I May Have Caught Running Fever?

Something is definitely wrong with me. There is an impending hurricane striking our area any minute, I ran 18 miles yesterday, I could barely move this morning and only thanks to a yoga class can I even bend my legs, and yet... I'm sitting looking out my window wondering if I can squeeze in a short 5K before the rain comes. I've already done my required runs for the week, am feeling on track for the marathon, and now just want to do an extra run ... for fun? Who the hell have I become? I don't even really like running, but I do love being outside and I saw a few other people out running when I was coming home with a few supplies from the grocery store. Perhaps its just a normal reaction to the idea that I could be cooped up indoors for the next couple of days if there's flooding, or maybe I've just lost my damned mind and actually have reluctantly become a kind of person who runs... for fun. This might actually be a sign of the apocalypse. Be warned.

No Sympathy From the Devil: Hiking the Devil's Path in the Catskills, NY

In the few weeks since my brother and I hiked for 23 plus hours straight over Columbus Day weekend, I've gotten a lot of the same reaction from people. First they make me repeat that I hiked for 25 miles for 23 hours. Then they say, "no, really." And then they shake their heads in confusion and ask why anyone would do such a thing and if that was our plan all along. The more details of hike that I start to give them, the more horrified they look. And then they begin to ask things like, "and you did this... for fun?" or "are you two completely insane?" Well, probably. And yes, though really difficult and it nearly turned me into a zombie (for real), it was sorta fun, in a way. I'd even do it again, with slightly different weather conditions. I'm sure that makes me sound totally nuts, but pushing my body to these limits is somehow rewarding. And at the end of the day, it was just walking in the woods. It's not like i'm Fearless Felix, jumping out of a plane 25 miles above the earth.

Here's how it started. After hearing about the Devil's Path, and how it was reported to be on of the most difficult hiking paths on the East Coast, my brother (who is a super avid hiker) and I decided to give it a whirl. But neither of us particularly like camping out, so we decided we'd do this nearly 25 mile hike (which was reportedly so named because people in the olden days thought that only the devil and his cloven hooves could walk it) in the course of a day or so, just stopping occasionally to rest in the lean-to's along the path and doing some hiking through the night. While the actual terrain may not have lived up to the hype (my brother has done some longer and harder hikes in the White Mountains of New Hampshire), it certainly was a challenging hike to be sure and endurance really came in to play. But what made it a hard hike on this particular weekend, wasn't going up and down six mountains, but instead, the fallen leaves that had recently been doused with a lot of rain, and that combined with our choice to hike in the dark for 12 hours, which combined really upped the difficultly level.

It started out pleasant enough, we started around 12:30 in the afternoon and hiked quickly through the first 4.5 miles or so, up and over Indian Head Mountain, meeting a lot of day hikers who were going up to Twin (the second peak) and back. Along these miles there was some rocky, but not too tough terrain, and a few spots that involved some scrambling. What was cool is that a lot of the rock outcroppings in this range, had trees that grew around them, so truly solid roots made welcome handholds for pulling myself up, and my little brother, being the sweet guy that he is, even happily offered out a hand when I was having trouble navigating over a few rocks, with my 25 lb backpack (filled mostly with water, as that isn't really available along the way outside of streams, and neither of us owns one of those nifty, but pricey filters that turns fresh water into drinkable water. Maybe Santa will bring one one of these years.)

We caught up on work and life as I tried to smile through the fact that I was huffing and puffing along the way. Despite my hours at the gym, going uphill with a heavy backpack takes a bit of getting used to. But a few miles in, and I had gotten my breathing under control and was enjoying the adventure. And we saw a little old woman with a poncho (though no bag) who had to be well into her '70s hiking along with her husband and I thought, if this woman could make it up to the top of the second mountain, it should be cinch for me. And honestly, for the first 5 miles, it wasn't so bad at all. It's the sort of hiking that I really like, and we were making pretty good time.

It wasn't until we were approaching the third mountain, Sugarloaf, when we started losing the light. I vocalized my wish to get to the top of the peak to see the sunset. And my brother did his damnedest to set a good pace to make that happen. But we were just too far, even though it looked so close. Like a mirage off in the distance in the desert, it wasn't to be. But we did get some pretty spectacular sights of just foliage for miles along the way, so it was really hard to complain. My whole goal was to be outside (which I was), see the leaves change (which I did), spend time with my brother (check), not worry about phones and social media (done) and relax (well, 4 our of 5 ain't bad). But still, I would have liked to have seen the sunset. Instead I mentally decided that I wanted to be at peak five (Hunter Mountain) by sunrise the next day, and maybe, even get to the fire tower there to get some fabulous photos, though it was two miles out of the way. This would have actually been four miles out of the way, round trip, had we done it but (Spoiler Alert), we didn't make it in time... or to the fire tower.

What the Terrain of the Path Looked Like

As we realized we weren't going to reach the top by sunset, we stopped to put on our headlamps as the dark came mighty quickly. We figured get up and over Sugarloaf and maybe rest at the Mink Hollow lean-to. But once the night fell, the hiking got a lot harder. The damp leaves were damper, and it made walking over slippery rocks a lot more difficult, since you could only see a few feet ahead. If you look at the pics of the terrain, we're not talking a smooth trail here. There was quite a bit of mud, a lot of scrambling, large rocks to shimmy up and over, with steep edges on the sides and generally unstable terrain all around that was covered in those aforementioned slippery wet leaves. At one point, I couldn't believe the trail was actually going over what looked like the edge of a mountiain. In the daytime you can sort of see your way to hop around them, but at night, it makes for some slow going with a lot of baby steps. And it didn't help that every time I looked to the side of me, it seemed that two steps off the path, the ground disappeared and went straight down for hundreds of feet into pure blackness.

Still, for the first couple hours, it was kind of an adventure, and after we got to see a ton of stars and a gorgeous orangey half moon (which wasn't helpful in terms of light, but at least pretty to look at), we headed down Sugarloaf and were treated to the sounds of a Native American pow wow happening. At first, I was confused by the drumming, but as we got closer we heard the chanting and it actually added a whole really amazing effect to the hiking. For close to two miles we heard them and saw their fire off in the distance. It wasn't until we got really close that we realized the were at the Mink Hollow lean-to we'd planned at taking a break at. We debated for a bit on if we should go check out the pow-wow, as it was about 10 PM or so. And Mike was really curious, as was I, but I was worried it was a religious sort of ceremony and didn't want to intrude. The fire was tempting, as it was getting a bit on the chilly side, but with a sigh of disappointment, we decided to continue. The next morning, I regretted not going to check it out, and Mike said that it was probably good we didn't... so we were still inconclusive. But even though we didn't get a closer look, hearing them for a good two hours was quite a highlight to this hiking trip.

So we pressed on, thinking it was only up and over one more mountain (Plateau) before we'd reach the Devil's Tombstone campground, where while we'd be too late (and without tents) to camp, we might be able to rest a spell near a fire. Or at least use a bathroom  or an outhouse (OK, that was more my hope, since I not only had to deal with the awkwardness of being a girl and peeing in the woods, but also had my "monthly visitor" to contend with as well. I realize this is TMI, but it added a whole weird level of difficulty to the experience that I hadn't really anticipated.) So up and over Plateau we walked. Or slogged. We'd been hiking for close to 12 hours, with only a few 15 minute or so breaks, so my legs were getting a little bit worn out. And every time we saw a landmark and realized we'd barely gone a half mile, despite constant movement, I personally started to get a little bit down. But what are you going to do?

This Kind of Path Looks Even Harder at Night!

At one point, when it got really cold about 2 AM or so, and I started to get a little dizzy from lack of sugary food, my brother sat us down on some stone slabs and we tried to rest a bit... but it was cold. And attempts at starting a fire (even with his fancy lighter) weren't met well with all of the wet stuff around given the rainfall earlier the day before. But we did sit for about 30 minutes or so, myself wrapped in the little tinfoil emergency blanket I'd packed, and with an extra hat, a thick layer of sweatshirt and gloves. If the weather had dropped five more degrees to the freezing mark, it would have truly stunk, but in the high 30's it was just bearable. And after a rest, we got moving and got our body temps back up. But while the top of Plateau was a breeze (a nice smooth path, at one point I even jogged), with a clear view of the valley, the backside down was more rocks.

The Devil's Tombstone

But we finally made it to the Devil's Tombstone campground. Or, we thought we did. My brother really wanted to see the Tombstone that marked the place (some old legend about it falling off the mountain or something, that I never read in any of my research, but he saw). But the campground was a half a mile down the road, and there were signs saying that it was closed to arrivals after sunset. Where we were was near a lake/pond thing that had some picnic tables and those little barbecues that you see when you go to the park. Not really all that useful, and definitely no outhouses. So after looking at some closer maps and realizing we weren't near the tombstone (we went back the next day by car to see it), or the campground, without having to walk a mile out of our way, we decided to trudge along. My constant life mantra "just keep swimming" ran through my head. Well, that and Kansas' "Carry On My Wayward Son" (because we were talking about the leeward if a mountain, and somehow this song just popped in my brain and wouldn't leave).

So we headed up Hunter Mountain about 4 or 5 am, it was far too cold to be digging out my phone to turn it on to see the actual time, and I still thought there was a chance we might see the sunrise. But again, the toughness of night hiking should not be underestimated. Each step took twice to three times as long as it would in the daytime, and while I did get to see the sun rise through the cracks in the trees from about 3/4 of the way up the mountain, it wasn't the breathtaking sight I would have imagined. My brother, who might have felt like he was dragging me along, but never complained about it, had long written off the trip to the firetower, while in my brain, I was thinking if I could just set my pack somewhere and walk there and back, it would be feasible. And then, I looked at my map and saw there was a path behind the firetower that went down to the road where we'd parked, but it was still the same distance (about 9 miles at this point), so we wrote off the side trip to the fire tower (I can always go to the ski resort that is on Hunter and see the same view with a lot less hiking!) and kept going, with the plan to stop at the lean-to. I was leaning against trees for a few minutes to rest my eyes, so the lean-to and the promise of a power nap was keeping me going.

But here's where I found I sort of lost it a little bit. While I've been hiking a lot in New England, through most of the mid-Atlantic states and throughout Texas, I've found my fellow hikers a friendly bunch. Most willing to chat about where they are from and where they are going, and always looking out for their fellow man, making sure people are OK. But while we'd mostly just exchanged nods with people with the scarce few people along the way, the crowd at this Devil's Acre lean-to were pretty much just jerks. I am normally extremely positive, but when we arrived, we were both exhausted. It was about 8 am or so, we'd hiked since noon the day prior and were dead on our feet. When we got to the lean-to there was a large group of about 10 guys and girls there, sipping coffee and leisurely getting ready to hike for the day. They were doing the Devil's Path as well, but in three days, which seems to be a sane person's way of doing it. I beelined to the outhouse, which honestly was just as gross, if not grosser than the woods (thank goodness for Purell), and heard them ask my brother what time we'd started hiking that day. He replied that we'd hiked all night, and then I was too far to hear the end of the conversation. But here's the thing. There was room in the lean-to and near the fire. There was still a tent set up, but there was room in the back for two people, especially since the group was leaving, and they didn't even offer to let my brother sit down on the ledge for even a few minutes. They all just stared at him standing there, and glared at me when I returned. It was like we'd crashed their private hotel room instead of walked into a shared outdoor space. I looked at a girl with a cup of coffee with a murderous glance, as my brother and I exchanged a look of let's get the hell out of here, before we kept going. The group had apparently told my brother that they'd hiked the opposite way the day before (over the final peak we had to summit, West Kill, and that it was a good seven miles or so to the car). So we kept going. It was totally spent, as I'd mentally only planned on getting to the lean-to before a break, but probably would have punched someone in that group for being so loud if we'd stopped and attempted to rest.

So we kept going. My brother's only goal was to get back to the car before night fell again, because neither of us could deal with the possibility of putting those headlamps. Given that my feet felt like lead,  seven or so miles could very well have taken nine or ten hours at that point. But I actually got a bit of speed when my brother grabbed my backpack for about 45 minutes. I felt so much lighter, even though in the middle of the night I'd started eating and drinking everything in there in order to take some of the weight out of it. He didn't even flinch, and we made up some ground. I took it back, and we made it to the Diamond Notch Falls. Where my brother realized there was an escape route. There was a path of about a mile, that led to the road, which was then four miles to where we'd parked his car. (My car was 20 odd miles away at the start of the path) Otherwise, it was 5 to 6 miles up and over West Kill mountain and more of the slippery rocks and climbing. I didn't want to take the easy way out, and knew my brother would be disappointed not to complete the path, since (even though he was tired), he could still have hiked all day without problem. But, I felt like crap with a stomachache and dizziness, and I looked it too (Mike kept looking at me concerned). So I made a deal. I'd go the almost as long, but flat way, and he could do the final mountain. He was totally game, and said that he thought he might even beat me. So he didn't give me his car keys, in case he needed to come get me. I laughed this idea off, as five miles on relatively flat path and road should be no problem... but whatever.

So he ran off (actually ran) up the mountain, and I leisurely started walking towards the car. The path was gently sloping and with only a few muddy parts, I was quickly to the road. It was still brisk out, but the cool air kept me awake. When I hit the dead end road (only a few farms and access to hiking paths down here), I saw some people heading towards the waterfall. These people were friendly, unlike the lean-to folks who I was still angry at.

Had there been a bench here, I probably would have laid there for several hours, but there wasn't. So I kept on going, because I knew that while it wasn't the same as the hike Michael was finishing up, that if I made it to the car, I could still have gone 25 miles in a day with my pack and over some killer terrain and feel like I'd accomplished something. The lead feet were still in play, but one foot in front of another, and I felt like I was getting close. But I was also getting tired. It was about 11 am, and we'd started at 12:30 the day before, and I'd only managed to shut my eyes a few times against trees. So I was walking down this road, looking like a creature from The Walking Dead when I shut my eyes for a second... and slipped off the side of the road into the ditch. Yes. I'd hiked through a night over terrain that required me to slip and shimmy off rock cliffs and walked on unstable ground for 20+ miles, but a two inch paved road was what did me in. Some nice woman (who owned the yard I'd nearly landed in), came over to check on me. She offered me water and a place to sit down, but after the jarring wake up call of landing on my knees in the dirt, I was suddenly feeling more alert. I said I was just tired (not drunk... she laughed) and that I only had to go up around the corner to my car. She asked where I was parked, and I told her, she said it was still a ways away, and offered to drive. I tried to refuse, but she was pushing me into her Hummer before I knew what was going on. Is this how people get abducted? Exhaustion leads to taking rides with total strangers? But she was such a good Samaritan, and if I'd had my wits about me, I'd have asked her name and sent her a thank you card. Instead, I send well wishes to her in my prayers for really saving me that day because it turned out I was still more than a mile from the parking lot. Good lord.

Once there, I cleared the coating of pine needles off my brother's car. I napped for 20 minutes with my head on my backpack while tucked between the front of his car and a tree (a true dirt nap?), and then woke when I heard someone coming down the path. It wasn't Mike, as I'd hoped, but a group of three guys and their big old shaggy dog. I'd asked if they'd finished hiking the Devil's Path, and they said yes... sorta. Turns out that they'd also begun hiking on Saturday, with the plan to hike through the night and just take a few long breaks at the lean-tos (see, we aren't the ONLY weirdos), but when they'd reached the Devil's Tombstone campground, they'd hitchhiked a ride, and got dropped off at the base of West Kill (the point where my brother and I had split up) and hiked the rest of the way out. Having heard that these very fit young guys (they looked to be in their late 20's) had struggled and had opted out of as much of the path as I had (though I'd at least walked most of the distance on foot, with only a short ride), I felt a little better about what I'd accomplished. Then I started giving directions to some lost day hikers, looking for the waterfall, until my brother came bounding down the path at about 1 PM. Just over 24 hours after we'd started this journey.

I have no doubt he could have done it many hours faster without me, but it was quite a bonding experience. And aside from the unfriendly jerks at the lean-to, the experience was overall positive. Sure I couldn't feel my legs and didn't fully function until after we'd taken pics with the tombstone, gotten my car and found giant cups of coffee. But still, it was kind of fun. Crazy... sure, but still fun. And as I saw some stunning views and spent all that time in nature, I really felt blessed, because the 25 miles that  we went was something that few people really get the chance to do, and some of the overlooks are just places only accessible on foot. So I'm grateful I got the opportunity to see them, and still made it home happy and healthy.

Holy Cow! I Finally Feel Like An Actual Runner (or Jogger At Least)

I was originally supposed to do a half-marathon today (as part of my ramping up for my marathon in a month), but because of my earlier Achilles' injury this fall (and because no one ever replied to my email to answer my question about pace times), I ended up not signing up like I had planned. But that's OK, because today I ended up having the best run of my life (so far, I hope) and it was two whole miles longer than the half marathon would have been.

For the past year in a half (or maybe a little longer, I tend to block out the painful running memories), I've been struggling to run. I've done a bunch of 5Ks, a few four mile races and even a half marathon last February. But through all those things, and all my training, I never was able to consistently run (or jog) for the entirety. While I do believe in Jeff Galloway's Run-Walk-Run method, and it has gotten me far, I really just wanted to have that feeling of truly going the distance running the whole way.

I've been working with my trainer Tara at the gym to do some intervals to help me increase my speed, but today's run wasn't about speed (good thing, since my miles ranged from 11:30 to 14:30 in pace), today's run was about trying to run for as long as I could. Tara and my dad, have both been telling me for ages that the reason I end up running for a mile and then walking for a bit, or running for 5 minutes and then walking a minute, wasn't because of my conditioning or my athletic ability, but because of my brain. All my "but my legs hurt" or "I can't breathe" are just apparently excuses from my mind, according to them. It does make sense, as I was the kid in high school who sucked wind finishing the obligatory mile around the track, and maybe once or twice hid behind the bleachers so the teacher would think I'd done more laps around the outdoor track than I actually had. I never cheated in academics, but gym was not my thing.

So while I've been doing a bunch of training "runs" leading up to the marathon, of varying lengths, today's was the longest... at 15.1 miles. It's the furthest I've ever even attempted, even doing a run-walk method. I mean, I did hike about 25 miles a few weekends ago, but that's slow and walking and a totally different medium. There's something different about the repetitive pounding of running on the multi-use path near my house for over three hours. I'd rather climb mountains. Or do anything. Really anything. Me and running, we may have come to a mutual tolerance, but its never going to be my sport of choice. Its always going to be a chore.

My goal going out today wasn't to run the entire 15 miles. And yes, according to my marathon plan I should be up to 18 at this point, but my training is all messed up because of injuries and whatnot, and now I'm just trying to the best that I can, in order to get as good as I can before marathon day on Nov. 18th. Anyway, my goal for myself was to run three miles straight, not worrying about speed or anything, just running without taking a break for walking. And I did. I kept my heart rate pretty low, around 140, and noticed that when I got up around 155 or so that my breathing got more labored, and decided that today was about endurance and not getting under an 11 minute mile. So I jogged along. And at the 5K mark (3.2 miles) I was feeling good. Not fast, but good. So I kept going, and decided I'd try to get to 5 miles.

At mile 5, I still felt good, so long as I didn't rush my pace too much, when I did push it, the achey knees and heavy breathing started up. But at mile 6, I had to make a quick pit stop where I refilled my water, sucked down a GU energy gel (my new savior) and made a fast dash into the potty. I knew there wouldn't be another chance for another 8 miles. So I walked for a few minutes out of the ladies, to get my legs back in gear, and then after about 30 seconds or so, got back to my slow and steady pace.

At mile 8, I actually felt awesome. Perhaps the elusive runner's high that I've never truly experienced, or the sugar rush from the energy gel (I'm betting its this one), but I was honestly thinking that maybe I'd extend my run beyond the 14/15 I'd planned to the full 18. I know, craziness. But I felt great, and looking at my Nike GPS breakdown, I did some negative splits at that point and was running about a full minute to a minute and a half faster than the 14:00 I'd been doing for a few miles. It was probably the best I've ever felt running. I was smiling at people passing by in the other direction, singing along to my music on my headphones (yes, I'm aware this makes me look/sound insane) and feeling pretty fantastic.

At mile 9.5, I saw a woman wipe out and stopped to check to make sure she was OK (she was) and then about 2/10s of a mile later, my hamstrings tightened up. Lesson learned? Don't stop, it hurts more to restart. I did some lunges and stretches, and felt pretty OK. Well, until mile 11.That's where I felt like I was going to die and just wanted to stop and walk for the rest of the four miles back to where I'd parked my car. Side note: I hate that I have to drive to go running, but the paths are so much nicer than running the dangerous streets around me that it is worth the 15 minute drive... at least until I have to get my legs to function to drive home.

And I could have walked the rest of the four miles, and still felt like I'd had a successful day. After all, my goal was to see if I could run for three miles straight, and I'd well surpassed that. But the idea of walking for four more miles, and tacking on probably at least another 15 minutes to this long journey didn't appeal. I just wanted to be done. So I grabbed a second GU (which I hadn't planned on using, but kept in case of emergency), did some quick hamstring stretches and got back on the track after less than a minute break.

Then I slow-jogged (like a slow jam for the running set?) the rest of the way (unfortunately, these last miles is where 90 percent of the hills (which aren't big, but are still hills) on this path are. And I kept jogging at a snail's pace, but did manage to pass a woman with a cane and a motley crew of kids wobbling around on their bikes, so I'll take that as a small victory. And then I started cursing at the inanimate mile markers on this path. Why do they need to be every one tenth of a mile? Why couldn't they be at the half or quarter mile points? I felt like the markers were somehow taunting me making me seem like I was going nowhere really slowly.

But eventually, I saw my car. And nearly started crying with relief. To go from run/walking to doing 15 miles in one stretch, took quite toll on my legs... and my spirit towards the end. But I did it! And I'm super happy about that, as I sit on the couch with my legs screaming at me even four hours later. Which means that I may have broken through that mental barrier that was keeping me from actually doing more running than walking. I can't wait to tell Tara and my dad.

The upside is that I feel better about doing the marathon than I have since I signed up. I really imagined that I'd get shuffled to the half marathon end because I couldn't keep the 16 mile pace up for 26 miles, but my GPS told me that only once (around mile 11, did I even get close to hitting 15:00. So if I keep up my random Angel schedule of training for the next month, I believe I may finish this thing without getting a DNF. And given that this may be the only marathon I ever do (unless I go crazy in my late 40's and do a full Iron Man), it would be awesome to have that medal as proof that I went 26.2 whole miles and ran/jogged the whole way, instead of walked the majority of it.

Training Just As Much As I Can

I've read a ton of guides on how to train for a marathon, and even a bunch on how to juggle busy schedules, but none of them really take into consideration the single mom. While I can drop my 6-year-old off at the gym babysitting area for an hour on occasion, that doesn't really do me that much good. So instead of being able to train the recommended days a week for running, I'm lucky to squeeze in two or three days with my hectic life.

 That's not to say that I don't do other exercise on the other days. On the early mornings and nights that my daughter is with her dad, I usually get in a bootcamp class or a training session to help with my overall weight loss goals. A yoga class to help with my sanity. An interval running session with my trainer once a week and then usually a long run and another short run if I'm lucky.

And my daughter and I walk home from school, or all around town to go to the library or the movies, or hiking. So I'm more than active in my non-work/commuting time, even when I do have my child, but I don't have the luxury that most of these training manuals do. They all suggest getting up early to run. Love it! But what am I supposed to do while my kid is asleep? They all say to enlist your spouse to be on baby duty. Not an option and I'm pretty sure that child protective services would have something to say about me leaving my kid and running 4-6 miles in the morning while she's snoozing. Or even leaving her so that I could go down to the gym in my building's lobby.

I have an elliptical trainer in my house that I can use, but that's not the same as the pounding of running, and honestly I can't afford a decent treadmill at this point. So I'm doing my best. I don't know if it will be enough. I'm not a natural runner at all. I still do a lot of walking, as I can really only run for about 5 minutes before I need to slow down.

The interval training is definitely helping, and everyone around me seems pretty confident that I can do this marathon in the allotted 7 hours, even if I have to crawl at a 16 minute mile pace across the finish line. I just worry that between a recent injury to my ankle and my abbreviated training, that I won't be quite at the same level as everyone else come race day. Then again, I did manage to finish my triathlon with the aforementioned tendon issue, in a slower than I wanted, but not totally unrespectable time last month. Maybe I'm just worrying for nothing, but I've got a feeling that I'm not going to get much of a good night's sleep in the weeks before the Philadelphia marathon arrives.

The Low Iron Woman

Lately I've been feeling sluggish and had a real negative outlook on the chances of me actually being able to finish my marathon in November. Running just seemed next to impossible, and even my speed walking had slowed to a deathly pace. And while I can normally function pretty well on 5 to 6 hours of sleep a night, even 8 didn't seem like nearly enough. And halfway through any exercise, be it my yoga or training or whatever, I just felt wiped out. This was not the Angel I've fought so hard to become over the last two years.

And, as I mentioned recently, my weight loss had pretty much come to a standstill. In talking to my weight loss consultant, she suggested that I go get bloodwork done (which I scheduled, despite my lack of interest in doctors). But during our conversation, she told me about another client who had a similar problem, but turned out to be anemic. Well, at that point in the conversation my ears perked up. I have such a healthy diet filled with beans and green vegetables and some red meat that it could be a problem. In high school I survived on pizza, doritos and ice cream, so iron deficiency made more sense. I was later telling a friend that if I wasn't single, someone would probably think I was abused because I'd been getting crazy bruises really easily. Like a mere graze against a book shelf and my arm is black. Also, a major sign of iron deficiency.

So while I'm adding lots more spinach to my diet (trying to make up for all the watermelon I was eating this summer, which is apparently high in iron and maybe kept my levels up), for the next few days I'm also taking a supplement. In only five days, I feel so much better and back to my normal self, though I'm still keeping my upcoming doc appointment just to make sure there's not something else weird going on.

I may have my energy back, but I'm still having mild anxiety attacks about the marathon though... Is it normal to wake up at 2 AM in a cold sweat thinking you should be out running?