Small victories, I mean – ridiculously small victories.

I can remember distinctly when I first started running and all I wanted to do was get past the one mile mark on the gym treadmill. Cut to more than a year later and I finished 5ks, 10ks, half marathons, and one full marathon (I also don’t run on a treadmill anymore – I feel a little too much like a chunky hamster forced into a spinning wheel). Move a little bit further down the zombie running time line and I became tragically sidelined with plantar fasciitis with no hope of running for weeks.

Weeks have (sloooooooooowly) passed and this morning I had my first truly successful run since this whole PF bag of soggy balls started - I had no pain, not even an ache. My left knee wasn’t twitchy and my arches behaved like good little parolees. I never dreamed that after completing a marathon I could feel any sense of satisfaction from running just a mere mile, but I was elated after finishing the mile.

Then I realized no one else cared and I still had to go to work- thus that elation fell like Lindsey Lohan stumbling out of a bar. Regardless, I can start running again – which is a good thing, because my next blog post was chronicling the ups and downs of vegan soy milk.

I think we all dodged a bullet.

And for no intelligent reason, here’s Hershey in a hat, TGIF!

I ran 0.019 of a marathon this Sunday

This past Sunday I eagerly laced up my new Asics to go for a beautiful run with my dad, who was visiting, and the alabaster runner. The AR was going to kick out one loop around the surrounding farmland which equals out to 2.5-3 miles, something I would literally give my own leg (in exchange for a better one of course) to accomplish– my dad took pity and joined me on my one mile endeavor around the neighborhood. Luckily my pride was already gunned down mercilessly weeks ago during the marathon, so I’m extremely comfortable with runner’s pity as of late.

The only way I can possibly describe the run is that I resembled and felt like a bloodied, wounded baby deer gimping along after being hit by a huge SUV head on. Don’t perceive my analogy wrong, I adore baby deer; I just needed to use nature’s most innocent creature to violently describe my agony.

My arches were tender, but they weren’t really that painful. The seventh circle of hell was courtesy of my left knee that decided screwing me over in one race wasn’t sufficient. It started to throb almost immediately and I knew that finishing my recovery mile was a pipe dream. After wrapping up my whooping .5 mile run, my dad walked me home, which was nice because my other option was limping alone and swearing at the top of my lungs like a lunatic.

I expected my arches to hurt – that is why I’m going to physical therapy after all (side note- I just discovered my insurance covers up to 60 visits, not too shabby Manor Care…..not too shabby). Having my knee give out not only surprised me, but it genuinely angered me. One ailment at a time please, get in line left knee - if anything, my rippling biceps are due to be strained. My physical therapist assured me that it’s not actually a knee issue, which only hurts because of the issues with my arches, but that doesn’t make me feel all sunshine and Elmo better. All I can grasp is that I can’t run a mile right now and I discovered The Macaroni Grill is ripe with unlimited bread at the table. It’s like a Greek tragedy.

My next “run” is scheduled for tomorrow morning; I’m pretty pumped to see how this will play out. On an unrelated note, if I don’t post again within 72 hours, can someone check Route 472 in Hellam and make sure I’m not lying dead in cow manure?

Appreciated.

My legs do work!

What I discovered to be the best part of running a marathon is the self induced mandatory week off afterwards that you get to enjoy. No 4 a.m. morning runs in the ass-biting cold, no trips to the gym after a lovely day at the office to work on my "Terminator" biceps, and not having to hear my husband "the alabaster runner" complaining about how his little toes-ies are cold in vibrams. Ah.....it's been a blissful week.

Cut to this morning when I realized that my week of laziness is over and I can't shrug off my physical fitness anymore (although if Jessica Simpson can use a sliding scale of optimal fitness over the years, I should be entitled to more than a week). I was concerned about the run on many levels, the least being that I think I ordered the wrong size shoe in the latest edition of bikila vibrams and my big feet are getting claustrophobic. We needed to run an easy 2-3 "shake off the marathon blues" miles and test our legs.

The alabaster runner said that his knees were bothering him a little, which I completely believe because he was the one holding onto the leash of our insanely athletic boxer, Odie. That dog has run nine miles with us before, then afterwards will turn to us with a look that clearly reads, "That's all beeyotches? Lame." Whoever has the immense pleasure of holding onto his leash usually ends up with some aches and pains from Odie pulling ahead like he sees endless fields of bacon swaying in the wind.

I managed to run in my typical injured gazelle fashion and came away enjoying our first recovery run. As long as I keep my achilles pain at bay during my runs this week, I still plan on winning this Cherry Blossom 10 Miler in D.C. I'm cleared to take the gold on that race as long as some 9,000 other runners fail to set their iphone alarms.

I'll continue my easy runs this week and my exciting life of icing my legs, rolling out my legs, and stretching my legs. And that also means I'm trotting my butt over the L.A. Fitness and silently judging everyone who wears hoop earrings to the gym. Don't start me on a rant about hoop earring gym goers.

And I'm done - thanks for hanging around.