish line - in favor of enjoying the slow-motion trip around the city. My only task is to run, and as daunting as the distance is, my body knows how to do it. Run, and stay positive. Until we're back on Hollywood Boulevard and the finish line comes into view, I will settle in to the waking of Tinseltown, the rising sun, and the surround-sound pitter patter of running shoes on the pavement.With the finish line 13.1 miles away, a run this long is not something to wish away. It is something to savor.



UPDATE: Finished the Hollywood Half in 1:59:59.9

Pasadena Rock n Roll Half Marathon

near the start line at the Rose Bowl, just before sunrise, for the Pasadena Rock n Roll half marathon

"You're from the East Coast. You should be used to this," said Sally, one of my race companions, as she watched me shivering in my thin running pants and shirt.

Pasadena Rock n Roll half marathon. My first race of the year. My second race ever. 

Sally had picked me up at my house at 5:15 and we got our third companion, Suzanne, right after. By the time we got to the Rose Bowl at 6 a.m. it was still dark as night. We found a parking spot about 20 feet in front of the porta-potty row and the three of us alternately huddled in the car, seat heaters on high, and stood in line for the bathroom as the sky turned from black to deep blue to pre-dawn pastels.

Maybe there is something to the "your blood gets thinner out here" thing I'd heard when I first moved to LA six years ago, or maybe I've just gone soft. Either way, I was damn cold on Sunday morning as we waited for the race to kick off. I wore my thin Lululemon running pants (black with a yellow stripe, for you fashionistas out there) and my favorite running shirt (long sleeved, but the wicking material makes it great in any temp between 45 and 70). The forecast was for sunny blue skies, lows in the 40s and a high at noon of 70. I had figured it would be around 60 when I crossed the finish line at 9:30.

In many ways, my experience for this race was different from the half marathon I ran in October. Back in the fall I was scared and excited enough that I tried to do everything "right". I had trained well and felt really strong by race week. In the days leading up to the race, I ate well and got plenty of sleep. My boyfriend came with me and took care of the driving/parking logistics which, for me, can be a prime anxiety-inducing project.

The main difference between then and now was the prep. I hadn't trained as well for this race. I did a 12-mile training run two weeks ago, but right now I'm just not *as* strong as I was in the fall. My weekly mileage hasn't hit 25 yet, and I haven't run 100 miles in a single month since October. Just considering my lower mileage, I knew I'd run this race a little slower. Also, the course for the Pasadena Rock n Roll is much hillier than the Los Angeles race was in October. I actually like hills, and was looking forward to the pretty scenery, but I knew they'd slow me down a little. I ran the fall race in 1:58:01. I suppose there's a little spark inside me that wants to keep getting faster, but I went into this one hoping I would clock in under 2:05:00.

Despite going in feeling a little defeated about my anticipated timing, I was excited about the event. It felt like an adventure to carpool down to the race with Sally and Suzanne. They are inspiring to me - both have run a gazillion half-marathons and a few fulls, and have a great attitude about them all. We run at different paces so I hung around with them until it was time to find our corrals and then made a plan to meet up at the beer garden afterwards. I ate a Chocolate #9 and took a last sip of water and then shivered over to Corral 3 where I found a place to stand near the Elvis posse.

are there Elvis posses in every race, or just here in Los Angeles...?

The Star Spangled Banner started at 7:20, then the first corral went out at 7:30. I crossed the start line at 7:32 and tried to find my own pace among the runners. Pasadena was a lovely course. Beautiful craftsman houses, canopied tree branches over the street. Curving hills. Shady and quiet with just the pitter patter of running feet, sounding like rain drops on the asphalt under the clear blue sky.

There weren't a lot of spectators out for the first part, but it was so inspiring around mile 3 to see two runners holding hands - one of them with Down Syndrome. I lost my Elvis posse pretty early and only saw them once again on a switchback later on. I saw two guys in No Meat Athlete "Runs on Plants" shirts and spent a mile thinking about making some veggie-fueled running shirts. I'd love to see more people out there on the course showing the world how strong we can be on a plant-based diet. The DJs and bands out on this course were really energizing -- much better than the LA rock n roll race. Yes, I did sing along to LMFAO's "Sexy And You Know It" around mile 4. And in mile 5, for the first time in my life, I enjoyed "Who Let The Dogs Out". Mile 6 had the best band - a Taiko drum band - and I ran to the thundering beats for as long as I could hear them.

When running for two hours, every little out-of-the-ordinary thing feels like an adventure. I grabbed water at each station, usually more for the entertainment of trying to drink it than for real thirst. Drinking from a paper cup. Blowing my nose. Eating a Honey Stinger chew (pink lemonade are the best). These were some of the highlights of my morning, until mile 11 when I started to regret digging into the second package of Honey Stingers. Miles 10, 11, and 12 were the hardest. I'd been trucking along okay for the whole time until around that point, and my pace got really slow. Runners began passing me left and right. Although I'd begun the race about a minute before the 2:00 pacer's corral, she and her 2:00 comrades sailed past me around mile 11. I felt a little sick, but I couldn't pinpoint where -- was it my stomach? Or was I just tired? My feet were dragging. I wanted the race to end and I still had another mile or two left. I felt defeated about the 2:00 pacer, and was sure my finishing time was going to be later than I'd hoped.

And then, around mile 12.5-ish, I looked to the left and saw my friend Kelsey with her newborn baby standing alongside the course waving. I looked back at them twice, and somehow that little baby transferred the energy I needed right to me. I looked ahead and could see what I thought was the final bend of the course. I picked up my pace. As I got closer, crowds of people lined the race for the first time since the start. When I caught a glimpse of the finish line I felt another surge of energy through my body. Without thinking, my legs stretched out before me and I sprinted as fast as I could. I felt strong. I felt like an Amazon Goddess. I lifted my arms as I crossed the line in victory. Yes, I actually did do that, just like last time. I'm a little bit of a dork.

As I made my way through the finish line support, I gathered every water, pretzel, Jamba juice, banana, and Gatorade I could carry. I heard the congratulatory text message bings from my boyfriend, my brother, and my dad's wife. One Gatorade bottle and one bag of pretzels later, with shoes off and jacket (reclaimed from Gear check) on, I met up with Sally and Suzanne at the beer garden. Far East Movement played on the main stage as we stretched in the sun and drank a beer.

I did it in 2 hours. Well, 2 hours and 45 seconds. I'm convinced Kelsey's baby shaved at least 15 seconds off my time.

Timing breakdown:
Crossed start line at 07:32:35
5k (3.1 mile): 28:46
10k (6.2 mile): 56:51
10 mile: 01:30:37
finish line (13.1 mile): 2:00:45

Sage Calling

Compared with the east coast weather, I have nothing to grumble about. Still, today in LA it is chilly and the forecast calls for rain. Some days this wouldn't stop me. Some days I hope for rain. Today, I'm feeling chilled to the bone and am having a hard time motivating to get out for a run.

These are the days when I especially miss my running buddy, B. I don't have a lot of experience with running buddies. B was my first, and until last week, my only. B and I met while out running. Our routes crossed paths, and eventually we joined forces. She inspired me with her commitment. Her schedule never wavered - she wasn't fast, but she was out at lunchtime everyday, doing her 5 mile loop.

When I first started running with B she was training for her second full marathon ever, which was also her second of the year. She inspired me to increase my miles, and sign up for my first half marathon. We ran through the summer together, and through part of an intense triple-digit heatwave. We talked about our families, our boyfriends, our professional interests, and running. Sometimes we didn't talk at all.

After B's marathon, she eased up on her miles. I was still working towards my half, so I'd meet her at her workplace, we'd run 2.5 miles together, and then I'd drop her off there and finish off my 5. Then she cut back on her days to go part-time and work on her next career. I looked forward to the 2- or 3- times a week that we'd still run together, but she was getting slower and I could tell her heart wasn't in it anymore. Towards the end she cut back to just one day a week. I knew she wasn't doing any long weekend runs with her other running partner. The last time I saw her, I gave her a holiday present - Cheryl Strayed's Wild. That was the last time I saw her. Since Christmas we've texted once - she was taking time off to heal a foot injury. Doesn't this read like a eulogy?

So, grumble, grumble. Today I would have gone out if B had been around, but I just couldn't brave the chill. What is it about some days? I don't over-think a thing one day, and then there are days like today when I wake up ready for a midday run and then spend the rest of the day trying to find a good excuse not to go.

Today's excuses went like this: It's cold. It's a long day. I'm tired.

Then my boyfriend called to tell me both kids were home from school today. Em has ear infections and Es has the flu. Suddenly I wondered if the inner-voice that had been looking for a reason all day to rest was actually the Sage speaking. There is some place deep inside me, on this day that I will go straight from my day job to teach yoga, and then directly from there to sing a gig, that did not chastise my decision to stay in. There was a tiny applause, actually. I didn't feel like a slacker, but still I wondered. It took till I got that phone call to consider that it has been my Sage all along.

Meanwhile, tomorrow, usually my day off, I am looking forward to a beautiful Saturday 6 miler through Griffith Park.

SUNDAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
February 3, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Morning
60's - 70's. Very pleasant.

Run:
12 miles
1:54:30
average pace: 9:32

TUESDAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
February 5, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Afternoon
60's

Run:
5.13 miles
49:07
average pace: 9:34

Slacker or Sage

In every yoga class I say to my students -- at least once -- something like, "Check in with yourself. Rest if you need to. Push a little harder if that's what you need today. Be in the truth of what is going on Now."

Many times, it seems, the things I say to my students are the words I need to hear for myself. There are days when it's clear as glass that I've got energy enough to power the state of California. Those days I push, run, stronger, harder, faster, and I smile through the whole thing feeling like an Amazon warrior goddess. There are other days when my body and spirit just want to roll out my yoga mat, find some long, deep hip stretches and then lay across a bolster, cover myself in a blanket, and chillax in savasana while the rest of the class sweats through sun salutations.

And then there are those other days.
Foggy days when the inner compass just spins.
Where am I, and where do I want to be?

On those murky days I can't tell my sage from my inner slacker. Is that voice inside me that says "chill out" just some lazy snail that wants to take the easy way? I have a deep fear of being lazy. It comes from too many childhood years spent eating bowls of cereal and watching after-school specials, waiting for someone -- anyone -- to come home. When I left home at seventeen I left television as well. Already I felt like I'd let too much of my life slide by, lost important years of creative activity, passed by my full potential. When I went to college I went with a vision of creating something out of this life -- I wasn't sure what, but it would have a purpose, a vision, a drive. Still, twenty-one years since I left home, lazy feels like a rabbit hole that I could still easily slip down. I have a fear of falling into a state of complacency. Of being pulled into a life of consuming crap television shows while eating crap food and creating a life of nothing-special. Crap.

Or, on those murky days, is it the wise woman side of me who whispers "let me tuck you in, you should rest"? In my fear of lazy I've gotten confused. My window to my compass is covered in condensation.

This sage versus slacker question also rings with a familiarity from something else. It doesn't just remind me of the cereal/after-school specials years because of the non-productivity. It reminds of the zero-or-ten starvation/binge eating cycle that I bounced between starting around high school, wracked with guilt for dipping into the fundraising candy box and then ricocheting into the vow "do not let anything pass by these lips". I knew how to go too far in either direction. It wasn't just me, though. It seemed at times that eating was a family activity. We didn't gather around meals to nurture our need for community. We gathered around meals to overeat and then go on diets. No wonder I lost signal and then over-corrected.

Another familial gift I received was strong muscles. That's from my dad, I think. I was a gym rat since I took the weight-room option for 10th grade Phys Ed. In college I still didn't know how to eat, but I knew how to lift. I knew how to climb. I knew how to put on headphones and sweat the elliptical trainer.

I've gone through different phases of working out since those 10th grade Phys Ed days, but yoga taught me the best. I am still trying to learn how to read my compass for steady. Yoga at least taught me that there is a compass to look for. For center. For body-need. For truth. For compassion. To trust myself and the signals from my tired -- or wired -- muscles.

So here is where I am. Today I ran. Yesterday I ran. The day before I ran. My compass bounced around between inner slacker / wise sage and steady ahead.

Sunday was great, and I was completely in tune with my wise woman after my first rainy 5.5 mile loop around Griffith Park. I've actually been applauding myself that I bailed on the second loop as planned. I just didn't have the stamina for a 12 mile hilly course for my first run after six days of no activity. (Back story: Last week I didn't work out at all due to being sick. My inner compass read pretty clear since my skin was hot and red. I had no interest in anything but rest). Instead I took it easy like Sunday morning and went home, showered, ate, and then had a wonderfully sweaty yoga class with my sweetheart.

Yesterday's windy 4.5 mile run was harder compass-wise. My body was tired from running and yoga the day before. I wished my old running partner was around. She wasn't fast but she was constant. At least, until she wasn't constant any more. Somehow I managed to mostly run, partly walk it, with a foray into some roadside push ups to keep things interesting. At the end I bumped into another runner whose company helped me eke out another mile or so.

Today was better. I hooked up with the new running partner (Jacob) which kept me moving. It was a new route, new company, new day. As it turns out, it was just his second day running in years, and it was my stamina that kept him going for the 2.75 mile loop we did together. Just busting those first miles with some new company helped me finish off my run of 5 miles. I could tell that if Jacob hadn't been there, my inner slacker would have stepped in.



SUNDAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 27, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Morning
Raining, in the 60's.

Run:
5.5 miles
53:54
average pace: 9:45


MONDAY'S RUN/WALK/PUSHUPS: 
Setting:
January 28, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Mid-afternoon
Sunny, windy, low-60s

Run:
4.51 miles
44:41
average pace: 9:54

TODAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 29, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Mid-afternoon
Sunny, windy, mid-50s

Run:
4.93 miles
45:07
average pace: 9:09

Jinxed

Trolley Town at Griffith Park, LA, CA 1/20/13

It's that time of year when half of the office is out on sick leave and the other half sounds like it is rehearsing for an audition with the National Coughing Chorus. Along with that, at least in my world, comes the annual Flu Shot Debate. My dad calls me up to find out if I've gotten the latest flu shot for this year's "worst flu epidemic of all time". I never have, I never do, and as my life stretches out in front of me, I can imagine that I possibly never will.

Not surprisingly, given the number of people we know who are sick, last week my boyfriend and I were talking about flu shots.

Hold on. Have I properly introduced you to my life? As a recap, my boyfriend and I began dating in '09 and now live together in a cute pink and  blue Tudor-style house in a Los Angeles valley neighborhood. He has two daughters, aged 8 and 12, and they split their time almost 50-50 between our house and their mother's which is about five miles away. Between us, their mom and step-dad, their god-mother, and the whole community that makes up our little world, our girls have a village raising them. Mostly it works out pretty well. Sometimes there are "values" differences between our house and their mom's, but we like to think that the differences give the girls a broader perspective on life. Occasionally, we hit upon some issue that their dad and mom try to resolve - usually under the general category of "Health".

So, last week we were talking about flu shots. The girls' mother is considering getting the girls the shots. At a 60% success rate for avoidance of the flu, and given that the girls are hardly in the risk demographic for extreme flu consequences (death), my boyfriend and I both believe that they should not have the shots.

"Why are people so afraid of getting sick?" I said.

I've been wondering about that lately. Of course, I hate being sick just as much as everyone else. But, I do love a lazy day in bed. I fantasize about a late morning reading, dozing for a bit, maybe watching an afternoon movie. I rarely get those kinds of days, and although I love my life, it is a pretty fantasy, even if the reality comes with a stuffy head and achy body.

I understand that getting sick is inconvenient to our schedules, but that just seems so small-minded to me. In the bigger picture, getting sick is part of life, it's part of the balance of health. Most of the time, for a generally healthy individual, getting sick helps our bodies to better combat bugs over time. It's like working out with weights - we break down the muscle in order for it to be even stronger as it repairs.

"Maybe we get sick because we don't give ourselves enough zone-out time. It's the body's way of saying, hey, slow down." I distinctly recall saying this to my boyfriend last week while we were talking. I distinctly recall believing it to be true.

I distinctly think I may have jinxed myself.

Did I accidentally put that prayer out into the universe? Something or someone must have heard me because midway through dinner on Saturday night I suddenly knew I desperately needed a Claritin. I don't generally have allergies, but I could feel my body begin to react to some mystery trigger that, now for the third time in ten months, has appeared in my life. I've spent the past two days exhausted as my body deals with its reaction to the unknown source that has me all red and splotchy, and hiding from the sun. My normally skinny fingers are swollen like sausages. My gums hurt when I brush my teeth. Even my softest clothes feel scratchy against my skin. I can't exercise right now because I can't stand to be over-heated. I'm bundled in layers because my skin is overly sensitive to being cold. Since I've found daily exercise to be the main thing that keeps me sane (for the sake of us all), I would feel exceptionally miserable right now except for this fact:

On Sunday morning, before the full effects of the allergic reaction settled in, and while Los Angeles was still wrapped in chilly high-40s, for the first time in months I ran almost 11 miles. Even as I groaned through the last few minutes, I could feel my runner's high. Even as I feel pretty crappy right now from this sickness, I still feel cloaked in my superhero cape from Sunday's run.

SUNDAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 20, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Morning
Temperature in the high 40's-50's

Walk/Run:
10.6 miles
1:44:06
average pace: 9:49 per mile


FRIDAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 18, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Mid-afternoon
Temperature in the 70's

Walk/Run:
4.9 miles
41:22
average pace: 8:26 per mile


THURSDAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 17, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Mid-afternoon
Temperature in the 60's

Walk/Run:
3.55 miles
31:54
average pace: 8:58 per mile