Moving To Hawaii

The PRP/Synvisc procedure was today.  All things considered, the procedure went very smoothly.  So now I am staring down the barrel of two days of hard down time.  I'm nine hours into it and already feeling like I'm imprisoned.  Riot and escape attempt to follow.  Stay tuned.

The morning started off very rocky.  Frustration was already thick because the wife refused to let me drive myself to and from the doctor's office.  My Army of One mentality and refusing to let her "take care of me" are sore points.  So we compromised by agreeing to allow her to drop me off on her way to work and then having my mother-in-law pick me up after the procedure was over.  We were out the door on time (a miracle in-and-of itself) and went through McDonald's drive-thru so that I could put something on my stomach before the appointment.  Interestingly enough the medical staff at the doctor's office suggested this as they said that many people become light-headed or pass out during the injection.  The majority, they said, were men.  Although I had no fear that I would swoon, I do have a very delicate image to maintain.

In the drive-thru I realized that I did not have the check book.  As this was a pay-to-play, out-of-pocket procedure, I would need it.  Then the rush back to the house to get the check book, which was never found.  We write checks for so few things that keeping up with its location is far from a priority.  Luckily I did locate a temporary check for the right account and back out the door I went; now running behind.  My frustration level was high.  Very high.  I didn't like the idea of being chauffeured like an invalid.  I didn't like not being at the wheel to cut through traffic like a trained stunt-car driver.  I didn't like the idea of having the mother-in-law come to pick me up, again like an invalid.  I sure as hell didn't like the idea of being bullied into any of this dependency BS, but there I was.  I am now, however, contemplating writing a book titled "Army of One: The Low Stess Life of Operating Independently".  Watch for it.  It will be a best-seller.

Where did everybody go?

I arrived at the doctor's office a few minutes late and walked into the reception area.  The first thing that I noticed was that the waiting room was vacant.  This is one of the best orthopedic and sports medicine practices in the the region.  The office is always crowded.  For it to be empty was a little disconcerting.  Or maybe they were afraid that the One Man would have a negative experience and for safety they had cancelled their morning appointments.  The latter makes me smile, therefore I'll stay with that assertion.

After the nurse drew my blood (which we now know contains magical healing properties) and took it to be spun in the centrifuge, the doctor came in to prep my knee.  I will say that the prep for the injection was the toughest part of the entire procedure.  Lots of sprays and needles to "numb" the injection site before he inserted a very LARGE gauge needle into the joint itself to aspirate fluid from the knee.  I was surprised when he was able to do so.  The knee hadn't seemed swollen or aching at all this morning.  But draw fluid from the joint he did.  That was the only part of the procedure that produced any sharp pain (no pun intended).  The injection of the PRP (3 1/2 cc), Synvisc (48 mg), and Kenalog (40 mg) was relatively painless - only a sensation of pressure - and very quick.

The highlight of the post-procedure was sitting outside the hospital and talking with a homeless man from Paducah, KY while I waited for my mother-in-law to pick me up.  He approached and introduced himself, showing me his ID as though he felt compelled to prove the name he had given me.  I showed him my ID which totally threw off his OODA loop.  Although I'm sure the original intent was to ask me for money, he seemed all too eager to put distance between himself and I after I gave him directions to the local shelter that was only a block or so away.  Maybe he didn't get the memo that everyone else around the doctor's office had received.

Why, yes, those are Balega socks.

So here I am locked down for three days of rest, ice, and Advil.  Luckily I still have the AirCast Cryo/Cuff from my surgery years ago.  Always knew it would come in handy again.  Days four and five are suppose to be light activity days - biking, elliptical - but no running until day seven.  That is a little different (more prolonged) than what I was initially told, but I will give the doctor the benefit of the doubt and err on the side of caution.

In the mean time I have set up camp on the the couch with the intention of getting caught up on work.  Instead, I've found myself watching episodes of Magnum P.I. on Netflix.  Which has me thinking: if you are going to police - or be a P.I. even - why not do it somewhere with palm trees?  So I have decided that as soon as day seven comes I'm packing up and moving to Hawaii.  I just need a cool Hawaiian shirt, a Ferrari, and a wealthy benefactor who'll let me stay in the guest house on their private estate.  That should be easy enough.  Oh, and I'll have to grow an awesome mustache too.  Better get started on that right now...

Check out that stylin' mustache!

The (not so) Bionic Man

Not just tallking about my personality.

The follow up appointment with the orthopedic surgeon to receive the results of my MRI was two days ago.  The meniscus isn't torn and the joint is intact.  Very good news to hear.  So much so that I had the surgeon repeat it three times just to make sure that my selective hearing power wasn't activated, or that I wasn't unintentionally "re-authoring" the facts (as my wife and I accuse each other of doing ever-so-often).  But the surgeons stuck to their guns: no meniscus tear.

Because of the residual chronic pain in my knee the doctor suggested that I might benefit from Platelet Rich Plasma therapy.  An experimental procedure (so deemed because of the lack of solid data from clinical studies) in which the doctors will draw my blood then spin it in centrifuges, then inject the separated plasma and platelets into the knee along with the drug Synvisc.  Theoretically the platelets in my blood will release growth factors that will initiate a healing and regenerative response in the bone and tissue in my knee.  Cool, huh?  The best thing is that I now know my blood has magical healing properties!  Who knew?  That automatically triples my awesome factor.  You can read more about PRP at the Scientific American page or at the all-knowing Wikipedia.

The down sides to the PRP treatment are a) as with any injection the potential for infection, b) the possibility that I will derive no benefit from the treatment at all (studies have shown inconsistent results - although I attribute this largely to a person's overall awesome score, so I should be just fine), and c) the $1000.00 out of pocket cost.  PRP, being an experimental therapy, is not covered by insurance.  I will also be "down" for about three to five days following the injection.  Doc says biking or swimming should be fine on day three or four and a return to normal activities on day five or six.  He is confident that this will give me the ability to return to all my normal high speed activities with no pain in the knee.  Considering that he was right about the meniscus tear, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt on this one.

So until the procedure next week, I have been given clearance to do what I like, provided that I can tolerate the discomfort in my knee. Yesterday I ran three and a half miles at a leisurely ten minute per mile pace.  There was little pain in the knee during the run, but it was sore the rest of the day.  This morning I put in around four miles at a mind-numbingly slow pace and so far the ache is minimal.  The plan is to get in my regular workouts between now and the procedure next week and to slowly return to my normal training after Labor Day.  I have committed to running with a team on September 29th at the Tap N Run and am already registered for the LSC Half Marathon on November 3rd.  After the PRP that gives me just under eight weeks to train for the half and I'm not confident enough in my base at this point to have much hope for an improvement over last year's performance.  But, hey!  If what the doctor says is right, then in the words of Oscar Goldman, I will be "better than (I) was before.  Better.  Stronger.  Faster."

   What I'm hoping for.   

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

The last two weeks the One Man has been away for an intense instructor's course for work.  I had the opportunity to hang out with a group of really great guys who are all very high speed and some of the best at what they do at their respective places of employment.  At first I had thought that this was going to be a great little get away from the daily stress of work and home, and while I certainly did have an awesome time doing cool tough guy stuff, I quickly discovered that the days and nights were filled with unique stresses of the training accompanied by what seemed like endless exhaustion.  Therefore, all the many things that I thought that I would accomplish while away just never happened: no catching up on leisure reading, no organizing or catching up on paperwork, no reflective meditation, and certainly no sleeping in.  Bummer.

Scary! Consider yourself warned.

While on my two week non-sabbatical a lot of things happened - some good, some not-so-good, and some down right ugly.  To attempt to detail every minutiae would consume more time than I have and would most certainly bore you, gentle reader, to tears.  Therefore we shall hit the highlights as I see them.  First...

The Good

Two weeks away!  No office.  No paperwork.  No case files.  No micromanaging administrators who make up for their lack of being operational bad-asses by simply being pricks.  This in and of itself was worth the price of admission.

Awesome company!  Did I mention that I hung out with some really awesome high speed guys?  Because I did.  The instructors were great, experienced guys who really knew their stuff and those who made up the training class were some of the best guys in the business.  Not a single ego on display and even when I can't remember times where I have been more exhausted/miserable, I also can't remember a time when I have laughed so much.

Taste the rainbow!

Shooting guns!  Lots of guns.  Big guns!  Small guns!  Future guns!  Old guns!  Stupid guns!  Unacceptable! (Warning - Do not click the link if you are easily offended - it is an inside joke from the last two weeks).  I put more rounds down-range in the last two weeks than my entire agency fired in training in the last five years.  And while I'm trying to make that sound like an exaggeration, I'm suddenly struck by the fact that in reality it probably isn't.

A small section of the firearms training complex.

Reaching the point of failure!  I know that doesn't exactly sound like a good thing, but in this context it actually is.  Travis Haley, formerly of Magpul Dynamics, said, "Amateurs train until they get it right.  Professionals train until they get it wrong."  The idea is that as professionals we must push the envelope in training so that when things start to come apart and what can go wrong does then as professionals we know where the limits are; we improve by adapting and overcoming those limitations and failure points.

Looking very dapper during a lull in the action.

I can honestly say that I came away from the last two weeks with a better understanding of myself and my capabilities on an operational level.  I found areas that I know I will need to work hard to improve, but I also surprisingly discovered that I could do some things that I hadn't really thought possible.

Some nice runs!  There is a one mile long mulch track that sits behind the Bizzack Law Enforcement Training Complex on the campus of Eastern Kentucky University.  The track has some very nice climbs and in the August heat is just challenging enough to make you really work.  In addition to the law enforcement basic training classes that run this track, you will also see Eastern's cross country team out on the track as well.

It has been quite a few years since I was first introduced to this track and quite honestly at the time I had no interest in running what-so-ever.  My memories of the mulch track were not pleasant.  Prior to going through basic I had never been much of a fan of running at all, mainly due to reoccurring shin splints.  Just before entering basic the problem of running was further compounded by extensive knee surgery that made any type of running feel like a spike being driven through the bottom of my femur.  If you had told me back then that I would be a runner today or that I would eventually run marathons then I would have politely smiled and quietly written you off as a complete flake.  However, that is a chapter that I have long since closed.

Mulch track at Bizzack Law Enforcement Training Complex.

I had several opportunities to run the mulch track during my stay the first week, and I took advantage of them.  I can certainly say that it was cathartic to get out and tackle the course with the confidence and desire of a runner.  There is something to be said for wanting to do a thing versus being forced to do it.

The Bad

Heat and humidity.  Not everything was sunshine and rainbows the last two weeks.  Many days it rained.  Not a lot, but just enough to make things damp and miserable at times.  It also increased the humidity which was a treat (note sarcasm).  At times the humidity was so thick that you could actually see bullets trace through the air.  It also made it feel like a sauna.  Running and gunning wearing a bunch of gear really brought on the sweat.

Kentucky River.  Stench directly proportionate to the heat.

The stink.  The training site was also situated on the Kentucky River.  I have no idea if it was the river itself or something in our immediate area, but the stench of the river was enough to make you want to wretch.  While the scenery was beautiful, the hotter the day became the greater the smell emanating from the area of the river.  This wasn't the smell of some rotting carcass that one might encounter out in the wild but the full blown aroma of a well used latrine.  Someone had mentioned that it was ballistic gelatin, used in the testing of terminal ballistics, that had been used a few weeks before our arrival and that someone had dumped near the river's edge (Don't fret, hippies, it is biodegradable).  Whatever it was/is it made training with chem/gas masks on a virtual treat.

Busting my ass!

Ripping my pants.  Ten minutes into day three of training and the first thing I do is get into a nice low position to fire my weapon and I hear the unmistakable sound of tearing fabric and feel the pleasant breeze of instant additional ventilation.  Granted I had worn a pair of three or four year old 5.11 tactical pants for a reason: they were old.  But having the ass rip out of your pants with no immediate change available simply sucked.  No one laughed of course, this was about pushing yourself and your equipment to failure and clothing is equipment.

I did buy a new pair of 5.11 Taclite Pro pants the next day and they were awesome.  But I did wind up tearing part of the knee on those as well the next week.  Mine wasn't the only set of pants to rip during the two week training.  There were multiple other busted and ripped seats and one set of pants that burst along the entire length of one guy's quad.  So while I may not have been the only one, I did get to lead the way!

The cat barn.  This really doesn't qualify as bad, maybe just creepy.  And creepy only because I read Haruki Murakami's 1Q84 which contains the short story Town of Cats, a story about a man who becomes lost in a mysterious town inhabited only by cats with no way to return to his own world.  Every morning along the road that lead to the training facility I passed an old barn outside of which several cats would congregate.  Each time I saw the cats I immediately thought of Murakami's story.

Town of Cats!

The Ugly

And then there are just things that are so bad that they are just plain ugly.  Injuries are one of those things.

Makeshift ice rig for the knee.

In a series of events last weekend that were so stupid that I refuse to detail them here, I injured my knee, my hand and my wrist.  I knew the knee was bad because when I landed on it I felt a sharp pain in the lateral portion of the joint that persisted.  My wrist and  knuckles also swelled somewhat but that felt more like bruising.  Since I was out and about I had to perform some field first aid which included going to the local Stop and Rob, otherwise known as a convenience store, and buying a bag of ice and some Zip Lock bags.  I made due with icing the the afflicted areas with this method which actually worked quite well.

One for the hand and wrist.

The timing, of course, couldn't have been worse.  It was dead in the middle of the training course and being sidelined by injuries to two critical components wasn't an option.  So I did what any tough guy would do - I sucked it up and kept moving.

In 2005 I was injured in a training accident and had a complete ACL reconstruction with repair to both medial and lateral menisci.  They also had to graft a piece back onto my femur which had been chipped.  The road back from that injury was a very long and painful one that included a lot of hard work.  Luckily for me I still had some of the equipment that I used in that recovery process - a Cryo Cuff and a sport brace.  I used the Cryo Cuff religiously and strapped the brace on for the second week of training.

There was some minor pain during any quick lateral movements (which occurred with frequency), but otherwise the brace really seemed to keep the knee stable.  Other than sounding like a loosely put together robot when I walked or ran, the injury didn't inhibit my ability to operate and I was able to complete the training successfully.  But I knew I had dealt some damage to the joint and I made an appointment with the orthopedic group that has put me back together on more than one occasion.

"He's more machine now than man."

The ortho doc is hoping for bone marrow effusion (fancy term for a "bone bruise") where the shock to the joint literally caused the bones of the joint to collide and bruise.  However, there has been pain and pressure in the back of my knee and I know from experience that is indicative of a meniscus injury.  This, as they say, isn't my first rodeo.

Yesterday I had what felt like my millionth MRI.  I've lived a very active life that has often resulted in injury.  I've joked that I have been exposed to so many X-rays, various other radiation, and strong magnetic fields that I should have had superpowers by now.  The radiologist laughed at my chart and asked if I wanted to just run the MRI machine on my own while she went to lunch - I had been there so often.  We even skipped all of the usual checklists and worked together like two people who had been performing the same job together for years.  I was in and out in record time.  Combine that with the fact that the office staff at the orthopedic surgeons office greeted me with hugs like old friends and perhaps it might be time to begin rethinking my "high speed" lifestyle.  But then, where is the adventure in that?  I will receive the results of the MRI on Tuesday and, although I am not hopeful, I would love to be proven wrong about my self-diagnosis.

So for now I can still get my morning weight lifting in, but my cardio will have to rely on the stationary bike; a prospect that I am none-too-thrilled about.  I miss the run.  Something that I never thought I would find myself saying or fearing.  Running has become important to me on a level that only other runners can understand.  Having that taken away, for any duration, is a terrifying prospect.  Of course I can remember the injury in 2005.  I can remember thinking that all of my high speed antics had come to an end and how, in my mind in those first few days, that everything that had made me me, had suddenly been lost.  But that feeling also steeled my resolve and I came back not only better, but in a higher gear.

While I will admit to being a bit more judicious this time around, I have the confidence that the end result will be the same.  In many ways it is like the last two weeks of training: pushing to the point of failure to understand just where the failure points are - where does the weakness lie and how do we strengthen those areas so that the points of failure become fewer and more distant.  Maybe this is a lesson for life as well.  As someone else quite bluntly stated this past week when speaking about having the proper resolve, "If you quit, you die."

Diet Fail

The word "diet" of course used in the context of nutritious eating.  The last few months I have been somewhat diligent about what I've been ingesting during the course of my day.  Although far from refined I have eliminated most of the crap, including fast food and sodas, that I would normally eat and have replaced it with much more nutritious offerings.  I've also increased my water intake, which for me is a very good thing considering the problems that I've had earlier this year.

Yesterday, however, was a huge fail with my eating.  Breakfast started out well, but then I met friends for lunch.  At McDonald's.  That's when everything went downhill.  A Quarter Pounder meal and two-thirds of the way through I knew I had made a mistake.  I have found that the funny thing about eating healthy is that at some point your body begins to know when you are taking in crap and there is a switch in your head that gets flipped.  When that happens it's as though your body naturally rejects the garbage, and in my instance, left my stomach feeling off for most of the rest of the day.

To add insult to injury, I ended up having a dinner consisting of Arizona Green Tea and a package of Skittles.  Yep, Skittles.  Maybe I was pressed for time.  Maybe I just didn't feel like eating because of the residual stomach issues from the pre-fab burger.  Or maybe it had just been a dreary, over-cast day and I really needed to taste the rainbow.  Really, there is no good excuse.

Dinner courtesy of CVS Pharmacy.

This morning has once again started off positively.  A good solid leg workout in the gym and a nice MetRx ProteinPlus bar.  Provided all hell doesn't break loose, I should have a good lunch and with any luck a decent dinner.

Falling off of the nutrition wagon from time to time isn't necessarily a bad thing.  There are even some nutrition plans that call for a strict diet during the week and let you have whatever you'd like during the weekends.  And after all, we are human.  Indulging ourselves from time-to-time should be quite acceptable.  I'm not trying to justify anything, mind you; merely making the observation that anything to excess has its downside.

So I'll permit myself this minor slip of hedonistic behavior and renew my commitment to keeping the fast food shut-down and only permitting the Skittles a limited audience.

Much Ado About Nothing

It has been over a month since my last blog post.  When I started this blog back in April, I had this idea that I was suppose to be hammering out an entry at least every other day filled with some intellectual musings or poignantly introspective works; as though I were to make some contribution to the literary world with my blogging.  A very grandiose idea indeed.

Instead what I have discovered by digitally traipsing through others' blogs is that such a high bar certainly isn't necessary.  Not only unnecessary but in some sense defeats the purpose of what the casual blog - such as mine - is really all about: connecting and sharing.  While my blog has (mostly) been about running, it is also about life and in the month or so that I've neglected making an entry here life did not pause to wait for me to record its happenings.

Not the One Man's blog.

The problem is the very bar that I set for myself in every endeavor.  It is high.  Loftily so.  To a degree that I more often than not fail myself.  Instead of enjoying the sharing of the day-to-day running, fitness, and living experiences, I set myself up for failure by expecting shades of Thoreau in my blogging.  However, I do not live near forests or ponds, and the only minimalist living that I'm the least bit interested in involves only my Vibrams.  Therefore to expect poetry and prose within the One Man's blog at such an august level is more than pure folly.  An expectation that I will consciously have to work to dismiss.

So in an effort to make up for my lack of sharing, I offer the following synopsis of the last month:

In the month since my last posting I have worked more, ran less, spent more time in the gym strength training, and given much better attention to my diet.  I have found fulfillment in a few successes, suffered through the disappointment of many more failures (most at a political and bureaucratic level), and at times floated in the melancholy of daily repetition.  I have been disgusted, angered, stressed, sleep-deprived, and assailed.  I have also passed through quiet moments of contentment, experienced self-satisfaction, and felt my heart fill to over-flowing.  In short, I have been living my life.

As I have committed to this blogging venture, in the future I will strive to make more regular entries; some perhaps with no intrinsic value (contrary to my innate expectations).  Regardless of the quantity or quality that may or may not come, one thing is certain: the One Man remains.

The Tactical Runner

In the wake of the recent death of Sarah Hart, murdered while on a run in Russell County, Kentucky, I have been compelled to proffer a list of safety tips for runners that may - at a minimum - provide you with some food for thought.  I originally posted these tips on RunTheVille.com, however these tips are in no way restricted to the art of running and are really nothing more than commonsense behaviors that may be employed regardless of your activity or situation.

Without further ado, and presented in no particular order, here are my top ten safety tips:

1.  Run on the left side of the road, facing on-coming traffic. In Kentucky KRS 189.570(14) states, "Where neither a sidewalk nor a shoulder is available, any pedestrian walking on or along a highway shall walk as near as practicable to an outside edge of the roadway, and, if on a two-way roadway shall walk only on the left side of the roadway." The average two lane road is 24 feet wide. The only thing separating you from a 2-ton battering ram, 12 feet away and speeding up behind you, is some paint in the middle of the road. Better that the one coming from behind has some wiggle room. At least if you have to dive for cover to avoid being clipped, you have a better chance with the one coming head-on.

2.  Tell someone where you are going. You might want to add in how far you are going and how long you plan on being gone. I'm guilty of breaking this rule. A lot. But if, God forbid, you come up missing at least someone has a reference point to begin looking for you. Someone once told me, early in my career, "You know where you are and God knows where you are, but if the rest of us don't know where you are then you and God had better be on good terms." There is wisdom in that.

3.  Turn the headphones down. I do wear headphones when I run. But the volume is never so loud that I cannot hear the car approaching from behind or the sounds of footsteps from another runner. I have ran near other runners who have had the volume so loud on their music players that I can hear what they are listening to over my own tunes. That is asking for trouble.

The Wrist ID Elite

4.  Carry ID. RoadID is great and is personally what I wear. There are also many other suppliers of athletic type identification methods out there. With regard to whatever brand you choose, when making attachment choices, consider that in bad situations shoes and other items of clothing can be lost. At a minimum I suggest having the following on your ID:

Name / Year of Birth
City, State and Country
Blood Type
Drug Allergy
Emergency Contact Number (ie. NAME 555-555-5555 RELATIONSHIP)

5.  Light up! Literally. On those dark roads/trails, pre-dawn, and after dark runs wear a rear strobe and carry some type of flashlight, head lamp, etc. Reflective clothing is nice too. Just be visible. This at least gives you a chance against being struck by a vehicle. If you are struck by a vehicle then the flashing butt strobe will make it easier for retrieval teams to find your body.

6.  Make eye contact or otherwise acknowledge people. Bad guys are going to select easy prey. They do not want to work hard to achieve their goals and picking a target that is confident and possibly going to fight back is too much work. Acknowledging the other person says that you aren't going to be an easy mark. You don't have to be friendly - smile and wave and all that other happy stuff - but at least make eye contact and give them the "grunt and nod".

7.  Take a self-defense/combatives course. Kicking, scratching, yelling and screaming are all fine methods of self-defense. Learning how to put them all together in a nice methodical manner is even better. Find a place that specializes in "real world" techniques. Fancy belts and tournament-style games of tag with heavy padding will not translate well in a fight for your life. Remember to keep it simple and don't be afraid to question the instructor on the effectiveness of what is being shown. When push comes to shove you aren't going to remember Technique #352 - Defense Against A Front Double Hand Choke, but you most likely will remember to shove your thumb through the guy's eye socket before your shin kick his testicles into next week.

8.  Take a proper position. What the hell does that mean? Actively, it means when you are running, don't allow others to corner you into a position that you can't easily escape from or that gives them an advantage. For example, a woman who is running along a wooded road is approached by a man running in the opposite direction. Both are on the same side of the road because one of them is ignoring KRS 189.570(14) . The woman takes the inside edge of the roadway, closest to the woods and the ravine that runs along the roadside. The man, who is actually a rapist, now simply tackles the woman directly off the roadway. Taking the outside may have been a safer option as pulling or dragging the woman from the roadway would require more work. Think that doesn't happen? The Aspin Hill rapist in Maryland posed as a runner while scouting his victims. Taking a proper position also means putting yourself in the best position to take advantage of natural cover, or to be able to use terrain to escape or elude someone who wants to harm you. Of course, the best defense is simply "not being there". Don't place yourself in situations/positions that anyone with any common sense would know probably isn't the safest; such as using the bathroom in a deserted park at night.

9.  Carry a defensive tool (read "weapon"). This can be a knife, a gun, pepper-spray, attack helicopter, something. What you carry is a matter of personal preference. I carry a firearm with me on all of my runs. However, for some this may not be practical or even comfortable. But regardless of what you choose, receive some type of training. Then practice with it. Regularly. When the adrenaline hits you will most likely experience a combination of one or more of the following: loss of fine motor control, time distortion, auditory exclusion, and/or tunnel vision. When that happens you will need to rely on "muscle memory" and skill. Add on top of that the consideration that you will already have been exerting yourself while running and will be winded, etc. In a life and death struggle, you are now already at an extreme disadvantage. The bad guy is going to show up fresh and with plenty of energy (remember the part about them not wanting to work too hard).

As an FYI, OC spray - often referred to as "pepper spray" or the brand name "MACE" - is a less lethal option that might give you some distraction time to escape your attacker. OC spray is generally effective (notice I said "generally" which can mean "not always") and due to the nature of its active ingredient (Oleoresin Capsicum) works on both humans and animals. OC spray can take a few moments to take effect and for maximum effective benefit needs to be applied to the eyes, nasal passages, and mouth.

10.  Last but not least is - Keep situation awareness. It is easy to zone out. All of us have done it. And I guarantee that all of us can recall a time that we were startled while in "the zone". Don't focus your vision right on the road directly in front of your feet. Keep your eyes up and look around. Other than bad guys and crazy drivers, there are pot holes, uneven pavement, hanging tree limbs, rabid squirrels, etc. Besides, there really are all kinds of cool things to see while running that you might otherwise miss.

And a bonus tip: Stay the hell off of social media sites. Or at least set your privacy settings to only allow people you know access your information and/or govern heavily what you post on those sites. A pic taken with your cell phone and uploaded to Facebook will lead the savvy bad guy right to your home. Regular tweets of when you run and where you run will make finding you a piece of cake for the analytical stalker. I could make another mile long post just out of this topic alone.

So, there you have it - my top ten (plus) safety tips for running. Bottom line is this: You are not safe. Anywhere. This is not a paranoid statement. Simply fact. There are no perimeter fences or magic force fields that keep the bad guys corralled in one location. They go where they want, when they want. And they will show up in the places you least expect them, precisely at a time that you are not expecting them. There are thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, of stories out there of runners/joggers who have been attacked:  The "Central Park jogger" who was viciously beaten and raped. Sherry Arnold, the teacher in Montana - abducted and killed while on a run in January of this year. A 19 year old runner raped in Tulsa in February. And of course Sarah Hart, wife and mother of three, robbed and murdered mere days ago.  Sadly the list goes on and on.

Bad things do happen to good people. This doesn't mean that you have to live barricaded inside your home with the windows nailed shut. It simply means that you should be prepared and have a plan for dealing with whatever emergent situation you might encounter, be it of human or natural origin. To borrow from Lt. Col. David Grossman, we have airbags in cars and fire extinguishers in buildings because we accept the fact that fires and traffic accidents can happen and that there must be safeguards against them. Our personal safety while on a run or out with our loved ones is no different.

Remember Sarah Hart

This past Thursday (June 14th), Dr. Sarah Hart of Russell County, KY - a wife and mother of three - went for an early morning run with her sister.  Sarah would never return.

According to news reports, Sarah told her sister that she wasn't feeling well and decided to turn back to where they parked their vehicles.  Instead of making it back to her vehicle Sarah came into contact with a POS (if you don't know what that means try entry number 1 here), who's name is not worth mentioning because I consider him sub-human.  This POS, who had multiple felony charges in more than one State, robbed and then strangled Sarah to death; leaving her body under bushes near the roadway.  The POS was arrested a few hours later and admitted to killing Sarah.  To further add to this heinous act, an autopsy would later reveal that Sarah was 10 - 11 weeks pregnant.  In Kentucky this crime is eligible as a death penalty case and I certainly hope that this POS doesn't rot long in prison before he rots in Hell.

The list of runners who come under vicious attack or even lose their lives to senseless violence while engaged in the activity that they love seemingly continues to grow.  The violence does not recognize geographic limits and knows no socioeconomic boundaries.  Anyone, anywhere can become a victim.  Less than six months ago Sherry Arnold, a teacher in Montana, and now Sarah Hart, a pharmacist in Kentucky.  I can not begin to even guess what the numbers are of those that go unreported or never make the news.

Sarah Hart and family.

The anger that I feel over the murder of Sarah Hart is compounded not only by proximity, but also by the inherent camaraderie that I believe all runners share.  Members of the online community of local runners of which I am a regular visitor, RunTheVille.com, have also expressed their outrage, sympathy, and personal feelings of distress at the loss of Sarah.  So much so that RunTheVille has sent a flower arrangement to the funeral home in remembrance and show of support for the family of a runner that none of the forum members knew personally.

I have been a member of units and teams where each member would go to the wall for any other member of the team; even laying down their lives if necessary.  In the running world, I don't find that much difference.  I believe that it comes from the fact that only runners know what runners endure and that unless someone has been in the same fire as you, they can't truly understand what you are talking about when you talk about the heat.

Sarah will be laid to rest tomorrow, but she will not be forgotten.  Not by her husband, her children, or her family.  She will not be forgotten by her friends.  She will not be forgotten by the community of runners whose lives were touched by her passing.  Nor will I forget.

On the day that I learned of her death, I had already put my mileage in for the day.  However, I ran a second 5K that evening in memory of Sarah and her family; honoring her in the only way that I could think appropriate at the time.  I can say with certainty that in runs to come Sarah and her family will be in my thoughts.  I hope that everyone who reads this blog or hears of Sarah's death will do the same.

Rest in peace, Sarah.  May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

Today's Top 5

Shut Up + Run listed 5 things in her blog that she was enjoying at the moment and encouraged others to do the same.  Too often the negative things that I'm raging against from moment to moment are at the forefront of my thoughts and the things that I enjoy are lost in the mix.  So I'm picking up on Shut Up + Run's theme and giving some thought to the top 5 things that I'm enjoying - at least for today.  Here they are in no particular order.

1.  Starbucks Triple Venti Mocha.

 

For the last several weeks this has become the privileged indulgence of my work day mornings.  The early mornings, long before most people have roused themselves from bed, have been a much needed personal refuge.  Most mornings, for at least the first hour or so, there is no one making demands or pulling me in a hundred different directions.  My triple venti mocha and I go quietly to the gym and spend some quality time together; I investing in much needed personal care and the venti mocha supplying silent energizing support.

Venti Mocha has also been a contributor to some of my most recent self damaging activities and for a while I was afraid that she and I would have to stop seeing one another.  But that was before my new friend Mr. Water came along to help salvage the relationship.  Now Venti and I have reached an understanding and can once again quietly enjoy each other once more.  All things in moderation.

2.  Nike Dri-Fit Long Sleeve Running Shirt

 

I found a new Nike store in the neighborhood recently and went inside to look around.  There were tons of clothing on clearance and I picked up this Dri-Fit long sleeve running shirt with the Livestrong pinwheel design on the cuff.  It fits great, looks good, and the blue really brings out my eyes.  Or at least so I've been told.  :-)

I've been wearing this thing on my morning workouts (never mind that it is June) or just out-and-about.  I've also worn it a few times on the job.  The "Run" logo on the front works on so many different levels!

3.   Flashpoint

 

I normally don't watch "cop shows" or "crime" dramas; I get enough of that in real life.  Plus, who has time to watch television anyway when you're busy being totally awesome?  However, during a rare moment of down time I stumbled across Flashpoint on Netflix and thought I would check out the pilot episode.  I was hooked.  This Canadian police drama centers around a fictitious SWAT team, which is based on the very real Toronto Police Service Emergency Task Force.  The writing is actually very good and some of the episodes have actually hit a little too close to home.

I liked the show so much I shared it with my friends.  We've also had a good time calling "bullshit" from time-to-time on some of the tactics and decisions portrayed on the show.  But then I have to remind everyone that if they were real operators the episode(s) in question would only be about 10 minutes long, and what good is that?  Plus it is a good thing to suspend disbelief every so often.

Flashpoint is currently filming its fifth and final season (I'm only on the third episode of season 4) and with the amount of free time I have to really sit down and watch the show it will last me for some time, but I'll be sorry to see it go.

4.  iPhone 4S (In An Otterbox Defender Case)

Okay, so this is really two things combined into a single unit.  The iPhone 4S is the latest and greatest iPhone iteration.  At least until this Fall when I expect that Apple will launch a new iPhone along with iOS 6.

I use my iPhone for nearly everything, and it has become an invaluable tool for both my personal and professional lives.  I slip it into my armband for tunes while on my runs (along with my JayBird wireless headphones).  I take photographs (pretty damn good ones too), video, and audio recordings for work.  I browse the web, work with e-mail, video conference, and get maps and directions on the fly with this little sucker.  All-in-all, it is damn near like being in a Star Trek episode sometimes.  And let's not forget Siri, Apple's virtual assistant.  Her voice could use a little less synthesizing, but I figure that will come when I can finally get her to talk dirty to me.

The Defender case from Otterbox keeps my invaluable companion safe and sound (Have I ever mentioned that I'm really hard on gear?).  The hard polycarbonate shell is surrounded by a softer silicone layer that resists the frequent bumps and dings that comes as part and parcel of living my life.

5.  My Own Awesomeness.

I know that sounds a little narcissistic - okay, a lot actually - but at an age where I swear I can hear the clock ticking I'm probably in the best shape of my life.  I'm also a hell of a lot smarter (in some ways) than I was in my youth.  I suppose what I really mean is that at this moment in time I'm in good health and in a relatively decent place in my life; all things considered.  Could things be better?  Of course.  But they could always be a hell of a lot worse.

Early last week I walked outside my office and stood in the streaming sunshine.  The air was cool and the day was clear and bright.  In that moment I experienced none of my usual aches or pains.  And as I stood there breathing in the fresh morning air, there was also a sense of endless possibilities and limitless potential; as though there was nothing that I couldn't do.  It is a difficult feeling to describe, but I felt alive.

Unfortunately I do not experience those feelings often enough; perhaps as a result of not slowing down or pausing long enough to take stock.  Tomorrow may be different, but for now I'm feeling pretty awesome and therefore it makes the list.


So there you have it.  My list of five things that I'm enjoying at the moment.  I'll be honest that I really had to think about this and wasn't exactly sure that I could come up with five things.  Maybe that is telling.  Maybe this is also a good regular exercise to help keep perspective.

What is it that you're enjoying?  What are the top five things on your list?  Take some time and give it some thought.

Churchill Had It Right

This blog has been mainly about my running, but more than that it also serves as a window into my life; albeit one made of frosted glass panes.  This post, therefore, is a departure from the norm.  As the title says, "Life.  One mile at a time."  Not all of those miles are flat and smooth.

People say that I'm stubborn, hard-headed, and sometimes extremely inflexible.  The stark reality is that I'm not a quitter and I absolutely do not like giving up.  On anything.  When I give up bad things usually happen and sometimes things even die - relationships, animals,...people.

My "resolve" has many times been personally detrimental because not only do I champion the just, I also have a propensity for wading into battle for the seemingly hopeless and lost causes as well; especially if I feel it is right.  And whatever I'm behind, I'm behind 100 percent; sometimes more.  That normally negatively impacts me because I've never been a good judge of when to quit.  When it comes to running and racing that has never been a bad thing, but in other aspects of life a person just has to accept that there are terminal points.  This is a lesson that in my later years I am begrudgingly beginning to learn.

Wiley engaged in his favorite pastime.

Thursday was a good example.  The family cat, that we rescued from a shelter in 2009, became ill after having an adverse reaction to a rabies booster.  We had already had some health problems early on with Wiley and had spent quite a bit on his medical care and he had been an otherwise healthy cat.  Last week, after what we thought was a routine rabies booster, his health took an acute turn for the worse and we rushed him to a nearby veterinarian hospital.  He was hospitalized over-night, diagnosed with an intestinal disorder, and returned home the next day with medications.  Thursday he became unsteady and began bleeding from his nostrils.  The family rushed him to the ER again and I met them there after work.

The diagnosis was grim.  He was anemic and his platelet count was falling.  He needed a transfusion.  The vet wasn't sure why it was happening.  I asked the vet if it could have been related to the rabies booster and he replied that it was very possible; that the immunization could have launched his immune system into over-drive causing it to attack his own body.  He stated that Wiley would need a transfusion and would have to be hospitalized for up to five days while they determined the cause of his condition.  The estimate for this treatment was between $1500 and $2000.

The wife and I went into the hallway, to get away from the kids, and began to debate what to do.  She was torn.  We had already spent over $800 on his treatment in the last seven days.  Spending another $2000, with the possibility of needing to spend more at the end of five days, was something that she didn't want to do.  She also didn't want to make the call to not treat Wiley either.  She would feel guilty, she explained, either way.  She became increasingly emotional and I was becoming angry (my default coping mechanism) because I was frustrated.  If it was money that was the issue, I could always work overtime or put the cost of his treatment on a credit card.  I didn't consider that a factor.  But my step-daughter was having major surgery the next week and my wife's concerns were that she would be left alone, while I'm out keeping the peace, nursing a child just out of surgery and an anemic cat that might or might not have a chance at making it.  For her that was a factor.

As the wife became increasingly emotional I made the decision to send her and the kids home and to take this one on my own.  I spoke with the veterinarian again and he said that Wiley only had a 40% chance of surviving even with treatment.  He also couldn't promise me that what was afflicting him would have a terminal point; meaning that after the treatment and the expense that further treatment might be necessary.  I then asked what would happen without treatment.  The vet assured me that Wiley would succumb to the anemia that night.  I then, reluctantly, asked him if Wiley could be humanely put down.  He suggested from a professional position that it would be best to do so to avoid further suffering on Wiley's part.

Hello Kitty.  Get it?

I knew what was happening in that moment.  I could feel the inevitability that I was crashing toward.  It was one of those damned terminal points that I talked about earlier.  I agonized.  Caught between what I wanted to do - be the hero who said, "Do whatever it takes.  We're not losing him," - and the quitter who just gives up and takes the easy road out.  The cards were stacked against Wiley.  That he might not make it no matter what decision I made was a real possibility.  This was the kind of fight that I liked.  But there was more at stake here than just my own stubborn ego.  The wife, the step-daughter, the finances, potentially extending Wiley's suffering...  So I did what I rarely, if ever, do.  I gave up.  I told the vet that we would move forward with the euthanasia.  The doctor nodded his head and left the room and then I did something else that I rarely do - I cried.

I have pulled bodies from wreckage, stood in the middle of gruesome homicide scenes, and watched autopsies performed on infants.  I have worked up to my elbows in other people's blood and looked down the sights of weapons pointed at other human beings.  All of it with a professional detachment that comes from exposure.  But this act of inaction, this decision not to fight, this choice of terminating the life of an innocent animal who had brought so much joy, so much frustration, so much love into our family struck something deep within me that the hardened walls of compartmentalization, that have served me so well for most of my life, failed completely.

They brought Wiley to me so that I could say goodbye to him.  He was weak and just laid in my arms as I stroked his fur.  They had placed an IV line in his leg through which to administer the fatal cocktail.  I'm not sure how long it was before the vet came in, perhaps ten or fifteen minutes.  He told me that he would give Wiley an injection of Propofol that would relax him and then on my "go" would give him the injection of Euthasol that would stop his heart in about 20 seconds.  I nodded for him to go ahead and he injected the Propofol.  Wiley's body shuddered and he gave a deep sigh, then his eyes became very heavy almost immediately.  I paused only for a moment before I told the vet, "Whenever you're ready."  He injected the small syringe of green chemical slowly into the IV and placed the stethoscope on Wiley's chest.  It didn't take 20 seconds.

They brought Wiley's body to me in a cardboard box.  Inside he was wrapped in the blanket that the family had taken him to the hospital in, and had been placed in a black plastic bag.  I sent a text to the wife and told her to pick a spot in the backyard to bury him.  The ride home was filled with rapidly developing scenarios in my head for how to approach the children about Wiley.  The end result was there was no predetermined scenario.  I walked in the door and my youngest daughter asked where Wiley was.  I told her as softly as I could that he had died.  She cried and as I held her she repeated over and over again that it wasn't fair.  I agreed.

We buried Wiley in a quiet and shady spot in our backyard.  There was little ceremony.  The kids wrote notes to Wiley that they placed on the box before I covered it over and then the wife and kids planted irises on top of his grave.  Adding to my guilt my wife would tell me later that my youngest daughter asked if daddy was going to lock up the people who had killed Wiley.  How do you explain to a six year old that you're the one who pulled the pin?

The days following Wiley's death have seen the children bounce back, as kids do.  They still talk about missing Wiley and visit his grave, but they have moved on to an acceptance that I wish I could share.  I know that some would consider this crazy; making this big of a deal over putting down a sick cat.  Perhaps it is deflection or transference on my part; not so much about Wiley as it is about all the times that I should allowed myself to be emotionally connected and didn't.  I don't know.  But I can't shake the feeling that I gave up on him and that the result of my giving up was that this animal who was as much a fixture in this family as anyone died.  Never mind the rationalized logic of the decision.  I still feel like I failed him, and in turn my family who loved him as much as I.

I had just returned from a pre-dawn run and was changing clothes.  Wiley began rolling in my sweaty Under Armor running shorts.  If only my wife loved me as much.

It was Sir Winston Churchill who said, "Never give in--never, never, never, never, in nothing great or small, large or petty, never give in except to convictions of honour and good sense."  I have done my best to stay true to those words, even if I have stumbled and fallen a few times along the way.  And while I will miss Wiley and his annoying nipping at my hand for attention, his passing (and my guilt over it) will serve as a reminder of the consequences of giving in and giving up.  And that reminder will strengthen my resolve.

Goodbye, my friend.  Thank you for all the love that you shared in our home, and the lessons of how a good nap, especially in the sun, is sometimes more important than anything else.

Wiley Cat (2009 - 2012)

Freedom!

Since the KDF marathon I have had multiple requests for my take on the JayBird Freedom bluetooth wireless headphones.  Today JayBird re-tweeted to over three thousand followers a comment from me, during April's testing phase, of how awesome these headphones are (damn, just gave away the ending).  So I decided I probably needed to take the time to write the review, considering that I've had these headphones for over a month now and have put them through their paces.  I'm not a professional reviewer, but I'll give this my best shot.

You will recall from an earlier blog post that I had spent some energy before the marathon trying to discover ways to disencumber myself from the weight and wiring of the gear that I carry during my long runs or races.  When it came to the headphones, I knew I needed something light, practical, and durable.  My on-line research led me to the JayBird Gear Freedom JF3 Bluetooth Headphones website.  JayBird boasted itself as the "Official Training Headphones of USA Triathlon".  They also made some other promises about being "shakeproof" and "sweat proof'ed" with a lifetime warranty against sweat damage.  The reviews that I read from other sites were also very positive.  So I decided to take the chance and ordered the headphones.  I received them with next day shipping and began testing them immediately with only days remaining before the marathon.

If you search on YouTube you will find a few "unboxing" videos of the JF3s (such as this one) that show how pretty the packaging is and go step by step through every piece contained in said packaging.  I'll sum it up by saying that the JF3s showed up in a package that looks like this:

Nice box with chiseled jaw tough guy on front.

I will say this for the packaging:  The JayBird people put a lot of thought into the aesthetics of the packaging.  Probably more so than Apple, and for anyone who has unboxed an iAnything, you know that is saying a lot.

Inside the box were the JF3 headphones, a magnetic hard clamshell style carrying case with rubberized texture, 3 sizes of ear tips, and 3 sizes of what JayBird calls "secure fit ear cushions".

The package also included these behind the ear hook things.  On first sight, and with prior experience with similar hardware, I judged them to be uncomfortable and completely useless and they've never left the box.  Forget about them.

Useless.

The first thing I noticed about the JF3s were they were light weight.  I mean really light weight.  The JayBird Gear website lists them as 16 grams.  JayBird's claim that you can "completely forget about your headphones" is very nearly on the mark.  Once they are in and you start moving, you almost forget that they are there.  Paring the JF3s with my iPhone was also seamless and followed the same pairing protocols as most every other Bluetooth device.

It took only a few minutes to determine the correct size ear tip and secure fit cushion to comfortably fit my ear.  Once I had done so I placed the JF3s snugly in my ears and discovered that my situational awareness was immediately reduced.  The JF3s are like wearing hearing protection.  Unlike other in-the-ear headphones, the JF3s cut out a lot of ambient sound.  I don't know what the decibel reduction rating of these earphones are, but I could probably get away with wearing them the next time I am on the gun range.  I would caution anyone who runs on roadways or in environments where auditory exclusion can be a hazard to forgo running with the JF3s.  A herd of angry stampeding elephants could most likely sneak up behind you while you are wearing these things.

On my first run, I placed my iPhone in an armband on my right arm (which is also advised by JayBird because the Bluetooth transceiver is in the right earbud), fired up the tunes and proceeded to give it hell on the treadmill.  The JF3s sounded great and as I pounded along I was very acutely aware that the headphone cord was missing.  I have been so accustomed to dealing with the cord that the absence of it was so noticeable that it was actually mildly disturbing, but in no time you can clearly understand why JayBird named these headphones "Freedom".  With the secure fit cushions inside the curve of my ear, the JF3s stayed securely in place; never once even threatening to fall out.  The sound was clear and the bass was awesome.

Mile 20.  The One Man and his JF3s still pumping away.

The same week that I received the JF3s I wore them during the Kentucky Derby Festival Marathon.  26.2 miles and the JayBirds performed like champs.  At no time did they become uncomfortable or irritating, although after some profuse sweating the cord that connects each earbud did stick to my neck and pull against the earbuds when I turned my head from side to side.

My only other gripe was the button operation took some getting used to.  The small buttons on the side that are used to change the volume are also used to change the music tracks.  Short clicks are used to change the volume and to change tracks you have to hold the buttons down.  This can be somewhat awkward when you are running.  And really I'm probably being a little picky, since the middle of a marathon was probably not the best place to attempt to acclimate to this feature.

The large center button on the right earbud is also the button that is used for pairing, pausing and playing music, and answering phone calls.  This button is a little stiff and pressing it requires that you secure the earbud housing between your thumb and middle finger while depressing the button with your index finger.  Not doing results in you feeling as though you are trying to cram the earbud through your ear and into your brain.

In the last month I've had the opportunity to use the JF3s extensively on runs, in the gym, at home, and around the office.  I've used them with my iPhone and my iPad and have wandered around the house with them in and the device several feet away and they have not cut out or lost signal (standard Bluetooth range being about 30 feet or so).  Conversely I have however had my iPhone on the front of my left hip and bent over to tie my shoes, at which point the headphones did cut out when my body was completely blocking the phone.

I also found the battery life, which JayBird advertises as 6 hours (and notes in their fine print "varies dependent upon usage and device" - whatever the hell that means) lasts me a little less than 5.5 hours.  With constant usage I encounter the low battery tones at around 5 hours 15 minutes to 5 hours 20 minutes.  The battery is usually dead within 5 minutes after the tones begin.  This really isn't that big of a deal except that I have to make a conscious effort to ensure the earphones are fully charged before heading out on any excessively long run.  The JF3s are also charged via USB cable with a mini B connector.  The USB cable must be plugged into your computer to charge and charging time is roughly 2 hours.  JayBird does offer a North American AC adapter for the charger on their website for $9 USD.

As far as using the JF3s for phone conversations - the integrated microphone didn't perform so well in noisy environments, such as being out on a run with some wind and traffic in the background.  Callers had difficulty hearing me in those conditions.  In quieter conditions the mic seemed to work just fine.  Although having the integrated microphone for calls is a nice feature, I didn't purchase the JF3s as a headset for phone calls.

So the rundown is as follows:

Pros:

• Very well made headphones with solid construction.
• Ultra light weight.  You really do almost forget that they are there.
• Good sound and awesome bass.
• Simple and easy pairing.
• Multiple sizes of ear tips and secure fit cushions to fit almost any ear.
• A very nice hard clamshell style case to protect your investment.
• A lifetime warranty against sweat damage.
• Aesthetically pleasing packaging (if you care about that kind of thing).

Cons:

• Earbuds are like wearing hearing protection.  Situation awareness is significantly reduced.
• Sweat makes the behind the neck cord stick, pulling on the earbuds when you turn your head.
• Battery life is slightly less than 5.5 hours instead of the advertised 6 hours.
• Must be charged through a computer USB connection. 

In summary, the "cons" listed above are really more than negligible annoyances and the "pros" far outweigh them.  I consider the JayBird Freedom JF3s a must have for anyone who is active and spends any time running, hitting the gym, or in any other kind of training where a headphone wire is an annoyance.  The $99 US is well worth the price for these headphones and the ability to operate unencumbered by headphone wires is absolutely priceless.  Although these headphones are the first pair of wireless headphones that I have owned, I don't believe that I could have made a better choice.  So what are you waiting for?  Buy a pair.  Do it now.

G.


As an end note:  I had someone contact me today via Twitter who said that their JF3s were pretty much unusable and that they were not happy at all with them.  At first glance it sounds like a bad set and I certainly hope that he can work with JayBird to get a new pair.  I really do think these headphones are awesome and I would hope that he gets a decent set so that he can really enjoy them the way that I do.

So, Michael, if you read this blog and have an opportunity to deal with JayBird Gear customer support, I'd like to get an update.  I've never had to deal with them and I'd like to know how they treat you.  I'd also be interested in your take on the JF3s once you get the issue resolved.

Water, Water Everywhere...

The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner describes a tale of a man who makes some bad choices, endures the chastisement for said choices, suffers a lot, and then spends his remaining days recanting his tale to others so that they can learn from his mistakes.  That is the One Man's synopsis anyway (sorry Coleridge).  Thursday night it was my turn to play out my version of the Mariner.

After a hectic day, I settled down to what I believed would be a pleasant dinner at my favorite Cuban restaurant.  After enjoying fricase de pollo (chicken fricassee), I was immediately beset by a sharp pain on my right side, just below my ribcage.  The pain continued to increase until I had to excuse myself and make my way outside into the parking lot for some fresh air, where I promptly vomited.  Not a nice way to end a dinner.  The problem was that even after seeing my fricase de pollo a second time, the pain wouldn't go away.  I went home and suffered for another thirty minutes, sweating profusely and becoming pasty and pale, before the pain finally, mysteriously, and abruptly disappeared.

After some badgering from my family, I found myself at a local ER.  I won't even begin to go into detail about how much of a treat this was.  But take into account the X-Ray tech who wanted to tell me about what kind of tough guy he is and how he used to get into bar fights all - the - time, or the front desk receptionist, who showed up in my room later, introduced herself as the respiratory therapist, and had trouble hooking me up to an EKG machine because "we're facing each other and left and right are backwards," you begin to see what I was up against.  Thankfully the doctor seemed like he had his act together, but I didn't see him until the very end; after the obligatory fluid collection, radiation exposure, and blood-letting.

After the doctor asked how I was feeling, to which I replied, "Other than basking in the afterglow of having recently vomited, I'm great," (actual words) he proceeded to tell me how all of my results were normal.  Given the nature of the meal just before the onset of pain, and the area affected, he believed that I may be looking at the early stage of gall bladder disease.  But what was more disturbing to him were my creatinine levels.  They were elevated and this, he said, was an indicator of renal (kidney) failure or the body suffering from severe dehydration.  I smiled slightly and had to stop him right there.

The last few weeks I have been pushing really hard.  Maybe too hard.  And to be quite honest I haven't been very smart about it.  I have dialed back my running mileage, but I've turned up the heat on my weight lifting.  And on the days that I run I have been pushing my pace over the shorter distances.  Those things, in and of themselves, are really not the problem.  The issue is that what I've been doing to fuel myself over those last few weeks has been more than negligent, it has been just plain stupid.  The last several weeks my morning has started off with a quad venti mocha from Starbucks.  I sip this designer blended coffee drink throughout my morning workouts.  After changing into my work attire, I follow up with a nice cold recovery drink of Mountain Dew; often with a Mountain Dew chaser as breakfast.  When I permit myself to get to lunch (which sometimes doesn't happen until more than several hours later), it is composed of some fast-food drive through crap with a caffeinated beverage to wash it down.  Where is the H2O in all of this you might ask?  Making fewer cameo appearances than Charlie Sheen on Two And A Half Men, that's where.

So you can already see the setup for the dramatic ending, right?  Two weeks or more of excessively high caffeine consumption, zero water consumption, lack of any meaningful nutrition, and increased workout intensity.  All culminating in a painful vomiting finale - complete with trip to the ER - with yours truly in the staring role.  And while I'm thinking about it, I'm also quite positive you could add increased work-related stress in there as an active ingredient too, but that has been the status quo for so long now that it is in the same category as breathing.  The point is, that I made some very, very, very poor choices and the end result was clearly predictable.  Well, maybe to everyone but the guy who was making them.  He has a bad habit of still believing he's indestructible.

So after catching an earful from the doctor, the nurse (who wrote WATER!!! in big letters across my discharge papers), my wife, and my best friend  - who was also kind enough to remind me that I'm not 25 any longer (thanks, Dave, but you're still older and not nearly as sexy) - I was released back into the wild to consider the error of my ways.  Which included an improved nutrition and hydration plan.  Well, actually just a plan.  And considering that there was really no plan before, anything can be considered "improved".

Rare wisdom from a fortune cookie.

Friday I felt okay, but there was some residual lethargy that remained hovering just along the edge of my day.  I skipped Friday's workout and devoted the day to consciously and consistently taking in nothing but water, Met-Rx protein bars, and fruit.  I skipped the designer coffee and sodas; waiting patiently for the beginning of the symptoms of caffeine withdrawal that I knew would be coming.

It was during the wait that I noticed the little piece of paper that has been taped to the top of my computer monitor at work for the last few years.  During a particularly turbulent time for me both personally and professionally, I opened a fortune cookie at lunch and out popped this bit of pre-printed musing,

"A smooth sea never made a skillful mariner!"

At the time I considered it very apropos and promptly taped it to the top of my work monitor.  It has been there ever since and I have referenced it often.  Friday's referral to that quip is what inspired the title of this post.  I read the paper, thought of the water fountain in the hallway, the bottles of water in the refrigerator at work, and chided myself by whispering the words of Coleridge, "Water, water everywhere but nary a drop to drink."

Today I also skipped my scheduled long run.  I spent the day at work and still felt a little off.  When the dreaded withdrawal headache showed signs of making a debut I quickly downed some Excedrin and within a few minutes (and a bottle of water later) I was feeling fine.  So the plan is to stay on top of the hydration and get a much more solid nutrition plan in place than the emergency one that I instituted.  Perhaps after several days I'll allow myself the pleasure of a designer coffee, but the sodas are out for good.

Monday is the start of the Runner's World Summer 2012 Run Streak.  At least a mile a day from Memorial Day to July 4th.  I plan on jumping back into my training then.  After three days of proper hydration and decent eating I should be whole.  Moreover I hope this time I've learned my lesson.  Last year, around this time, I was stricken by kidney stones less than a week before I ran the KDF half marathon (perhaps another hydration issue) but, being the tough guy that I am, I ran it anyway.  Going forward I know that I can't keep relying on tough guy stubbornness to carry me though.  I guess Mr. Incredible really isn't 25 anymore.

"He went like one that hath been stunned,
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man
He rose the morrow morn."