Running is a victory

My last five runs:

11/7: 4.00 miles, 46'25", avg pace 11'45"
11/4: 2.89 miles, 31"33", avg pace 11'06"
11/2: 3.65 miles, 41'56", avg. pace 11'32"
10/30: 3.30 miles, 39'50", avg. pace 12'14"
10/25: 4.09 miles, 47'33", avg. pace 12'00"
10/20: 2.92 miles, 31'23", avg. pace 10'54"

It somewhat feels like I am getting slower, although I do seem to be increasing my pace a bit on the longer runs...so maybe not. One thing I've noticed is that ever since I've started upping my distance, my left foot/knee/hip have been aggravating me. I've also had to switch to running in the evenings, at the end of my work day, which is inevitably when I feel more tired/run down, and when my legs/hips/foot tend to bother me more. Since it's only getting colder out, though, I'm not sure there's a way around that. I've been taking time between runs to rest so that when I head out, my hips aren't aggravated, but that sort of lingering pain seems to come and go for me now. Of course, my hips can also bother me after sleeping on the same side all night, so...*throws hands up* I've been doing lots of IT stretches lately to try to fend off the pain. Honestly, being more mobile seems to help.

I don't want to ruin my hip joints, but I also want to run more often, or run further...and maybe in the long run I can run further more often! I should probably work out a better training schedule. I am frustrated by it all. Although...given that it took me 9 weeks to get to 3 miles (mid-September), I should probably just pause and give thanks for the fact that I can make it to 4 miles.

And yesterday's run? It was just... the cold air, the setting sun, and running down an unpopulated two lane road with the trees around me and pounding my feet to the music -- at times I wanted to stop, yes, but then there was a point where I wanted to just float there forever. I'd love to be about to run for an hour, for five 5.0 miles, without joint pain.

I'd like to think I'll get there some day.

This feels like whimsy.

Yesterday on a whim I decided to paint my fingernails. Now every time I look down at my hands, I jump back a little, not quite sure what dark vague thing is eating my fingertips. I haven't painted my nails since elementary school, when my mom bought me some awful-tasting nail polish that was intended to discourage me from biting my nails.

My nails are quite short - super short, on some fingers. This is because the nasty-tasting nail polish never worked, and I have a nasty habit of ripping at my fingernails any time I am stressed (which is all the time). My toenails are much harder to reach, so they are usually safe. ;)

I also have had this hang-up about the fact that I have "old hands". It sounds silly, but even since high school I've been self-conscious of the thin skin/lines on my hands and my funny-looking joints. Luckily, since I decided not to become a dish detergent model, I haven't had to face the fear of people staring at my hands very many times in my life.

But then when I put on this nail polish yesterday, I saw that my short, scrawny nails are actually kinda cute. And really, who's going to be examining my hands as closely as I do? I had this warm and fuzzy little thought at the time: that I love myself enough to put on polish if it makes me feel good, even if my hands are not particularly dainty or pretty.

This post, it is so silly, I know. Just bear with me. I feel like if I'm going to write about nail polish, I should be reminding myself that I don't owe anybody nail polish or make-up or pretty; or I should deconstruct the idea of nail polish as a greater symbol of patriarchal oppression. But I'm not - it's just me, and, uhm, thoughts on the fact that rosy sparkly pink nail polish made me feel good about myself in some larger way.

See.... because I tear at my nails when I'm stressed, there is usually a fingernail that is sore, or raw, and I get grumpy about it, because I know I shouldn't tear at my nails, but then there are days where I am just all "rawr, fuck it!" and tear them because there is no other way to make the trembling monster of fear/anxiety inside of me shut the hell up, and then I hurt, and then I hurt more, but in that different non-physical way, and then I just flail around with sore fingers.

Today, when I was looking at my rosy, sparkly nails, I realized that I would have to work this weekend (stress!), and the landlord's repairman hadn't come to fix my leaky sink (stress!), and the house has to be super-cleaned by next Friday because some guy is coming to measure all my windows to replace them (stress!). So I started to pick at my nails. But then there was rosy sparkly nail polish, like the kind one should wear if one is looking to walk through a dense forest and wander across a unicorn. So while pondering this, I realized, you don't need to hurt yourself to get through this.

And that -- that, you see, is part of a much bigger picture for me.



♥