My little piggies

In preparation for the NYC marathon this Sunday, the NY Times has been printing a range of running- and marathon-related articles over the past several months. I can relate to many of these articles: running in bad weather, nightmares on the night before the big day, fueling strategies, and, of course, injuries. Although I've never been sidelined by a serious injury, I've had my fair share of sore knees and quads. Perhaps the most annoying recurring injury I seem to suffer, though, afflicts my little piggies.

It all began after my inaugural long distance race, the Race Around the Bay, when I removed my shoes to find that several of my toenails had gorged up with blood blisters. Not really knowing what to do about these blisters, I opted to simply lance them to relieve the pressure. The blisters shrunk and my toenails remained attached. (Hurrah!) A few weeks later, the salesperson at my local running store advised me to go up one-half size in my running shoes to prevent toe jamming. I did, and have been wearing an 8.5 running shoe ever since.

Several months later, after my first marathon (the Toronto International), I was again stricken with Bruised and Bloody Toe Syndrome. Larger running shoes had provided some relief during regular training runs but, it seemed, failed to solve the problem on the much more vigorous and demanding race day. I conceded that my anatomical defects -- my second toe is longer than my big toe -- were always going to cause me problems in races. Because popping the blisters seemed to work so well before, I conducted a second round of bathroom surgery.

All went well for a day or two, but soon my toes were hot, red, swollen, and sore. I was convinced that I had badly bruised them. This being the start of the Toronto winter, wearing flip flops to and from work was not an option, and so I made an appointment with the doctor to have my piggies checked out. And thank goodness for that! My self-performed surgery had, in fact, given me a bad case of cellulitis, a bacterial skin infection that, if not properly treated, can actually kill a person. The doctor promptly prescribed antibiotics and a topical cream and sent me on my way.

Since that day more than five years ago, I have been afflicted with cellulitis two more times (and, in the process, discovered my allergy to penicillin). I have bruised my toes in almost every race. I've lost several toenails when all was said and run (including this most recent one). (This is saying nothing of my other toe afflictions, including plantar capsitus.) My toes destroy any chance I might have for a good finish line photo. My toenails are now a bit misshapen and bumpy. They don't grow quite right. They still ache after a long run. Unfortunately, I imagine they'll be like this for the rest of my life.

But things would have to get pretty bad (or my running habits pretty insane) before I'd consider the solution highlighted by the most recent NY Times article, which filled me with both intrigue and disgust: permanent removal of one's toenails (view the photo if you dare). This was printed in the "Fashion and Style" section of the paper, and I do admit to being a bit dull in the "style" department. It's possible that I'm missing something. But the thought of permanently removing my toenails makes me love them all the more for what they have endured. My little piggies -- in their entirety -- are here to stay.

I (heart) Tim

Recently I received a message from my very injured Canadian running coach, Kevin, describing the extent and impact of his running-related injuries. Here in New York, I have an American friend, Caitlin, who describes herself as a "running, swimming, biking, squash-playing, cooking, nature-loving, early-morning-rising" kind of girl. Caitlin has also recently suffered a string of terrible injuries. Only she can relay the series of events correctly, but I think it started with sciatica and ended with her in physio every other day for three hours at a time (I've been known to exaggerate, but this is no exaggeration), being treated for everything from a stress reaction in her foot to a bum hip. Because she's had to lay off the running (and even forgo a planned marathon this spring), cycling, and squash, her injuries have been the source of both physical and emotional distress. I can only imagine her frustration; the most serious injury I've suffered to-date is a swollen second toe -- apparently diagnosed as plantar capsilitus by my celebrity podiatrist (that is, a podiatrist to the celebrities of running), and which I will no doubt get to at some point in a future post -- and though I've had the occasional shin pain or sore knee or tight plantar fascia, I've never had to take a day off of running because of a running-related injury (which is quite amazing, all things considered).

Note: not my foot

It is therefore with much sympathy that I've been following Caitlin's injury rehabilitation. So when, a few days ago, I received an email from Kevin describing his litany of injuries and the associated sadness/pain/frustration/anger that goes with them, I thought Caitlin might like to know that she's not the only one out there who is suffering. I excerpted a part of his email to show to her, which included the following line: "I can't do ANYTHING without intense pain--inline skate, elliptical, cycle...even a 1 mile walk to Tim Hortons has me in tears (from the pain, but also from the hopelessness and powerlessness of not being able or allowed to even TRY at anything)." While Cailtin replied that she could most definitely relate to Kevin's pain and frustration, she added at the end, "I like that he walks a mile to eat donuts at Tim Horton's, hehe." But as any Canadian reader would have already understood, it's highly unlikely that Kevin was trying to walk a mile for donuts. Though I haven't confirmed this with him, I'm guessing that he was attempting the trek for the sake of Tim Hortons coffee.


Tim's is something of an institution in Canada. It's eponymous Canadian founder was a former NHL player for teams that included the Toronto Maple Leafs and the New York Rangers, but, for most Canadians today, Tim Horton's is synonymous with deliciously wonderful coffee. It has an earthy richness to it that goes down like a warm embrace in your belly, and, in my house, Tim's is all my husband and I drink. About two years ago, we began hauling it back with us to NYC every time we visited Canada, and we now try to buy a sufficient number of tins to hold us through to our next planned trip. (Canadian visitors to our humble abode are encouraged to bring a tin, too.) My family, who are also Tim's devotees, drinks several cups of the stuff each day. Last summer, on vacation with my parents in Ecuador, it was amusing to find my java-loving dad drinking only tea for two weeks: they don't have Tim's in South America.

While I normally enjoy my Tim's after my morning run and before heading to work, there have been an increasing number of studies over the last few months documenting the positive effect of caffeine on athletic performance. Apparently all one needs is about one mg of caffeine per one kg of body weight to see a beneficial effect on endurance and performance; five or six mgs/kg is probably okay, but nine mgs/kg can actually be detrimental. Since the average 12 oz cup of drip coffee contains about 200 mg of caffeine, that means I'm pretty much good to go with one cup of coffee before my run. So over the last few months, I have changed my Saturday morning long run routine to include rolling out of bed at 7 am to brew half a pot of Tim's (I don't have time to brew, drink, and let the "gastrointestinal effect" of coffee kick in before my weekday runs). Every 50-60 minutes during my long runs, I also typically ingest a chocolate-flavored Power Gel that contains 25 mg of caffeine (I recommend Power Gel, not GU, because the former has a 4:1 sodium:potassium ratio while the latter does not, and I've read that this is the optimal ratio for achieving optimal performance).

I can't say that the extra caffeine has had much, if any, positive effect on my performance, but I don't think it's harming it, either. I do remember a few long runs over the last few years, though, on which I was so tired that I thought I might be able to shut my eyes and doze off for a few minutes while still plodding along. I haven't felt that way this season, so maybe the caffeine actually is doing something. (This would make some sense, since I often run on Saturdays until 11:30 am, and by this time of the morning on any other day I would already have two cups of Joe -- excuse me, Tim's -- under my belt.) On the other hand, back when I was young and foolish and first started running routinely, I typically partied away my Friday nights and would roll out of bed hungover and on a few hours of sleep to begin Saturday morning's run. Over the last year, I've become a bit of an old fart, and I'm now pretty vigilant about 10:30 pm bedtimes on Fridays. So it may not be the caffeine at work, but rather the extra dose of prudence.

The jury is still out on whether my pre-run cup of Tim's is actually helping me to run faster, further, or stronger on Saturday mornings. It does, however, provide a good incentive to get out of bed on a weekend morning. And I imagine that, God forbid I should ever end up as injured as Caitlin or Kevin, walking to get a freshly brewed cup at the nearest store will provide a good form of cross-training -- especially if I have to walk all the way to Canada!

Painful reminders

One of the golden rules of marathon training (or, I imagine, training for any specific race or event) is to do all of your experimentation during your training program so that race day simply becomes a matter of executing what's already been tried and tested. This applies to fueling and hydrating yourself before and during the event, testing every last item of clothing that you think you may possibly need to wear on race day, knowing how many hours of sleep you need for optimal performance on the road, and properly estimating how much time and coffee you need to get ready and achieve optimal performance in the bathroom. A related rule states that you should probably refrain from trying any new activities or sports during the few crucial weeks before race day, lest you tear a muscle, break a leg, or otherwise injure yourself. Skiing is bad because you could really mess up your knee (I have a few too many coworkers who have suffered meniscus tears on the slopes for my liking), and cycling could land you with a broken wrist or severely torn elbow (been there, done that). As I learned this weekend, you should also refrain from trying any new dance moves during marathon training, because (a) you'll look like an idiot, and (b) it can really hurt your calves.

We just returned from a lovely Easter weekend north of the border where we mostly ate, drank, laughed, talked, and, as it happened, danced with my in-laws. It was a great weekend and we were blessed with superbly sunny skies for both Saturday and Sunday. On Friday I managed to lay pretty low and kept to a two drink maximum on the eve of our long run. Even a 20 minute walk on Friday seemed like a lot of work to me -- it's amusing that I can be so lazy when my schedule permits it! Saturday morning turned out to be a gloriously sunny day and, best of all, this was a recovery week that called for a simple 13 miles. It's pretty amazing how, after weeks of 18+ mile long runs (and every third one at race pace), an easy 13 miles truly feels like a walk in the park. Zdenek and I ran together, in equal measure against the wind and with the breeze at our backs, and the beautiful sunshine and fact that we were, technically, "on vacation," propelled us to a pace that was a good 20 seconds per mile faster than necessary. Finishing 13 miles together feeling refreshed and happy was a lovely treat!

Since the rest of the weekend was scheduled "rest time" (I jammed all of my runs and cross-training sessions into the week before), the end of that 13 miles was the green light to eat, drink, and be merry. After a relaxing day filled with delicious food and drink, Saturday night found us slightly tipsy and looking to make fools of ourselves. Well, we didn't set out to make fools of ourselves, but that's what ended up happening. As is usually the case at my in-laws' house, we migrated down to the basement bar shortly after dinner. There, my father-in-law proceeded to pump out some combination of Neil Diamond, Eddie Money, and Boney M, while a strobe light pulsated in the corner (I kid you not). And we danced. Or at least, jumped around and threw our hands in the air in some form of movement that approximated a mixture of polka and Sweatin' to the Oldies. And for some reason, I felt that the more air I got, the better I must have been "dancing", and so I pretty much jumped around the room until my arches hurt (a mild nag in my plantar fascia which I've been stretching and icing to keep at bay) and I decided that I needed another drink. It continued on like this for some time, until the drinking periods started to outlast the dancing ones.



Sunday morning found my calves permanently clenched into some sort of tight mass, a feeling I've never once experienced in training, no matter how many miles I log in one week. I winced getting out of bed, I thanked my lucky stars that I didn't have to run that day, and sometime at around 4 am this morning, the nagging tightness caused me to readjust my weekly schedule in a half-awake state. Rather than subjecting my legs to further torture with a scheduled 11 miler this morning, I made the decision to try to ease my damaged gastrocnemius muscles back into running with a five mile fartlek. (Tomorrow, 11 miles, whether I like it or not.) In fact, I only remember ever feeling this type of pain in my calves back when I first started running routinely, somewhere around 2001. Back then I believed that the more I bounced, the more gazelle-like -- and therefore graceful -- I must have appeared. I continued on this way for a couple of years until I realized that my sore calves and aching knees were probably due to all the unnecessary air time. There's a different cause for my tight calves this time around, but it's no less painful. In any case, it was a relatively safe reminder that it's best not to try anything new in the weeks before the race, and that, as captured in these photos, I still have a long way to go in the "grace" department.