Free Will

I've considered this before, and even read a little about it, but it just became completely obvious that our free will has a lot to do with will power.

As motivated and disciplined as I might seem to all of you, every time I have to go do a workout, I moan and complain about it, dragging my feet until I'm out the door. Then it gets better. I find most of my success comes from forming habits and routine. Because routine will pull you through when you're lacking motivation.

It's hard to get myself going because I have a choice. Free will. I can sit on the couch and eat brie and read a book all day or I can get off my butt and go run. Do any of you seriously think I would like to run more than I would like to sit on my butt and eat cheese? You're dreaming. So I drag my feet and complain until I'm out the door and gliding along the street (until recently).

But then I go and tear a hamstring. Of course the first week when I was in so much pain that I didn't want to get off the couch, I did not miss any form of exercise. I didn't even want to think about how I was going to walk across campus the next day.

Then I started getting better...and craving a run. I did some easy spins on the stationary bike. It kept me company for a few days, then it wasn't enough. I went for a real ride and it was the most freeing feeling in the world. But I still couldn't run.

Now I'm at a point where I'm doing little test runs now and then. I was assigned a 7 minute run last weekend and boy what it took to get me out of the house. It seemed gloomy and chilly out. I didn't want to go. As I complained and whined to my friend about how I completely lacked the motivation to get out there and run, she said "But you're lacing up your shoes!"

I suppose I was. It's the habit of getting myself out the door when I don't want to. Just tie your shoes and like magic, you're out the door.

Today my tendon is acting up, after a short run this morning, two workouts yesterday and an attempt to do a second run a few hours ago. I decided tomorrow needs to be a day off except for my therapy exercises and some stretching.

And since I have now decided that I need to take tomorrow off or I will completely blow out my hamstring, for the past hour I have been racking my brain to think of what workout I could do tomorrow. The pool on campus is closed because it's spring break...and so is the gym. I should not go for a bike ride and I should definitely not attempt a run.Which makes me want to go out and do a workout.

It might be time for me to start studying and doing homework. Classes start back up again next week and I've got a mid-term to study for, a computer lab assignment to finish and I've got to come up with a topic for a term paper...but since I've got a choice of getting on Pinterest or studying...well....you know.

Uncertain Ground

Three and a half weeks until the Boston Marathon, I stepped out of the physical therapy room and poked my head into the window at the front desk where my therapist sat at the computer. I asked about what I was okay to do during the weekend and we discussed my running and the pain behind my knee at the attachment point of my hamstring.

"I think you can do it, but you have to be very cautious." She was talking about Boston. Today I ran 1.5 miles on the treadmill in the PT room with her checking in on me every so often.

My hamstring felt a little sore from a couple short attempts at running. On the treadmill at PT, my hamstring felt pretty good and I stared at my legs in the mirror: the left one effortlessly and thoughtlessly going through the perfect motion as if not under my control; the right leg clunking to the belt, off rhythm and clumsy. I shifted my pelvis back a fraction of an inch, my footfall quieted but only for a few seconds. I tightened my abs, I rolled my pelvis forward, I put a little more bounce in my step, I tried to force relaxation. Still my foot fell heavy and awkward on the belt. I stared out the window at the trees and tried to let it go.

Earlier in the week, my therapist allowed me to stride out more than I had been. Until Tuesday I was allowed only a painfully slow jog, which is awkward in itself. Talk about a heavy step. To appease my search for my natural stride, she let me open it up a little and stride out...for 7 minutes. My right leg slick with massage lotion glistened in the mirror, just about as muscular as the left. I was relieved to see I still had muscles. After getting to run, apparently I was slightly euphoric because she put me up on the table and I was immediately so distracted by a poster of a polar bear on the ceiling that I was unable to follow instructions. I rapidly turned into a two year old and for the next 5 minutes proceeded to entertain the therapist's aide, another patient, and myself while frustrating the therapist. She finally got me under control and made a comment about runner's high. Hmm. Maybe. It was pretty ridiculous.

After yesterday's mile, my hamstring was sore but in a vague/general way. Up I went onto the treadmill and warmed up with a walk up the 'mill's max incline. I started my 1 mile jog and tried to find my pace and stride. Nothing felt right. I tried every adjustment I could to get my right foot to quiet down. I watched my left leg in awe.

"You're running loudly!" The therapist called from the other side of the room while she did deep tissue work on another patient.

"I know, I'm working on it."

"I don't know if that's how you run or if I'm trying to change your stride, I don't know."

I've always been a heavy runner, which is odd given my size. I want to say before this injury I was doing better and had adopted a softer landing, but now I'm right back to running like an elephant. No joke. If you heard me run but didn't see me, you'd think I weighed 200 lbs.

After a mile I took it down to a walk. The therapist came over to see how I was doing. We talked about what hurt and what didn't and what on earth was going on with my leg. She said I could run another half mile, which caused me to accidentally smile with glee which I'm pretty sure she caught. I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be more objective about this being as I'm the one who has to decide if the pain is something that should cause me to stop or keep going.

When I was done, I hopped up onto the table so she could check out what was bothering me. While on the treadmill she had brought a tiny skeleton over and had me point to where it hurt. I stuck my finger on the tiny medial epicondyle of the femur, right behind the knee on the inside. I laid on the table on my stomach while she dug her fingers around along my tendon and into the insertion point of my hamstring. It felt like glass digging into my knee. I closed my eyes, clutched the pillow and focused on exhaling. She marked an X on the back of my knee and left me to the assistant for ultrasound.

As he circled the wand around the tender spot, pain started to shoot towards the front of my knee and it took a second for me to realize it was just that the pain behind my knee was so bad that I was feeling it everywhere. I let the assistant know it hurt and he let up.

We went through more exercises where it became embarrassingly obvious that I have horrible flexibility in my hips but great flexibility in my hamstrings. Grrr...hips. Which of course convinced her to do the death stretch on me. I hate the death stretch. That's probably not what it's called...it's probably called the hip flexor stretch or something but that doesn't do it justice. I lay on my back at the end of the table with one leg pulled to my chest and the other hanging off the table. Then she braces my foot against her hip so I can't straighten my leg and pushes down on my other leg. After awhile of that, when I think it can't get any worse, she does some weird contortion thing around the leg that's hanging off the table and the stretch gets twice as deep. Since it was miserable to begin with and the discomfort factor of stretching is exponentially proportional to the tightness of any given muscle, ligament or fascia...I was about 6 times more uncomfortable than before.

"Oh my god that's just not natural" I muttered during one of my exhales. I was trying to find my happy place and let her stretch me but the polar bear was too far away and the macaw was not helping as it pointed it's claw at me and said "Are you remembering to breathe?"

"How so?" she asked, and I knew if she was wondering if she was hurting me or not. I was too. It wasn't painful but my god it was miserable.

"I don't know it's just...ahhh, hips!" I looked back up at the macaw on the ceiling. Jelly fish, a snowy peak next to a lake. I closed my eyes. Breathe out. Breathe out. Oh my god how long can this possibly last? I consider myself pretty tough. I have a knack for enduring discomfort. But one thing I have never figured out how to handle is the stretching of my hip flexors. Miserable sons of guns.

She finally let up and had me switch legs. As I brought my tortured left leg up and released my right, it felt like I was twisting pipes against rusted metal.

"Uuunghhgh!" I let out, eyes closed.

"What? Oh please..." She leaned into my right leg and I looked back up at the macaw. I craned my neck to find the polar bear, stretched out on his back on the ice, looking content and happy. He was too far away. Above me were words and pictures, stating no shoes on the table. A cat had its lips pursed and cheeks puffed out. "Don't forget to breathe!" I wondered why I should even have to be conscious for this.

My favorite time of the day...ice and electric stim. That means it's over, they're done torturing me. It was just me and the macaw for 15 minutes.

Boston is 3 and a half weeks away. My therapist says it's possible. I just got my wave and corral assignment. Wave 2, corral 8. Yeesh. At least I will spend the first two miles walking in a huge crowd of people, so it's not like I'll be running the whole 26.2 miles. I looked on the Boston Marathon Facebook page, read a couple posts about people being excited and quickly got out of there. It's hard not knowing. It's been hard not knowing whether to accept that I can't do it this year or to be persistent and make sure that I do. It's just a waiting game and seeing day by day how my leg feels. I get on the bike, swim, and just got a jump rope. I roll my leg muscles on the foam roller, ice and tape my tendon. Maybe it's teaching me to live in the moment, since the future is too unsure at this point. Maybe that's a good thing.

Hard Truths

Yesterday I attempted one of the hardest climbs in our area, Hicks Road. I rode up it two weeks ago with the ACTC group and passed up everyone in my group, but still had to stop twice for a break. There's only so slow you can go without tipping your bike over.

My physical therapist is working on getting me back to running, and the going is slow. Four weeks until Boston and my hope is dwindling, but I do my exercises and get my workouts elsewhere: the bike, the pool, the gym. My therapist is concerned with me becoming deconditioned, and I am too. Yesterday I saw exactly how deconditioned I had become.

I rode toward Hicks from my house, about 12 miles away. By the time I got there my legs were already a little tired. I tackled the first "warm-up" climb and was surprised how quickly I ran out of gears. I've been noticing that lately and wondered if there was something wrong with my bike. I cleaned and lubed my chain Friday night and took it through all the gears to make sure they shifted smoothly.

I hit the drainage that signaled the start of the major climb and shifted gears. Right away I ran out of gears and ran out of gas. I pulled over and took a look at my chain, making sure it had made it into the easiest gear. It had. No flat tire. Something must be wrong with my bike. Or something's wrong with your legs. I wondered how hard I should push it, since I wasn't completely healed. I decided maybe this wasn't a good idea. I turned around to head back down the hill.

I crossed the road and stared downhill. I looked uphill. Carrie, we are not quitters. We do not quit, get your butt up that hill. I crossed back over to the other side of the road and started back up the mountain. It wasn't long before my legs couldn't take it anymore. What the hell?! You were so strong just two weeks ago!

I held back tears on my way down the hill, forcing a smile when I met other cyclists coming up the hill. Carrie, this is temporary. You've been here before and you made it back just fine. You just quit. You're a quitter. Turn around and go back up that hill.

I almost turned around. But I was defeated. I went over and over it in my head on the way home. Was your hamstring hurting? Or did you just quit because it got too hard?

I know why I quit. I've spent the last 5 weeks backing off and backing down. I've backed off at every hint of stress or strain, trying desperately to heal in time for the Boston Marathon. But did you need to back down from Hicks Road? I wasn't sure.

I went home and uploaded my data to Strava and compared it to the last time I had gone up Hicks. I had made it one quarter of the way up that climb. It's about 1.3 miles of climbing and I had made it .3 miles. The rest of the day it bugged me. I toyed with the idea of returning to Hicks, but driving closer so my legs were fresher before the climb. It's ok to take breaks, but you need to make it up the hill. You need to beat those demons.

I'm sure everyone faces their demons on Hicks Road. But Hicks Road was not the demon. The demon was everything that led up to me backing down, quitting. I was angry, I was disappointed with myself, I hated myself. My mind was made up.

After an early morning "walk/jog" to help rehab my hamstring, I loaded up my bike and drove to the light rail station to start my ride. It was a cool, cloudy morning and I was bundled up in long tights and a jacket. Keeping myself calm and cool, I rode out towards Hicks. It's ok to take breaks. You have all day to get up this hill.

I hit the warm-up hill and pushed through, making sure my legs were ready to exert some force on the pedals. I relaxed on the flats and downhills, then saw the drainage up ahead. You will get up this hill, no matter how long it takes you. You will crawl, but you will get to the top. You will not quit. Unless you blow out your hamstring and I guess then that's ok.

Again, right away I ran out of gears. Keep going. I pushed with all my might until my quads screamed and lungs burned. I took a break. I pulled out my camera and tried to capture the steepness of the climb. I was one quarter of the way up that part of the mountain, exactly where I quit yesterday. Looking up the hill:

Looking back down the hill:

As I looked down, I noticed a bright orange vest coming up the hill. Great, here it is, swallow your pride. I watched as the cyclist came toward me, said good morning to him and watched as he trudged by. It occurred to me how incredibly slow he was going. See Carrie, this shit's tough! No big deal, you got this, just take a break when you need to and then continue on, we're going to make it up this hill.

I went a little further until I could take no more, and pulled over again.

The pictures do not do it justice, that's for sure. I figured they wouldn't.

It wasn't long until I completely lost sight of the orange vest. Just as well. I didn't want to have to face explaining myself to him when I made it to the parking lot up at the top. I pushed on.

I knew eventually there was a sign on the side of the road, just after a fairly flat section, that said "Stop ahead". That stop sign was the end of the climb. I made it around the turn above and pulled over again at a wide spot, one last rest stop before the top.

I started back up again, pushing the pedals and pulling on the handlebars. By now I was wheezing and knew the top had to be there soon. I reached the spot where I had taken a break the last time I had climbed it all the way. I knew there was a little more hill around the corner, and then that "stop ahead" sign would be there.

I rounded the corner the slugged my way up that last section of climbing...and then there it was. "Stop ahead". Thank you, thank you, thank you. 

I pulled over at the parking lot and took a break.

Yeah, Mt. Umunhum is up that way, and I guess some people ride it. I don't know, I'll have to consult Strava. Legend has it it's even steeper than Hicks. Mt. Umunhum would have to wait another day. I still had the descent to live through, and I'm not quite fond of descents. I would relax when I hit the road at the bottom of the other side of Hicks.

And finally, the road appeared. The reservoir on the other side of Hicks:

Looking back towards Hicks, which is lost in the clouds:

I could relax the rest of the ride, and do some sight seeing. I rode through New Almaden, home to the some old quicksilver (mercury) mining.

Back to the start, Lake Almaden with Mt. Umunhum and Hicks Road nestled behind the clouds.

Relentless Forward Momentum

I've been struggling with the decision of whether or not to scrap the Boston Marathon and every time I make my mind up, something happens to change it. The sports medicine doctor on campus who saw me last week says it'll be close. But when he started laying out what I had to do to be able to run Boston, I had my doubts. I would first have to be completely symptom free. No pain, no tightness, full flexibility and strength, and no pain with someone poking and prodding around. After that I could get into a "back to running" program. The first day I would jog no more than a half mile. If I felt alright during the run and the next day, I could add a little. This continues until I feel comfortable adding speed. And I might be able to add more distance than speed. And every time I feel a little pain or something feels wrong, I have to step back to the previous level.

Boston is 5 weeks away. I lay awake last night trying to figure out how much time that gave me to recover versus rebuilding my miles. I couldn't figure it out without a calendar and I eventually drifted off to sleep. In Pre-Calc this morning I pulled out my calendar to figure it out. If I was fully and completely recovered in 2 more weeks, I would have a week or two to do a "return to run" and then a week or two to build my miles into something that would make running a marathon tolerable. I haven't run in a month. How am I supposed to build from zero to 15-18 miles for my long run in a week or two? It's not looking good.

In physical therapy today, my therapist kept talking about Boston and how no one else in the room was allowed to do their exercises fast...except me....and then only when I run Boston. I wondered if she felt the same way my doctor did. She put me on the treadmill to work on my walking stride. She came over to see how I was doing and I mentioned what the doctor had said, telling her I've got 5 weeks until Boston and if I waited until there were no symptoms....

She told me to do a short stride jog. "At this speed?" I was walking at 3.2 miles per hour. "I would not know how to do that".

She reached over and upped the speed to 4 mph. I started to jog.

"I'm trying to make it so you don't straighten your leg. You got that, right?" I said I did. "Ok, keep it up for 2 minutes as long as you don't have any aggravation".

I jogged for two minutes, trying to figure out how to jog at such a slow pace. My feet slapped noisily on the treadmill. I vowed to wear my running shoes next time and not my gym shoes. After two minutes I went back to the 3.2 mph walk. It felt ok, general soreness but nothing I could really point to. I finished up my exercises, got some deep tissue work, rolled out my muscles on the foam roller and laid down on the table for electrical stimulation and ice.

As I lay there staring at the pictures on the ceiling of the tropical islands and an erupting volcano, my mind drifted to the lost airplane, and all the people on it. I wondered where they all went and what was happening to those people. Were they alive somewhere? Or were they all dead at the bottom of the ocean? What was going through the minds of their family members? What sort of pictures did they envision of their loved one's whereabouts?

I thought about Boston. I wondered what it would take to be able to run it. I wondered if I should stay positive about it or just withdraw from it. It's so hard to tell. I listened to the therapist working on the guy next to me who it seems just had back surgery. Sounds like he wants to get back to playing basketball. I taught him how to hula hoop today.

Limping across campus back to my car, sore from therapy and e-stim, my mind drifted to my runs along Los Gatos Creek Trail with the chain link fence blurring in my peripheral vision, striding out and finding my zone. It makes me mad. It makes me want to go climb a steep mountain on my bike. It makes me want to push, find that zone where my body sets in motion and my mind drifts to various things in my life and drifts right back out. I want to stride out. Blur that fence. I want to attack a mountain, grind along in that last possible gear, jaw clenched, hunched over the bars, relentless forward momentum.

But I don't run, that fence doesn't blur. I hold back on my rides, don't lift heavy weights, try not to hurt this, try not to aggravate that, and I need something to pin my focus on. I stare hard at a spot on the wall when I do my stability exercises, trying to find the intensity in the stillness. But I lose my balance and the moment passes. My body needs its physics: force, acceleration, momentum, power.

I guess in reality, it's still forward progress. Forward movement from a big step back, like a turtle picked up mid-destination and plopped down at the start. Nothing to do but put your head down and trudge forward.

Relentless forward momentum.

Big Dogs

I have always been intimidated by cyclists, I'm not sure why. They've just always seemed like very intense people to me. Have you ever watched a road race? Cycling is a full contact sport, on two wheels! That to me is simply insane. They literally push and shove each other...and that's to say nothing of their epic crashes. Cyclists are crazy people.

Being sidelined from running, I have to step up my game in the cycling department. I've been doing somewhat long (for me) rides at a moderate and comfortable pace with people who are fairly nice and much less intimidating than my stereotype of a cyclist (most of them anyway). Women can be slightly tricky, but that's really in any situation. I'm not sure if guys have this problem or not, but a woman moving into the "territory" of another woman can be a sketchy experience.

Today I chose a more advanced ride within the club and was a little worried about it, but I figured I wasn't getting quite the intensity of a workout I need with the other levels, so I needed to grow some balls. And I think the more advanced of a ride you go on, the much more likely you are to be the newcomer of the group, whereas with beginner rides, you might have several newcomers on any given day.

I arrived at the meeting point and began putting my shoes on and getting all set. The ride leader was already there and came over to introduce herself. She mentioned several times that she doesn't normally do this short of a ride (20 miles...I thought it was going to be 30) and that she had planned to go down a super steep grade but maybe we could change it if I was uncomfortable with that (of course I am, steep grades scare the crap out of me). I told her I would be alright and do whatever the group did (crying inside of course).

Three more guys showed up and that was all. It took me a minute to realize that 3 of the riders wore jerseys of the local cycling (racing) club and the other wore a jersey stating he was the winner of some triple crown thing. Oh boy. You're in over your head now. Just keep up, no matter what. They were all older than me, but I knew better than to find any sort of solace in that. I'm pretty sure these people could mop the floor with me.

We headed up the hill, and fortunately I am able to climb hills. I may not be able to descend them, but I can climb them. The pace was comfortable. I actually would have liked a slightly faster pace up hill but I knew better than to try to pass anyone in this group. I'm sure it would've meant certain death. The guys behind me chattered the whole way up the hill. I just tried to hold my line (which is interesting since I have zero bike handling skills). One of the guys gave me pointers after I commented on my inability to hold my line.

Then we came to the famed downhill portion of the ride and it was absolutely no joke. Strava has some of the sections as steeper than 20% which could also be due to losing satellite reception in the trees, but either way, it was steeper than my comfort level. I rode the brakes and prayed I didn't overheat the rims. I kept waiting for my tire to explode and for me to take a mouthful of asphalt at 30 mph.

On one of the first turns I nearly crashed. Before the descent, the guys were giving me advice, like to put my weight on my back tire. Since I was riding the brakes most of the way, with my hands up on the hoods, most of my weight was pushed forward onto my handlebars. It took me about a mile to figure out this was my trouble all along. In any case, on that first turn, I went too wide and refused to lean in, thinking I was going to crash. With my weight on the handlebars, it was hard to sharpen the turn. Near the end of the turn was a big stick in the road. If I hit that stick at this speed and this angle, I was going down for sure. And not just going down, but being thrown from the road since it was an outside turn. My body wouldn't be found for hours. The stick was right in my trajectory and I was unable (or unwilling) to tighten my turn in. At the last second I remembered a conversation I had with a more advanced cyclist on my first ride with the club. Don't look where you don't want to go. I looked down the road into the turn and in my peripheral vision, watched the stick pass an inch or two away from my tire. This is going to be bad.

When I finally made it down to the bottom, I had to haul butt and was still not catching the group. That's right Carrie, you are now "that guy". We had plans to meet up at the bathrooms up the road a ways, so that was my only saving grace. As I rode up, I saw a couple of the other guys just dismounting. So they hadn't been there that long.

I made sure to keep up on the rest of the ride. There was a bit of separation on another downhill, but it wasn't so steep so I felt comfortable going faster. Strava has my max speed at 48 mph, but I doubt it. Again, probably another snafu with the satellite. I hit some mid to high 30's though, so I would believe those. I doubt I went above 40, just knowing me. I tried to sit my weight back on the saddle to keep control of the bike. Really, the direction of the bike is controlled by your hips, not the handlebars, which is the issue I have when I've got a death grip on them and refusing to let go.

Near the end of the ride we stopped for coffee (and the ride leader kept mentioning that she never usually stops for coffee and she never does a ride this short, but it's her recovery day). I feel like she was either judging me or thinking I was judging her, which I certainly was not. Either way, she seemed to have a need to make sure I recognized that she's usually much more intense in her training.

While we had coffee, the group shared some tips with me and also encouraged me to go to a riding clinic, which I always viewed as only for people who wanted to race. One of the guys said that's a common misconception, but it teaches bike handling and riding skills and is beneficial to any rider. I looked it up when I got home and have decided to take a class the last weekend in April.

The group turned out to be very friendly and gave me some good advice. I think the ride leader even warmed up to me a little bit and she was encouraging me to do the "Winter Series" with San Jose Bike Club (the racers...serious people). She mentioned words like crits and time trials...and I'm still in the mindset of "what's a chain ring?". I told her it sounded way over my head and she said no, there's trainers that stick with you in the cat 5's (At least I know what that means). Hum. We'll see. It's still all very intimidating, but hopefully a bike handling class will help with that. Then in May they've got a climbing and descending clinic...specifically made for people like me who use a new set of brake pads each weekend.

Summer Days!!

Actually it's spring...or will be in a day or two, I forget. Probably because it hit nearly 80 here today, so I could care less what the calendar says. Right now outside I can hear kids playing and smell the smoke from the bbq a couple of complexes over. It's been a bit of a challenging week, so it was nice to have a good, fulfilling day.

My hamstring is not doing so great. I went to the sports medicine doc on campus and had him look at it again. He doesn't think it's completely torn, but it was torn pretty good and now I've got tendinitis/tendinosis just above the back of my knee, and the tendons keep snapping over each other. So for the time being, running is out of the question, meaning my ability to run the Boston Marathon is in question. We probably won't know for a few more weeks...like just a few weeks before Boston. So now I'm in physical therapy. I'm allowed to cycle though, which is nice, and swim too. And since the weather is awesome right now, the pool is much more inviting than it was a week ago.

This morning I set out for a bike ride by myself, without the guidance of the local bike club. I mapped a route out on mapmyride.com, made a mental note of the streets and tried to burn a picture of the map in my mind. Off I went. It was amusing. I pretty much did not know where I was. I kept looking for clues, but I was on a bike path for a good section of the route, so there weren't any street names to go by. I had a nice ride anyway, and even stopped by the local velodrome to check out the riders.

When I made it home, 30 miles later, I did my physical therapy exercises, stretched, rolled out my muscles with a foam roller and a rolling pin (PT's orders), iced and sat down to study. Several hours in I was bogged down and my mind was goo. I thought about the ramen noodle place the guys told me about on my last club ride. I had to go try it out.

This is the top rated place in San Jose on yelp.com. It's in a Japanese market in the food court. I learned about authentic ramen from the movie "Ramen Girl" with Brittany Murphy. It was a cute movie but it was also very informative about authentic ramen. And now I'm in a city where I can explore such things! I was a bit confused about what to order, so I ordered a combo. Most of it was written in Japanese with English translations below. I'm pretty sure I ordered a salt flavor regular size ramen and a bowl of rice with salmon and roe on top. I realize salt-flavor ramen sounds a little strange, but it was also the most popular.

One thing I learned from "Ramen Girl" was that the broth of the ramen is the most important part, and it will make or break your ramen. I've never had real ramen before so I was surprised with the richness of the broth. It was so good! It also had strips of pork in it, noodles, either a mushroom or seaweed (I don't know?) some other weird thing, green onions, a little red berry and a hard boiled egg. The rice with salmon and roe is self-explanatory I think.

While I ate, I looked around and watched the people. There was a Japanese book store in the corner, another ramen place, a sweets shop and a few more side booths, all inside a market. Like a super-market. Looking over at the sweets shop I saw the word "Mochi Cream". I wondered if it was mochi ice cream.

After I finished my ramen and rice, I wandered over to check out the mochi place. Holy moley Mochi Heaven!!! They even had mochi donuts!

Mochi is basically a doughy substance made from sticky rice pounded into a powder/dough. One delicacy made from it is mochi ice cream, where the dough is wrapped around a ball of ice cream, holding it together. Effectively finger food. Well the only times I have ever had it, I had 3-4 choices. As you can see here, there were way more than that. I stared, awestruck into the glass display, reading every flavor. Several times people asked if I was ready to order and I was so overwhelmed. See, there was a sign on the glass saying that these were made to be eaten the day of purchase. I have never eaten more than two mochi at once as they are rather rich. But I wanted to try all the flavors. I settled on 3 and also picked up a dark chocolate green tea bar. As I checked out, the lady asked if it was my first time here and I told her it was. She gave me a sample of some cream filled wafer thing that was completely delicious.

As I drove home, I felt giddy and relaxed. The warm, sunny days always make me happy, but I had a belly full of ramen, my mochi was thawing beside me (it's supposed to) and I was almost home. As I pulled into the cul-de-sac in front of my apartment, there were a group of people a few complexes down, barbecuing. It made me smile, it felt so much like summer.

I'm pretty sure I was not supposed to eat all three mochi in one sitting as I could feel the sugar rush getting to me, but they were so good, and I couldn't let them go bad. The flavors I had were: Sakura (you got me), Raspberry Mille-feuille, and Chocolate Mint. They were incredible. I will definitely be returning for more ramen and new flavors of mochi. Thankfully I have no idea how many calories were in any of it, so that means they'll burn off really quick. Anyway, I plan on doing a ride with the club tomorrow that looks like it'll be a good workout.

The Climb

The more I ride, the more I realize I don't know a whole lot about cycling or bicycles in general. Through listening to other club members and following it up with internet searches, I've learned some cool words like cogs, crankset, triple. Today I learned about triples. I mean, I know what they are, but I can pedal my bike quite well, and as far as I'm concerned, that's really all that matters. Who cares what size your chain rings are or how many of them you have? Well.

Today I decided to tackle the scary category 5 climb that my riding club has listed. Strava had it listed as a 4 by the way, which led me into another internet search only to find out there really isn't much of an international acceptance of how to rate a bike climb. An interesting website I found on the subject was explaining how they rated climbs in the Tour De France. Basically rated in what gear you need to be in to drive a car up it, there was also a classification of HC or hors categorie- basically meaning beyond classification. I would've rated today's ride as HC, but alas there's a tougher category- category 6. My club goes the opposite direction. The higher the number, the tougher the climb. Anyway, I figured after doing some "3's" that Strava rated a 4, a "5" should not be too bad.

Today I was humbled. By a mountain.A mountain schooled me and told me what was what. It has been awhile since a workout has made me either want to cry or give up. Hicks Rd was his name. Specifically Hicks West...although Hicks East appears to be tougher, but I guess that might be because I'm not fond of descents and that's the route we took. 

I have decided I am meant to climb hills. But I actually asked God for mercy during this ride, which is definitely out of character for me being as I truly believe no one is listening. 

We first rode through some rolling hills where I got in a discussion with a veteran rider about this route being as I had never done it. To his credit he did repeat several times that he feels this is one of the hardest ones in the area. Maybe I was judging him, maybe I had just heard too much talk about some of these hills that actually were not incredibly bad. Either way, I figured it would be tough, but I was ill prepared.

We hit a decent hill, which I thought was "the hill". It was steep, I was clamoring for gears and even passed the top rider in our group. As I got to the top, I slowed down to let him catch up since he knew where he was going and I didn't.

We discussed how tough that hill was. I'm pretty sure he was unhappy about me passing him. He suddenly wasn't as friendly as he was before the ride.

"That was nothing, that was just the warm-up. That was only about 200 feet of climb. The next one is about 1,000."

"Seriously?"

Well.

We descended down a winding mountain road, green and lush. I pushed my arm sleeves down around my wrists. 

Then it appeared. Hicks West. The lead guy pulled over before we started, not entirely sure why. Maybe to pee. As I passed the front rider, he said "Yep, this is where I usually get dropped." I replied "Well, we'll see how long I last" and pushed on ahead. 

It wasn't long before I ran out of gears. I switched between standing and sitting. My legs started to burn. It went on forever. I had no clue how long it was going to last and when the next turn would suddenly dip downhill and I would get to pull over and wait for the rest of the group. I stood, I sat, I stood, then sat. Neither position was tolerable. I could not believe how long this thing was lasting. It was impossible. My fatigue had me all over the road. If I went any slower I would tip over. I just kept telling myself, no mountain lasts forever, it's just around the next turn. 

But it wasn't. It was not around the next turn, or the turn after that. My lungs burned and I started to wheeze. I pulled over and didn't even have to brake to unclip from my pedal...I was going that slow. I turned around and looked back down the hill. No one in sight. How long can this possibly be?

I waited and watched. I sighed. Just me and this mountain. I clipped back in and stayed seated awhile. My legs whispered a soft thank-you for the break. They almost felt good. For about a minute. Stand up, sit down, stand up, sit down. It was too much. Please God no more hills. No more. I may or may not have whimpered out loud. Who cared. There was no one around to hear it. I wanted to quit, I wanted to cry. I wanted to disappear off into the side of the mountain and never be seen again. My left quad felt ready to explode. My lungs were on fire. I secretly hoped a car would come up behind me and run me over. See, it's so steep not even cars want to drive up here.

I pulled over again and unclipped. I looked back. Still no one. C'mon Carrie, It's just around the next bend. You can do this. You know it can't last forever. I was so full of agony and despair. I clipped back in and rode on. I finally came to a spot that looked sort of flat. I pulled over, wondering if this was where I was suppose to wait. I watched downhill until riders started coming into sight. 

"Keep going?" I shouted down to the closest rider.

He looked up, then back down at his pedals. He continued trudging up the hill without looking up again. Well, let's see what's around the next bend.

Up. More up. That's what was around the next bend. Are you kidding me?! Also, a wild turkey was around the next bend. He gobbled at me then hopped out of the road. I put my head down and whimpered. Then, up ahead was a sign for a stop sign ahead. Wait. Stop signs on a steep hill are usually there to stop you before you go down.

I came around the corner and harps sounded. The road descended down to an intersection. Hallelujah. I pulled over, unclipped from both pedals and waited. Not too long after, the ride leader showed up, followed by a couple other guys. We parked our bikes at a trail head to wait for the others.

I told the veteran rider "That was way worse than you described to me."

"Ha ha! Well, I didn't want to scare you."

Holy mother.

I brought up to the ride leader that the club classified this as a 5, but there were 6's. How on earth do people ride those?

"Oh, well you need a triple."

Wait a minute. Wait. 

I looked at the other bikes leaning on the fence post. They all had triple cranksets...3 chain rings in the front. Mine had two.

Hold on....Something was starting to click. 

"I mean you can become a world class climber.." What? With a triple or without? 

"So can I just switch them out?"

He explained that it was a little tougher than that. Anyway, I got to thinking about how everyone had a triple and I had a double and I was still passing most of the people on my rides (no, I'm not riding with the top riders though), on climbs anyway.

Then I remembered the conversation I had with the fastest rider on my first Billy Goat ride. He was impressed that I had made it up the hill in "those gears". I explained that I had shifted since getting to the top and that one was not the one I came up in. Apparently that was not what he was talking about because then suddenly we started comparing cog sizes and chain rings and I was totally lost. Did he mean he was impressed I made it up that fast (I used the word "fast" loosely, it was not "fast") having a double instead of a triple? But I've got a fairly good bike. I mean, it's not top of the line but it isn't low end either. Maybe mid-range. 

Once everyone caught up, we made our descent. On this particular descent, a rider had actually died slamming into a guardrail. I'm slow on descents, burning up my brake pads like wax on hot pavement. Which brings up another issue. I just read last night that if you ride your brakes too much, it can overheat the rims, causing the tires to explode. What?!

I descended slowly, trying to ease up on the brakes occasionally to allow the rims to cool. I did not need my tires exploding at 28 mph, which is not an impressive speed on that hill, but none-the-less. 

We rode through some beautiful old neighborhoods and finally made it back into the city. We were heading to Starbucks for coffee and lunch. I rode directly behind the ride leader and when he signaled left to turn into a supermarket strip mall, I looked behind me, saw it was completely clear and signaled left for the riders behind me. The ride leader and I started to cross into the turn lane, and I'm pretty sure the other riders did as well. 

Suddenly behind me I heard the acceleration of a vehicle...accelerating to way too fast of a speed. I whipped my head around to see a cop car going code 3, hauling around the corner and heading straight for us. Some swear words came out of my mouth as well as "GO RIGHT! GO RIGHT!" to the ride leader. We veered off to the side of the road and the cop pulled up alongside us on the opposite side of the road, right up to another cop car. The officer already on scene was reluctant to approach a man he was talking to, saying he wanted to make sure the guy didn't have anything that would harm the officers. We kept on.

We shook it off as we all got bagels, juice and coffee. I was still shaken from it and wondered if I even needed coffee, but I decided to go for it. We sat and talked about food and restaurants, then headed back to the start. It was a shorter ride than yesterday, about 21.5 miles, but way tougher. I can't believe how bad that mountain broke me.

When I got home I started researching cranksets. One website talked about how a compact crankset (what I have) actually has a gearing nearly identical to a triple crankset. Now I'm thoroughly confused and am now going to google "triple crankset vs compact double".

My whole body hurts from this ride, by the way. There is a lot of upper body involved in trying to climb a hill. Just so you know.

From Grizzly to Billy Goat

Having pushed a little too hard on my run the other day, I had to take a step back, which can be frustrating for anyone, let alone an athlete set to run the Boston Marathon in 6 weeks. It's been 18 days since my injury and I'm starting to feel the wear of not working out.

When your body (and mind) gets used to working out all the time, it can be really hard when you drop your routine. I personally get really cranky, tired and super irritable. It's like having PMS all the time. Sun up to sun down, I'm angry at the world.

I've been eyeballing the ride calender on ACTC's website, wondering if my hamstring could handle a long ride. I've been feeling good when I ride on the stationary bike at the gym, but all the rides on today's docket were 35 miles or longer...and I've only been riding 30 minutes at a time at the gym. After pushing too hard on my run, I worried that I would do it again on my ride. I decided to scrap the ride and just go to the gym.

After I got done grocery shopping, I went home and looked at the ride calendar again. Uuugghhh. There were no Grizzlies (flat rides) and nothing shorter than 35 miles. What I really wanted to do was the Giro d' Bici ride that had options of 35, 40 and 45 miles. You can't go that far right now, just go to the gym. I thought about pedaling away on the stationary bike, watching CNN and listening to my workout mix on my MP3 player. Then I thought about riding outside in the sunshine, me, Ruby, and a sea of other riders, all clicking in and out of their pedals at the stop lights. I love that sound. "Stopping!" Click, click, click, click. "Here we go!" Click, click, click and the occasional chu-clunk of a rider who tried to quickly downshift when they realized they hadn't shifted before coming to a stop.

The Giro d' Bici was listed as a 3 LM-M. Moderately hilly at a moderate pace. I can do that. M's are a moderate pace for me and my last ride with the club was a 4 for hills and I was up near the front of the group...by far.

I pulled Ruby off her ceiling hook and readied all my gear. I just barely made it to the starting point. The group was huge! The largest group I've ridden with so far. About 45 cyclists. We all started out together but would later split into three groups: 35 milers, 40 milers and 45 milers. I hoped to figure out who was which, but it was a big chaotic scene for awhile. 

We hit the first hill, up a winding mountain road. I downshifted and settled in. One by one, I passed by other riders starting to struggle. I found the ride leader (he wasn't all the way up front though) who had two other people on his wheel. I settled in with them and kept my wheel right behind the guy ahead of me. We passed a few more people before making it to the top of the hill and pulling over to let everyone catch up. 

After regrouping, the ride went down the other side of the mountain. I am incredibly uncomfortable with speed. Especially going down a steep hill. I rode the brakes a lot and let everyone else fly by me. When we got out into the flats, I picked up the pace to catch up. 

The ride went out away from town, around green rolling hills and a nearly dried up reservoir. My favorite part of the ride was when we were riding up a slight incline on a winding mountain road that hardly had any traffic, and the big oak trees were looming across the road from either side and completely blocking out the sun. The shade felt good and the air was significantly cooler. I grinned so wide I got a couple bugs in my teeth. Riding a bicycle provides a certain amount of freedom and excitement. Especially after being cooped up in the gym/house for the last couple weeks. I was tired of having to hold myself back, and now I was letting myself go.

I hung out at the rear of the line until we hit more steep hills. Again, I downshifted and powered up past the rest of the group. One spry young woman continued to elude me and I just couldn't pick her off. There was another guy that I'm pretty sure kept beating us up the hill, but he rode around back and forth quite a bit so it was hard to tell where he was. There were 3 or 4 major climbs. I lost count since I had gone pretty delusional by the last one. Each one, I'd ride right past the majority of the group, staying seated in the saddle the whole time. 

Downhill was another story. On one descent I was particularly terrified. It was so steep and winding. Sharp turns were everywhere. It occurred to me then that I really wasn't entirely sure how to corner with my bike and I certainly wasn't going to learn while flying down the hill at 50 mph. I rode the brakes, thinking that a) I was probably going to die or need plastic surgery to correct the contact my face made with the pavement and b) I was going to need a new set of brake pads if this kept up.

Finally we made it back down into the flats and I raced to catch back up with the brave members of the group. I caught up and slowed down to enjoy the scenery. The ride leader had a helmet camera that he used to take pictures and video of our ride. I smiled as I watched him snap some photos of a group of cows. We had one more hill and then....the promise land (aka, Starbucks).

When we got to Starbucks, the other groups that had split off from ours were already there. We had lunch and coffee and the whole group rode the rest of the way back together. I guess I had been in the 40 mile group...maybe the 45. I'm not sure now. It ended up being around 45, but I had forgotten to start my GPS after a rest stop and it only read 40 by the end. Ah well, can't win them all.

Today was the third ride that I had gotten compliments on my hill climbing ability. I don't know exactly what I do to get up them, I just settle in for the suffering and try to stay in a good gear. I'm wondering if it's my powerful hamstrings? Which might sound odd since one of them is injured, but even the very day I injured it, I hadn't lost strength, just range of motion and walking ability. I could curl my leg back with force, but couldn't bring it in front of my body at all.

I specifically focused on my hamstrings the winter before my last season with the crew, knowing that those muscles, along with your butt, are what pushes you up hills. And so I deepened my squat to a full depth squat, continued my step-ups and added dead-lifts. Even though I no longer hike, I keep them up because I believe it helps my running. 

It was also interesting to notice that myself and the other crazy hill lady (who was passing everyone else as well) were having a harder time keeping up on the flats. The lead group took off and I struggle to maintain a 16.5 mph pace. It reminded me of a talk I had with a triathlete recently who said she didn't know how to ride on flats and that she was bad at it. I understand now. I also almost laid my bike down on a sharp turn I hadn't slowed down enough for and then nearly crashed into a bridge on another turn. Missed it by a couple inches. My turns need work.

Between 35 and 40 miles, we took one last bathroom break. I took that time to shove a nut and fruit bar in my mouth. One of the guys made a comment about me already trying to replace the calories and then added how he needed to watch that. It is super hard coming back from a long workout, being so hungry, to not completely gorge yourself with bad choices. I suggested drinking a bunch of water before digging into any food. Then he made a comment that I obviously don't have to worry about calories since I'm so in shape.

I just wanted to reply back that maybe I'm in this shape because I do not go home and eat McDonald's or pizza or brownies (I absolutely love brownies though). I look like this because after busting my butt working out, I go home and make smart choices about refueling. I also bring food and fuel with me so that I'm not completely starving by the time I get home. While I do not "worry" about calories, I'm certainly mindful of them and where they're coming from. I look the way I do because I work my butt off, eat right, and sleep right. I don't just go and do a Zumba class every once in awhile. I push myself hard for long periods of time usually about 6 days a week...sometimes twice a day. Yes, that means I need to intake more calories but it most certainly does not mean I can get them from anywhere. Being an athlete does not give you the right to put trash in your body. That being said, I do enjoy junk food occasionally. And can be very weak when it comes to sweets. Just ask Candace how much cake I ate the weekend of Charlotte's birthday.

Anyway, so I had an awesome ride, got some sun and worked my body to the point that it's been craving for weeks. It brightened my mood and I don't hate the world anymore. My hamstring feels remarkably well for what it put up with today. If it still feels this good tomorrow I'm going to go for another ride. Shorter but steeper. We call these hilly rides Billy Goats. For real, that's what they're called. 

Just in case, I just cleaned and lubed Ruby's chain, cassette, derailleur and chain rings and gave her a good rub-down with buttermilk to ease the muscles...kidding. I rubbed her down with Pledge which cleans up the goo and oils really well. She's not getting hung up on her hook tonight. No sir. Tonight she stands, leaning against the wall, at ready. 

One last thing. Around November last year, I started getting a subscription to Bicycling magazine. Not entirely sure how that happened, but it was either a sneak gift or it came with my purchase of new pedals and cleats. Either way, however it happened and whoever it was...thank you.

New Haircut

My hair has been driving me bonkers lately. Usually if I straighten it I fall in love with it again, but for the past several months, even after straightening it, is has gotten on my nerves enough to put it up. And now putting it up is not even enough. I got to the point that it had to be either in a bun or a braided ponytail. I guess I didn't realize how incredibly long it was. But it was always draped all over me, like a blanket. When I laid down to go to sleep at night, I'd accidentally lay on it and as I'd try to shift, my head would be yanked back. When I got into my car, I'd lean on my hair and wouldn't be able to move my head. It was getting caught in the screws of my chair at school. I was fed up.

Before:

Two hours and NINE inches later:

I went to Gypsy Rose in San Jose. I was being really brave as I couldn't afford to fly down to San Diego to see my old hair stylist. But I really needed it shorter. I researched a ton and read over reviews on Yelp. Then I made an appointment.

My stylist was Amy, and I checked out her client as she paid at the register. Amy's hair was a little more modern than what I wanted mine to look like, but her client had hair much like what I wanted mine to look like. I felt relieved.

I explained to Amy that I wanted my hair gone, I was fed up. Also, I have very curly hair in the back and stick straight sides (I went in with my hair totally straightened). I showed her some pictures of what I wanted, told her I wanted it about to my collar bone...and that I am not fond of my curly hair (hair stylists love my curly hair...I do not). I also had the requirement that it be able to go up in a ponytail, both midway up my head for running and going to the gym, and down at the base of my head for cycling. And I don't like my curly hair. 

We talked quite a bit about the history of my hair, how it reacts to getting cut, etc. Then I was shampooed and got my scalp massaged. Then she went to work. Once the big bulk of my hair was cut off, one of the ladies was coming around sweeping the floor and commented on how much hair was on the floor. I didn't get to see it as Amy was in the midst of fine tuning, but I can imagine it was a lot.

I did not leave there with curly hair, score one for Amy. And I left with the EXACT cut I went in for. Score two. I will return to her again. 

And I am happy to say that while a couple of the stylists commented on how amazing my curls were when my hair was wet, no one tried to talk me into keeping it curly.

I went home and was starving. I didn't expect a cut to take nearly two hours....and I made dinner...WITH MY HAIR DOWN. I have not felt comfortable doing anything with my hair down in several months. And I just cooked dinner with it down. I have also tested to be sure it goes in the two ponytails specified and it does. This is exactly what I needed.

Injured Athlete Syndrome

As I was out jogging this morning-that's what I do these days, jog, not run- I almost decided to call this the Superman Syndrome, but I'm not sure that's entirely accurate.

I woke up this morning and decided I was fed up with being injured. I was no longer going to allow myself to be "the injured athlete". This concept applies to our daily life as well, and you might recognize it. I learned about this in Cultural Anthropology (which I took during my rehab from surgery several years ago). When we are injured, either physically or emotionally, we tend to define ourselves by that injury. For example, I'm an injured athlete.

When you define yourself that way, you view yourself differently and treat yourself differently. I found myself much less aggressive, much less confident. Usually when walking across campus, I make eye contact with strangers, nod or smile and say hi or good morning. I don't shy away from eye contact, that makes one look weak and vulnerable. When you make eye contact with someone, you're being bold, direct. You're saying "I'm not afraid of you....and by the way, good morning."

I noticed fairly quickly after tearing my hamstring that while limping across campus, I had a hard time making eye contact. I stared at the ground and wondered if people were feeling pity on me or wondering what was wrong with me. If I looked at them, would the pain in my leg and the frustration of not being able to go very fast manifest itself on my face as self pity or desperation? I mean, when you're limping around, people stare. Try it next time you're injured or hurt. Look at people. They're looking at your leg. And if you're not wearing a cast or using crutches, they're wondering if it's a congenital deformity. (Ok, I do it.)

I actually had two TSA agents at the airport ask what I did to myself. And how. That's pretty bold. But I guess it gets it out there and they can laugh about it instead of staring.

So anyway, the last couple weeks I've been playing the "injured athlete". This morning I was frustrated by my lack of training, complaining that I have now missed out on three weeks of training. I was feeling sorry for myself. Then I realized...it hasn't been 3 weeks. It's been 16 days. And to have my injury and be jogging and cycling within 16 days is fairly good.

Ok, that's it. You are not an injured athlete. You are simply an athlete that has an injury. There's a difference, so knock it off.

That got me feeling a little froggy, so I also decided, while we're getting tough here, that I was just not going to be injured anymore. I'm done. Done with my injury. I'm going for a jog (ok, obviously I don't jog, I run, so just saying I'm going for a jog is keeping my injury in the back of my mind, but not letting it control me).

I guess one thing that really set me off was that while my hamstring (the actual injured muscle) was healing fantastically, there were all sorts of secondary issues that would pop up, seemingly every time I noticed my hamstring getting better.

One thing I noticed after regaining my ability to walk with a semi-normal gait pattern, was that my foot was rotated laterally with every step. Odd. I made it a point to work on internal rotation of the hip and also to stretch out my external rotators so they wouldn't pull on my femur. That got better. Then suddenly it seemed I was developing a bunionette on the lateral side of my foot. This caused a great deal of anguish being as my first thought was that I was starting to develop the genetic issues that some of the women in my family have with their feet. I had this crazy thought that maybe those issues would've developed sooner had I not been relentlessly pounding my feet into submission for the last few years. And of course now that I was no longer slamming them against the ground, the bunions and claw feet, hammer toes, whatever, were now all going to take over my life.

I decided that might be slightly ridiculous and that I'm obviously just still walking a little funny.

I started slow jogging on the treadmill...which led to a couple other issues. I developed a weird, tight pain behind my knee and my hip flexor began leading a massive riot. I stretched, massaged and just rode the bike the next day. Felt great. Making awesome progress!

So this morning I set out for my first jog without the crutch of a treadmill that I can set at a certain speed and be sure I don't exceed it (which apparently my body wants to do because I kept running into the front of the treadmill). I walked for a little bit and then started up. It wasn't more than 20 seconds before my body tried to hit it's usual stride. We weren't ready for that. I slowed down. The muscles in my leg started guarding and I tried to relax. I spent the next three miles focusing on relaxing my leg and hip muscles while running. I could feel the tightness in the back of my knee and it was a little sore. As I approached my apartment, I stopped to walk.

What my leg did at that point was a little shocking. Mind you, my running gait probably looked ok. I wasn't in any great amount of pain, it was just more of a nuisance twinge, and it wasn't in the injured muscle itself. But when I stopped to walk, my leg did the strangest thing and I couldn't help but look down and watch it try to walk. It looked like my knee was dislocating every time my foot swung forward for the next step. Dude, I watched the doctor test the stability of my knee. My knee was not injured. This I am sure of.

With every step forward, my lower leg would catch midway, swiftly kick outward (laterally) and then track back on and swing forward. I kid you not. Oh boy.

I continued walking and after a few minutes, it normalized and I went in the house. I messed around with it and have come to this conclusion: my semimembranosis has transformed itself into a snapping turtle. That's right. A snapping turtle now lives behind my knee. I shall name him Fred.

After pulling out my old anatomy book, doing some movements, palpating, and some internet searching, I realized yes, snapping turtle it is. Welcome to my leg Fred. I hope you don't plan to stay long.

Actually it's a snapping tendon. And being that it did not suddenly just one day develop unprovoked (I have believed since the day this whole thing happened that it was the semimembranosis muscle of the hamstring group that was the injured one) and it was caused by an injury, most likely doing some strengthening exercises (which are still quite limited for me) and stretching will make it go away. In the mean time my tendon is either catching on the medial condyle of my femur or catching on other tendons. So it's snapping around. One professional website for doctors mentioned that this can make the knee look like it's "subluxing" which basically means dislocating but re-locating itself back into place. This was a relief...as it's not really doing that.

Anyway, not being able to really push myself in exercising has caused me to become quite cranky. Luckily I live alone and most people do not have to deal with the wrath that comes with this. I, however, must put up with it all day long until I am asleep. It's annoying. I'm irritating myself and wish I would just go away. My ability to tolerate anything is so badly diminished that just merely being awake drives me nuts.

After my little jog this morning I figured I'd be in a better mood. Then I was irritated about having to give someone a call today for the lab, and I wasn't planning on talking to anyone today. The call actually went well though. Then I had to do laundry, which always sucks. Then when I cut open my seedless watermelon, I saw a seed right away. That set me off. Then I took a hot shower and my apartment was humid afterwards...did not like that at all. There was hair all over the bathroom and I didn't have any ice cream. Life is just rough.

Fortunately I have an appointment for a hair cut tomorrow....which will either make me or break me. It's a new place, I'm being brave. And I'm chopping it all off. It's going, I'm done. It's now halfway down my back, and even when I straighten it and make it look good, it still drives me nuts (since before the injury, so don't worry, I decided this when I was still rational). So I'm cutting it to shoulder length. I will have before and after pics. And hopefully it will not be a disaster that causes me to spiral out of control and eat a ton of ice cream and brownies.Because I don't have the ability to burn that off right now.

To My Pillars

I was going through Pinterest looking for motivation quotes for my inspiration poster that's going on the inside of my front door. It's got a few pictures of me on there showcasing my athletic greatness and a few quotes.
Here's a few:

Yesterday I came across this one:

The last two days the words have been repeating in my head "Now my troubles are going to have troubles with me." It makes me feel pretty bad ass, so I'm embracing it. Who knew Dr. Seuss was so tough? So I just bought his book the quote comes from on kindle (I Had Trouble Getting In To Solla Sollew). I don't remember ever having read it as a child and it seems like a good one. I'll read it tonight in bed.

Anyway, I was browsing through the inspirational quotes on Pinterest and continually coming across quotes such as "When they say you can't, then you have to." or "Those who say 'you can't' or 'you won't' are probably scared that you will". 

And then it dawned on me. Either people quit telling me I can't, never will, am not, will never be, etc....or I just stopped hearing it. I think surrounding myself with the right people has made all the difference. The people who believe I'm awesome, smart, funny, remarkable. The person who told me "Don't be ordinary". The people who tell me I kick ass. And that amazing girl who told me I am not the person I see myself as when I feel insecure, weak, not enough. Those are the people who have made all the difference in the world. 

You know who you are. You are my family and friends that I surround myself with and are my support structure. You are all amazing.

Rock on.