Ghost Trails

I finished reading Ghost Trails today, written by a woman whose blog I've been reading off and on for a few months (whom I found via another blog I've read off and on for a few years). It's about an ultra-(ultra, ultra-)endurance race, and it made me think about the relationship between endurance and pain and how much pain you should endure in pursuit of endurance feats.

I know I have an above-average pain tolerance; giving birth twice without drugs confirmed that for me. Because of my doomed knee, I always have some measure of pain while running--but it's not bad, and I barely notice it any more. In the last two years, I've had pelvic pain with pretty much every step I take. It's usually bearable, but when it's not, I'm reduced to limping (and cursing) within minutes. I feel like I have good sense of how much discomfort I'm willing to endure, and as long as it doesn't consistently cross that threshold, I'm happy to keep going. In other words, I'm too stubborn to stop. H would nod vigorously in assent. And rolls his eyes. And ask if you, dear reader, could possibly talk some sense into me because he's given up.

I'll admit I'm not very good at distinguishing between "good pain" (pushing your limits) and "bad pain" (hello, stress fracture), between intensity and injury. But as I read about Jill's effort in the 350 Iditasport race, I thought, heck, surely I can manage 50 miles.

6 miles from my parents' house today, on the roads with a foray through the old high school cross-country course--most of which I discovered has been paved over in the last year.

It's hot.

Yes, it's hot today. That's something I never missed about Texas--the obligatory wearing of shorts in December. Huck went outside this morning to jump on the trampoline wearing a t-shirt and a diaper (but I supposed that says more about our general aesthetic than the weather).

I've been surprised by my last two runs. Yesterday morning I was up early to run 5 miles before H left for work, then did another 3 "miles" on the elliptical at the gym (while the kids played joyously in child care--school is out so all the much-admired "big kids" are there). Nothing hurt. Well, nothing except my toe, but that doesn't count. I intended to run early again today, but Helen's midnight escapades left me exhausted and I shoved my iPhone (aka alarm) under the pillow rather than roll out of bed into my running shoes. I did 6 miles on the treadmill at the gym, and--again--nothing really hurt. (Except the toe.) They aren't big runs and they're not going to get me into endurance shape anytime soon, but it's nice to have two consecutive pain-free outings.

This weekend is tricky, running-wise. Everyone will be busy, and I feel bad ducking out for 2 (or 3 or 4) hours. That, and there is really nowhere to run in my hometown--all pavement, no shoulders or sidewalks, and the closest trails are an hour away. If the kids nap, I will likely try to do a couple of 10-12 mile runs in the afternoon. Or maybe I'll just sit on the couch eating buckeyes.

Oh yeah, the toe. It's the big one on my left foot--the one I jammed into a root in Huntsville. The swelling has forced the nail to lift, and there's a nice purple pool of blood underneath. It hurts mildly during the day, but throbs incessantly at night. This, combined with Helen's penchant for late-night theatricals, has left me with very little sleep. Yawn.

Post-50k

I'll just pretend I've been updating this all along and begin in medias res. Last week I ran the Texas Trail Runs 50k at Huntsville State Park. It was fine. I finished, my groin didn't implode, and the toenail I jammed into a fat root at mile fourteen hasn't fallen off yet. I was more concerned about the fate of H and the kids at home than I was about anything related to my own race (they fared well, of course). I had hoped it would feel easier, though. Really, it should have felt easier since it was meant to be a long training run and not a goal race. I finished in 5:58 (which involved much scurrying in the final mile to make sure the clock didn't strike 6:00). That's about average for my 50k efforts so far, but all of those races were on much tougher courses, with actual hills. There was some piteous walking between miles 20 and 25, but I picked it up a lot over the last three miles. I was ready to be finished. I wanted to collect my finisher's hoodie before they ran out of my size, and I could hear the voices of two chatty women not far behind me. Although I was feeling lazy, I wasn't lazy enough to let two women pass me. Guys, sure; I let a few men go by with impunity.

While I was running, I had pretty much made my mind up not to run Rocky Raccoon in February. 50k felt very far; 50 miles seemed impossibly farther. I barely ran in the two weeks preceding the race because of groin pain, which was a pretty sizable hiccup in my training. But now I'm back on the fence. If my pelvic stuff doesn't flare up too much, and I'm able to get in a few more weekend runs, I might be fine. Or not. I don't know. Oddly, I'm finding it harder to get away for runs as the kids get older; I thought it would get easier.

I ran 10 easy miles with a friend this morning on the roads. I should probably run tomorrow, but I'll be busy watching the kids jump themselves silly (during what's supposed to be nap time) at a party at the inflatable place. Maybe Huck will finally exhaust himself into a good night's sleep--but that's a story for another blog.