Winter Heart Rate

Sometimes, in hindsight, we end up looking pretty smart.

I decided a few weeks ago to start running using my heart rate as my guide rather than my pace.

In hindsight, deciding to slow down my running speed smack dab in the middle of yet another Canadian winter was a pretty smart idea.

I would have had to slow my pace anyway. Depending on the day, the damn streets are covered in snow, ice, slush or, lately, all three. For the past few weeks I couldn't have sprinted even if I had wanted to. It's just too treacherous to do anything but run at a steady, sure-footed pace, always scanning for icy patches and keeping away from the painted lines on the road.

Deciding to slow down in May, when the air is warm, the birds are singing and I'm finally running in shorts again would have been pretty tough. I'm hoping by May that I'll be back to running at my usual pace again...with a lower heart rate.

These days, I head out on cold February mornings, take one look at the slippery streets, and have no problem convincing myself to just settle into an easy pace and run for an hour or more.

Two Saturday's ago I ran 13k easily, without stopping, at a very comfortable pace.

This past Saturday, I did the exact same thing. I changed my route up a bit but, otherwise, it looked pretty much the same. My heart rate stayed fairly steady in the zone that I've been trying to keep it in. My energy held up the entire time. My legs didn't complain.

The strangest pattern I've noticed to date is that my pace goes up and down by about 1 minute per kilometre even while my heart rate holds steady.

Guess we'll have to wait until the snow melts and the roads are clear before we can know whether the unsteady terrain has anything to do with the fluctuations.

In the meantime, I'm liking my new running routine. I'm enjoying the fact that I can run for 90 minutes, eat, shower and feel like I could do it all over again.

Also, even though I don't think this has much to do with heart rate, I just want to mention that I woke up on Saturday morning with a blood sugar of 4.4. I ate two dates and two clementines. I ran for 90ish minutes and was 4.4 at the end. I love runs like that.

There are Limits

Getting ready for bed last night I checked the weather for this morning's run.

-13C at 6am.

No problems there.

Will feel like -23C at 6am.

No worries. My super duper winter jacket will make that feel balmy. I probably won't even need gloves.

Wind will be 30km/hour.

And.....we're done.

-23C is no problem for running.

30km/hour winds are tough but not enough to keep me home either.

Smoosh both of them together into one morning and I'm pulling out my cycling clothes for a morning workout on the trainer.

I know my limits.

Minus 12 Going on Minus 20

On Tuesday morning I got up early to run. I am a good little Canadian runner and so I checked the temperature AND the windchill before deciding what to wear.

-6C was the temp.

-12C with the windchill.

The wind was 14km/hour which didn't cause me any distress. I don't even begin to think about it until it goes above 20km/hour.

So I pulled on my pants, my long sleeved Under Armour shirt, my long-sleeve second layer with the built in mitts that I love. My vest. My toque.

I headed downstairs.

"Are you going to be warm enough?" asked Doug who was heading into the basement for a bike ride.

"Oh yes!" I replied proudly. "It's only -12C with the windchill. The wind is hardly blowing and I have three layers on. In fact, I may be too hot."

Ok, he said, studiously avoiding looking me in the eye.

I walked outside and thought "it's lovely out here". I walked down the driveway and admired the black sky and the bright stars shining. "I am so lucky to be able to run at this time of day" I though as I looked at Orion in the sky.

Then I walked past the edge of the house and felt the first gust of wind.

"Bloody hell!" I gasped. I quickly turned on my watch and started running lest I freeze in place. I had decided to change my route back to one I ran a lot earlier this year. Seven kilometres but with a few long hills to help me get my hill running strength back a bit. It is also a bit more sheltered from the wind which I hadn't thought about before but now was profoundly grateful for.

I went out faster than I normally would have with one goal: warm the heck up. My entire body was freezing to the point where I was shaking as a ran. My lungs gasped for air as my chest shook from the cold. Not a good combo.

A few kilometres in I reached the first hill. The longest but most gradual of them all. By that time I could feel that my chest was warm and glowing but the heat I was generating was not moving beyond the edge of my vest. My arms, despite two layers and 15 minutes of running, were still freezing. I couldn't even feel my legs so I assumed they weren't warming up yet either.

By 4k I was still moving as quickly as I could despite having climbed the second and toughest hill of the run. My goal now was to just get it done and, no matter what, NOT STOP RUNNING.

At 5k, I realized that I had remembered the route wrong. I knew every turn and every hill but the 7k that I remembered was turning out to be 8k instead. And no short cut option to get home faster.

There was no time to whine or complain. No time to stop and gather my energy. It was life or death out there.

Onward!

I ran right to the edge of the driveway, didn't even bother stretching my calves and flung open the kitchen door with a gasp. Doug, getting breakfast ready in his shorts and t-shirt, turned around in horror.

"It's freezing! Close the door!!"

"Minus twelve my ass" was my response.

He laughed and said "I told you".

I insisted that the temperature being reported was actually incorrect. So was the one on our fancy pants temperature gauge. He smiled patiently, mumbled something non-commital about my temperature comments and suggested that I wear my jacket next time.

So did you notice anything while reading this?

I ran 8k. With lots of hills. Without stopping. Or complaining about low energy, fatigue or slow speeds.

I ran 8k at 5:30am, galloped up hills and froze my keister off. And it felt great!

Live Tracking

I've been doing half-hearted research for the past year or so. I'm looking for my next running watch. I had no plans to buy one. I was just doing the research ahead of time so when my on its last leg current watch kicks the bucket I won't have to waste any time researching what to get next. 

It seems, my friends, that I'm getting a little cautious in my old age. 

Tuesday morning I headed out into the coldest day yet this winter for my 7k run. It was -7C (-18 with the windchill). Nowhere near the coldest day I will run in but not something I was quite ready for. I had two long-sleeved tops on under my coat. I had my running pants from last year. My toque. I should have been fine. 

I was frozen. Legs screaming from the cold, toes going numb, face aching frozen. When I finally turned out of the wind for the trip home I felt little relief. The biting cold had my backside for breakfast and it was crying in pain by the time I turned onto our street with an audible sigh of relief. 

I got home at exactly 6:30am. Doug was in the kitchen and asked if I was ok. "Five more minutes and I was heading out to pick you up" he announced. 

I was home right on schedule but I'm guessing the howling wind and freezing temps put a bit of fear in his heart as he waited for me. 

Back to my watch research. 

I was having trouble deciding whether to go with a running watch or a multisport watch. I have never worn a watch in the pool and don't particularly care to. I like having it on the bike but mostly use it for runs. It would be nice to have a watch that I can wear from one end of a triathlon to another but for the 4-5 times per summer I would need that, it's not the primary goal. 

I think Tuesday morning's run tipped the balance and I'm now looking at a running watch. 

One of these actually.

It's the Garmin 620

It has lots of great features, some of which I'll actually use. 

It has a touch screen. 

It weighs about half what my current watch does and actually looks watch-like.

It's orange! 

Most importantly, it has a live tracking feature which means that, when I'm out on my runs, Doug can check on me from the comfort of his laptop. He can see where I have been, how far I am away from home and whether or not I'm actually moving. 

Peace of mind for him on cold snowy mornings.

Peace of mind for me on every single run I ever do because the list of things that could go wrong is too long to actually let myself think about. And while I sure do like my independence, I also like knowing that I can be found should something happen. 

Here's hoping this orange beauty goes on sale on Black Friday. 

All Figured Out?

I have had diabetes for 11 years, 10 months and 7 days. 

You'd think I'd have it all figured out by now. 

I like numbers and patterns and I have a degree in biology. Heck, I even took an entire course called "The Discovery of Insulin". 

You'd think I'd have it all figured out by now. 

I like routine and, when something works, I do it over and over rather than messing with a good thing. 

You'd think I'd have it all figured out by now. 

And yet...

Yesterday morning I did my 6x800m speed workout. Other than my easy 1.5k warmup where I lope along at a leisurely pace, the rest of the workout is basically me sprinting as fast as possible at a speed I can just barely maintain for the entire 800m. I take a 2 minute rest. I do it again. The entire workout is just under 7k in distance and takes the same amount of time as when I run 7k but I'm running 12 fewer minutes overall because of the rest. 

When I run 7k at a steady pace, my blood sugar steadily drops throughout the entire run. In order to deal with that, I typically eat one (or two) dates before my run, depending on my blood sugar. The dates keep me pretty steady and I have been known to start and end many a morning run at the same blood sugar number - right down to the decimal point. 

When I run 7k in a speed workout, my blood sugar does not drop steadily throughout the run. It seems to either stay steady or even climb a bit. Having a date beforehand is not necessary and it can even cause a spike in blood sugar that is neither helpful nor particularly nice-feeling. 

But I have to tell you that it takes a lot of willpower NOT to have a date on speed work mornings. My brain keeps telling me I will go low if I don't. It freaks me out to do such a tough workout with no backup sugar on board. I stalk my CGM like a hawk during the workout and I put several packs of emergency carbs on the roof of my car just in case. Even though the distance between the roof of my car and my kitchen is about 50 feet. Because you never know. 

So I have figured out short steady runs (eat 1-2 dates) and I have figured out speed workouts (DON'T EAT A DATE!). I have not yet mastered hill workouts. They are tough sprint-like runs with rest periods built in. Kinda like speed workouts. And yet I seem to trend downward as I would in a regular run. The problem is that hill workouts don't take that long and I don't do them that often so I have yet to figure out the pattern. 

So I eat my date because it makes me feel better. I bring extra carbs with me because that is the sensible thing to do. And I bolus a tiny bit extra with my breakfast if I climbed to high (ha!) during the hill workout. I guess that means I have figured out a pattern while I figure out the pattern. 

Of course all of this will be shot to hell when the temperature dips below zero again and the winter winds blow cold and strong.

Why the Hell Not?

I'm a rather ambitious person in that I try to do my very best at everything I undertake - be it work, fitness, diabetes care, cooking, blogging or whatever.

That being said, I'm not exactly famous for doing more than I said I would do. I do what I say I'm going to do, and I try to do it well, but I don't overshoot the target.

I've written before about the mental block I seem to have when I'm running, for example. If I have to run 10k on a given day based on my training schedule, I can run 10k. But the thought of running 12k is enough to make me stop at 8k. If I'm supposed to run 10k, I'm running 10k, period.

I love running but really. Enough is enough.

Which makes my behaviour on Sunday morning more than a little bizarre.

See, on Saturday morning, it was bloody awful out. The temperature was only -8 but the wind was howling, the snow was blowing and the Weather Network said it felt like -20 or something ridiculous.

I couldn't take the idea of running into a freezing cold headwind so I headed downstairs (again!) for a trainer workout.

On Sunday morning I woke up to see the trees standing stock still outside my window. And the sun was shining (kind of) which is more than it has done in weeks and weeks.

Doug checked the weather and it was -17C but hardly any wind.

I immediately thought "that's freezing! Maybe I'll just do some yoga stretches and take the day off".

Before I could voice that, Doug said "are you running?".

So I stubbornly said "yes" because I didn't want to wimp out or babble about one excuse or another. Doug had run the day before (on a treadmill) so I figured he'd be hopping on the bike. I didn't want to do nothing if he was doing something. So I said yes.

I got dressed which took about 15 minutes because of all the layers. We're talking three long-sleeved shirts, two pairs of pants, two hats, gloves and mitts, socks, shoes and YakTraks.

During the getting dressed period, I convinced myself that it was perfectly reasonable to make this my easy week and run 10k instead of the 16k I was supposed to. I would just switch with next weekend's easy run and no one would know or care.

I went down to the kitchen, checked my BG (8.0), ate one date which was enough to get me through 10k and got ready to go. As I did, Doug came down in...running clothes.

"What are you doing??" I demanded.

"Going for a run" he replied.

"How far?"

"16k"

"What?!?!"

So now I'm torn. He's running 16k. I've just settled on 10k. Once I decide on a distance, I'm pretty committed. Plus I only ate one date and didn't drop my basal insulin.

Did I mention that I'm stubborn as all get out?

I sighed, ate another date, and told myself that I would run straight down a major road into the countryside. I could turn around at 5k, 6k, 7k or 8k...but I knew I'd turn around at 5k. Because who wants to run 16k when you're only planning on running 10k?

I headed out. It was freezing and I felt 15 pounds heavier because of all the clothes I had on. I was warm enough...but just barely. I ran 3k, and then 4k and was starting to feel pretty good. Surprisingly good actually. I hit 5k and only about 10% of me wanted to turn around which is 90% less than normal by the time I hit the turnaround point. So I ran 6k and still felt good. I told myself to run one more k and then turn. But at 7k I decided it was only 6 and a half minutes to do another one and then I'd be able to say that I ran 16k too. So I did.

I turned around and bounced back home. I passed Doug on his way out because he had left after I did. We stopped for a second, assured each other that we were fine and carried on.

The last few minutes of my run my energy started to fail and I walked into the house with a BG of 4.1.

Two dates, 11 pieces of clothing and a wee bit of a stubborn streak = 16k instead of 10.

Why the hell not?

Wimpy

So I skipped my run on Tuesday morning.

Not because I was tired. Not because I was sore or injured. But because it was just too damn cold out there.

Instead I headed downstairs, hopped on the trainer for an hour and cycled up a mountain.

Am I getting wimpy in my old age?

I used to run in cold much worse than it has been this year. Cold that make this Polar Vortex thing seem rather balmy. I have a coat that I only pull out when it's minus thirty degrees for heaven's sake and I haven't worn it yet this year.

And yet this year, anything under -15 degrees has me scrambling downstairs on to my bike.

Which means that, so far this year, I have only managed two runs per week rather than my usual three.

Doug assures me that I will be able to pull of my March half marathon because a) I am in good shape and b) I am cycling and swimming as well so my body is still moving and I'm keeping my fitness level high.

I don't know if I buy it though. I mean I can pull off a long bike ride even if I haven't been on the bike for a few months. It might not be pretty but I can certainly do it.

Running is a whole other beast and even though I have a good strong base and have been running for years now, I am still surprised at how quickly I lose my running fitness when I take a few weeks off.

Good news is that weekends have been warm enough to get my long runs in so I haven't lost much that way. It's just my weekday runs that are a little less frequent than I'm comfortable with. And that has made my weekend long runs a little harder than they should be.

On the other hand, I'm getting a lot more time in the saddle than I normally would this time of year. And my friend Jeff assures me that this will help me in my summer triathlons.

Still though, I do feel a little wimpier this winter than last. I wonder what that's about?

Braveheart

There are some things about running that non-runners seem to understand.

Like the fact that a Saturday morning long run allows us to eat pretty much what we want that day for lunch. Who wouldn't like that?

There are other things about running that non-runners think is ridiculous. Like chafing.

And like going for a long run after a big dump of snow - when the streets are still covered, the sidewalks unpassable and the wind whipping the white stuff around and around.

Thankfully, I'm a runner so I totally get the appeal of heading out into a winter wonderland. Which is exactly what we did on Saturday morning while the snow was still falling.

I was supposed to run 14k. Instead, I ran for time rather than distance and ended up doing 12.5k in the time it normally takes to run 14k. Part of the deal when you're running in the winter - pace is sacrificed for safe footing.

I ran by a lot of people out shovelling driveways and sidewalks. Some didn't see me as they were too busy heaving on their shovels. A few people glanced my way and went back to their work. Another few said a word that sounded suspiciously like "crazy".

I'm guessing those folks are not runners.

One person, all bundled up, said "it's actually nice once you get used to it eh?" I nodded in agreement.

Another man, shovelling out the end of his driveway, spotted me coming. He stopped, leaned on his shovel and watched me approach. He looked at me not with disdain or with envy. Just with interest.

"Braveheart" he said.

I grinned and said "it's beautiful out here isn't it?". He nodded and went back to his shovel.

I carried on and thought about my newest nickname.

Braveheart.

I like it.

Our orange Christmas balls hanging from our Charlie Brown tree after the snowfall. If you look closely you'll spot my favourite photographer in the picture. 

The Week Without Bullet Points

What happened this week?

I rediscovered my love for Margaret Atwood. I am rereading Oryx and Crake (which is just as good the second time) and have the next two books in the trilogy lined up and ready to go. I am endlessly fascinated with the way she writes - the language, the undertones of irony, the societal warnings, the humour. Such a Canadian treasure.

I showed up to work on Thursday wearing purple. It was World Diabetes Day which means I should have worn blue but I only have two blue tops and neither were really warm enough for the day. I figured no one I worked with would really care since I'm the only pancreatically-challenged one of the bunch. I arrived to discover that one of them had discovered the importance of blue on November 14th and sent an email out to the rest of them. Almost everyone showed up at the staff meeting in blue. So nice!

I renewed my Canadian passport. It expires in early 2014 and we are already planning a winter escape so I figured I'd better get on it. I got my photo taken and application submitted within 40 minutes. The new one arrives in 10 days. And won't expire until I'm, wait for it, 49 years old. Eeep!

I discovered that regular nail polish can survive two swims in the pool before it really starts chipping. Metallic ones, as pretty as they are, don't survive one chlorine dip. I put on a pretty copper colour on Sunday evening. I went swimming on Monday morning and every nail has chipped or worse by the end of the swim. Sad day. Guess I'll have to save that colour for weeks when the pool is closed.

I was reminded what happens when we close up the house and turn the heat on. I wake up every single morning convinced I am getting sick. My throat is dry, my lips feel cracked. Then I have a few sips of water and remember, again, that it's the dry heat that kills me. Instead of grumbling about the heat, I thank the gods I'm not getting sick fix the problem with a few extra gulps of water.

I run in the dark now, like a vampire, with my red light flashing on my toque and my reflective vest warning cars that, yes indeed, that is a human approaching. Tuesday morning there was a light dusting of snow on the rooftops, the sky was clear and the stars were twinkling. On Thursday morning the wind was howling and the sky was full of clouds. Both mornings I dragged myself out of bed and spent the next 30 minutes trying to convince myself not to crawl back in...until I walked out the door. The wild, unpredictable and beautiful weather this time of year is my favourite. Funny how I forget every time the alarm goes off and yet NEVER regret forcing myself out of bed once I get out into it.

I realized that Christmas is in something crazy like 42 days and I haven't even thought about Christmas gifts. For anyone. I'm just so excited for my family to be together, to meet my new nephew who I have yet to actually see in real life, to spend time giggling with my sisters - I don't care one whit about the presents. Bring on the hugs!!

I only got one swim in this week. I missed two due to early morning commitments that I could not escape from. I dislike missing one swim. I hate missing two. I'm already looking forward to Monday morning so I can slip back into the water again. I hope I remember how to do that body roll I'm working on...

I did, however, have two wonderful runs (see above) and am looking forward to squeezing in a quick 12k run before Doug and I head to Toronto for a day of family visits, friends and trips to fountain pen stores.

For those of you who care about such things, did you see what is coming out very soon?

Pretty! Soooooo pretty!!! 

And this week I made a date with three fabulous ladies to go see the second Hunger Games movie. Dinner first. Then wicked movie. We're all so excited that it's almost funny. 

Except it's not. 

Because we're just so excited. 

Talk to you all on Monday eh?

Lower Standards

Friday in Ontario was a snow day. One big giant snow globe snow day. Our driveway and sidewalk got shovelled three times and it wasn't enough. The snow was light and fluffy and hardly seemed to be falling but fall it did. Over 30cm of snow fell in about 12 hours. The most snow we've had in one day in years.

It was beautiful and I loved watching it fall as I worked from home - my kitchen table acting as a makeshift office.

The timing of the storm was pretty good too. On Friday morning I got up to swim but was half-expecting having to shovel instead. We had been warned (by every radio station, newspaper and television station) that a storm was coming. The roads were clear at 5am so I headed to the pool. By the time I left at 7am, the roads were awful. I headed home and stayed there.

I shovelled a lot of snow. My legs, back and arms were aching after the first bout. They were downright sore after the last session. As I looked at my car, the snow coming up past the wheels, I was beginning to wonder if my Saturday morning 20k run was going to happen. The snow stopped around 5pm and I hoped it was enough time for the plows to work their magic.

We didn't set any alarms and enjoyed a luxurious sleep in until 7am. "I'm going to try a run" Doug announced.

I was worried because if I tried it but only managed, say, 10k, I wouldn't be in any shape to try 20k on Sunday. I also knew that if I prepared (carb-wise) for 20k but didn't get anywhere near that, I'd be fighting highs all day.

I decided to lower my standards. I would run for time, not distance. I would try to head down Pelham Road, which would most likely be relatively clear since it was a bus route, and aim for an hour of running. Turn around and head home again. Distance didn't matter. Just time spent running.

With the number 20 no longer hanging over my head, I headed out in my Yaktrax. Our road was pretty awful but it's mercifully short. Within minutes I was on the main streets which were wet and kinda slushy but surprisingly clear. It was still a bit of a slog but much better than I expected it to be.

I did 3k in exactly 20 minutes. Some quick math told me that, if things continued, I'd run 9k in an hour which means I'd run 18k if I ran for two hours. I was ok with that.

I trotted along, not caring about pace or distance. I spotted deer prints in the snow. I watched the odd hawk swoop down looking for breakfast. I was the only runner in a winter wonderland. At 9k, I reached a crossroads, literally. If I kept going, I would head home along a route that was exactly 7k - bringing me to a total of 16k. Then I'd have to loop around the block if I wanted to add distance. I hate adding distance when I'm a few feet from home. I always prefer to add it at the beginning or middle of a run so that the final five kilometres are familiar.

On a whim I turned left and ran two kilometres. I turned around and ran back to the 9k spot. Except now it was the 13k spot. Meaning that I had just committed myself to 20k. So much for running for time.

I didn't have my glucometer on me because it was too cold out and would have frozen. I felt fine but knew I wouldn't be fine for another 7k. I sucked on a frozen GU which tasted wonderfully like chocolate mint ice cream. I sipped some slushy Nuun. I felt surprisingly energetic and I carried on.

Hours after the run was over, I am still shocked at how easy the 20k felt. Twenty never feels easy - it's just too far for comfort for me. Anything over 16k is a slog. This time, despite the snowy roads, the cold, the North wind and the post-shovel aches, it felt like 10k. Not 20k. I didn't even hurt afterwards and had enough energy to help dig my car out and shovel the driveway a final time.

A good 20k time for me is 2 hours and 10 minutes. I ran this one in 2:15

Sometimes lowering standards works out quite well.

Day 3: Diabetes Bloopers

Oh let’s see if I can think of anything that has gone awry or triggered a giggle or two in the last 8 ½ years…

A few weeks before I was actually diagnosed with Type 1, I was on a two-week trip to France. I was losing weight like crazy and singlehandedly dropping the country’s water table with the amount I was drinking. Which means I was constantly on the lookout for la toilette. On one lovely walk through a park I was panic-stricken with the need to find a ladies room. We spotted one and I ran in, grateful to find that there was no line up. I pushed open the door to find…squat toilets. What?!?! I yanked down my pants, got halfway into position and couldn’t hold it anymore. Yes folks, I peed all over my pants and shoes. ALL OVER.

My not so brilliant cat found one of my lancets lying on the counter and proceeded to eat it.  Hard plastic parts, pointy needle part.  The whole damn thing.  We rushed him to the cat clinic once we found him lying in a semi conscious state.  He was fine...once he recovered from an acute case of pancreatitis (no joke).  Oh the ironies. 

I was camping way up in Northern Ontario and getting ready to change my insulin pump insertion site. I laid out my supplies, dug my insulin out from the cooler and prepared to do as sanitary a job as I could in the wild. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the clouds gathered, the wind picked up and the sky opened as a horrible storm came whipping through. I stood under the whirling tarp trying desperately to insert the needle as my partner ran around securing camping supplies and keeping everything from blowing away.

On my first flight to Cuba as a PWD I was paranoid about setting off alarms at the airport with my boxes of needles and vials of insulin. I came armed with letters from my doctors and had studied exactly how to explain the situation in Spanish just in case. Somehow, my needles, test strips, insulin and other paraphernalia made it through unnoticed but my forgotten Tim Hortons cookie was confiscated on sight. Sad day.

I learned quickly not to test myself too many times on the same finger. On one particular day, I pricked my finger but the blood wasn’t coming out so I squeezed…hard. Three recently used testing sites opened up and a spray of blood shot out – right into my eye and all over my face. Lovely.

This past winter I was out on a long run in the middle of a winter storm. My wonderful support team was carrying my supplies in the car but had put them in the trunk so my glucometer froze. We were too cold to warm it up in our hands so I tucked it into the warmest place I could find. Oh yes my friends – the glucometer crotch warming trick. Very effective in February snow storms!

Hope that elicited a few grins of solidarity out there…

The Hills are Alive...

My running friend Michelle is motivating, inspiring and, occasionally, downright annoying in her positivity.  And I love her for more reasons that she'll ever know.

One of those reasons is that she helped drag my ass over the Boxing Day 10 Miler finish line in record time.  Towards the end of that race, we realized we were going to have to push hard to make the crazy finish time I had foolishly suggested we aim for.  I was already exhausted and now she wanted me to run faster.  She yelled at me:  c'mon Céline, you can do ANYTHING for three minutes!

I laughed out loud, plucked up my courage and pushed to the finish.

Thanks Michelle, for that day and for that now famous line.

It got me through last night's hill workout.  800m x 10 repeats with 60 seconds off between each rep.  I've never done more than 6 repeats on that particular course.  Ten seemed more than a little daunting and the now familiar Canadian winter weather (-20 with a biting wind) was not going to help.

I started my first repeat with what felt like lead in my shoes.  I really wondered whether I'd be able to do six, let alone ten.  Michelle sailed past me going up the hill and, despite her silent exterior, I heard her voice ring out in my head.  "C'mon Céline, you can do ANYTHING for three minutes!"  I giggled and trotted up the hill.  One done!

I saw her on every hill and heard her voice on every hill.  I finished my ten repeats and felt strong enough to do a few more.  Not crazy enough to actually do them mind you but I swear I could have!

I don't think people realize what an impact they can have on others.  So it's important to tell them.

Thanks Michelle!
 

A Crazy Thought

Last night's run was not for the faint of heart.  Snowy, slippery sidewalks, -21 degrees with a biting wind, and 13 kilometres to run...alone.  By the time I got home I was half frozen.  My legs felt...well to be honest, I couldn't really feel them.  They were quite numb. 

When I realized how cold they were, I had a thought. Not a what the hell am I doing running in -21 degrees alone in the dark kinda thought.  A hey, I wonder if running in -21 degrees might actually be good for me kinda thought.   

Stick with me on this - it's crazy but kinda makes sense.

You see, running causes all sorts of challenges - shin splints, sore muscles, plantar faciitis and so on.  My typical pattern is that, once I reach 18k, things start hurting.  That's when I call my massage therapist in a panic and spend the rest of the training icing, stretching and trying to make it to race day in running shape. 

Well, I've run 18k and 20k and things still feel pretty damn good. No major pain, no daily icing, no panicked phone calls. What's up with that??

That's where the crazy thought comes in.

It occurred to me last night that running in the cold may actually be helping my legs.  Kinda like running in an ice bath. It prevents my muscles from overheating, swelling and then acting up on me.  Who would have thought?

Looking back, my legs are always at their worst by about August.  Weekly massages, shin splints, and Advil take over my life.  I just figured it was because I had been training hard since January and my legs were tired.  But maybe it's because, by August, I've been running in the heat for a few months.  Heat and humidity = lots of swelling.  

So my new hypothesis is: my legs do better in the winter because the cold keeps the swelling down.

Guess the next few weeks will prove whether or not I'm right. It's gonna suck if I have to move up to the Yukon during the summer months but it's a small price to pay for happy legs.

Winter running

It's officially a winter wonderland outside.  A huge dump of snow last night has transformed the world and turned my 3 minute commute into an adventure.  But I'm not writing about today, I'm still thinking about last night. 

6pm.  It was dark and cold and the snow had just started.  Thanks to a gusty wind, the snow was flying horizontally across the parking lot as I walked towards the running store.  Who the hell is crazy enough to run in this?  Apparently a lot of people are.  There must have been 50 runners out and ready to go.  Some were completely covered in layers to the point that they were unrecognizable.  Others had bare hands and thin layers on.  Some, like me, still had their short summer socks on, leaving ankles exposed to the howling wind.

Doesn't matter what we wore - we were out there.

It's usually only the first few minutes of winter running that are nasty.  My body quickly warms up and I start peeling layers off.  Then comes the wonderful feeling of being part of something bigger than myself.  I'm no longer trying to survive the run, it feels like I've become part of the landscape.  Running down side streets, it's quiet and peaceful and so very beautiful.  Running along major roads, I see the looks on the faces of drivers freezing in their cars and can't help but grin. 

Running in Canada is an adventure.  And I feel so lucky to be able to experience, really experience, all of our seasons.  Running has taught me to recognize and appreciate the subtleties of nature - I can tell when the temperature goes up or down a few degrees, I spot the first buds on the trees and I know the difference between a gentle wind that signals a lovely winter day and a gentle wind that carries the promise of spring.

The snow is still falling outside and the drive home tonight is going to be another adventure.  Maybe I should have run to work today.