I Make Poor Choices and My Kidneys Love It!

Last Tuesday we had bad weather.  It was cold, it was wet, it was dark, and I got home from work late.  Never fear, Treadmill is here!  Only, I was just ensconcing myself in the comforts of the mill when someone else came into our apartment's wee gym.  Oh, and the other treadmill had an out of order sign on it.  Damn and blast! It was right at 5, and there are about 5 (what I would call) regular treadmill users and 10-15 runners in our building.

 Given the weather AND the fact that it was Tuesday (why does everyone work out on Tuesdays...no one Zeros on Tuesday), I thought it best not to monopolize the treadmill for an hour or more.  It's not that I'm a nice person....its that I saw a bag full of dog poo left outside of someone's door not 2 mornings previous...and we don't live in a walk up.

So I promised the girl that I would bust out a half hour and get out of her way.  I did, indeed, bust out a serious half hour and was SUPER DUPER proud of my pace.  Unfortunately I still only got a bit more than half of my planned run in.

Then Wednesday rolled around.  Glorious, Glorious Wednesday.  I decided that since work sucked, life sucked, and the previous night's run sucked (in terms of distance), I would "make up" my missed mileage.  I have been told by EVERY SOURCE ON THE INTERNETS THAT I HAVE EVER READ that this is a poor choice.  But then, I make poor choices and choose to accept the consequences of my actions.  It didn't seem like an outrageous number of miles (Thanks to the new long run distances!).

So, safely and firmly grounded in poor choice numero uno...I decided to launch myself into poor choice numero dos.  I did not take my hydration belt even though a) it was warmer than it has been lately and b) I always carry both nutrition and hydration on runs of more than 8 miles.  Throwing all logic to the wind, in an effort to just "get out and get this bad boy started", I left the house and started my run.

It felt good...then crappy...then "the tough runs are the ones that make you stronger", then worse, then "I am having trouble running in a straight line...huh".  I completed my run, bobbing and weaving to the spot where I exit the bike path.  Conveniently, it's only about a third of a mile from my apartment.  It was a long third of a mile.  I felt hung over, only I haven't had any alcohol in weeks.  I felt like death.  Getting up the stairs (yeah, because dehydrated girls are too dumb to use the elevator), was an act of sheer will.

I stumbled into the apartment, looked at AMA and said something like "I need your help.  Don't yell at me.  I need food and water now".   I stumbled to the couch with shoes still on.  AMA, smarter than I am, realized that unlike my usual poor choice, the deficit was water more than food.  Unfortunately I guzzled down a solid 20 ounces before he could slow me down.  Then my tummy hurt.  We slowed the pace and continued to give me fluids.  An hour or so later I finally started using the bathroom again. I was going to be fine and no medical intervention (the penultimate threat at this house) was not going to be required.

Enter Thursday.  Crazy day at the office, normal routines busted up, drank about half of what I normally do.  I'm a Nalgene in the morning, something with lunch, and a Nalgene in the afternoon kind of girl.  Usually my Nalgenes have some sort of tea in them, but super diluted and probably at a tea leaf to water ratio that would make an Englishman cry.  Thursday though...The morning Nalgene was mostly drunk by the time I got home that night.  I threw on my running gear and got 1.65 miles down the bike path.  1.65 miles and I stopped.  I felt...wrong.  Head pounding, tunnel visioned, felt like mile 5 million.  It was beautiful outside.  The sun was shining and it was warm enough that there were loads of people on the path.  And I quit.  I have never, ever quit a run that early, and rarely cut runs short.  Now twice in one week I was running less than I was supposed to.  I just couldn't do it though.  I literally walked back home, without the ability to even run back from whence I came. I went home...and I cried.

AMA told me it was dehydration and I was ordered to drink and take the rest of the night off AND to adhere to my usual zero on Friday schedule.  I did both of these things.  Then, apprehensively, I did the long run on Saturday.  It was tough...but I did it.  A new personal distance record of 18.3 miles.  The pace was an atrocious 30 seconds slower than my 16 miler...but well within what the charts say the range for my long runs should be.

It was an ugly week...but I did it.  And I would like to think that the doing it is what really matters.  I ended up being about 5 miles short for the week, but that's okay.  There was no way that I was going to try to "make up miles".

Maybe I can stop making poor choices.  Maybe I can start supporting myself as much or more than I try to support my runs.  And maybe, just maybe, I could try being proud of what I have done instead of being disappointed in what I have not.  After all...not to long ago I could barely even fathom doing a 40 mile week, let alone the idea of being disappointed in one!