Emma

05:49 pm: I'm a distance runner. I run a long way. I run all over town, and when I run out of town, I run to the next town.

I'm short, and fat, and it's really funny watching me run. I'm really slow, too. I come last in races, all the time. (Think about it...) I do get people shouting shit from cars (not so much since I moved to a small town, and the last time a car-load of young men shouted abuse at me, I went and had a word to their footy coach.) But, I also get a lot of people telling me that I'm so brave to be seen in public like "that". Yes, I am brave enough to commit the sin of being fat in public. In lycra. I figure people can deal with it. I'm running. As slow as I am, it's not like I'll be in their line of sight for long. Also, I'm a distance runner. An endurance athlete. It's not like I can do that doing laps of my backgarden, where the world won't be offended by my arse.

Today, I was running and I saw something that broke my heart. I saw a lady running. She was a bit older than me, but shaped like me, in her lycras and running shoes. She ran about as well as I do. She was running from her back fence, to her front gate. And then turning round and heading back to the fence. I'm hoping like hell it was her choice to do so, that she wanted to stay close to home because she was recovering from an injury. Or needed to be close to a sick family member. Or anything that means she wasn't running in a driveway for ages because she was worried about someone seeing her run.

Because if some middle-aged lady didn't feel safe running in public, in a town where the biggest crime is usually the theft of garden gnomes, or tourist failing to indicate.If she didn't feel safe in daylight. If this poor lady felt too ashamed to run in public? I want to find the person (or people) who so shamed her, and make them sorry.

I smiled and waved as I ran past, all fat and in lycra tights, and I really, really hope I see her on some running tracks around town, really soon now.

03:03 pm: Long range planning
I've got a bit intrigued with an idea that is floating around the internet. The idea is to let the world design your knitting. One example, is a person who knits a row on her scarf everyday. And the colour of the row is the colour of the sky just before she starts knitting. So, lots of blue, grey and black (if night.)

I've been thinking, and I want a scarf, where the colour represents the distance I ran that day. Black for no run, then lots of bright happy colours for different distances. Yarnover (YO) lace on days I do yoga. Maybe cables crossing over on days that I do cross training.

Of course, I thought of this mid January, and didn't fancy catching up. I think I'll knit it from my birthday this year to my birthday next year.

08:17 am: So, I'm fat. It's kind of obvious, and I am really smart, so I had noticed. Between scales, mirrors, tape measures, the fashion industry, etc, I had come to the conclusion I'm fat. No worries. I also have blue eyes.

Because I had no bloody idea what to give family-in-law for Christmas, I ended up buying baskets of local produce (wine/marmalade/shortbread) for the mother and father in law. (You ask yourself, why didn't my able-bodied husband manage this? Why indeed.)

We were having a cup of tea, and MIL breaks open the shortbread. Ate one herself, commented on how good it was. Offered one to her husband (my FIL.) Offers one to everyone at the table, by putting waving the packet in front of them, and saying 'Name, would you like a piece of shortbread?" Everyone, that is, except for me.

This isn't the first time it happened. Every time she hands around sweets, it's for everyone except me. Now, it involves neither aliens, robots or technology, so my husband didn't notice, so I can't enlist his help. I don't actually like sweets all that much, and I didnt want a piece of shortbread. But I can't help but feel that offering sweeties to everyone but me is best described as incredibly rude. I'm largely venting so I don't tell the woman she does not have the manners of a moose.

07:09 pm: Hmmm.

For a while, I belly-danced a lot. When we moved, I didn't find a new troupe, because there wasn't one in the middle of nowhere, and my husband wasn't entirely comfortable with the dancing.

Last year, I saw belly-dance so crap I was tempted to come out of retirement. (Dancers hired to look good in the costume, who didn't even know how to stand like a belly dancer. Woeful.)

Now, I'm getting a few prods to get back into it. An offer of teaching space for one. I do miss dancing. And today, I got an email regarding teacher training for bellydancers.

Thinking.

09:10 am: Recovery
This year, I ran three marathons. Yeah. I know.

By the third one, I had a curious injury (nerve in back got unhappy), and it was not very easy. So, I'm currently resting a bit. Resting means walking a lot, and doing 2 one-hour fitness sessions a week. It also means getting enough time to study for my Fluid Dynamics exam, which is Monday.

After the exam, I start running again. Or that was the plan until I scored a business trip. I think I'll take a swimsuit, and swim for exercise. And then I have three glorious months where I just have to work full time, not work full time, study part time and train for a marathon.

Phew. It's good to get a rest.

10:04 pm: I participate in two sports. Marathon running and target rifle shooting. When the zombies come, I am totally sorted.

Anyway, I just had a thought: in one of these sports, I get to lie down, perfectly still, and do my thing. In the other, I have to run 42.2km. In one, I'm at least passing good. At the other, I'm kind of amusingly bad.

Why is it, that I love the marathon so, when I have an alternative that doesn't involve running a very long way? That I'm good at? Why do I insist on participating in a sport where I will never be good?

Yeah. When I figure it out, I'll let you know.

In other news regarding shooting, I had a good hit on Saturday. Each shoot is 10 shots, scored out of a possible 50. There's a bit of a thing about "dropping your last", getting to a place where you could get 50, then stuffing it up. It's easy to do, by that point you have a solid pulse rate, adrenaline is flowing, and your brain might start to be unhelpful.

I had a solid hit for the first stage, then I got to the last shot of a potential 50. 9 shots had been true, then I got to the final shot. I had been doing maths to keep my demons quiet, but they piped up about then. In response to the inner voice that says I'll never, ever be good enough, and I am bound to stuff up the final shot, my brain came back with "Of course I'll get the shot. I'm a marathoner." And I got the shot.

Ah. That's why I do it. Keeps the demons quiet.

(For the literal amongst us, I don't really have actual demons. I have really vivid negative self talk. It's kind of green and spikey.)

07:27 pm: Melbourne Marathon 2011.
I haven't posted in a while.

You see, I mostly post about running, and my running has been making me mope. In July, I managed to injure my back somehow. I wasn't in pain, I had a numb patch on my stomach, and warm feelings in my right leg. I got checked over by two medical professionals who came to the helpful conclusion that I had "annoyed a nerve in my back somehow", but I ended up unable to run for three weeks, missing or truncating 5 long runs.

I do an 18 week marathon prep. I essentially eviscerated my program. A sensible person would not run a third marathon in a calender year, they would say 'Paris and Edinborough. That's pretty good for 2011." (In my world, sensible people run two marathons a year. I understand I'm special.)

So, I was trying to ignore that I was going into a marathon with too little training. That I was painfully, screamingly slow, with inexplicable nerve damage to my back. (PS, if the symptom set means anything to you, I'd love to hear it. My medical professionals are confused. A number of things have been ruled out, but I don't have an answer.)

I went into this thinking the most likely outcome was that I'd be disqualified for slowness. Seriously, I ran the shep half 6 weeks ago, in 3 hours :26min. That's 20 minutes slower than the cut-off.

The temperature of the day was good, with some rain. Myself and another runner rented an apartment for us and our support crews. I got to the line in reasonable shape: no injuries present, and only slightly terrified. My plan was to stick to a race pace that "Starts with an 8". I managed that for 10km, then started slowing.

I had a great time chatting to other runners. My favourite was an older gentleman. He was nearby when I greeted a friend with "Hello gorgeous!" He said "Oh, I thought you were talking to me." I looked him square in the face and said "Hello, gorgeous!" Then, whenever I saw him (at turnarounds, etc) I'd announce "Hello gorgeous!" and he'd say "Hello, Beautiful!"

It eventually thinned out. I was on my own for a long stretch of St Kilda beach, and it was blowing like a thousand bastards. Very windy, which just sapped my strength and will to live. I stayed positive and on task.

It started going pear shaped at 24km, and then got seriously icky at 35km. I kept going, but my left leg and I were not singing from the same song book. It was trying to induce a slight case of horizontal. I wished to run. I discovered that I could maintain the vertical if, every so often, I grabbed my knees, bent over, and wiggled. (My friend, Alison, commented later that I looked like was attempting to do the chicken dance.)

Co-incidently, 24km was the last time I saw a manned water spot. I did see first aiders about the place, so that was good.

At 40km, a race vollie decided to walk me it. Trent, you're a legend. He kept a polite distance while I staggered, swore and swerved about. I was doing it tough at that point. I also managed to do the chicken dance routine in front of the transport as the left leg and I were no longer co-operating in any way, shape or form. I kept walking. Eventually, I got there. I got the final offically recorded time. I am proud of not quitting, and for finishing, and being able to hobble away from the finishers line.

It wasn't pretty, it wasn't easy, it wasn't big or clever, but I did it.

The plan now: go some speedwork, and select a winter marathon for 2012.

08:30 am: I want to go back to England to graduate. This is likely to be expensive. So. The plan.

THe biggest negotiable part of my budget is yarn. Yarn money is now travel money. I will not buy yarn until I have enough in my savings account to cover a trip to the UK.

10 days since last purchase.

09:34 pm: So. Due to injury and moving internationally, I didn't run during the week. I did pack up a house, and sold my car, so I got plenty of exercise in.

Today, back in Oz, I tried for my long run.

*snigger* Ha, ha, ha. It was so horrible, I cut it short at 7km. I am not over the injuries. I have googled my symptom set, and will be seeing a physio as soon as possible. I started limping at 4km, and it went downhill from there.

I've narrowed it down to two things. Neither are good, but I'm being realistic, so I've rejected the possibility of cancer. Both of my guesses have NSAIDs as part of therapy, so I've started on those. (One: damaged nerve from sitting too long without a break on a crap chair. Two: ITBS, an overtraining injury.)

I'm a bit of a purist. I don't do anti-inflammatories to help me run. I don't do painkillers. I need to listen to my body (so I can shout "Shut up, legs!") so I don't do that stuff. Happily, my sypmton set does not include pain, so I'm pretty certain one of my guesses is wrong. (The guess that has taking 6 weeks off running as a therapy.)

I'm going to take it easy, and not run until I see a physio. Continue with the anti-inflammatories, and pray I'm right.

09:50 pm: Terrible pain in the diodes all down my right side.
so, thesis is over and I'm back. (Yarn! Running! There you go, regular posts.)

I had the worst run ever a few days back. Plan was to run 25km. I've been experiencing warm feelings, at random places in my right leg, and diagnosed it as an ouchy nerve from sitting too long while writing the thesis. (Bear in mind, I am not a medical doctor. If I was a medical doctor, I would have said it was because I'm fat, and I should lose weight.)

So, running. I found a tree root, 4km in and hit the deck hard. Impressively, I assumed the "about to be tackled in rugby" position, and lost skin on my elbows, rather than breaking my wrists. After I staggered to my feet, I kept going. I got 90% in rocket science, but I'm obviously pretty dumb.

I continued along my planned path, but at 12km I noticed something interesting. I couldn't lift my left foot. I was running, and dragging my left leg. (I noticed it earlier, but was able to fix it if I concentrated.) At that point I said "forget this" and walked the 7km home (first clever thing I did all day.) Sadly, I had neither a phone with me, or anyone I could reasonably call at that hour.

I managed to bugger up something in my back (sleeping with an ice pack on it has worked) and my right ITB has a problem. My beloved sports massage guy has moved up north, and I seriously considered going to visit him. I've taken today off running, and probably tomorrow, too. I won't be running until my right ITB stops feeling warm and tingly. (Happily, the warm and tingly right leg had been going on for a week, but now it's only the ITB instead of ITB, calf and foot.) Tonight, the ice pack is going on my right leg.

Of course, I've been doing heavy lifting this week. Moving house, you see.


We are not thinking about Melbourne marathon. We are noting that I spent longer on my feet than planned, just not doing the distance planned. But if M.M sucks that hard, I'm totally taking a tram.