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.
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.