Runner (Girl) Problems - Edition: Sports Bras

On Sunday morning I awoke with the beginnings of what felt like a sore throat, but it was minimal and I didn't notice it at all during my half marathon. Yesterday, though, my sinuses were jammed, my throat felt swollen, and I spent the day in a bit of a hazy mind fog as I navigated through the Valentine's festivities and emotions of seeing all my old photographs again.

By the time I got myself out the door for running group with my daughter, I was congratulating myself on remembering to put on my running shoes and for simply finding my keys. But shortly thereafter, I realized I forgot something pretty important. What exactly, you ask, did I forget?

I was about one quarter of a mile into my run, chatting with a friend, when I felt my bra strap sliding down toward my shoulder. Without thinking, I reached over and readjusted the strap when it dawned on me with complete horror that I was wearing a normal, everyday bra instead of a sports bra.

Yes, that's right. I forgot to wear a sports bra yesterday. Those of you fellow athletes with a C-cup or larger can probably understand just how ridiculous I felt upon this realization. I'm not a very big person, but I'm curvy enough that wearing a regular bra is nowhere near enough support to run comfortably. My saving grace were my two fitted layers plus a reflective vest that probably helped keep things somewhat in place, and the fact that I wasn't feeling well enough to run more than a 5K.

So, there I was running and doing my darnedest to keep my posture upright and my shoulders squared as I resisted the urge to constantly adjust the underwire that was miserably soaking in the sweat and rubbing uncomfortably on my ribcage. If my daughter and her friend weren't running directly behind me within earshot, I likely would have confessed the absurdity to my friend and then proceeded to laugh hard enough to get a side ache. Instead, our conversation went something like this:

Friend:   That house you rented for Hood to Coast looks amazing!
Me:        Holding shoulders rigid with constipated-looking anal-retentiveness. Oh I know! I was so stoked to find it. I think most teams are procrastinating on booking, so there were a ton of great places to choose from. [Thinking: Oh crap! There's another runner coming towards us. Are my boobs bouncing all over the place?]
Friend:   It's great that it has a hot tub. That'll be perfect for after the race.
Me:        Oh my gosh, I know. There were a couple other comparable places, but come on, the hot tub won me over. [Thinking: I feel sweat trickling down. Oh no! SPARE ME, PLEASE! Don't burn the chafed skin just under my boobs from the half marathon! OMG IT'S FREAKING BURNING! My own sweat hates me!]
Friend:  And it looks like there are plenty of beds for everyone, which is awesome.
Me:        [Thinking: Oh no... OH NO! It's slipping again! My boob is going to fall off! The burning... the burning won't stop. Someone just put me out of my misery.] Trying to inconspicuously adjust my right bra strap. Yes, so much better than trying to sleep on some crappy pullout couch. [Thinking: How on Earth did I manage to forget to put on a sports bra? I'm an idiot.]

Anyway, you get the picture. The whole thing would have been hilarious had I not been feeling under the weather and miserably uncomfortable from this weekend's chafing, which brings me to my complaint of the day: Why oh why can't I find a comfortable, high-impact sports bra that doesn't chafe my ribcage during a half marathon? I've tried several different ones, but there's always a seam or something about the fabric that irritates my ridiculously sensitive skin. Forget anything involving exposed elastic, and I hate adjustable straps because they either involve those cheap plastic hooks that pop open mid-run and dig into my back, or because they adjust with velcro, which leaves a lump that always hits my collar bones in the wrong way. Anti-chafe cream helps, but it doesn't get rid of the problem entirely.

The Gap used to make a sports bra that I loved, but sadly, they stopped making them a few years ago. Now, those bras are so old that the thread on the seams leave raw skin after more than a few miles.

Did you really expect me to stick to boring underwear colors?

One of these days I fear I'm just going to have to design my own sports bra, but I'm fairly pathetic with a sewing machine and I'd prefer to not reinvent the wheel. If anyone has a favorite sports bra that they swear by, I'd love a few suggestions.

A Little Bit Stupid

The last several weeks of traveling seems to have finally caught up with me. I've been battling a sore throat with sinus congestion and a headache, and I haven't felt much like doing anything other than lounging around and drinking hot tea.

Despite this, I have stubbornly decided that a minor illness with no trace of a fever or chest congestion isn't going to stop me from doing some form of daily exercise. Why? Other than the obvious of being just a touch of stupid, I received this free training log from Runner's World and I can't stand the thought of writing "rest day" in place of some kind of workout when I know I'm not that sick.

I know. It sounds a little crazy, but bear with me. I feel best when I can look back on my day and see that I made an effort to push myself physically. That does not mean that I'm planning to go run eight miles with a cold, though. Instead, last night I joined James and did his low-impact back, core, and hip PT exercises, then we went for a 25-minute walk completely bundled up with lined pants and warm jackets in the sub-freezing temps. Today, I have made the executive decision to skip my normal 3-5 mile Thursday run and instead just go to my hip-hop dance class that I normally attend.

It's all about moderation when you're feeling under the weather. I also like thinking of it as, "You know you're a runner when...."

'Nuff said. 

Runner Problems: Edition - Toenails and the Mancold

Yesterday sucked.

As I frantically went about the day's happenings amidst my husband's mancold-turned-meningitis-scare that ended with him anxiously awaiting a lumbar puncture for hours in true emergency room fashion, I was plagued by a common runner's ailment that left me wincing in pain everywhere I went: the dreaded ingrown toenail.

I'll spare you a photo because... gross.

Of course, my better half's illness peaked on the same day as our daughters' school Christmas show. My day involved a therapy session followed by a hectic search for a sweater to match my 10-year-old's dress, holiday shopping for foster kids, picking the girls up from school, and carefully explaining that Dad was in the hospital but probably wasn't going to die. After gently dealing with the alligator tears, I sighed and gave up on healthy life choices and went through the psuedo-Mexican food drive-thru at Taco Time to appease the starving, teary-eyed minions in the backseat. After choking down a pathetic excuse of a bean burrito, I transformed into mom-the-stylist to curl and braid hair and help my kiddos into their dresses.

Yeah... about the sandals in freezing temps...
#MomFail.

Luckily, a lumbar puncture was not necessary. James escaped having a needle stuck into his spine and instead returned home in time to watch the girls' show with a diagnosis of viral-related torticollis, a prescription for steroids to fight the inflammation in his shoulders and neck, and narcotics for the pain. 

The show went well, my older kiddo sang the harmony of her songs in her lovely bell-like voice beautifully, my younger peep smiled and showed off her dimples the entire time she was on stage, and my husband didn't croak.

My toenail, however, suffered being stepped on by kids while playing stylist, was jammed into a pair of tall boots to match last night's dress (which are roomy and normally one of the most comfortable pairs of shoes to wear with semi-formal wear), and angrily hissed at me while I soaked it in peroxide and smothered it in Neosporin before bed.

I woke up with it throbbing, and I didn't even go for my normal run last night. Darn this obnoxious toenail. 

I'd like to give up and go back to bed today, but I am determined to make it a better set of daylight hours than yesterday.

Atonement for My Gluttonous Sins

I did something bad on Thanksgiving. Now I'm paying for it. I am ashamed of this fact, so I'm just going to come clean and tell you all about it.

Several years ago, I got very ill. Amidst my mental health struggles, it became apparent that there was something very wrong with my digestive system. In hindsight, the pain was always there. I remember experiencing days with similar stomach pain as a child. My parents called me a hypochondriac, but discomfort much like extreme gas pain would creep up on me several times per month. I was later diagnosed with lactose intolerance in high school. At that time, my doctor told me that yogurt and some cheese should not bother me too much. I switched to using soy milk in my cereal and took Lactaid every time I ate diary. It helped a little, I guess, but the stomach pain never went away completely.

I was also constantly combating skin issues. Acne, rashes, simple scrapes that didn't heal as quickly as they should. Acne is supposed to decrease as you age, but mine got worse. As I approached my 30th birthday, I decided I was done with the cystic pimples that kept showing up along my jawline and on the back of my shoulders. It was extremely painful, and I was ashamed to have such horrible skin. I went on Accutane, which I had fought using for over a decade, and my skin has been mostly clear ever since. While I would have liked to avoid using such a powerful drug, I can't say I regret it; it was the right choice for me.

Even though my acne cleared up, my illness did not. The stomach pain, which I had endured since childhood, seemed to become worse as I approached 30. My horrible sleeping habits, which I had also struggled with since I was a child, had reached record insomniac heights. Not surprisingly, I experienced fatigue and consistent problems with depression that seemed impossible to combat. Swelling in my big toe joints was diagnosed as some sort of autoimmune-related arthritis when the doctor looked at my x-rays and scratched his head, unsure of why my dancer's feet were in such bad shape when my cartilage was in far better condition than expected.

In 2013, the stomach pain reached record extremes. I was working at a prestigious firm where nice business attire and sitting on one's rump in front of a computer all day was required. Every day for months on end my lower belly hurt so badly that I secretly unbuttoned my pants as I slaved away. Any pressure at all on my stomach made the pain more intense. The week that I began sweating from the icepick stabbing and twisting my colon causing me to feel like I was going to black out from the intensity was the final sign that I needed to call my doctor.

"I either have colon cancer or Crohn's disease. Either way, I'm going to die." I had told my doctor. All my vitals were fine. After much discussion and poking and prodding, I agreed to a blood test to check for food allergies. My doctor mentioned something about a possible gluten allergy, to which I may or may not have freaked out about.

A few weeks later, I learned that I am not simply "lactose intolerant," I am full-blown allergic to dairy, particularly to whey and yogurt. Also on that list of do not eat or you may die are pecans, egg whites, and several other foods to which I am sensitive but do not cause my immune system to freak out quite as much if eaten in small occasional doses. Luckily, gluten is not on that list.

My doctor explained that eating the allergens causes my immune system to react and start fighting, thus leading to inflammation. The stomach pain was going to take some time to alleviate once I removed the "bad" foods from my diet; the years of eating them had severely irritated my gut, which could take months to heal. I'm not going to lie; the next few months were hell for me as I learned to navigate my newfound medical issue. A relapse meant return of the extreme pain. Going to restaurants and quietly alerting them to a food allergy meant public humiliation in some places. I won't name names. It was awful.

Slowly and with time, I was able to adjust my diet to one that is safe. I have never been much of a meat-eater, so I found that primarily eating a plant-based, whole-foods (think vegan) diet makes it easiest for me to avoid the allergens. I am sensitive to soy, though, so I throw in a small amount of chicken and sushi here and there to ensure I have enough energy to keep up with my activity levels.

Finally, the perks of my new diet emerged. Minimal to no pain in my stomach meant I could sleep soundly. The chronic fatigue and constant ill feeling went away entirely. My skin, though still sensitive, broke out in less rashes. Even the swelling in my joints minimized. Though the diet can be a pain to follow, the benefits are quite amazing; I actually feel like a human being.

So fast forward to Thanksgiving. Our good friends were gracious enough to host dinner at their house this year. For no particular reason, I woke up in a bad mood and went full-blown I-have-no-self-control when I got around the food. Against all common sense, I ate ALL. OF. THE. CHEESE., devoured the mashed potatoes mixed with milk and sour cream, desecrated the creamed spinach, and finished off a piece of cheese cake.

I am a disciplined person, so I cannot explain why I did this. Within an hour of eating, the stomach pain began. The next day, I was horribly uncomfortable and wanted to hide in my bed and cry, but I went for a few mile run anyway. By Saturday I was so miserable I could hardly function. On Sunday, I woke up and ran eight miles, the pain finally starting to make its way out of my body. And yesterday, well, although my stomach was mostly feeling better, I felt anxious and depressed. Why did I do this to myself? I went to a late hot power yoga class and tried to forgive myself. My back was hurting and my joints were sore, but I pushed through it.

Today, I have an appointment with my therapist during which I plan to discuss my sudden lack of self control and will hopefully get back on track mentally. Tuesday is also a running group night, so hopefully I'll have a chance to laugh with a couple of my Hood to Coast buddies as we gallop through the wicked cold (but hopefully dry) evening.

Today is hard, but I just keep reminding myself of one of my favorite quotes:

It's a good reminder.

Half Marathon Survival Tactics

Yesterday I ran the half marathon that I was semi-dreading due to last week's unfortunate snotty sinus infection paired with ebola (or whatever landed in my stomach and tried to kill me). Despite my concerns and more-delicate-than-usual health condition, I finished strong in about 2:15, which is nowhere near my personal best but still much better than I expected. That time included a few-minute waiting period while my running buddy made a pit stop at a Honey Bucket around mile 11, during which I enjoyed the beautiful Lake Washington views and stretched a little while checking my Suunto watch impatiently. I suppose I could have trotted along without him, but the conversation was keeping my spirits high and I did not feel any pressure to finish in a hurry.

In addition to the decent finish time, I am most proud of how I ran the race. So now, whether you really care or not, here's my play-by-play of *drumroll*... how I survived running a half marathon while sick.

I couldn't sleep the night before, probably due to anticipation of oh my God how am I going to run after nearly dying this week. I bounced out of bed early after my date with insomnia and woke myself up with a quick warm shower to encourage my stuffed-up sinuses to have mercy on me. The temperature was predicted to be surprisingly decent for mid-November in the upper-40s/low-50s, but a large storm passing through promised rain. Last year I ran the same race in 28°F while slipping on ice and frosty fallen leaves, so this year's weather prediction was a massive improvement. I dressed in a pair of my favorite INKnBURN capris, short-sleeved tech top, and Gore Windstopper jacket.

Did I take this photo before or after running?
Only the smell will tell.

After shoveling a very small bowl of cereal down my throat (we were out of bananas, which is my go-to pre-run food), downing a shot of hot caffeine, and brushing my teeth, I rushed out the door about five minutes late. The race was being hosted by my running group, which is only a ten minute drive from my house that early in the day. My meager breakfast didn't cut it, so on my way over, I hastily ingested my favorite pre-running energy treat: Stroopwafel, which you must pronounce loudly with a comical accent as [Strōp]+[vä+fəl].

Stroopwafel! Strooooooopvahfeeel!
I never promised I was totally sane.

Somehow, I made it on time to check in, pin on my race bib, and use a flushing toilet before heading out to start the race with an easy 10:30 mile. Several of my Hood to Coast team members were there for a normal Sunday run, so I had the unexpected pleasure of pacing with three of them for the first several miles as the rain prediction turned into reality. My team captain was there to tease me in his German accent, "Okay Tamra... are you warmed up yet? When were you planning to pick up the pace?" It has been three months since I ran that amazing relay, and I still feel a gush of warm-and-fuzzies every time I see these people.

At mile five, the last of my H2C buddies turned, waved, and wished me luck. My running friend also going the full 13.1 and I were discussing various trail races and had fallen into a comfortable rhythm that we managed to very slowly increase. By the time we made it to the porta-potty at mile 11, we were running a comfortable 9:00 mile through the light but persistent rain. Nothing hurt, no aches and pains nagged me to run slower, and I managed to keep a conversation going through the rolling hills without too much heavy breathing or snot-blowing involved. We finished at the 2:15 mark at a speed of 7:53 min/mile according to my Suunto, and I was neither out of breath nor limping as I made my way to the bagels and apple pie. I am usually pretty spent after that kind of distance, so I was incredibly proud of myself for holding back and playing it safe. Additionally, this was my first consistent negative-split half marathon, which I consider a heck of an achievement. If you are unfamiliar with what "negative-splits" are (I was, so no shame in that), it basically means that each mile you run is faster than the previous mile.

Whenever I have race experience, I like to think about what I learned. Here's my list from yesterday:

1. Running a half marathon while sick may be incredibly stupid but is entirely doable.
2. My Ón shoes are still my favorite half-marathon kicks, even in the rain.
3. Walking the steep hill at mile 9 is an acceptable energy-saving strategy.
4. Waiting for your running buddy to take a dump mid-race makes for hilarous conversation.
5. Starting much slower than normal can equal consistent negative splits and plenty of energy at the end of the race.
6. I am never wearing that old sports bra for a long-distance run again. The chafing is unbearable. 
7. Running more than 13.1 miles is completely doable. I don't need to be afraid anymore. 
8. I am much stronger than I think I am.

Rain-Soaked Shoes by Ón
Shoe Pod Tracker by Suunto

Half-Marathon Prep Time

The idea of running a half marathon this weekend without racking up some weekday mileage scares me a little, so I decided to go for an easy three-mile run yesterday with my running group despite still not feeling 100%. Usually, I try to run that short of a distance at a sub-9:00 min/mile pace, but last night I kept the pace at something closer to a 10:30 min/mile. Although I was worried about doing too much too soon after being so ill, I actually felt energetic and strong during my run. A running buddy of mine kept an interesting conversation going, which was a good distraction as well.

During this last year, I have aimed to run a half marathon or similar distance about every other month. The most recent half I ran was in September, followed by a 15K trail race through Point Defiance Park in Tacoma, WA last month. I never thought I would enjoy running 10+ miles through rocky paths, mud, and intense hills, but the views make trail racing worth every rolled ankle and mud-ruined sock.

This stump seems to be having a volcanic
identity crisis.

View from Point Defiance

This weekend's half marathon is a very small, informal race, and I am planning to run it at an easy pace as prep for the Tucson Half Marathon in a few weeks. With any luck, maybe I will PR that race. Or maybe I won't. I'm not a very competitive runner; my goal is always to simply finish strong. Side note: I'm not sure when traveling to attend a race became a thing for me, but this is the second time this year that I have ventured out of Washington to take off at some starting line and hurl one foot in front of the other until I pass through the finish line.

Due to this darn sinus infection that has been going on for almost two weeks, I had to back off on my weekly mileage. This concerns me a little because I have found that keeping up with a decent number of miles in the few weeks leading up to a long race is essential for me to feel strong and avoid injury. I have not yet run two half marathons within three weeks of each other, so I hope that I will feel back to normal and can run a strong 13.1 miles in Tucson without feeling too fatigued.

In the meantime, a friend of mine is attempting to coerce me into running an ultra next year. She will be my running buddy for this weekend's half marathon, which is predicted to happen right in the middle of a cold torrential downpour. As much as I hate admitting this to myself, I'm intrigued and know that there's a good chance I'll be too high on adrenaline and endorphins to say no. If I decide to go for it, this blog is about to get a lot whinier. Or maybe not. Maybe I'll just prove to myself what a badass I am really capable of being.

Practicing Humility

I have been visiting family in Tucson, Arizona since Thursday, and wouldn't you know it, I have been battling what appears to be a sinus infection and got hit with food poisoning while I have been here. How does one exercise during these circumstances? One doesn't.

I'm sure there are plenty of fitness folks who can summon the miraculous energy to swing a kettle bell, pump out some squats, and even go for a run while they're struggling to breathe and crouched over a toilet heaving up last night's dinner, but I am not that person. While I managed to go for an easy few-mile hike at beautiful Sabino Canyon to pay homage to the incredible super moon lighting our way, that was the extent of exercise I was capable of handling during this trip. 

Today, I am flying back to Seattle and - if the stars align properly - I will likely go to an evening yoga class. Or maybe I'll just collapse face-first into my pillow. Make no mistake, though. If I do manage to get out the door with my yoga mat in tow, I'll be practicing humility and skipping all the fun poses. Lying in Savasana sweating out all the sick inhabiting my body sounds far more doable than anything involving flexing my muscles.