A day for family… and sport nutrition
I was in the right place at the right time, wearing the most perfect hoody, to take on sport nutrition awareness and advocacy.
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running
Smurfette Part 2: The Bone Scan
Ohhhh, the déjà vu. 2011: I was training for my second marathon, and struggling with a sore ankle every time I ran. I spent months in physiotherapy with no relief. Dear Physio was getting frustrated; I was beyond frustrated. 2016: I haven’t run in 9 months. I’ve suffered horrid pain that’s become more a dull ache in my left foot for 12 months. I’ve spent thousands (note the plural) on physio, chiro, acupuncture, essential oils, and more with no relief. Frustrated. Desperate. Moody. Sad and envious as bloody hell. Both outcomes resulted in bone scans. In 2011, it turned out I had stress fractures in both ankles. In 2016, well, as I’m currently writing this post in the waiting area of nuclear medicine, I don’t yet know the results. What I do know: At 9 a.m. I was injected with a blue radioactive tracer containing phosphate and technetium. The phosphate
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Oh my aching, aching *elbows*
Dear, dear, dear elbows, Please, please, please forgive me. I do not know what came over me, how I did not recognize/feel the err of my ways. Sure something felt off, not quite right, my shoulder, which hadn’t bugged me in months, started aching, and my hips felt all akimbo, and my feet like they were slapping the ground. I felt loosey goosey, not lithe and swift. But I wasn’t feeling flippity floppity. And it was hot out, there was a blood sugar issue, and maybe even a slight dose of dehydration. I know. Excuses. I cannot even imagine what others were thinking seeing as they saw me run by; for some it might have been an unwelcomed flashback to the free sixties. Oh the shame, the shame. As soon as I was home, as soon as I saw your lack of proper protection, wow, my head was going backwards
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The week of so-called “easy”
Easy schmeasy! According to our running program, this week is classified “easy” week, but I think the designer of the program uses that term a little too freely. On Tuesday, we had to run 40 minutes with 20 minutes at lactate threshold pace (for me: between 5:00 and 5:20 min/km) and the only way I can see that as being “easy” is that, unlike the previous week, we were allotted a 2-minute walk break to split the 20 minutes into two segments of 10. While I wasn’t anywhere near puking, and felt I could definitely keep the pace going, I was sucking back wind pretty good. And then there was tonight’s “easy” run, where we ran 30 minutes with 10 intervals of 30 seconds each at 3 km goal pace (for me: between 4:30 and 4:50 min/km) with a 30 second walk between each. The goal for tonight was not
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The Pitchfork and the Punching Bag
Running in the darkness of night can seriously mess with your head. You can start to see things, start to think thoughts, start to wonder who might possibly be lurking around corners, behind trees, under benches. I’ve been here before. Mostly when running solo in the early morning hours before dawn. But tonight, for hill repeats, that imaginative mind of mine went full boar ahead, even with my new group of running chicks all around me. It all started on the downhill, when out of the corner of my eye I saw an older fellow walking down a driveway towards us. I didn’t really think much of it at first, but that mind, oh, her wheels started turning, and fast. This hill, while decently lit, was still fairly dark, but not so much a black dark, more like a spooky midnight blue dark with traces of foggy lighting interspersed here
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