Good News!

The good news is that my left leg isn’t broken. It didn’t crack up the fibula and down the tibia, as my doctor had feared. I won’t need surgery, and I can even get off the physical therapy.

Nevertheless, I do have a slight stress fracture in my fibula, whose breaking is really just a family rite of passage (my mom and my brother have both had summertime breakings of the same bone). I am happy to report that not only has my flu mostly gone away—the cough remains—but I am now allowed to walk and yoga, and then ease into some jogging in about two weeks. I'm eager to hit the walking sidewalks and yoga mat this weekend!

All of these steps, of course, may be taken only if no pain occurs. The doctor believes I may be experiencing tendonitis, so the ibuprofen continues.

So, family, blog and real-world friends are awesome. Congrats to all of the killer runs everyone has had, and many thanks to everyone for their support. It stinks to be injured, but it’s uplifting to know that people care. And it makes me want to run—without harming myself—so much more!

But on the news front: Neil and I might be moving soon. No solid details yet, but we will likely be heading north. And I’m eager to scope out some good running neighborhoods and the prospect of bear-free trails.

Fractured Leg, Broken Spirit

Well, the jury’s still out, but by the middle of next week I should find out whether I have a stress fracture in my left leg. The doctor I saw today says evidence points to it, but I’ll have my fingers crossed for the next several days that the x-rays point to nothing but tendonitis or something. I’ve been prescribed ibuprofen (for swelling) and physical therapy. And I’ll need some form of backup exercise for all the depression eating I’ve done today.

It was fun talking to a medical professional who also runs. When I told her that I first started feeling pain in late August/early September and that I didn’t do anything about it even when the pain became excruciating, she said, “Well, you’re a runner. We tend to do that.” And I kind of thought it was cool to be called a ‘runner.’ Hee hee.

She admitted that she tore a tendon once and denied it for weeks before the other medical personnel in her office convinced her that she had a problem. So, while it doesn’t make my long-term denial (or my lower leg) any better, she made me feel like less of a self-imposed loser. Perhaps it's just a condition or labor of love or something.

The biggest issue now is my brain. Sure, I’ve had pain in my leg, but I’ve been sticking to walking (still OK for now) and yoga (depends), which have given my broken/not-broken leg some much needed rest. Relatively. Nevertheless, when she indicated that I likely had a fracture, it started to hurt! So, I spent the past month convincing myself that it didn’t hurt… and now I can’t help but think it does. Sigh.

On the bright side, the flu is mostly gone (I still have one of those annoying nighttime coughs that has to be making Neil homicidal, even if he would never admit it—thanks, man!). But I can say, ‘at least I have my health.’

High fives and best wishes and great vibes to all the butt-kicking marathoners (Jenn, Salty, Landon… anyone else I’m forgetting?) running the good race this weekend! You rock! Now go run!

This is the Flu That Never Ends…

It’s hard to believe that it’s been nearly two weeks since the half marathon and, therefore, just as long since this sickness began. I’ve lost my voice and about 30 pounds in mucus over the past two weeks (too much info?). I’m still wholly convinced that this is a ploy by my body to keep me from running.

And it’s been working for the most part. This week I walked for about 3-4 miles twice at 14-15:00/mile, and have felt pretty peachy before, during and after each walk. At least my yoga and weight-training have never been better. My calf feels a little sore in the morning sometimes, but nothing as painful as pre-half times. In fact, it used to hurt to the touch, which made it really difficult to stretch, do yoga or even scratch my leg.

So, can you keep a secret? I tried running for about three strides on Tuesday night. It felt great. No pain at all! But I’m sticking to my prescribed healing period. My mantra has been what Landon said to me the last time I was injured: the miles I forsake now while healing will be fewer than the miles I would miss if I didn’t let my injury heal. And if all else fails, I can always become a speed walker and go to the Olympics.

Tears, Tears and Turkey

So, here’s a confession: running makes me cry. Not in a cause-and-effect kind of way. I don’t know what my deal is, but for some reason when I’m running, particularly when I’m racing, I’m more likely to get choked up at the sight of cheering supporters or inspirational signs or thoughts of people who helped me along the way. For my whole life I’ve tried to the tough guy—probably in the hope that my steely emotions would belie my pint size. But how am I supposed to be a tough guy when I’m blubbering and teary all the time?

It hasn’t really become a problem, short of a few near-asthmatic backlashes against the tears, but I was just thought that admitting to the problem would be a first step toward recovery.

And speaking of recovery, I can almost breathe through both nostrils now. My ears are still a little cloggy and my breating weak, but I'm on the mend. After five days down with the flu (OK, it took me three days to give in and get some rest), I’m finally able to function on an almost-normal level. Breathing during yoga is still difficult—I’m breathing double-time and gasping instead of ujjayi pranayama—but at least my body isn’t still aching. I finally got around to some weights, ab work and stretching last night, and then an hour of yoga and fast-walking today.

Yes, I said walking. I also made it to the doctor late last week to check out my calf injury. It’s a slight tear that doesn’t require contact medical attention, but rest, ice and stretching. I’m allowed to walk for now, so I did 4.7 miles at 13:50/mile today. Is it cheating if I’m walking almost as quickly as I can run? It still felt fine, and I came straight home for follow-up stretches and ice. The next two weeks will tell (two whole flippin' weeks?)...

After listening to my running stories and an examination, my doctor said my injury was likely caused by one of two things: 1) a big wipeout (which one: this one or this one?) or 2) pushing too hard in my tempo runs. Boy, didn't see that coming at all! If nothing else, at least my blog will be a guide to beginners of how not to train. So, I feel less bad for going from 30 miles/week to 2 miles to 4 walking… but I’m still itching to get back. I have a Turkey Trot to prep for!

Flip flops and ice cubes

It’s finally here: my “taper” week (it’s a “taper” week because I don’t think my training is quite to the level—neither the highs nor the lows—to truly warrant being called a true taper… ahh, semantics)! Several weeks ago I was thinking that I wanted my taper week more than I wanted a vacation. And I’m not sorry.

But before I made it to this week, there was some hard running involved, such as my Saturday and Sunday runs. I’ve been adhering to my strict schedule of stretch-ice-stretch for my calf and I nixed all interval training last week. For once I was listening to my body. At least partially listening. And by Sunday I had incorporated pill-popping into the mix (OK, I took two anti-inflams and it was fab) and all was well.

On Saturday I completed a 6-mile round-the-neighborhood run. While it started with my slow-as-torture jog to warm up my calf (maybe 11-13:00/mile), the calf warmed up and the pain all but vanished after 2.5-3 miles. I had plenty of thoughts running through my brain—running and life related—that distracted me from the ouches, but then it actually dissipated. Mostly. I would get the occasional pang, tweak or yowzaas, but nothing stuck around too long.

After the first three miles, I thought about making up the intervals I skipped last Tuesday. Running guilt gets me every time! I had been thinking about that workout all week, and had hoped to finagle some intervals into my painful existence. Thankfully, I’ve actually learned something over the past several weeks about pushing myself too hard.

OK, I’m lying. I haven’t learned anything. It just hurt to run fast. Sigh.

But I was able to keep up a 9-9:30/mile pace for the last three miles without any discomfort. At least I can make the minimum pace, I thought.

Sunday, however, would be the true test.

Aside from seeing Skippy (whose prognosis has improved and whose skippiness peaked when he saw Neil “Dogman” B.) and spending quality family time, one of my favorite parts of spending a weekend in Euclid is running. If only I had known that during my 22 years there!

I woke up early Sunday morning and rounded the north-of-boulevard (NOB) blocks from East 219th Street to East 185th and back for a 12-mile roundtrip run. The only drawback: it was almost all flat. The largest grades were the wheelchair-accessible sidewalks and maybe a few dips in the road (in case you’re not familiar with the Akron Half route, it’s pretty bleepin’ hilly… to me).

On the bright side for this injured runner, there’s great novelty to finding a single roundtrip route that measures twelve miles in totally distance, but whose farthest point reaches only 1.5 miles from your mom’s house. I’ve had some distance anxiety the past several months, fearing that my knee, hip, back, ankle, body might give out when I’m dozens of miles from home. And while my calf was feeling OK yesterday, I had the reassurance that I should an injury trip me up, I could easily hop on one foot to safety. Either that or catch the bus.

This run started with my slow jog too, but the anti-inflams made it a cautious slow jog rather than a painful one. I trotted gingerly down one street before I grew more comfortable with my close-to-pain-free calf warming up. And after about ¾ -1 mile I was running at about 75-80 percent energy/flexibility/comfort.

My legs really loosened up after the second mile, so I picked up my pace to 9:30/mile and kept it there for the duration. It was a wholly uneventful run in itself, but it was entertaining to troll the old neighborhoods and check out some houses. Plus, it couldn’t have been a more glorious morning.

The only downside to a beautiful Sunday morning run was my rumbling belly. Everywhere I ran it smelled like someone was cooking something hearty and filling and warm. The open-house houses were baking apple pies, one church smelled like fried chicken and another like muffins.

About one hour into the run I was fighting off more drool than sweat, and I should admit now that this 12-mile run was supposed to be a 13-miler. Sigh. I admit it. I misjudged my distance (I was supposed to take another two streets past my mom’s street) and bolted up the driveway for some cream of wheat. Mmm. But I’ve totally convinced myself by now that my body needed the extra rest and the extra yums.

I didn’t have much downtime when I arrived, however: I showered and suited up for the Indians game. Twelve miles and the AL Central clincher? Doesn’t get better. Well, it could. But we don’t need to talk about the Browns.

And now I can rest. It’s two easy miles on Tuesday and likewise on Thursday. I’m looking forward to some stretch-ice-stretch-ice-eat action this week. I’ve even taken to wearing flip flops and all flat shoes this week to keep the stress off my lower legs. My calf claims that it will be ready for Saturday’s race. And my fingers are crossed.

Stretch, Ice, Rest

Man, am I pooped and achy! But after two days of feet-up with icy rest, I was able to hit the pavement today to run 9+ miles. I made it home early from work, so I dressed for running and then stretched, stretched, stretched. It wasn’t comfortable (again) to run at first, so I started to super-walk again. About a quarter mile later, I upgrade to an unsuper jog, which eventually grew into a slow jog. And by the end of the first mile I was running. Just gently.

Today was a deal run: I made a deal with myself that if my calf hurt and anything felt wrong I would stop. Sure, it felt wrong at first, but it warmed quickly and felt fine just in time for me not defy myself.

My first 3-mile lap around the neighborhood was 10:30-11:00/mile. I was being some aware and conscious of my gentle stride that I really lost track of myself for the first 20 minutes. With each left-step I wondered, ‘will this one hurt?’ and then ‘how about this one?’ I would feel the occasion tweak that would last 10-20 yards, but most of my discomfort subsided before it became a hindrance.

Lap two was steady and less deliberate, and I admittedly skipped my interval training for the day. I just ran the nine miles straight. In honor of those tempos, however, I did pick up the pace for miles 4-9 to about 9:15-9:45/mile. Again, the most painful part of running was the anticipation of pain. Step off the curb—is it hurt? Jump up on the sidewalk—am I OK?

The best distraction was my local UPS driver completing his early evening route. He follows the same path I run around 6 p.m., and we passed each other back and forth for a full three miles. So, if nothing else, I moved as quickly as a UPS truck… with stops.

On my final lap, I picked up the pace again… but not much faster than 9:30/mile. I started thinking about the half marathon and how slow I would have to run if my injury surfaced in the middle of the race. The Akron Half Web site indicates that runners must maintain a minimum pace of 13:40/mile. And by the time I finished multiplying 13:40 x 13.1 I was almost done with my last stretch! My right foot was getting achy again (as it did on Sunday), but only in a complaining could-you-please-stop-beating-me kind of way.

Not surprisingly, I’m totally beat. We taught workshops all day today (I did a cool one about podcasting and then some not-so-thrilling stuff), so I’m spent mentally and physically. But I have to admit it’s a good feeling. So many people come home from work too beat and downtrodden to even get a run. I’m grateful I can run. I wish I could tell my running-hater self from five years ago what I was missing all those years!

Now my nap-loving self is taking over…

Blogger Triathlon: Race, Off-season and Injury Reports

First: Saturday’s race. We made it to Portage Lakes by 8 a.m., and that’s when the madness began.

As previously mentioned, I’m writing a feature story about Fran, a 59-year-old retired teacher who raced her first tri on Saturday, so I had to put my bike together, check in, find safety pins, set up my transition area and then catch up with Fran and friends for pre-race talks. All in a bulky swimming parka and flip flops.

You would know even if you looked outside on Saturday morning that it was cold. Neil and I guffawed as we drove past a highway-side car dealer on OH-8 whose lighted sign read 50 DEGREES. Not bad, I thought. It could be colder. In winter.

Amid the cold and rush for non-existent safety pins (they ran out right before I arrived; I had to tie my bib to my shorts and begrudge myself for not taking advice and getting a racing belt!), I never made it into the water for my planned warm-up. But I did make it into the 72-degree water for a quick wade. I was relieved to feel the water was warmer than the air. Until I stepped out.

As I walked down the beach to the start, my toes started to burn with cold. Flocks of tri-ready women waddled down the beach wondering what they were doing on the beach in this weather. And all I wanted to do was get back in that warm water… which explains why I was far and away the first body in the water!

It was only my second triathlon, but I think I can dig these in-the-water starts. No swift kicks to the face, no slaps to the jugular, no punches in the back. The only downside was that I had to tread water for 5-7 minutes before the start while most everyone else could stand (they said it was “chest-deep water,” but they apparently weren’t measuring it for a five-footer).

As I treaded water, I saw the 2006 open water champion and tried to position myself behind her. She would be my guide. The starter explained the water course a number of times, but the 29 and under age group was a sea of chatter and “whats?” Despite the constant repetition of the directive “swim toward Adam; he’s the one waving,” I had a hard time deciphering my path. I could see Adam, but there were buoys and kayak between us.

But I didn’t have time to worry because we were off before I knew it. The 2006 champ propelled ahead of the crowd immediately and bolted way toward shore. I stayed right with her (albeit not so close to shore) for the first 100 yards, spotting with her yellow cap, before she pulled ahead and I lost my course orientation.

Breathing on all sides, I could see shore to the left, champ and kayaks up ahead and nothing on my right. I was doing all right. A yellow lane-marker confused the bejesus out of me, but once I caught sight of champ’s yellow cap again, I could see the shape of our entry to shore. I took the final turn and begrudgingly got out of the water.

Swim time: 4:25

So, I ran around the beach in my frozen delirium trying to make it up the hill to the transition area. It was quite a trek! And when I arrived, the champ and I were the only people in sight. It was a rush to know I finished second, but I was terrified to jump on my bike and be one of the first on the course. Why? I have no idea. So, I took a tad longer to wash my feet and get myself together—long enough for 2-3 people to mount and ride. Then I took off.

T1: 2:25

What I didn’t do during that extra time in transition was grab my sweatshirt! My summer of muggy days had me convinced that I would warm up on my bike, but it never happened. I was frozen from the get-go. Two miles into the ride I was wheezing with freeze-burning lungs, my throat was soar and I was too cold to drink my Gatorade. My fingers were numb and my knees were turning funny colors. Finally, I started getting really dizzy and rode into the grass a couple times before I realized things weren’t going well and I still had 3-4 miles to ride! I stood up on my bike and just tried to pedal hard, stay afloat, do anything to overexert myself and get some body heat boiling. Oh, how I longed for my sweatshirt! Lucky for me it was only a 7-mile ride.

Bike time: 33:57

All I wanted when I entered T2 was to jump in the water again. Instead I swigged a touch of cold Gatorade that made my chest burn, bundled up, pulled back my hair and took to the road.

T2: 1:21

But not until I twisted my ankle. The left calf was acting up only slightly during the race, but my inability to follow arrows and waving hands was running on all cylinders. What’s been with me the past two weeks? When I took the turn into my 2-mile run, I misstepped, rolled my ankle and used colorful language to, umm, express my pain. Sorry kids!

My legs were already warmed and beginning to recover by the time I hit the first aid station, but I was parched. I grabbed a cup of water from the first aid station, but couldn’t take it down through my swollen throat. Of course my mind flooded with dehydration fears, but it was only two miles. And that’s what I kept telling myself.

After just a half mile my legs were totally ready to run. Perhaps I had been a touch distracted by my treacherous inability to ride a bike, but my head cleared when I realized I was again running the final leg of a triathlon. Ahh, I hope that novelty never leaves me!

I was operating at about 75 percent with a parchy throat and wheezy lungs, but I focused on stretching my legs and enjoying the run. But not too much. I’ve never really run a cross-country type course, but this was more like an obstacle course. Divots, sink holes and tree roots galore. Thankfully, the race organizers did a fantastic job spray-painting each of the obstructions and accidents-waiting-to-happen bright orange! My peripheral vision was enough to keep me on the up-and-up as I weaved in and out of runners on my way to the finish.

Run time: 17:16 (8:38/mile)

No confusion about the finish for this race. I ran right through to the finish with a final time of 59:24.

If you check the results, you can see that the women’s triathlon had quite the crowd. Fran and her friends finished with flying colors. It was an awesome event. And I stuffed my face with PB+J until peanut butter actually oozed from my pores. Yummy.

My only problems are a) the place results have changed since they were first posted on Monday; and b) there are 29 & under age groupers listed with faster swimming times than they could have had. Not only were they not on the beach or in the transition area by the time the champ and I made it, but the spectators and race coordinators noted we were first and second. Odd. But perhaps they started late? I have no idea. I’m just happy that my times look right and met my goals.

What’s next? Well, I dismantled my bike and tucked it away in the garage for the winter. I’m going to keep my eyes open for some secondhand tri-bikes and train in the off season. Neil and my mom might be happy if I actually know how to ride a bike next summer!

I also have to decide very soon on my rec. center membership (it ended last Friday) and make sure this swimming off-week doesn’t become something bigger.

And then there’s the Akron Half Marathon on Sept. 29.

Half training half continued today: my left calf isn’t doing well. I tried to test my idiot IQ by jogging on it for about 100 yards before my brain kicked in. I took my workout down to a 14:00/mile fast-walk that was pain free over four miles.

Today’s “workout” will replace Saturday’s 5-6 miles, and then I’ll push my tempos to Thursday and Saturday. For now I’m icing, resting and yogaing in the hope I can make it another week and a half.

Waiting Games

It’s been such a bummer the past couple of days: I’ve been sitting with the same three windows open on my computer (www.trifind.com, www.hfpracing.com, www.runohio.com) and hitting refresh, refresh, refresh ever 30 seconds. I’m waiting for Saturday’s results!

But I did take a break from that excitement to run on Sunday—my first 10+ miler since June 17!

The run started off shaky. While my legs were a little tired on Saturday evening, they felt fine by morning. My left calf was a different story.

After stretching and a snack, I headed outside. It was a little bit crisp, but I was bundled in pants, a t-shirt and a hoodie… and toting plenty of tissue. I’m still getting used to the cooler weather—I’ve never run in fall—and wondering how on earth I ran in -10 degrees last winter! Neil was right. I must have been nuts.

There was plenty of take the sweatshirt off, put it back on, take it off, put it on, which all served as little distraction for my calf. My first two steps were utter agony. On most other days, I would have just turned around and spent the morning doing yoga, but Sunday was my big mileage day. And I wasn’t going to make it up later!

But I wasn’t going to be an idiot about it either. So, I started walking. Walking was fine. Then I started walking faster. And that was fine. I jogged a little bit. Agony. Ugh. I slowed back to a speedy walk and then tried to jog r-e-a-l-l-y slowly. It hurt, but didn’t make me want to cry.

What did make me want to cry was the idea of being hurt again. I started getting misty at the thought of putting in all this training time only to miss the half marathon in two weeks. I pressed on.

After about ten minutes of uber slow shuffling, I picked up the pace just a bit (maybe a second/mile faster!) and then a little after that. Each pickups made it a little uncomfortable to run at first, but then my calf would warm to it. By about mile four, I was fully warmed and at 75% of my normal training stride.

Before I hit the streets, I had mapped out my run from my apartment in Stow to just outside of downtown Hudson. It’s a different route than I’m used to running (I generally just drive to shop Heinen’s or buy cupcakes… it’s difficult to run with grocery bags), and it’s filled with all of the varying terrain, grades and hills I need. I picked out a street called Thirty Acres as my turnaround, never saw the thing and ran well beyond my mark. Lucky for me, I was feeling peachy at this point, hit Hudson and then started back.

Back uphill, that is. But I actually felt strong running down OH-91 and for the first time felt capable of running a half marathon in less than two weeks. Aside from some slight discomfort lingering in my calf, some right-foot cramping and a little bit sciatic flare-up, I felt healthy and prepared trucking the last five miles home.

My total run: 11.35 miles in about two hours. The first 4-5 miles were record-breakingly slow, so I won’t take this training run as a reflection of my future. I’m just happy to feel healthy.

My sciatic nerve, however, is threatening to be a pain again. It’s been pretty quiet for the past two months, but it’s been hinting at a comeback the past two days. I’m beginning to feel that strain in my left leg that preceded it last time. So, I’m trying to be quick about taking anti-inflams and getting my yoga in gear. I refuse to be tackled by that thing again! Good thing today is another rest day.

While I was running (and quietly sobbing), I reminded myself that this week is my last of higher-mileage/hardworking training before the half. I have about 32+ miles to run this week before having a bit of tapering next week (easy 2 miles on each of Tuesday and Thursday). I’m not going to lie: I’m really looking forward to it. And I guess I’m pretty pumped for the race as well. I just have to stay healthy!

If Nothing Else, I’ve Learned Not to Quit

As prescribed, I tried to rest my legs on Monday and, perhaps, convince my calf muscles that it’s OK to feel better now. The latter didn’t work, but my muscles weren’t the stumbling blocks for my Tuesday-evening training run.

Fall 2007 is my first autumn as a runner (I had tried to start running in March 2006, but stopped over a trip to Boston that August… and didn’t resume until January 2007). While I’m looking forward to checking out the scenery, crunching dried leaves and feeling the autumnal breeze, I haven’t grasped when I’m going to fit in my training with the skies getting so dark so soon these days.

My logical answers of before or after work are peachy… until you consider my ill-lit surroundings. I’ve already been hit by a car once, and that was in the bright light of day!

Tuesday night I made the mistake of rushing out for my 7-mile run about 20 minutes after a high-protein dinner. The workout included:

• 3 miles warm-up at 9:30/mile
• (1 mile walk, not counted in distance)
• 3 x (2:00, 2:30) aerobic intervals ~ 2 miles
• 2 miles cool down at 9:30/mile

What’s that walk doing there? Well, by the time I finished my three-mile warm-up, I felt like my dinner was tickling my uvula. Bleh! So, I slowed down and walked for a bit. It was only going to be a couple yards walking at first, but my discomfort persisted. I circled the neighborhood, and as I approached my drive I was angling to head home.

But at the end of the mile, the shame of quitting overwhelmed my fear of vomiting. One more mile, I thought. So, I set my watch for the aerobic intervals, thinking I might finish one set. I have a love/hate relationship with the 2:00+ intervals—they’re challenging as all get out and leave me super whipped… but I love the feeling of being done. Not only do I feel strong and fit, but running my cool down flies by with the greatest of ease.

Accordingly, the two-mile cool down did fly by. Thankfully so: it was pitch black outside by the time I was wrapping up, and there was no Ninja Warrior to watch my back! Our street is lined with fashionable street lights that pop up every 75-100 yards on the street—just enough to leave vast dark pockets in which people disappear. I just don’t dig that.

What do I dig? The post-running sleeps (it’s the precious sister of the runner’s high). I showered after my run, dressed for bed, laid down and never really got up until 5:25 a.m. on Wednesday for my morning swim:

• 1,500 yards free warm-up
• 6 x 250 yards free alt. normal pace and sprint pace
• 6 x 100 yards alt. free and butterfly
• 400 yards free cool down

Admittedly I wimped out early: it’s only a 4,000-yard swim workout. Not that it’s anything to sneeze at, but my yardage had been steadily growing. But my darned calf muscles!

My weeklong swim break rust shook off 400 yards into the warm-up, but I could feel my tight left calf tinge every time I pushed off the wall (and for anyone counting, that’s about 160 painful pushes!). I found that if I kicked hard and kept the muscle really warm, it didn’t hurt as much. Similar to the run, I was convinced that should definitely quit way early, but I seem to have lost that ability. Not sure whether it’s a good or a bad thing yet!

So, I cut my swim down to about 1.25 hours and soaked my leg in the hot tub for the extra time. It was still a little tight during the day and only slightly yick during yoga. Tomorrow’s training calls for another 7 miles, which I will feel out before I hurt myself. There’s just something ominous about fall right now… and I don’t want to have to recover from an injury again.

Swimming Tuesday Hampered by Resolutionists

My first Swimming Tuesday was hampered today by 1) a slightly sore shoulder from being overzealous with weights on New Year Monday and 2) resolution swimmers. All due respect to resolution-makers, but, as Jeff G. has aptly observed, getting in shape is more a lifestyle change than a one-year [failed] commitment.

I typically swim at 1 p.m. during lunch on Tuesdays and Thursdays at the Kent State rec. center. Experience has shown that the lanes are open at this time (don't ask about the noon episode).

That is, until today.

I tried to look intimidating with my swim cap and Vanquisher goggles. But something tells me that the mostly large white guys swimming lap-for-lap weren't moved. My theory, however, was that since these were resolution swimmers, they wouldn't have too much stamina. I was right. Within ten minutes the pool was mostly clear.

Today's limited and skimpy workout (1400 yards):

500 yard free warm-up
400 yard IM kick (shoulder rest)
400 yard IM swim
100 yard free warm-down

It's still early. I have found it is wise to listen to your aches and pains sometimes, especially as you get older. Two and a half weeks ago I tweaked some muscles in my right back/wing doing weights, but ignored the pain as I warmed up with a 1,000 yard warm-up in the pool. My arm was sore through each and every stroke, but I kept pushing it. Then one lap into the next set, I was pulling into a turn and felt something pull and hint at a tear. I had to do that survival back float just to make it back to the wall. But after a trip to the hot tub, a long shower and some days of rest, I was back at it.

Note: today's shoulder pain was the right side again, but more rotator cuff than wing. It almost feels like a got punched in the arm! But I think I will go with the WebMd diagnosis of muscle strain.

Tomorrow: the Nike-Apple iPod Sport Kit.