In the scenic Vermont town where I massage tourists, there is a delightful bike path. From end to end, it's in the vicinity of 10 miles long. It winds and weaves under bridges, over bridges, beside a small river, beneath the shade of trees, and even marks off the distance in 1/4 mile increments. This has become Panda's Running Nirvana.
The next time I run there, I really must bring along my little camera to show you some scenery. I love that I can take a break to stretch on a bench, or even dip my bloated, pudgy sausage fingers into the cool flowing waters. Ok, who am I kidding, it's frickin' freezing water, but still refreshing.
This path goes from the village proper to the ski resort mountain. When you are traveling from the village toward the mountain, you do experience an imperceptible raise in elevation. I didn't feel like I was traveling uphill for 2 miles, until I turned around to head back. All of a sudden I was cruising! I was striding along like I was born Kenyan. I'm not sure how far a distance I ran, but I just went with it.
I started to regret it as soon as I slowed down. My ankle started getting pissed off at me.
"Umm, Panda?"
"Yes, Ankle?" (Not making eye contact)
"I just wanted to bring to your attention that you haven't gone this far before..."
I considered the distance...I had gone a little over 4 miles total. The longest distance I had wun since breaking my ankle.
"Yes, Ankle, I believe you might be right. But I was feeling like a super star! Come on, can't you cut me some slack this once? I'll be better next time...I'll work up to 4 miles. Cross my heart."
Ankle sighs. Shakes its head back and forth. Ultimately, Ankle hooks me up and decided to not drag me through stiffness hell the next day. I am grateful and resolve to take it easy on Ankle...for now.
I got the taste of what the Flow feels like. And I'm hunting it down.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Holy crap, I'm running.
Ahh Dear Reader, we have come to the moment you've been waiting for...a post about some actual running. (No please, don't get up...applause aren't necessary).
In the past couple of weeks I did start to dabble a bit with the treadmill, in the vicinity of 3 or so miles a workout, and each time I would try to see how far I could go without stopping. The first day I ran about 3/4 miles straight (and I was psyched), the next time, about the same, but threw in another half mile of running in the same workout, just to increase the amount of running time. I was running in my Veebs (of course) and feeling pretty damn jazzed about it. Every time I see the sign next to the treadmill that says "Shoes must be worn at all times" I still secretly wish someone would pick an argument with me about how I'm not really wearing shoes, etc etc, but alas, no.
This week, I finally decided to take this show on the road...truthfully, it was more like a gravel bike path. The weather was sunny, and a bit brisk (just the way I like it!) and I figured, hey, that Disney half marathon ain't gonna be indoors so I better get my butt outside.
So I drove to our local scenic bikepath, a splendid little 1.25 mile stretch of white gravel along a river. The parking area is about halfway in the middle, so I walk a half mile to warm up, then turn around to start running, with another half mile at the end for a cool down.
I would love to say that after the completion of the warm up my feet took on a life of their own, as if they were thanking me for finally releasing them into the wild to run free, the gentle pat of my forefoot being drowned out only by the sound of my heart. In reality, I gasped and nearly coughed up a lung in the frosty air. Running outside is noticeably more difficult than treadmill running. Little did I know, but that bastard treadmill was actually helping me along.
My confidence waivered. I thought of all those 1/2 and 1/4 miles I ran on the treadmill and how psyched I was to be running more than 2 minutes straight, and yet here I was, thwarted but the outdoors. Regardless, it was good to be outside. I was taking baby steps.
I decided to let go of my distance aspirations and focused on my rhythm and technique. The rhythm felt pretty good, although I think my strike was consistently to the mid-foot, rather than forefoot. I also focused on keeping my upper body steady, with minimal vertical bounce (much to the happiness of my boobs, yay!). I appreciate the fact that the trail gives you markers every 1/4 mile which allowed me to gauge my progress and how I felt after each 1/4 mile. I think this is why I gravitated to the treadmill - it gives me a chance to see how far I've gone without losing my shirt on one of those GPS watches.
Overall, a satisfying first time out. I logged a total of about 3 miles, alternating running and walking. I call it "wunning". Eventually, I will be a full fledged runner, which to me means that I go out for a run and RUN the whole time. Baby steps...
In the past couple of weeks I did start to dabble a bit with the treadmill, in the vicinity of 3 or so miles a workout, and each time I would try to see how far I could go without stopping. The first day I ran about 3/4 miles straight (and I was psyched), the next time, about the same, but threw in another half mile of running in the same workout, just to increase the amount of running time. I was running in my Veebs (of course) and feeling pretty damn jazzed about it. Every time I see the sign next to the treadmill that says "Shoes must be worn at all times" I still secretly wish someone would pick an argument with me about how I'm not really wearing shoes, etc etc, but alas, no.
This week, I finally decided to take this show on the road...truthfully, it was more like a gravel bike path. The weather was sunny, and a bit brisk (just the way I like it!) and I figured, hey, that Disney half marathon ain't gonna be indoors so I better get my butt outside.
So I drove to our local scenic bikepath, a splendid little 1.25 mile stretch of white gravel along a river. The parking area is about halfway in the middle, so I walk a half mile to warm up, then turn around to start running, with another half mile at the end for a cool down.
I would love to say that after the completion of the warm up my feet took on a life of their own, as if they were thanking me for finally releasing them into the wild to run free, the gentle pat of my forefoot being drowned out only by the sound of my heart. In reality, I gasped and nearly coughed up a lung in the frosty air. Running outside is noticeably more difficult than treadmill running. Little did I know, but that bastard treadmill was actually helping me along.
My confidence waivered. I thought of all those 1/2 and 1/4 miles I ran on the treadmill and how psyched I was to be running more than 2 minutes straight, and yet here I was, thwarted but the outdoors. Regardless, it was good to be outside. I was taking baby steps.
I decided to let go of my distance aspirations and focused on my rhythm and technique. The rhythm felt pretty good, although I think my strike was consistently to the mid-foot, rather than forefoot. I also focused on keeping my upper body steady, with minimal vertical bounce (much to the happiness of my boobs, yay!). I appreciate the fact that the trail gives you markers every 1/4 mile which allowed me to gauge my progress and how I felt after each 1/4 mile. I think this is why I gravitated to the treadmill - it gives me a chance to see how far I've gone without losing my shirt on one of those GPS watches.
Overall, a satisfying first time out. I logged a total of about 3 miles, alternating running and walking. I call it "wunning". Eventually, I will be a full fledged runner, which to me means that I go out for a run and RUN the whole time. Baby steps...
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Tales From the Road: Part I
Because massage work is fairly inconsistent, I also work at driving for FedEx (Home Delivery, not Express, or Ground - they are all different companies). I've taken over the summer vacation routes this year, so I've been getting behind the wheel quite a bit recently.
I am reminded of how weird people can be. Especially here in Vermont. In rural areas.
For the most part, it's a pretty sweet gig. Nobody harasses you about doing any tasks, or gossips about how many more kids Brangelina have adopted, or tells you when or how you have to deliver boxes. If I finish early, I'm done. If I take a really long time, I swear a whole lot and get pissed at myself.
On the other hand, there are tricky parts of the job. You spend a lot of time alone talking/swearing at packages or other drivers, almost tripping on scattered toys in yards, and accidentally passing by the house you needed and having to turn around (which might require more swearing). Sometimes the box says "Lift with a partner" but here's the thing - it's just YOU. And chances are this is the biggest and heaviest package you have all day and it needs to get up two flights of stairs to an adult store (oh yeah, that just happened).
By the way, if you're a girl, it's in your best interest to pee whenever possible at an establishment with flushing toilets. Don't have to pee? Too bad - do it anyway. Because when the need strikes, your only option might be the side of the road, or risk incontinence the next time you grab a heavy box.
Lately, I have started to play little games to entertain myself during the 8-10 hours I spend on the road. The first is Bumper Sticker-isms. Profound knowledge, or even just a chuckle, can readily occur in two lines. My favorites this week: "Nice Truck - Sorry About Your Small Penis" and "Witches Parking: All others will be toad".
I'm a fan of dogs, but I'm not a fan of ill-behaved dogs. Sadly, I encounter these dogs regularly. For the most part the ones outside are just hanging out and bark at me out of excitement at a total stranger driving up to their sacred domain. Others are truly pissed off that I'm there, but lack the testicles to really take me on. I don't carry any treats with me or any shit like that because I don't agree with rewarding bad behavior (human or canine). So I just get out of the truck and go about my business and they just watch me ignore them. There was one time where a dog was flipping out, and I could tell that he was hostile, but he kept his distance...until I turned around. Then he lunged at my ass. I turned around and said "Hey, what the fuck?! That's not necessary!" and he stood there, head tilted. Now who's tough, beeotch?
My second favorite game is screwing with the ill-behaved dogs that get shut up in the house all day. I just love getting to the door and watching the dog FLIP out at me while impotently scratching the hell out of the door, spit flying on the glass. It just tickles me silly. Interestingly, the only dog who didn't bark from inside the house was a rottweiler. Go figure.
The most amusing attack I've ever had was by a flock of geese and chickens. They started honking and clucking as soon as I hopped out of the truck and by the time I got to the door and placed the package, there was a semi-circular flock of fowl closing in on me. I escaped the encounter without having to throw down, but I've never seen a goose so pissed off before.
Once in a while, you take a risk, and the risk doesn't pay off. But you get a funny story out of it. When you look at a map of Vermont, some roads are depicted in certain ways to let you know the condition - a wider, solid road is perhaps a highway, or major road, whereas smaller, skinnier roads are less well traveled (or maintained). There is a special type of road to watch out for in my line of work - the dashed line. This road may be sketchy, or even impassible, depending on the season. Also known as "Class 4" roads (even using the word road is generous) these are the trickiest to navigate if you don't know the area. The line may start solid, then turn dashed on the map. When it becomes dashed is where trouble begins.
Turns out I had a delivery on such a road. I would have avoided the dashed section, but there was none. It was ALL dashed.
I drove halfway down and had little trouble. The second half was increasingly sketchy, reduced to two evenly spaced bands of packed mud. I encountered a woman riding her horse. She gets visibly irritated that I have snuck up on her and her horse. She says, "This is not a road, you know. There's just a big mud hole up ahead."
Perfect.
Apparently I was thrown off by the street sign and the houses that were perched along this not-road. My mistake.
There are many more miles to drive this summer and I'm sure I will have more tidbits to share. Hopefully some of those tales will be from me...running.
I am reminded of how weird people can be. Especially here in Vermont. In rural areas.
For the most part, it's a pretty sweet gig. Nobody harasses you about doing any tasks, or gossips about how many more kids Brangelina have adopted, or tells you when or how you have to deliver boxes. If I finish early, I'm done. If I take a really long time, I swear a whole lot and get pissed at myself.
On the other hand, there are tricky parts of the job. You spend a lot of time alone talking/swearing at packages or other drivers, almost tripping on scattered toys in yards, and accidentally passing by the house you needed and having to turn around (which might require more swearing). Sometimes the box says "Lift with a partner" but here's the thing - it's just YOU. And chances are this is the biggest and heaviest package you have all day and it needs to get up two flights of stairs to an adult store (oh yeah, that just happened).
By the way, if you're a girl, it's in your best interest to pee whenever possible at an establishment with flushing toilets. Don't have to pee? Too bad - do it anyway. Because when the need strikes, your only option might be the side of the road, or risk incontinence the next time you grab a heavy box.
Lately, I have started to play little games to entertain myself during the 8-10 hours I spend on the road. The first is Bumper Sticker-isms. Profound knowledge, or even just a chuckle, can readily occur in two lines. My favorites this week: "Nice Truck - Sorry About Your Small Penis" and "Witches Parking: All others will be toad".
I'm a fan of dogs, but I'm not a fan of ill-behaved dogs. Sadly, I encounter these dogs regularly. For the most part the ones outside are just hanging out and bark at me out of excitement at a total stranger driving up to their sacred domain. Others are truly pissed off that I'm there, but lack the testicles to really take me on. I don't carry any treats with me or any shit like that because I don't agree with rewarding bad behavior (human or canine). So I just get out of the truck and go about my business and they just watch me ignore them. There was one time where a dog was flipping out, and I could tell that he was hostile, but he kept his distance...until I turned around. Then he lunged at my ass. I turned around and said "Hey, what the fuck?! That's not necessary!" and he stood there, head tilted. Now who's tough, beeotch?
My second favorite game is screwing with the ill-behaved dogs that get shut up in the house all day. I just love getting to the door and watching the dog FLIP out at me while impotently scratching the hell out of the door, spit flying on the glass. It just tickles me silly. Interestingly, the only dog who didn't bark from inside the house was a rottweiler. Go figure.
The most amusing attack I've ever had was by a flock of geese and chickens. They started honking and clucking as soon as I hopped out of the truck and by the time I got to the door and placed the package, there was a semi-circular flock of fowl closing in on me. I escaped the encounter without having to throw down, but I've never seen a goose so pissed off before.
Once in a while, you take a risk, and the risk doesn't pay off. But you get a funny story out of it. When you look at a map of Vermont, some roads are depicted in certain ways to let you know the condition - a wider, solid road is perhaps a highway, or major road, whereas smaller, skinnier roads are less well traveled (or maintained). There is a special type of road to watch out for in my line of work - the dashed line. This road may be sketchy, or even impassible, depending on the season. Also known as "Class 4" roads (even using the word road is generous) these are the trickiest to navigate if you don't know the area. The line may start solid, then turn dashed on the map. When it becomes dashed is where trouble begins.
Turns out I had a delivery on such a road. I would have avoided the dashed section, but there was none. It was ALL dashed.
I drove halfway down and had little trouble. The second half was increasingly sketchy, reduced to two evenly spaced bands of packed mud. I encountered a woman riding her horse. She gets visibly irritated that I have snuck up on her and her horse. She says, "This is not a road, you know. There's just a big mud hole up ahead."
Perfect.
Apparently I was thrown off by the street sign and the houses that were perched along this not-road. My mistake.
There are many more miles to drive this summer and I'm sure I will have more tidbits to share. Hopefully some of those tales will be from me...running.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Stepping Out
I hit the road today. My first "long" walk (so to speak), about 90 minutes. I didn't even really intend to go that far. Sometimes I just start walking and keep going. I had some time to kill and it was a nice day, so I figured, hey, why not.
I am quite aware of the fact that my running blog STILL hasn't had much running in it. I think that's an expectation that you, Dear Reader, will have to let go of for the time being. But no worries, I'm still going to bust out the content. Life throws a bunch of funky shit at you now and then that is quite entertaining if you look at it the right way.
And hell yes, I was walking in my Veebs. I even threw in a bit of a jog here and there (don't get too excited, it was only 30 seconds at a time), but it felt pretty good. I didn't do much because I hadn't truly prepared for "working out" and didn't want to sweat up my cute outfit that day. Yeah, that sounded totally girly, I know.
I have a big stint of work coming up - massaging, FedEx-ing, rinse and repeat - so I don't think I'll even see my Veebs let alone get to put some miles on them. I'm going to miss them. In order to make it up to them, I shall give them a spin in the washing machine to sexy them up.
A friend of mine is getting to attend a barefoot running clinic in Boston! So jealous. I gave her a fresh copy of "Born To Run" so she could have it signed by the author. I can't wait to hear all about the event.
I am quite aware of the fact that my running blog STILL hasn't had much running in it. I think that's an expectation that you, Dear Reader, will have to let go of for the time being. But no worries, I'm still going to bust out the content. Life throws a bunch of funky shit at you now and then that is quite entertaining if you look at it the right way.
And hell yes, I was walking in my Veebs. I even threw in a bit of a jog here and there (don't get too excited, it was only 30 seconds at a time), but it felt pretty good. I didn't do much because I hadn't truly prepared for "working out" and didn't want to sweat up my cute outfit that day. Yeah, that sounded totally girly, I know.
I have a big stint of work coming up - massaging, FedEx-ing, rinse and repeat - so I don't think I'll even see my Veebs let alone get to put some miles on them. I'm going to miss them. In order to make it up to them, I shall give them a spin in the washing machine to sexy them up.
A friend of mine is getting to attend a barefoot running clinic in Boston! So jealous. I gave her a fresh copy of "Born To Run" so she could have it signed by the author. I can't wait to hear all about the event.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Back on my feet and Livin' in my Veebs
Today, I am "officially" able to return to work. It's a bittersweet day - I was enjoying the whole "stay home and get paid" thing, but the hard-working, not-wanting-to-mooch side of me is happy to back. Granted, I'm not a 100% yet, and I'm SNR (still not running) but my right foot seems solid enough to carry me on a regular basis.
I'm also wearing my Veebs (Vibram FiveFingers) all the time. I'm serious. I wear them in the house.
I know I was only supposed to get used to them "1-2 hours a day" but I said the hell with that and wore them for 12 hours. And no pain in the feet! Last weekend I did overdo it a bit - my right heel was sore, but then again so was my calf, so I have a feeling the heel pain was overexertion since my left heel felt great.
Today's weather is an unseasonable and delicious 65-ish degrees, and I definitely got my ass (and feet) outside. I'm not sure of the mileage, but I'm guessing in the vicinity of 2 miles. Here are some observations:
1) I have become stealthy and ninja quiet - These babies make hardly any noise. After clunking and shuffling around on crutches for a couple of months, it's nice to be able to sneak up on people.
2) Feeling like a badass - When I walk into any store with a "No Shoes, No Service" sign, I almost look around for a manager or security officer to take me down as a non-shoe wearing law breaker. Depending on my mood, I WANT them to challenge my Veebs ("Damn right they are shoes, the toes are covered! There's rubber on the bottom! Flip flop feet are more naked!")
3) When I have to wear conventional shoes, my heart gets sad, and I daydream about the next time I get to wear my Veebs.
Ok, so the last one was just me being weird. Because, yeah, I get it, loving shoes that much is pretty bizarre. The first step is admitting I have a problem.
I can't wait to start running. I've even gone and done something I never thought I would do and I officially registered for my first half marathon in 2011! Crazy? Possibly. But I'm uber-psyched. I'm gonna start the training and do a 5K in October to grease the race running wheels. In the meantime, Dear Reader, many of my posts in the coming months will not be documenting any heavy running training. However, I will be sure to let you know if I walk to the mailbox, or anything monumental like that.
I have no idea where this blog is going, but you are welcome to join me for the ride.
Each day I aspire to become less Gimpy, and more Panda.
I'm also wearing my Veebs (Vibram FiveFingers) all the time. I'm serious. I wear them in the house.
I know I was only supposed to get used to them "1-2 hours a day" but I said the hell with that and wore them for 12 hours. And no pain in the feet! Last weekend I did overdo it a bit - my right heel was sore, but then again so was my calf, so I have a feeling the heel pain was overexertion since my left heel felt great.
Today's weather is an unseasonable and delicious 65-ish degrees, and I definitely got my ass (and feet) outside. I'm not sure of the mileage, but I'm guessing in the vicinity of 2 miles. Here are some observations:
1) I have become stealthy and ninja quiet - These babies make hardly any noise. After clunking and shuffling around on crutches for a couple of months, it's nice to be able to sneak up on people.
2) Feeling like a badass - When I walk into any store with a "No Shoes, No Service" sign, I almost look around for a manager or security officer to take me down as a non-shoe wearing law breaker. Depending on my mood, I WANT them to challenge my Veebs ("Damn right they are shoes, the toes are covered! There's rubber on the bottom! Flip flop feet are more naked!")
3) When I have to wear conventional shoes, my heart gets sad, and I daydream about the next time I get to wear my Veebs.
Ok, so the last one was just me being weird. Because, yeah, I get it, loving shoes that much is pretty bizarre. The first step is admitting I have a problem.
I can't wait to start running. I've even gone and done something I never thought I would do and I officially registered for my first half marathon in 2011! Crazy? Possibly. But I'm uber-psyched. I'm gonna start the training and do a 5K in October to grease the race running wheels. In the meantime, Dear Reader, many of my posts in the coming months will not be documenting any heavy running training. However, I will be sure to let you know if I walk to the mailbox, or anything monumental like that.
I have no idea where this blog is going, but you are welcome to join me for the ride.
Each day I aspire to become less Gimpy, and more Panda.
Friday, March 26, 2010
I know a beaver when I see one
Ben and I have been together a bunch of years (11 so far) and we still manage to have the most ridiculous debates/conversations. I think our friends sometimes believe they are witnessing a true disagreement and feel uncomfortable when they hear us bantering back and forth about whether someone can be "more" racist than someone else (how can there be levels of racism? aren't you just racist, or not racist?). I find most of our topics are just funny. Take this morning for example.
B is filling my car with gas while I wait patiently inside. I see a deceased beaver near the gas station, fairly intact, seemingly fresh, the victim of vehicular manslaughter. It seems odd that a beaver would be wandering across four lanes of fairly busy roadway where lots of gridlock happens during the morning and evening commutes (well, as much gridlock as a Vermont city can get). I cannot marvel alone, so I say:
Me: Hey Babe, check it out. Is that a beaver?
Ben: I think it's a rockchuck.
Me: I'm pretty sure it's a beaver. It's got a black flat tail. What the hell is a rockchuck?
Ben: It's like a big groundhog.
Me: But don't beavers have big black tails?
Ben: Yeah.
Me: So that's a beaver.
Ben: I don't think so, Babe.
At this point, the pump is spent, the Kia is topped off and he's back in the car. I pull into the nearby parking lot to gain access to the streetlight so I don't have to put our lives in danger turning around. I'm also a bit creepy sometimes about roadkill. I wanna see this thing up close, and pulling a wide U-ey is gonna help me do that.
Me: Ok, fine, when we get up to the light you can see for yourself there's a big black tail. What is a beaver doing around here anyway?
Ben: Probably came up from the woods. It's been pretty wet and rainy lately. Maybe he was lost.
Me: Ok, here, we are passing by - take a look. See? Big black tail. Totally a beaver.
Ben: Oh, wow. Yeah, that's a beaver. Can I touch your boob?
Me: What?
Ben: I bet your boob is all warm and soft under that sweatshirt. Lemme just feel the bottom part. No wait, side boob. Side boob is awesome.
Me: Dude, your hands are cold! How about I just take my cold hand and say I want to touch the underside of your balls?!
Ben: That would be fine.
Me: It would be fine with my cold hands? Not so sure you would feel that way if they were actually there.
Ben: It's ok, you can just warm them up touching my balls more.
Me: What does this have to do with the beaver?
And then he smiles.
I guess he knows what a beaver looks like after all.
B is filling my car with gas while I wait patiently inside. I see a deceased beaver near the gas station, fairly intact, seemingly fresh, the victim of vehicular manslaughter. It seems odd that a beaver would be wandering across four lanes of fairly busy roadway where lots of gridlock happens during the morning and evening commutes (well, as much gridlock as a Vermont city can get). I cannot marvel alone, so I say:
Me: Hey Babe, check it out. Is that a beaver?
Ben: I think it's a rockchuck.
Me: I'm pretty sure it's a beaver. It's got a black flat tail. What the hell is a rockchuck?
Ben: It's like a big groundhog.
Me: But don't beavers have big black tails?
Ben: Yeah.
Me: So that's a beaver.
Ben: I don't think so, Babe.
At this point, the pump is spent, the Kia is topped off and he's back in the car. I pull into the nearby parking lot to gain access to the streetlight so I don't have to put our lives in danger turning around. I'm also a bit creepy sometimes about roadkill. I wanna see this thing up close, and pulling a wide U-ey is gonna help me do that.
Me: Ok, fine, when we get up to the light you can see for yourself there's a big black tail. What is a beaver doing around here anyway?
Ben: Probably came up from the woods. It's been pretty wet and rainy lately. Maybe he was lost.
Me: Ok, here, we are passing by - take a look. See? Big black tail. Totally a beaver.
Ben: Oh, wow. Yeah, that's a beaver. Can I touch your boob?
Me: What?
Ben: I bet your boob is all warm and soft under that sweatshirt. Lemme just feel the bottom part. No wait, side boob. Side boob is awesome.
Me: Dude, your hands are cold! How about I just take my cold hand and say I want to touch the underside of your balls?!
Ben: That would be fine.
Me: It would be fine with my cold hands? Not so sure you would feel that way if they were actually there.
Ben: It's ok, you can just warm them up touching my balls more.
Me: What does this have to do with the beaver?
And then he smiles.
I guess he knows what a beaver looks like after all.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Panda: 1, Nature: 0
It snowed last night. I woke up this morning, and there was snow on the ground.
Gaw-dammit.
Yes, I know it's March, and it's Vermont, but in the past couple of weeks we have seen temps in the 50s and that's damn near summer for us. I'm trying to get my ass outside and snow (the very stuff that bought me a visit from the Couch Fairy) is really not helping.
I did take my first official voyage on the USS FiveFingers yesterday. I wore those babies ALL day. Through rain, and mud, and dark of night. The best part? My feet feel awesome. No pain. I expected pain, since many people have said the Veebs take some getting used to, but I guess I'm a natural.
Granted, I didn't go for a long walk or anything, but I did wander around a grocery store and drive. Nobody asked me what was going on with my feet, and no children ran screaming from the store seeking protection from the horrific monstrosity that was my footwear, so overall, successful venture. Bonus - my ankle feels good too. I thought I would become a human barometer since I have metal in my bone, but it's feeling dandy.
My driveway is gravel and I rather enjoyed feeling the stones without FEELING the stones. The ground was squishy and cold, but not uncomfortable. It was oddly liberating, not just because my toes were free to flex and wiggle, but I was triumphant against Mother Nature (What? Is that all you got beeotch?) while still being me and not layered in TechWick or ThermoGuard or FrigidBeGone fabrics.
The driving was weird though. I stalled my little standard Kia a couple of times because I was just a tad bit farther than usual on my clutch.
Here are some photos of my beloved Veebs. We're gonna step it up a notch this weekend and do 3 miles of walking! Bam!
You can see how my right ankle is still bigger than my left. Complete with scar.
Gaw-dammit.
Yes, I know it's March, and it's Vermont, but in the past couple of weeks we have seen temps in the 50s and that's damn near summer for us. I'm trying to get my ass outside and snow (the very stuff that bought me a visit from the Couch Fairy) is really not helping.
I did take my first official voyage on the USS FiveFingers yesterday. I wore those babies ALL day. Through rain, and mud, and dark of night. The best part? My feet feel awesome. No pain. I expected pain, since many people have said the Veebs take some getting used to, but I guess I'm a natural.
Granted, I didn't go for a long walk or anything, but I did wander around a grocery store and drive. Nobody asked me what was going on with my feet, and no children ran screaming from the store seeking protection from the horrific monstrosity that was my footwear, so overall, successful venture. Bonus - my ankle feels good too. I thought I would become a human barometer since I have metal in my bone, but it's feeling dandy.
My driveway is gravel and I rather enjoyed feeling the stones without FEELING the stones. The ground was squishy and cold, but not uncomfortable. It was oddly liberating, not just because my toes were free to flex and wiggle, but I was triumphant against Mother Nature (What? Is that all you got beeotch?) while still being me and not layered in TechWick or ThermoGuard or FrigidBeGone fabrics.
The driving was weird though. I stalled my little standard Kia a couple of times because I was just a tad bit farther than usual on my clutch.
Here are some photos of my beloved Veebs. We're gonna step it up a notch this weekend and do 3 miles of walking! Bam!
Monday, March 22, 2010
Finding FiveFingers
Honestly, I'm not a chick who cares about appearances. I go for cleanliness and not stinking, but that's where it ends. I tend to share jeans with my hubby, and I still have clothes from high school (which either makes me damn lucky because I can still fit into them, or it makes me waaay out of date...probably both).
Long before I considered running, I wanted a pair of Vibram FiveFingers. I loved them before I even held a pair in my hands. Which is completely ridiculous since how the hell would I know if they even fit right, or whether they annoyed the shit out of me? Didn't matter. I LOVED them. And I knew I had to have them.
I follow VFFs on Facebook, and over and over I read how people loved them, but many were having a hard time finding them (Why are they backordered?? I've been waiting for 2 months! The Earth is going to split apart and engulf me if I don't get my FiveFingers!").
I live in the little state of Vermont, and as far as I can tell, these suckers haven't caught on here yet. This baffles me because we love our natural hippie stuff. We can pioneer gay marriage but we can't get stores to stock shoes that look like feet?? True, we are busy caring for our cows and maple syrup, but we got all that free time we aren't spending on our teeth. (Cheap shot, I know, but I had to get it out of your system for you).
Thinking that I would be on the FiveFingers waiting list, I figured I had to suck it up and drop some cash on these babies to get my spot in line. I almost shat myself when I revisited the website and found a store that was carrying VFFs...only 10 minutes away.
I dropped everything and ran to the store (figure of speech, I still can't run) with only an hour to spare until closing. With visions of VFFs in my head, I entered.
Just in case you too have seen the VFFs and fallen in love, as I have, I shall include a bit about my experience with sizing. The website is a bit vague on width - while it states some men might fit women's sizes, and vicey versey, that's pretty much it. There is more information on proper length sizing - measuring your foot to the longest toe and finding your size in inches.
I have a pretty wide foot. Back in the day, this flipper foot was awesome for getting me through hours of swim practice. Combine that width with an arch that Mickey D's would salivate over and I rock the men's E-widths in sneakers. I had reservations about the women's sizes - no offense to women out there, you are strong and beautiful, and I love you, but your gender specific shoes are so damn small.
Knowing all this, like a good girl, I measured my foot. Apparently, Panda requires a 38. Or do I?
I held the 38 women's KSO (Keep Stuff Out) shoe in my hand and knew right away that this wasn't going to work out. There is no way in hell the mesh could stretch the required amount for my toes to fit let alone my Kilimanjaro-like arch. My heart sank. What if I can't wear these shoes? What if the foot size is right, but the toes are too long, or the toes fit, but my foot is squashed??
Darkness warshed over the Panda.
A thought crossed my mind...FUCK THAT. What actually came forth from my mouth was "I think I'll try the men's sizes."
Instead of a 38 in women's, I left with a 40 in men's. And I'm wearing them right now. Even though the recommendation is to wear them only 1-2 hours per day, I went so far as to clean them off when I got home so I could keep wearing them in the house.
In the end, yeah, they do look a bit weird. But conventional is boring and I'm up for trying something new. I'm hoping we can pound some pavement together soon!
Long before I considered running, I wanted a pair of Vibram FiveFingers. I loved them before I even held a pair in my hands. Which is completely ridiculous since how the hell would I know if they even fit right, or whether they annoyed the shit out of me? Didn't matter. I LOVED them. And I knew I had to have them.
I follow VFFs on Facebook, and over and over I read how people loved them, but many were having a hard time finding them (Why are they backordered?? I've been waiting for 2 months! The Earth is going to split apart and engulf me if I don't get my FiveFingers!").
I live in the little state of Vermont, and as far as I can tell, these suckers haven't caught on here yet. This baffles me because we love our natural hippie stuff. We can pioneer gay marriage but we can't get stores to stock shoes that look like feet?? True, we are busy caring for our cows and maple syrup, but we got all that free time we aren't spending on our teeth. (Cheap shot, I know, but I had to get it out of your system for you).
Thinking that I would be on the FiveFingers waiting list, I figured I had to suck it up and drop some cash on these babies to get my spot in line. I almost shat myself when I revisited the website and found a store that was carrying VFFs...only 10 minutes away.
I dropped everything and ran to the store (figure of speech, I still can't run) with only an hour to spare until closing. With visions of VFFs in my head, I entered.
Just in case you too have seen the VFFs and fallen in love, as I have, I shall include a bit about my experience with sizing. The website is a bit vague on width - while it states some men might fit women's sizes, and vicey versey, that's pretty much it. There is more information on proper length sizing - measuring your foot to the longest toe and finding your size in inches.
I have a pretty wide foot. Back in the day, this flipper foot was awesome for getting me through hours of swim practice. Combine that width with an arch that Mickey D's would salivate over and I rock the men's E-widths in sneakers. I had reservations about the women's sizes - no offense to women out there, you are strong and beautiful, and I love you, but your gender specific shoes are so damn small.
Knowing all this, like a good girl, I measured my foot. Apparently, Panda requires a 38. Or do I?
I held the 38 women's KSO (Keep Stuff Out) shoe in my hand and knew right away that this wasn't going to work out. There is no way in hell the mesh could stretch the required amount for my toes to fit let alone my Kilimanjaro-like arch. My heart sank. What if I can't wear these shoes? What if the foot size is right, but the toes are too long, or the toes fit, but my foot is squashed??
Darkness warshed over the Panda.
A thought crossed my mind...FUCK THAT. What actually came forth from my mouth was "I think I'll try the men's sizes."
Instead of a 38 in women's, I left with a 40 in men's. And I'm wearing them right now. Even though the recommendation is to wear them only 1-2 hours per day, I went so far as to clean them off when I got home so I could keep wearing them in the house.
In the end, yeah, they do look a bit weird. But conventional is boring and I'm up for trying something new. I'm hoping we can pound some pavement together soon!
Monday, March 15, 2010
A Journey of 13.1 Miles Begins with a Doctor's Note
I have never been a runner. I'm kind of a big girl (if I may quote Eric Cartman - "I'm not fat, I'm just big boned.") so I'm completely surprised that I have become fascinated by running. Especially since three weeks ago I wasn't even walking.
I wish I had some sweet story about how I was snowboarding and caught an edge and laid some knarly yard sale all over the side of mountain and crunched my right fibula. Alas, no. I took a digger in a parking lot. While shuffling over ice that I KNEW was there, yet I was powerless to stop it.
Hearing my fibula crunch, however, was true.
But check this out: I fell in front of an ambulance. I don't just slip and fall, oh no...if I'm gonna slip and fall I'm sure as hell gonna break something and make sure I have a nice cushy ride to the hospital. One of the EMTs asked if I wanted to try to walk it off on the scene - it took me all of half a second to remember the sound of bone snapping and I respectfully declined the offer.
A week later I was the proud owner of four medical grade deck screws. The anesthesia was blissful and I was sad to see it go later that day as it was replaced by the sensation of a hot metal poker skewering my ankle like a shrimp on the barbie.
And there I was, broken, surgically screwed back together, and dependent on my gimpy sticks (crutches). I had never broken anything before...never even had a cavity. And I don't have internet or TV at home. Yeah. I know.
For a while I had Stephen King's newest 1000+ page novel to entertain me, but I plowed through that in three days (damn you sir, for writing shit that is so good I can't put it down). Then a friend of mine lent me Christopher McDougall's book Born To Run.
Initially I thought, "What the hell?! I can't even walk, and she loaned me a book about running? Why don't we go taunt zoo animals while we're at it?"
Then I read the book. And yeah, I let a few tears fall at the end. Because it wasn't just a story about running, but a story about getting back to what it means to be human. Hey, I'm human! Maybe I CAN run! And maybe I haven't had running success in the past because I haven't been running the right way!
The clouds parted and the heavens shined down upon my broken ankle and said, "Rise up...and walk again...whoa, I didn't mean NOW. Wait another 6 weeks."
I have friends who marathon. The full ones too, not just the half-sies. I wished I could run and even ENJOY it too, but I grouped running into that category of things I just wasn't meant to do, like be a jockey or Man of the Year.
But the funny thing about not being able to run made me want to run more. And not just running, but minimalist running - barefoot, or anything pretty damn close.
Today I saw my surgeon - an orthopaedic trauma surgeon who has been a bone mechanic over 30 years ("Ice? Eh, I don't think it helps. Where's the study?"). I told him about my half marathon aspiration in January 2011 ("You sure you don't want to take up cycling or something?") and I told him I wouldn't be running with a heel strike, but utilizing the forefoot to absorb shock, etc. He reminded me that I should be as good as I'm gonna get in 3 months, but I might expect some funky behavior from the ankle in the future. But if that's how I wanna roll, then go for it. (I'm paraphrasing, of course).
So there it is. I've got the go-ahead, now I've just gotta go ahead and register. And I've started this blog to chart my adventures, good and bad, on my sneaker-less journey to the Disney Half Marathon in 2011, three days after my 32nd birthday. And also because I need you, Dear Reader, to hold me accountable if I start to park my ass on the couch again.
I wish I had some sweet story about how I was snowboarding and caught an edge and laid some knarly yard sale all over the side of mountain and crunched my right fibula. Alas, no. I took a digger in a parking lot. While shuffling over ice that I KNEW was there, yet I was powerless to stop it.
Hearing my fibula crunch, however, was true.
But check this out: I fell in front of an ambulance. I don't just slip and fall, oh no...if I'm gonna slip and fall I'm sure as hell gonna break something and make sure I have a nice cushy ride to the hospital. One of the EMTs asked if I wanted to try to walk it off on the scene - it took me all of half a second to remember the sound of bone snapping and I respectfully declined the offer.
A week later I was the proud owner of four medical grade deck screws. The anesthesia was blissful and I was sad to see it go later that day as it was replaced by the sensation of a hot metal poker skewering my ankle like a shrimp on the barbie.
And there I was, broken, surgically screwed back together, and dependent on my gimpy sticks (crutches). I had never broken anything before...never even had a cavity. And I don't have internet or TV at home. Yeah. I know.
For a while I had Stephen King's newest 1000+ page novel to entertain me, but I plowed through that in three days (damn you sir, for writing shit that is so good I can't put it down). Then a friend of mine lent me Christopher McDougall's book Born To Run.
Initially I thought, "What the hell?! I can't even walk, and she loaned me a book about running? Why don't we go taunt zoo animals while we're at it?"
Then I read the book. And yeah, I let a few tears fall at the end. Because it wasn't just a story about running, but a story about getting back to what it means to be human. Hey, I'm human! Maybe I CAN run! And maybe I haven't had running success in the past because I haven't been running the right way!
The clouds parted and the heavens shined down upon my broken ankle and said, "Rise up...and walk again...whoa, I didn't mean NOW. Wait another 6 weeks."
I have friends who marathon. The full ones too, not just the half-sies. I wished I could run and even ENJOY it too, but I grouped running into that category of things I just wasn't meant to do, like be a jockey or Man of the Year.
But the funny thing about not being able to run made me want to run more. And not just running, but minimalist running - barefoot, or anything pretty damn close.
Today I saw my surgeon - an orthopaedic trauma surgeon who has been a bone mechanic over 30 years ("Ice? Eh, I don't think it helps. Where's the study?"). I told him about my half marathon aspiration in January 2011 ("You sure you don't want to take up cycling or something?") and I told him I wouldn't be running with a heel strike, but utilizing the forefoot to absorb shock, etc. He reminded me that I should be as good as I'm gonna get in 3 months, but I might expect some funky behavior from the ankle in the future. But if that's how I wanna roll, then go for it. (I'm paraphrasing, of course).
So there it is. I've got the go-ahead, now I've just gotta go ahead and register. And I've started this blog to chart my adventures, good and bad, on my sneaker-less journey to the Disney Half Marathon in 2011, three days after my 32nd birthday. And also because I need you, Dear Reader, to hold me accountable if I start to park my ass on the couch again.
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