Pain in the ass

I want to scream, like full-on scream, a scream laced with vicious f-bombs, and with my fists punching the walls and my feet kicking the doors. I am mad as hell, and the source of my anger starts square in the middle of my ass. I ran to Fort Langley yesterday and I thought all I got out of it were a ton of lousy mosquito bites, but no, it seems I also got the gift of a pain in my ass. Oh freaking joy.

Once again, my body (as diagnosed by Mario and I) is out of alignment. Cue the bloody F bombs!


  • 11 a.m. BG before: 7.9
  • Temp. basal: -50 per cent (4 hours)
  • Distance: 15 km
  • Average pace: 6:33 min/km
  • Time: 1:39:09
  • Temp. basal: +50 per cent (2 hours)

I wasn’t feeling the motivation for yesterday’s run. I’d had a few glasses of wine the night before and was feeling a tad lethargic. But I had to run, it was Sunday, I run on Sundays. So, because Mario was riding his bike to my parents, and because my parents were having a family barbecue later in the evening, I opted to run from my parents to Fort Langley, a cute, historical community that just happened to be a perfect 15 km distance away.

9 km in, still feeling not bad.

The first three quarters of the run weren’t too bad. It was humid as hell, and I was sweating buckets, but the clouds were thick and grey with only a few cracks of sun burning through, and there was a nice breeze for the majority of the distance. At 4 km, I hit the killer hill; there was no way I was running down that sucker because if I had, I might very well have gone into rapid-fire somersaults – that’s how long and steep it is.

This was taken a quarter of the way down!

There weren’t too many people on the road for about the first 13 km, in fact, I only saw the same two cyclists twice, once coming at me as I was walking down the killer hill, and then again about 5 km later as they passed me going the other way. (I saw them again in Fort Langley too … we laughed.) No runners.

But I did see …

Seemed an odd place to store a bike helmet.

Cinderella circa the bad hair decade!

Ahh the nostalgia of mixed tapes … unfortunately Robyn, I hate to tell you, but I don’t think he loves you anymore 😦

The last 3 km were brutal. All of a sudden my right shoe wasn’t fitting properly, the laces were too tight, the top of my foot was rubbing, I swear I retied them like five times before finally giving up on them. The bugs were flying into my eyes, into my mouth, up my bloody nose. My mouth felt like I’d just swallowed a handful of cotton balls. And I had to pee!

Then there was the drama going on in my blood stream. You’ll notice above I did not post my post-run BG. It was high, like really high, like embarrassingly high, like 21.6 high. What the F? How the heck did that happen? I started with near perfection, I didn’t do anything different from the previous week, except run two extra kilometres, my infusion was fine, I didn’t see a kink in the line. Not cool.

And if all that wasn’t bad enough, I now have a sore ass, majorly sore, can’t put pressure on the one side without wanting to yelp out in pain. Guess I’m heading back to physio. Oh freaking joy.

4 responses to “Pain in the ass

  1. And yet, I’m willing to bet, you will go on another run!

  2. I’ve biked down that hill several times. It’s freaking scary; even though I ride the brakes (lots) I still manage to get up to, or over, sixty km/h!!

  3. bummer! (no pun intended)
    sounds like an all around uncomfortable experience. get yourself all fixed up!
    the BG…. well there’s no F’N excuse for that. You did everything right, it makes NO SENSE WHAT SO EVER!!! it even makes ME angry. yesterday I spent a good portion of the day in the stratosphere (i think due to a faulty site) I was miserable.
    Ice your bum!

  4. must be bad if a free cinderella cassette can’t cheer you up. feel better

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s