At some point over the past two and a half years I was introduced to a very foreign concept called The Ice Bath. The idea is that after a long run the runner would submerge herself in a cold tub water and ice cubes. Ha, what a bunch of weirdos, I thought when I listened to a group of runners talk about their afternoon plans which included beer, burgers and a bath of ice.
I am not sure when I decided that the idea was not as outrageous as I originally thought, but one day after a training run for the Portland Marathon, I came home and announced I was going to take an ice bath. And I did. I took a few that summer as I trained to run 26.2 miles. After my one and only marathon I decided I liked running 13 miles much better than 26, quickly taking my insanity level down a notch. Training for a half marathon meant half as much time training, half as many aches and pains and made ice baths a distant memory. In fact the last time someone mentioned an ice bath I declared I would only take an ice bath after running 18 miles or more, which I have no plans to do as of right now.
Of course, I broke that declaration yesterday. You see, yesterday I ran the Seattle Rock n Roll Half Marathon. I was under-trained and my sneakers were old. I have been in a habit of doing minimal stretching and I have been under a bit of end-of-the-school-year related stress. Not the best conditions for running 13.1. Still, I figured I would be a good sport and do it. Unfortunately my IT Band-a little tendon with a big personality-was not such a good sport. The IT band runs from the hip to the knee and is not technically a tendon, but its something like one. You feel IT pain on the outside of your knees and the pain can sometimes shoot up your leg all the way to the glutes. Anyway once it starts to act up it makes running, walking, climbing stairs and downhill runs really miserable. Mine started to act up around mile 7 and though it wasn't bad enough to pull me out of the run, I knew by mile 10 that I was in need of some heavy duty icing.
Not unlike childbirth, the ice bath is one of those uncomfortable experiences that you remember as painful, but cannot quite conjure the extremity of it until you do it again. Yesterday afternoon I filled my tub with cold water, filled a large pitcher with ice, made a cup of hot peppermint tea and grabbed an oversized hoodie. At this point I ask that you do your best not to picture me naked, but if you must, please note that when nude I look surprisingly like Angelina Jolie sans tattoos. I stayed clothed from the waist up in a tank top and that warm hoodie. I set my tea on the edge of the tub, knowing it would warm me from the inside out. I stuck one foot in the tub and then stood there--it was a painful shocking sensation- as if I stepped barefoot into a snowbank. I pulled my other foot off of the floor and went to submerge it but I just couldn't. I just stood there balanced on one foot like a flamingo. Every time I went to put my foot into the water it was if it had a mind of its own--there was no way it was going in. I probably could have stood in that position for hours, but let's face it, I had just run 13 miles (14 if you include the mile we ran just to get to the start line) and there was no way I could balance like that forever. Finally I gave in and stood with both feet in the cold, cold water. I thought about frostbite, and stupidity and the fact that I was an idiot for trying. I stood there for about five minutes when I finally became brave enough to sit....
I lowered myself into the tub inch by inch. I had a surprising amount of strength and was able to hover in all sorts of positions before my bottom finally hit the porcelain of the tub. BRRRRR that water was so cold. I hugged my legs to my chest leaving my knees high up in the air. My whole body was shivering. I took a sip of tea and started to push out my feet hoping my knees would follow-another sip of tea-my feet pushed away another centimeter. At this point my knees and most of my legs are still dry, I'm shivering so I pull my hood up and tie it tightly in hopes for a little more warmth. This entire time I am reminding myself that the purpose of this bath is to ice my knees and they are still sitting pretty at 68 degree room temperature. Finally, with a wave of courage I didn't know I had, I pushed my legs out straight and they went under the water. YOW!! It was soooooo cold. I sat there afraid to move, and waited to go numb. Eventually I started to get used to the water, except for my toes, they just never recovered from that snowbank feeling--I lifted them slightly, so that the tips of my toes could poke out of the water. I was starting to settle down and decided to have another sip of tea. I looked to my left and there by the tea cup was the pitcher of ice. I had forgotten to dump it in. Believe me it crossed my mind not to do it, this water was plenty cold, but I went ahead and dumped in the cubes. I dumped them carefully in the corners of the tub, hoping they would be kind enough to stay away from my body. Any time a cube floated near me, I started to swat at it. At some point I realized I was speaking to the ice cubes. I was seriously saying things like "Come on, stay away from me...please." The arctic temps. were getting to me- I was actually pleading with frozen water!!
If all of this wasn't enough, my cat Autumn was in the bathroom and at some point decided she was very interested in the ice cubes in the tub. She hopped up on the ledge and hung over like a ragdoll. She stretched her paws as far as they could go and tried desperately to bat at the ice cubes. She was maybe a half inch from the water's surface and could not manage to get any closer. I knew there was a good chance that if she inched forward any further she could fall in--making herself miserable, but even worse, splashing me with the cold water. I could have scooted toward her and given her a nudge off of the edge and back onto the floor, but that would mean moving and I was quite frozen to my spot. I just held my breath and watched her, every now and again I would look away to continue negotiating with the ice. "Really you don't want to come too close to me, I might melt you." My eyes darted back and forth ice cubes, cat, ice cubes, cat, either one could possibly send me screaming at any given moment.
Finally, when I felt like an eternity had passed I decided to pull the plug and get out, but pulling the plug meant once again moving, and I just couldn't bring myself to it. Time kept ticking, Autumn kept her position, and eventually the ice cubes began to get smaller. My toes never stopped hurting. Eventually, I felt like I had to get out before I popsiclized. And so I did. I drained the tub and hopped into a nice hot shower.
I don't really know if the ice bath helped much. My knees are still sore, but not as bad as yesterday. I plan to take some advil, maybe put some ice packs on, perhaps elevate my feet, definitely go for a walk to keep my other muscles from stiffening, but I do not plan to ever, ever take another ice bath. Unless of course I run more than 18 miles.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
A Gentle Guide To My Other Side
My husband has to load the dishwasher. He hates how other people load dishes. It's not that he is some anal, dish snob, it's just the plain old truth--no one can do it quite like him. If you were to stand next to him and load dishes he would stand next to you and move the dishes into much better positions in the machine. I don't even think he knows he's doing it. It's like he really can't help himself. It must be hard to be the world's most fantastic dishloader, a lonely job that earns little respect. Because I am a supportive wife, I allow my husband the glory of loading the dishes the way he likes them, trying my best not to get in his way. After all if Diana Ross lived with me I'd let her sing "We are Family" all day every day--I'd never try to sing with her, or instead of her. Leave the art to the artist, that's my motto. I see a sink full of dishes and I think Now there's something my husband can really enjoy. I walk away knowing that by leaving those dishes I have brought a little happiness into Mike's heart.
Busted! Mike just read this over my shoulder. He said I made it sound like he "enjoys"doing the dishes, when really it's not about enjoyment, it's about maximizing space, being efficient and getting as many dishes clean in one load as possible. Doesn't enjoy it, hey? Sounds like he's awfully proud of his work. He's probably downplaying it for the sake of modesty. After all, no one likes a highfalutin dishloader. Still, it just peeves him to think of let's say a bowl in a place where a plate should be--or a knife blade down, when clearly knives get cleaner upright.
Well, we all have our pet peeves, even yours truly. Yes, my friends, there's another side to this laid-back, cool cat. Yep I have my little things, too. Here's a list, which you can use as a gentle guide so that you are sure to NEVER EVER EVER EVER do any of the following things in my presence....
My Top Six Peeves(in no particular order) are....
1. When someone says "Oh you look tired." Duh that's synonymous with Those bags under your eyes could hold all of Paris Hilton's shoes. Your skin reminds me of my grandmother's knee-highs. You absolutely must see a plastic surgeon immediately because today you look like crap. Better luck tomorrow.
2.When someone says "Well, you've got your hands full." Oh brother. Everyone knows that translates into You can't handle your kids, lady. Your child is most likely the only three- year-old on the planet to ever throw a tantrum in public. And look at how you've allowed your five year old to dress herself. My lord she's wearing stripes, with plaid! Someone should call social services. I especially hated this expression when my kids were younger, but if I were you I'd stay clear of saying it to me EVER, just in case.
3. The fact that miles and kilometers don't convert nicely really bothers me when I am running, I know that 5K is 3.1 miles, 10K is 6.2, but throw an 8K or a 12K in there and I'm not particularly happy with the system. Alas there's not much that you, my faithful follower, can do about it, just know it leaves me feeling a bit unpatriotic...Why not take the plunge USA and convert to the KMs? Oh wait! I know, it's probably because the metric system is some undercover socialist conspiracy. Of course.
4.When people leave cabinet doors open. This action disturbs me very much. This shouldn't bother me as I am, in most cases, too short to hit my head, but bother me it does.
5. People who run backwards. I think these folks are quite possibly the most arrogant people on the planet!!!! Most likely the backwards runner is doing this to "encourage" his/her partner. To me it just says Hey I'm faster than you, I'm in better shape than you, in fact I feel so good that I don't need to look where I am going, I am so confident that I don't even need to look over my shoulder or perhaps worry about the safety of others. But they don't say that do they, nah they say things like "Come on Susie, it's just another 5 miles uphill till the finish, when I ran this route with Meb and Uda last week we did it in under 10 minutes. This is a cake walk. You can do it!"
6. BABY TALK . It makes me want to pull my eyebrows out strand by strand. Any questions?
Well that's probably plenty for you to nosh on tonight. Speaking of noshing, I've just finished a delightful piece of cheesecake and must put my dish near the dishwasher. I'd hate for Mike to wake up with nothing to do in the morning. He'd be so disappointed.
Busted! Mike just read this over my shoulder. He said I made it sound like he "enjoys"doing the dishes, when really it's not about enjoyment, it's about maximizing space, being efficient and getting as many dishes clean in one load as possible. Doesn't enjoy it, hey? Sounds like he's awfully proud of his work. He's probably downplaying it for the sake of modesty. After all, no one likes a highfalutin dishloader. Still, it just peeves him to think of let's say a bowl in a place where a plate should be--or a knife blade down, when clearly knives get cleaner upright.
Well, we all have our pet peeves, even yours truly. Yes, my friends, there's another side to this laid-back, cool cat. Yep I have my little things, too. Here's a list, which you can use as a gentle guide so that you are sure to NEVER EVER EVER EVER do any of the following things in my presence....
My Top Six Peeves(in no particular order) are....
1. When someone says "Oh you look tired." Duh that's synonymous with Those bags under your eyes could hold all of Paris Hilton's shoes. Your skin reminds me of my grandmother's knee-highs. You absolutely must see a plastic surgeon immediately because today you look like crap. Better luck tomorrow.
2.When someone says "Well, you've got your hands full." Oh brother. Everyone knows that translates into You can't handle your kids, lady. Your child is most likely the only three- year-old on the planet to ever throw a tantrum in public. And look at how you've allowed your five year old to dress herself. My lord she's wearing stripes, with plaid! Someone should call social services. I especially hated this expression when my kids were younger, but if I were you I'd stay clear of saying it to me EVER, just in case.
3. The fact that miles and kilometers don't convert nicely really bothers me when I am running, I know that 5K is 3.1 miles, 10K is 6.2, but throw an 8K or a 12K in there and I'm not particularly happy with the system. Alas there's not much that you, my faithful follower, can do about it, just know it leaves me feeling a bit unpatriotic...Why not take the plunge USA and convert to the KMs? Oh wait! I know, it's probably because the metric system is some undercover socialist conspiracy. Of course.
4.When people leave cabinet doors open. This action disturbs me very much. This shouldn't bother me as I am, in most cases, too short to hit my head, but bother me it does.
5. People who run backwards. I think these folks are quite possibly the most arrogant people on the planet!!!! Most likely the backwards runner is doing this to "encourage" his/her partner. To me it just says Hey I'm faster than you, I'm in better shape than you, in fact I feel so good that I don't need to look where I am going, I am so confident that I don't even need to look over my shoulder or perhaps worry about the safety of others. But they don't say that do they, nah they say things like "Come on Susie, it's just another 5 miles uphill till the finish, when I ran this route with Meb and Uda last week we did it in under 10 minutes. This is a cake walk. You can do it!"
6. BABY TALK . It makes me want to pull my eyebrows out strand by strand. Any questions?
Well that's probably plenty for you to nosh on tonight. Speaking of noshing, I've just finished a delightful piece of cheesecake and must put my dish near the dishwasher. I'd hate for Mike to wake up with nothing to do in the morning. He'd be so disappointed.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Time Marches On
When I was five years old I had my birthday party at a place called Bonanza. Bonanza was a steakhouse chain and did not last long in a community that thrived on family restaurants with really good food. Still I loved that place, for my five year old palette it was just perfect. I was very excited for my big day and remember the party well. My Auntie Sue and her friend Trisha dressed as clowns, my birthday cake was a chocolate square with chocolate frosting, a whipped cream border and four cherries-one on each corner of the cake. Mmmm I can practically taste it. I had friends from preschool, the neighborhood and of course children of my mom's friends. It was a great day, but it started a little rough. I have no recollection of what led up to the party, after all I was five, but my memory of that fine summer day starts in the Bonanza parking lot. We were running late--as usual--and pulled into the parking lot after the party was scheduled to start. I was okay with it, until I looked out the window and saw that the car on the right belonged to my mom's friend Jeanie. Jeanie was the person who was always, very unfashionably late for everything. It was her claim to fame in my five year old mind, and there sat her station wagon--empty--she was already at the party. I remember saying to my mom "We are so late, even Jeanie is already here!" I was late for my own birthday party and the memory is still with me. You can't change history--WE WERE LATER THAN JEANIE!
Fast forward 32 years (well 31 years 10 months and 2 days, but who's counting?) and here I am. I am almost always late and while I could pretend it is directly related to that sunny August day in 1978, but that would be a stretch at best. I am a grown woman and I take responsibility for my perpetual tardiness. The thing is there are people who are never late, I mean they can get up in the morning, run 5 miles, take a shower, make pancakes and eggs for their kids, do a round of Meals on Wheels, remove a splinter from their cat's paw while using the other hand to write their memoirs and they still arrive at work promptly at 8:00! Of course there are the people who are late and are okay with it, they don't consider it disrespectful or irresponsible, but I do! I think I should be on time for things which, as you can imagine, is quite troublesome for someone who is always late. To make matters worse, I am someone who wakes up every single day with the firm belief, the sincere thought, that today I will be on time. I start my day with the distinct feeling that I am the person who is usually on time, and each morning at some point something shakes my belief, I get a dose of reality--perhaps a peek at the clock--and it absolutely rocks my world. I go from laid-back super-sweet Aimee to a raving lunatic--someone most of you would not recognize. I get flustered--say to my kids about 80 times in one breath "We're going to be late, let's go." and then stumble out the door, inevitably forgetting something important, which I need to go back into the house to retrieve. The next thing I know the digital clock in my car says 7:50 which is clock-speak for "You foolish woman, you're late again."
Let me just let you in on the irony of all of this--I started this blog several hours ago and just as I finished the last paragraph, I looked at the clock-it was time to get ready for Maddee and Max's piano recital. Actually, believe it or not, ten minutes beyond time to get ready. Their teacher (smart lady) wanted every child there at 2:40 as the performance began at 3:00. We had every intention of getting there by 2:40, then around 2:20 when we were still home rather than on the road, I thought it would be okay to arrive at 2:45. We pulled in at 2:57 before the start, sure, but 17 minutes after she wanted us there. The worst part, or perhaps the best, was that several families followed us. The recital didn't start until close to 3:15 thanks to the fact that while I am late, so are half the other families I know.
I won't lie, it makes me happy when other people are later than me. Quite honestly, it makes me feel, well, fantastic. While I am in my mind notoriously late, I am never the Jeanie of the group. I'm sorry to admit, but it makes me feel kind of smug. It creates some sort of pseudo-amnesia, allowing me to believe that I really wasn't so late after all. Before you know it I have recreated the events of my day completely with me arriving to school, recitals, plays, dinner, and other places quite promptly. This alone could be the reason I awake each day thinking today I know I am going to be on time.
Fast forward 32 years (well 31 years 10 months and 2 days, but who's counting?) and here I am. I am almost always late and while I could pretend it is directly related to that sunny August day in 1978, but that would be a stretch at best. I am a grown woman and I take responsibility for my perpetual tardiness. The thing is there are people who are never late, I mean they can get up in the morning, run 5 miles, take a shower, make pancakes and eggs for their kids, do a round of Meals on Wheels, remove a splinter from their cat's paw while using the other hand to write their memoirs and they still arrive at work promptly at 8:00! Of course there are the people who are late and are okay with it, they don't consider it disrespectful or irresponsible, but I do! I think I should be on time for things which, as you can imagine, is quite troublesome for someone who is always late. To make matters worse, I am someone who wakes up every single day with the firm belief, the sincere thought, that today I will be on time. I start my day with the distinct feeling that I am the person who is usually on time, and each morning at some point something shakes my belief, I get a dose of reality--perhaps a peek at the clock--and it absolutely rocks my world. I go from laid-back super-sweet Aimee to a raving lunatic--someone most of you would not recognize. I get flustered--say to my kids about 80 times in one breath "We're going to be late, let's go." and then stumble out the door, inevitably forgetting something important, which I need to go back into the house to retrieve. The next thing I know the digital clock in my car says 7:50 which is clock-speak for "You foolish woman, you're late again."
Let me just let you in on the irony of all of this--I started this blog several hours ago and just as I finished the last paragraph, I looked at the clock-it was time to get ready for Maddee and Max's piano recital. Actually, believe it or not, ten minutes beyond time to get ready. Their teacher (smart lady) wanted every child there at 2:40 as the performance began at 3:00. We had every intention of getting there by 2:40, then around 2:20 when we were still home rather than on the road, I thought it would be okay to arrive at 2:45. We pulled in at 2:57 before the start, sure, but 17 minutes after she wanted us there. The worst part, or perhaps the best, was that several families followed us. The recital didn't start until close to 3:15 thanks to the fact that while I am late, so are half the other families I know.
I won't lie, it makes me happy when other people are later than me. Quite honestly, it makes me feel, well, fantastic. While I am in my mind notoriously late, I am never the Jeanie of the group. I'm sorry to admit, but it makes me feel kind of smug. It creates some sort of pseudo-amnesia, allowing me to believe that I really wasn't so late after all. Before you know it I have recreated the events of my day completely with me arriving to school, recitals, plays, dinner, and other places quite promptly. This alone could be the reason I awake each day thinking today I know I am going to be on time.
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