Monthly Archives: September 2010

Perfect. Almost.

For a day that was so crummy yesterday, it was sure golden today.

First, I found a smile-inducing note from Mario attached to a couple of surprise chocolate wafer cookies in my lunchbox that I had no idea we even had = yum! And then, five minutes later, I got an email from a work contact regarding a story I’ve been wanting to do for two years, but couldn’t because the timing was never right, telling me to come down this afternoon, to which I was totally free. And then, I walked outside to my most favourite season of the year, which consisted of beautiful sunshine and trees brimming with orange, red and yellow leaves, some of which had already started to crowd the sidewalks. And then, the cherry of it all, I became a real, bona fide journalist this afternoon – at least in the eyes of Earnest Hemingway.

I drank on the job! But it was for the job, so I can’t get fired! Perfection 😀

The perfect start to an almost perfect day.

However, while my day was pretty close to being perfect, my body was not. I  think it’s rejecting me. See, I’m a worrier, it’s in my nature. I overthink things, I stress over things, I freak out over things. And with that, so do my blood sugars.

Over the last couple of weeks my blood sugars have been on a roller coaster ride of a lifetime, seriously rebelling against the body (that would be mine) they inhabit. And I couldn’t figure it out. I haven’t strayed from my regular diet, which consists of a good assortment of healthy foods (for the most part ;)) that I’m pretty well versed in with carb counts. And I have been engaging in a good amount of activity that’s been fairly consistent over the last several months. And yet, I’ve been dealing with highs and lows, but very rarely perfection. And it doesn’t matter how much I analyze the readings or how much I try to correct them, they just keep going up or bottoming out.

And for someone, who over the last few years has become rather OCD in producing perfect numbers, I’m sure you can imagine how much I’ve been freaking out.

The colour red = not so good. And there's a whole lot of red in those pies 😦

However, just like how the Garmin averages out, so do the blood sugars. And while the averages (the bottom line) are still not perfect, they're a lot better looking than that damn colour red!

It wasn’t until I sat through my first school board meeting of the year last night and tested my blood sugars midway through only to find a result of 13.2, eight points higher than where they were just two hours prior, that the cause suddenly dawned on me.

See, I started thinking about how all last year, when I was producing consistently perfect numbers, the one struggle I had was on the nights I had to cover school board meetings. Now granted, my dinners on those evenings are diferent from the dinners I have at home, but I usually go to a place where I can grab a sandwich, something that is fairly easy to calculate the carb counts for in figuring out my insulin dosage – and yet, they were almost always high two hours after said meal. And once I started thinking about that, I started to remember a conversation I had in the spring with my endocrinologist who pointed out that stress is one of those many factors that can throw us diabetics and our blood sugars for a loop. And while I wouldn’t necessarily say that the school board meetings themselves stress me out, thinking about how long those meetings will inevitably be, and thinking about the hour plus drive I have to make following the completion of those meetings, that stresses me out.

So now we’ve come full circle. Marathon Day stresses me out. Stress stresses my blood sugars out. So pretty much, I’m doomed right up until I cross that finish line … oh wait, then I’ve got a plane ride to stress about 😉

How do you calm the stresses in your life?


I thought massages were supposed to be relaxing and calming and soothing and the whole nine yards. I thought they were actually supposed to feel good. Because if that’s the case, I sure got the short end of the stick yesterday. I think my massage therapist had some major pent-up aggression to pound out, and my body was the closest thing to pound it out on. He grinded his knuckles into neck aches I didn’t even know existed; he pummeled the soft spots out of my back; he crunched my ankle back into alignment; and reefed my leg out from being jammed up into my hip (apparently that was the impetus for the knee ache). And as I scrunched up my face, held my breath, winced in pain, it was as though he had found his heaven.

Despite the beating, though, it was a good visit. My massage therapist is a well-versed runner (and a talker – there’s no falling asleep on his table) and he recommended I deviate from my current training plan. He thought it was a good idea my decision to skip tonight’s speed work (woohoo!) and he told me to play it by ear regarding tomorrow’s run. If I feel okay, he said to go out real light and easy, and to see how I feel after 3 km, if I feel any kind of twinge, to turn back and not complete the 10k. He also told me that for Saturday’s 16k at race pace, not to do it, sort of. He told me to run the 16k, but for the first 12k to go out light and easy, and if I’m feeling good after that to give her for 3k, and then ease her up again for the final 1k. But it all starts, he said, with how I feel.

The princess in the plastic bubble

Well now, that was the fastest 23 km I’ve ever run, so fast I made it back to the store in 1.5 hours, so fast I made it back BEFORE the notorious speedys – forget that I needed a cab to do it in, but whatever.

Reason #253 why it’s best not to injure yourself on a run: cabs are bloody expensive!

It’s time for this princess to be honest. I was tempted not to write this blog, just kind of disappear for a day and hope that you, my dear readers, would forget that I often go for long runs on Sundays and that I almost always come back with epic stories. And while this Sunday was epic in its own way, it wasn’t in the best way, and I was tempted, greatly tempted, not to write about it. But, well, that wouldn’t exactly be true to the blog, or to you guys, or to my training, now would it? So, here goes:

As I’m sure most of you are aware by now, I am so super freaked out of a) getting sick and b) getting injured before Marathon Day. So much so that in the last two weeks, anytime someone has so much as sniffled (which is a lot – I’m like a freaking magnet for the sickies these days!) I instantly start thinking I’ve got the Ebola, and run to the washroom to thoroughly inspect my eyes to make sure no blood is splurting from them. So much so, that I’ve also become quite the klutz in the last week or so. I’ve nearly rolled my ankle at least 10 times, I’ve tripped on the carpet coming out of my condo, tripped going into a washroom with a step up, tripped over my freaking pant leg, and yes fallen down the stairs too. Needless to say, Mario has been researching hazmat suits for me!

Not exactly sure this is the most fashion friendly outfit!

So yesterday morning, at about 8 km into my 23 km run, when I started to feel a bit of a tweak in the inner part of my knee, I initially just thought it was more head games. I tried mind over matter, tried telling myself it wasn’t there, that it was nothing, but given that the run already hadn’t been the most pleasant for me (I blame the deluge of rain!) mind over matter wasn’t exactly working. I lasted almost 3 more kilometres, which consisted of denying the dull ache, making deals with myself to keep going, and a little bit of berating myself too, before finally making the “smart” decision of calling it quits. I’m now less than two weeks away from Marathon Day, that dull ache could have quickly turned into a take-me-out-of-the-game ache – something I definitely did not want.

I sent my girls on, called a cab, and $20 later – YES $20!!! – I was back at the store.


  • 8:15 a.m. BG before: 10.1
  • Temp basal: -50 per cent
  • Distance: 10:55 km
  • Average pace: 6:47 min/km
  • Average heart rate: 1:54 bpm
  • Fuel: @45 minutes: GU gel
  • Time: 1:14:40
  • 10 a.m. BG after: 13.4

And now, more than 24 hours later, I still have an ache in my knee, a dull, not always there ache, but an ache nonetheless. A year ago, I would have totally been freaking out, and again, I’ve got to be honest here, I almost did totally freak out. I mean, it’s pretty hard not to let your mind wander over to thoughts like “This isn’t fair!” or “What have the running gods got against me?” or “What the heck is this force that’s trying to take me out of the game?” But somehow, I don’t know how, I managed to reign the negative thoughts in. Maybe I’ve matured over the last year, or maybe I’ve just become even more stubborn, but these days I am definitely not the kind of girl to let the gods or the forces get in my way 😉

And, as my Hill Hero pointed out to me in a message yesterday:

You are ready for what lies ahead. Little hiccups happen and they are what build us up. No problem, my friend….no problem. You’ve come leaps and bounds and THAT is something to be so proud of!


And, as my clinic leaders pointed out in our last clinic, we’re in taper down mode, there is nothing more we can do to better ourselves for Marathon Day. So if it means I don’t do my last speed training session this week, so be it. And really, am I going to miss it? Probably not. And if it means I rename RICE (Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevation.) to RIAH (Rest. Ice. Advil. Hope for the best) than so be it. I’m in taper down mode baby; it’s just my taper down might be a whole lot more tapered down than others!

Here’s to a healthy, ache-free knee on Marathon Day – in 13 days!

A foot fondling

Maybe running 10 km last night wasn’t the smartest thing I could do. Not only did I just come off five and a half 800 metre speed intervals, which in itself is pretty brutal, but I followed that up with a high-speed toboggan down my hardwood stairs the same night – on my butt! I thudded down those stairs so loud, Mario thought the dresser fell on me. I kid you not. He came running out of the bike room, freaking out, only to find me planted on the bottom step, holding my chest with the shakiest hands I’ve ever seen, monotonously repeating over and over “Ouch. Ouch. Ouch…”

I thought I was okay, and for the most part I was. I mean, sure I couldn’t sleep on the side of my body where I thumped down on, and a fist-sized bruise the colour of cotton candy took a good 14 hours to form, but I could walk, nothing was broken, nothing was sprained, maybe just my ego a little, I was good to go.

And then I woke up this morning. My chest, from my shoulders, biceps and armpits straight across, is so super tender, it actually hurts to change gears in my car, and my inner thigh, the area where I can’t figure out a way to foam roll, is also super duper tender and tight. Hello Advil my friend, long time.


  • 6:45 p.m. BG before: 5.6 (2 sharkies)
  • Temp basal: -50 per cent
  • Distance: 10 km
  • Average pace: 6:53 min/km
  • Average heart rate: 157 bpm
  • Time: 1:08:51
  • 8:30 p.m. BG after: 5.4

With just a little over two weeks left until Marathon Day, and with me now officially in taper down mode, I’ve also entered my tender loving care stage of the training. I had a 45-minute reflexology appointment with my mom’s yogi today after work. And if you guys were around a few months ago, you may recall my first experience with her touching my feet. For those of you who weren’t, I’ll refresh your memory a little here: I hate feet! I find them the ugliest, nastiest, grossest, stinkiest parts of the human body, and mine are no exception. It doesn’t help that I have certain friends/brothers, who will go nameless here, who over the years have teased me incessantly for things such as, uhm, my “hobbit” feet! How’s a girl not to get a complex?

But I digress. In preparation for today’s foot massage, I seriously dumped like three quarters of a bottle of baby powder into my flats – and that was after I had already sprayed them with laundry scented Febreeze – to ensure no stinky feet! I also had to train my brain throughout the day, to try and trick it into thinking it would be okay to have someone touching my feet. See, with my serious dislike of the feet comes serious issues with people touching the feet. The first and only time I got a pedicure, I nearly smoked the chick in the mouth with my foot (they’re a little ticklish ;)) And yet, here I was getting my feet fondled – again. But, after running approximately 750 km in the last few months, that was one sacrifice I had was willing to make to ensure my feet were pain free for Marathon Day.

Thankfully mom's yogi had no problems touching my feet, or at least that's what she told me!

Next up: a one-hour deep tissue massage on Tuesday.

On another note, I had my first pump occlusion today, which basically means that somehow the line got obstructed and the insulin wasn’t making it into me. When I first heard the pump alarm go off (which is kind of reminiscent of the original Leisure Suit Larry theme song (hey, what can I say, I had older brothers :D)) to notify me of the obstruction, I didn’t really think much of it, I just thought a button was accidentally pressed on my pump, so I turned it off. But about a minute or so later, the alarm went off again, which caused me concern. I was at work at the time, so I rushed into the washroom and thoroughly checked the line, but I couldn’t see any blockage. The alarm went off again, and so I went to pull the line out of the infusion, and that’s where I saw the problem: the line wasn’t fully clipped into the infusion. Not exactly sure how that happened, but I’m sure as heck glad I didn’t continue to ignore it! Lesson learned.

A bug’s life

HELP! I’ve wounded myself and it won’t heal.

Three and a half weeks ago I was out running the Vancouver Seawall and at about 10 or 11 km into the run, I kicked myself in the ankle. I didn’t graze my ankle, I didn’t scuff it, I full on knocked the bloody wind out of it! I kicked it so hard, I actually winced from the pain, a pain reminiscent of when I broke the so-called funny bone in my elbow. And when I finished the run at 23 km, I finally looked down and sure enough, it was all scabbed over. But it didn’t look too bad, just a little skin removal was all, it would heal in no time – or so I thought.

Now, pretty much every run I’ve been on since, I’ve repeated the ankle kicking, kind of like when you bite your tongue and you keep on biting it for days and weeks and sometimes months after. It’s like the law of gravity or something. And this past Sunday when I went out, the wound was so bad, it wouldn’t stop bleeding and it actually fused to my compression sock afterwards. I literally had to soak the sock to peel it off, and it still hurt like heck. Ouch!

I’ve tried running with regular Band-aids, but they fall off as soon as sweat hits them. I’ve also tried so-called “flexible, stays on better, heals faster” Band-aids, but they too fall off with sweat. And I’ve tried bandaging it up like I imagine a doctor would, I even put antibacterial spray on it beforehand, but the second I start walking around, the tape starts lifting up … apparently an ankle wound is hard to dress.

So my question to you dear readers is how do I bandage this wound up AND run?


  • 6:15 p.m. BG before: 9.5
  • Temp basal: -30 per cent
  • Warm up: 4 laps around the track, 4 minute pace per lap
  • Five super-fast 800 metre repeats + one super-fast 400 metre lap with a recovery lap in between each
  • Average heart rate: 165 bpm
  • Cool down: 3 laps around the track
  • 8 p.m. BG after: 7.1

I kind of felt like I was the bad kid in school tonight, the one who purposely left her gym strip at home and as a result was forced to run laps around the track after school with everyone sitting around watching (not that I speak from experience ;)). I hated almost every minute of the intervals tonight. My legs were tired, my brain was tired, my legs were screaming, my brain was screaming. I kept trying to talk myself through them and kept trying to tell myself to dig down: It’s going to make me faster, it’s going to make me faster, it’s going to make me faster…

And it worked for a bit, I had a really good third set, but then on the first lap of the fifth set, I inhaled a bug up my nose half way through and contemplated snorting it out like hockey players do, but this princess just could not bring herself to do it. And so I started freaking out that Betsy the Bug was going to give birth in my brain and I’d have a family of baby bugs invading my head, which isn’t exactly the best strategy to use when you’re trying to focus on speed. But I kept going, I didn’t stop. And I thought if I could get through two laps with a bug fluttering around in my nostril and up into my brain, I could surely finish my sixth set. My legs, however, had other plans for me. The first lap of the last set, I went out pretty hard, and for about the last quarter of that lap, I had an all out war going on in my head: Just one more lap, I can do it. No you can’t. Yes I can. No you can’t. Yes I can. The second my legs crossed the first lap, they stopped. I was done.


  1. 1:57 and 2:04 = 4 hours 1 minute marathon time
  2. 1:59 and 2:05 = 4 hours 4 minute marathon time
  3. 1:59 and 2:00 = 3 hours 59 minute marathon time
  4. 2:00 and 2:00 = 4 hours marathon time
  5. 2:04 and 2:04 = 4 hours 8 minute marathon time
  6. 1:56


Eat. Live. Train.

So it turns out that I am not the only diabetic to have found myself in a situation, like I did on Sunday, where I had no poker to draw blood with to test my blood sugars, and had no way of getting such a device in a timely fashion. After posting last night’s blog, I went onto a diabetes forum that I regularly frequent ( and posed the question to my fellow diabetics, What would you do? These were some of their responses:

“Sewing needles work well, they’re pretty sharp. You could always poke yourself with your insulin needle. I jabbed myself down to the bone more than once by accident with them. Got lots of blood!” ~ Emmy

“I don’t run, but I bike and i keep a safety pin on my helmet strap on the off chance that i forgot… i usually have water and it works for me in a pinch…” ~ Elizabeth

“Its shameful that I have used a whole variety of mechanisms to get blood… lancets without the lancer, sewing needles, insulin syringes, packaging blades (very tricky!)… I do NOT recommend any of these “tricks”, but hey, I can definitely understand the desperation!” ~ Emily

And my favourite:

“Pet the first squirrel you see.” ~ Muragaki

This time last week, I was itching to go on a run, so much so it was putting me into all kinds of sorts, but today, I was content to just stay at home, lay back on my couch and watch my “stories” (more commonly known as One Tree Hill). And given the trend of my last three Tuesday runs, that were more forgettable than beneficial, I’m thinking I’m not really missing much by skipping today’s run – at least I hope I’m not.

So instead, I’ve been doing some reflecting. At some point last night, it hit me that my marathon training will soon be coming to a close, a milestone that I thought in the beginning would never arrive, but a milestone that now makes me somewhat sad to see so near. For almost four months now, marathon training has been my life. I kid you not, I have lived, eaten, breathed my marathon training. Pretty much every decision I’ve made in these months, I’ve made with the marathon at the back of my head.

Case in point #1: Almost every Saturday night (very rarely have I deviated) Mario and I eat the exact same meal so as not to throw my Sunday morning body chemistry out of whack. Luckily, it’s one of my most favourite meals EVER that entered our evening menus after touring Tuscany last year:
• 1c. angel-hair pasta with olive oil drizzled on top and a smattering of parmesan cheese (44 grams carbs)
• Greek salad with tomatoes from our tomato tree (4 grams carbs)
• breast of chicken with fresh rosemary
• 1 glass Chianti

This was Mario's portion; a little larger than mine.

Case in point #2: About a month ago, I got together with two girlfriends of mine from high school. It had been awhile since the three of us had all gone out together, and we were pretty excited about it. We were meeting in Vancouver, where one of my girlfriend’s lives, so we left it up to her to choose the restaurant, and normally I’m not picky, I love all sorts of food – except for a Saturday before a long run. Ashley chose a restaurant that her and I had been to before and had really enjoyed, but that was before marathon training. When I checked the menu online, I freaked out. There was nothing on that menu that I was confident would sit well for a 29 km run. So, I started searching out a whole bunch of other restuarants in the area, but because I didn’t know the area that well, I didn’t really know what was good and what wasn’t. Finally, I decided on Joey’s, where we had also eaten at in the past. I called them up, made a reservation, and then sheepishly texted Ashley telling her how horribly sorry I was for being such a pain in the ass – blame the marathon!

I went for the beach salad but switched out the lemon poppyseed dressing for the honey balsamic and got a side of garlic toast and of course a couple of glasses of the chianti 😉

Case in point #3: This weekend my girlfriend Ashala got married. The two of us met about four and a half years ago as newbies to the dragon boating scene. I remember the day perfectly: It was pouring rain and cold, and I was looking for the first friendly face I saw to direct me where to go. That face was Ashala’s … unfortunately, however, she was just as directionally challenged as I was (and she develops maps :D) and didn’t really know where we were supposed to go either. It was the perfect beginning of a beautiful friendship. And even though our dragon-boating priorities have changed over the years (she became team captain, I quit after my second season to focus more on my running) our friendships have remained. And I couldn’t have been more happy for her when I found out she was getting married, and I was so excited when I got my invite, and I instantly (well, instantly in my procrastinating world) RSVP’d. Four weeks before the wedding, though, I discovered it was to be held the night before my final 32k run. Oh crud. I had just come off a brutal 32k run where I had felt like I was going to puke for the majority of the run and was fearful of that happening again. I didn’t think I could risk shaking up my belly with unfamiliar foods, and as a result I sent my dear Ashala an I’m so sorry, I suck email asking her if it was too late to cancel my plate at the reception 😦 I felt awful.

But at least I got to see her stunning and glowing at her oh-so-beautiful 'RAIN-FREE' ceremony

And lucky for me, I have really understanding friends (totally not buttering you guys up here ;)) but yes, I am going to be happy to get somewhat of a social life back in order again. But, that being said, I am also going to greatly miss the camaraderie of my running peeps – especially my favourite running chicks. I have never had such a great experience as I have with these girls. We’ve talked about everything and anything; they know things that very few people in my life do because that’s what happens when you’re on the road three times a week, sometimes for upwards of four hours – you talk and talk and talk. I’ve run with a few of these girls for almost a year and a half now, and we’ve developed incredible friendships, and I know I’m gonna see them when the clinic closes, but it still upsets my heart a little knowing that I’m not going to be seeing them three times a week regularly. Boo 😦

Group shot! (The beauty of Photoshop :D)

How do you fit training for a marathon in with rest of your life? What sacrifices do you make?

The Flaming Pins

Thank goodness yesterday’s 32k was by far a much better 32k than the last time, (probably mostly because I had no feelings of having to puke) but that being said, it didn’t come without its own drama. Lots of drama.

I was doing a pretty good job on Saturday of owning my relaxation. I wasn’t stressing, I wasn’t worrying, I wasn’t over-thinking. The second ’32 km’ found its way into my brain, my mantras came out strong: I’m gonna kick that run’s ass … that run’s going to be shaking in its concrete … I’m gonna smoke that run like it’s never been smoked before. (It helped that I had Mario next to me telling me things like “The run called; it’s scared” :D). But around 7 p.m., halfway through eating our regular Saturday dinner, which consists of angel-hair pasta mixed with olive oil and parmesan, chicken and Greek salad, and mid swallow of my one glass of red Chianti, I nearly choked. Oh crap!

I suddenly realized that my jar of Ultima electrolyte powder, which is desperately needed for a non-puking 32 km run, was in my backpack, and my backpack, which was filled with a change of clothes, was in one of my favourite running chick’s vehicles, and was being transported out to my Hill Hero’s house in Chilliwack where we were running to for breakfast/lunch. Double oh crap!

I racked my brain trying to figure out if I had any spare powder lying around the house, nope. I checked the Running Room website to see if it was still open, nope. Mario asked me if anywhere else would have it, nope. I was freaking out so bad, my hands were shaking typing in a simple message to my running chick, asking her if she still had my bag. Two minutes later, I had my answer: Yes! Phew! Crisis averted.

That wasn’t the only crisis to befall me though.

Sunday morning, just before heading out on our run, I threw my keys through the mail slot at the R.R. (we leave an hour before the store opens and I hate to carry my keys with me while running) and normally I’m really good about making sure I’ve got everything I need with me before finalizing the transaction, but not so yesterday . After I threw my keys in, I went to test my blood sugars one last time, and realized that my poker wasn’t in my fuel belt – it was somewhere in my car! Oh crap!

I knew that my blood sugars were on the downward slope, they’d already come down like 5 points in the hour and half since I’d had breakfast. I couldn’t possible go 32 km without testing them. I was freaking out – again. But leave it to my resourceful running chicks to find a solution. Lori had a Variety Club brooch pinned through her fuel belt, and Tonya suggested if push comes to shove I use that. (They’re moms, they know these things ;))

And so, for the first 4 km of the run, the only thing going through my brain was ‘Oh crap, I’m gonna get hepatitis – another freaking itis! Good thing for me, though, my running chicks know me pretty well. When we stopped at the gas station to use the washroom, Carol got a pack a matches: Hello sterilization!

It was a full-team operation with the wind all around us!


Now, for those of you who aren’t diabetics, the lancets inside the pokers, are pretty sharp, and 90 per cent of the time draw blood on first click of the poker. Whereas, in comparison, this pin was like the thickest sized sewing needle you could get and trying to jab it into your finger, without the ease of a clicking device, wasn’t exactly the easiest, or pain-free, task at hand. I kept poking it into my finger, thinking that because I’d been running, the blood would squirt out no problem. Not so. One poke, two pokes, three pokes, four, I was getting nowhere. ‘Nurse’ Carol grabbed the pin out of my hand and without hesitation stuck that sucker right into my finger and would not let up no matter how much I squeezed my eyes shut, no matter how much I scrunched up my face, no matter how much I winced, no matter how awful the thoughts going through my head were. She only let up when she saw blood.

Me unsuccessfully trying to draw blood.

Nurse Carol to the rescue.


  • 7 a.m. BG before: 9.4
  • Temp basal: -50 per cent
  • Distance: 32.20 km
  • Average pace: 6:55 min per km (long slow distance)
  • Average heart rate: 1:59 bpm
  • Time: 3:49:14
  • Fuel: @45: GU gel (BG: 4.7 (4 Sharkies and 2 sugar tabs (I did not want to have to test again!)) @90: GU gel. @2:15: pancake. @3:00: GU gel.
  • 11:30 a.m. BG after: 10.4

Now, I’ve got to give props to all the trail runners out there, you guys are core. For 29 km of yesterday’s run , we were on the trails, along the Sumas River Dyke and the Vedder River Dyke, and as beautiful as the scenery around us was, that was a bloody bitch of a run! We were dodging puddles, and skirting through mud, and dealing with big rocks and small rocks and humps in the trail. And not to mention the constant call of the poo: dog poo, cow poo, horse poo, deer poo, bear poo, ostrich poo, every kind of poo!

Ahh beautiful, seemingly never-ending scenery ...

that comes at a price with feet-torturing gravel 😦

I was so thankful to get off those trails as my feet were aching, my calves were fatigued, and my hips were screaming. But when we arrived at my Hill Hero’s, it was all worth it. She had the most spectacular buffet of food set up for us (37 people in total!). There was pancakes and scrambled eggs and sausages and bacon and fruit salad and desserts … and even a special grilled cheese just for me 😀


Less than three weeks until the marathon = Eek!!!

The fast and the furious

Dear devil driver, who purposely swerved your boat of a vehicle, right into the line of us dear runners, with a sadistic look in your eyes.

If you were looking to scare us, you can pat yourself on the back, as you were successful in your goal. But, just in case you haven’t yet learned the lessons of life, please do allow me to school you a tad here: Karma’s a bitch jerk face! Have a nice life! 😀

Princess of Pavement

Okay, seriously, what the heck? No sooner did I write yesterday’s blog entry about being in a no sick zone did a runner in one of the other clinics come to last night’s talk, and sit directly in front of me, and then proceed to announce that she’s got the pneumonia! Are you freaking kidding me? I had just finished telling my favourite running chicks that sick people currently scare me, and rightfully so! The second I heard mention of the pneumonia, my face went stone cold sober. My girls were trying to contain themselves from bursting out laughing (unsuccessfully) but bless her dear heart, Lori took one for the team and switched spots with me, so I was at least a runner’s distance away from pneumonia chick.

But seriously, come on people, you know that we’re all training for a race here, and that we’re in the final stretch of said training, if you’re sick, STAY HOME!!!


  • 6:15 p.m. BG before: 4.8 (granola bar, bolus: 0.15 units)
  • 6:45 p.m. BG: 7.1
  • Distance: 9.81 km (recovery)
  • Average pace: 6.42 min. per km
  • Average heart rate: 157 bpm
  • Time: 1:05:48
  • 7:30 p.m. BG after: 4.1

Not only did I have pneumonia chick and devil driver dude trying to take me out of the game, I also had to contend with my first night of running in the rain. This clinic has been mostly a sunshine-filled clinic, with some overcast skies, and a little drizzling here and there, but nothing like last night. The skies opened up and rained fury on our heads. And while I generally don’t mind running when its sprinkling out or even somewhat raining, it’s actually kind of fun some days, I was so not a fan of last night.

The whole run, we were trying to hide our heads from the pelting rain bullets smacking us in the face; unsuccessfully trying to dodge the puddles, which I think Lori took the brunt of (her shoe was quack-quacking); trying to run, not slide down the hills; trying to see two steps ahead of us – it was pitch black for a good portion of the run; and trying to do all this with screaming calves thanks to those “oh-so-lovely” speed intervals the night before. Where oh where did my summer go?

The first soaking of the year = Brrrr!!!

I’m off to my girlfriend’s outdoor wedding tomorrow (and wishing her no rain) and then running 32k on Sunday. How are you spending your weekend?