Is THIS Bliss?!

Lorina's Blog

injury

In which she comes crawling back…

Hello? Anyone still there? I’m back.

When I last wrote, I was just about to turn 42. I was getting back into running and feeling good, trying to find a happy balance between being obsessed with fitness and being a sloth. Well, the fates had other plans for me, and I was forced to be a sloth for months.

Long story short, it was something with my Sacroilliac Joint, where the spine connects to the hips. It caused shooting electric jolts of pain from my bum down my thigh. It hurt to walk, to stand, to sit, and sometimes even lie down. Forget about running and lifting weights and all the other things I wanted to do.

But during that time, I was diligent about what I ate. I rejoined My Fitness Pal under a new name, since I’d deleted my old account, and begrudgingly went back to counting calories. Over the summer and into the fall, I slowly lost about 10 of the 20 pounds that had crept up on me. I began physical therapy, got a very painful injection in my bum, and began to heal. I even started running again in October.

That damn injection in my bum, however, was a steroid injection. I’d had a few rounds of oral steroids in the previous months, which made me hyper (so much fun when you can’t MOVE) and a bit gassy (so many burps!), but that’s about it as far as side effects. The injection, on the other hand, thought it’d play a nice prank on me and bring back those ten pounds I’d worked so hard to lose.

I know there’s people who say that medications can’t cause weight gain, only over-eating does. I’m here to say to them, “Fuck you.” I was logging, weighing and measuring everything I ate. I was keeping to the exact same calories as I was when I was losing. I didn’t suddenly become stupid and forget how to math. My weight jumped up ten frickin’ pounds in three weeks. I certainly didn’t have 350,000 extra calories in that time frame.

By then, the weather was turning suckass and the holidays were fast approaching. I threw in the towel. I wanted to enjoy Thanksgiving and Christmas feasts and cookies and wine and not give a damn about calories for a few weeks.

I started up again at the beginning of January, as much as I hated being a New Years Resolutions Stereotype.  Since then, I’m down about 12 pounds, able to stop taking Vicodin for my back, able to do some (very careful) weight lifting, and have been running outside at least twice a week, which can be quite a challenge in the winter in the Northeast. I’m a lot slower than I used to be, but I’m still about 10 pounds above where I want to be and almost 20 pounds above my lowest weight when I ran the fastest, so I’m not expecting to be Speedy Gonzales. I started Bret Contreras‘ Strong Curves workout about 6 weeks ago, and will be taking a new set of progress pics next weekend.

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DIY Fitspo

So have y’all seen the blog post “The 6 Most Shockingly Irresponsible Fitspiration Photos?” Now, I do think the author might be reading a bit more into them than should be read, but overall, I agree. I find most fitspo annoying… the idea that health and fitness should be based on shame, deprivation and punishment.

So a handful of us on MyFitnessPal decided we’d make our own, starring ourselves, not models who fasted for a shoot and have a team to do their hair and makeup, a professional photographer, perfect lighting, and some photoshop gurus to correct any flaw that still slip through the cracks. Fitspo for the normal person.

Here’s mine:

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When we last saw our heroine…

When we last saw our heroine, she was still hemming and hawing about whether or not to do a 5k race this morning, leaning heavily towards do, since she was already downing her go-go juice (Pink Lemonade Rock Star!) and about to begin the grueling process of waking up the paparazzi (aka, Fritz).

I was a total frickin’ basket case last night. Insecurities. I don’t know where the hell they’re coming from. I slept horribly, thanks both to overly snuggly cats (GET! OFF! ME!) and an overly snoring husband. It felt like every five minutes I was nudging him saying, “Maybe if you rolled onto your left side? Maybe on your back? Maybe try taking a sip of this Gatorade? Is it allergies? Want me to get you a Benadryl? Maybe I should take another Benadryl. Or twelve more.” And all the while, I kept churning over in my head, “Run the race, don’t run the race.” Giving myself reasons to do it, and reasons not to. Then beating myself up for beating myself up. It was crazy. Eventually, I clicked off my alarm clock and decided, “If I oversleep… that will settle it.”

I didn’t oversleep. And the sun was shining. So I did it. And I did well. Not quite as good as I would have liked, but well. Very well.

I finished in 25:30, which is 31 seconds slower than my personal record back in October, but 46 seconds faster than my last 5k a month ago, and about two and a half minutes faster than the same race last year. And… I even walked a couple of times. It was cold and my lungs hurt, so  I thought, “Screw this shit.” I’d rather go a little bit slower and cross the finish line feeling good, than push myself to the point of feeling pain.

That time was enough to get me 2nd place in my age group, but wouldn’t you know it… this race only gives prizes to the first in group. Poop. And another peeve is that the woman who edged me out is a 30 year old. Makes me wish I was 40 already. I’d still have been second in my age group, but I’d give map props to someone two years older than me who cleaned my clock, instead of someone almost a decade younger than me. Silly, I know.

But the biggest peeve of all was that the woman who won best female last year finished in 25:44. So I was faster than last year’s winner. Guess I wasn’t the only one who was thinking, “I’ll get into the little race with less competition!”

I’m glad I did it. Wish I would have been able to push just a teeny bit faster, but also happy to know I’m back to about where I was before my injury. And I learned that wearing my hair in pigtails for running trumps a ponytail. My hair is a little too short for a pony now – it looks more like a stubby little hamster tail – but the layers stay nicely in pigtails. Don’t care if I look ridiculous. I felt cute, and my hair didn’t end up soggy, sweaty and disgusting.

I also realized that I need a watch with a stopwatch. I carry my phone when I run by myself, and use the stopwatch function on that. But I don’t like carrying lots of extra crap when I run races, because I know I’m not likely to get hit by a car or fall down a ravine or any other “gotta dial 911” circumstance. But I psych myself out during races and don’t realize I’m doing as well as I am. If I got to the halfway point in about twelve minutes, I’d have thought, “Hot damn! I’m kicking ass!” and would have kept going. Instead, I thought, “Ugh. People keep passing me. I suck. I’m not doing all that great. Might… as… well… just… walk.” Then I get to the finish line and realize I was doing way better than I thought I was. Happened in the last three races. Not going to happen again. I’m not saying I won’t walk, but I won’t walk because I feel defeated.

Anyway… onto the pictures!

According to the scale, I weigh two pounds less than I did a year ago at another 5k. The scale, like the cake, is a lie.

According to the scale, I weigh two pounds less than I did a year ago at another 5k. Which goes to show that the scale, like the cake, is a lie.

At the starting line. Really glad I wore my shades to combat the glare off the nearly naked Captain America there!

At the starting line. Really glad I wore my shades to combat the glare off the nearly naked Captain America there! Seriously, dude. It's only about 35 degrees!!!

 

And they're off....

And they're off....

I look so determined!

I look so determined!

I was listening to Yackety Sax, better known as the Benny Hill theme, which is great to run to, but...

I was listening to Yackety Sax, better known as the Benny Hill theme, which is great to run to, but...

But I was afraid when I came from behind that light pole, I'd be in my bra and panties, being chased by a perverted old man!

But I was afraid when I came from behind that light pole, I'd be in my bra and panties, being chased by a perverted old man!

I love having my own paparazzi!

I love having my own paparazzi!

Woohoo!!!

Woohoo!!!

All that clicking just plum tuckered Fritz right out.

All that clicking just plum tuckered Fritz right out.

 

Edited on April 29th to add…

Here’s what happened after the race. It was taking the volunteers for-freakin-EVER to post the results. Every so often, I’d mosey on over to the leaderboard and try to sneak a peak, and that’s when I saw it… one of the women who passed me was 30. Darn. My age group.  It had already been almost an hour since I finished, and it was getting quite dull just sitting around.

I still stuck around a little longer, while they were filling out the poster board with the winner’s on it. And, in marker, they started writing “K-R-I…” in the Female 30-39 slot. Kristy. Yep. that was the name of the other girl. Definitely not “L-O-R…” for Lorina. Since I didn’t win, and I had to poop and didn’t want to venture into that disgusting portapotty again, we left.

Last night, the results were posted on the local running site. And… HOLY CRAP! There was my name listed as the top female in the 30-39 age group! I did win!!! Not sure what happened with Kristy – maybe she wasn’t 30 after all, maybe she was actually a man, maybe she cheated and hid under the bridge and only joined the race in the last mile… but none of that matters. I WON! 

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