Running After Rona

Running probably isn’t the smartest decision I’ve made seeing as just two months ago I couldn’t go up the stairs without needing to sit down to catch my breath. Yet I have decided that running is the thing that will save me from all this frustration. Because, honestly, being incapable of doing something I used to do well is incredibly frustrating. Sure I was running incredibly slow with lots of walk breaks before, but that was mostly because I was just out of shape. Being out of shape is definitely easier to fix than potentially permanent lung and maybe even heart damage. 

Stupidly, I had signed up for several races this fall. The Wonder Woman 10k of course because I cannot resist anything labeled “Wonder Woman” and the OUC Half Marathon in Orlando (the virtual option). I have done the OUC half for the past three years so missing a year just seemed wrong. I realize that life changes and such, but right now having a tiny bit of consistency sounded like it would fix all my problems. I realize in hindsight that that argument rarely applies and in fact consistency and normalcy could actually hurt me more. But hey, it’s 2020 and so is hindsight.

Given that I am now signed up for these races, I figured I should probably actually do something to get ready for them so I don’t completely die, just partially. Seeing as the OUC half is December 5th and the 10k results are due November 11th, I figured I could now use the 10k as more or less a halfway mark in my training. I can more or less get through a 5k right now so at least I’m not starting completely from scratch. 

I’ve been adopting something called the Jeff Galloway Training Method. Have you ever seen those people during races who seem like they must be dying because they run for about a minute and then walk for 30 seconds then take off running again? Apparently that’s the Galloway Method. The Viking in me believes that it’s most honorable to just run the whole thing and never walk, but the Viking in me also signed up for those races after surviving a deadly disease. That’s to say, the Viking in me is often very incorrect and makes stupid decisions out of pride. The Galloway Method has actually proven to be more effective in many cases because the tiny walking breaks allow for the legs to recover just a bit; however, the breaks are never small enough to require a noticeable running pace change to make up the time. Given that my lungs can survive about 3-5 minutes of running before I’m gasping for air and feel like death, the Galloway Method might be the only way I’ll ever get through any run for the foreseeable future.

I gave this method a try yesterday while attempting a 10k run. I’m not sure why I thought I was ready for such a grand feat. My guess is my Viking took over and decided that I was going to do it whether or not I was ready. Damn you, stupid Viking... Turns out, as pretty much anyone could have deduced, I was not ready for a 10k. I barely made it through the 5k. Since I live in Florida and it’s never not hot, even at night, I was sweating profusely by the end of the first kilometer. By the 3rd kilometer, I had to extend one of my walking breaks from one minute to five minutes to catch my breath, which was still ragged and wheezing when I started the running cycle again. When I reached the 5k marker, I just gave up. I was tired, thirsty, out of breath, and the ice cream and stir fry I ate right before running had turned into a molten ball of lead in my abdomen. 

This was when the anxiety decided to step in for a bit. Quick note about running anxiety: apparently some runners are prone to panic attacks while running because their bodies are having so many panic attack symptoms just from running (elevated heart rate, sweating, shortness of breath, etc.) that the body actually triggers a panic attack. This is definitely one of the more stupid evolutionary developments our body has ever made. And yet, this is what my body decided to do. It was difficult to notice between the COVID wheezing, the running wheezing, and the humidity. I only noticed it because my brain started saying that I was going to just fall over and die and no one would notice. Or worse, someone would notice and that would just be embarrassing. Plus I didn’t have a mask. What if someone approached me without a mask? What if the ambulance didn’t have a mask for me?? HOW WILL I PAY FOR THE AMBULANCE??? 

Thankfully, that last spiral helped me catch the anxiety pretty early on. I was able to call my sister and talk with her about random nonsense for a little bit. While she wouldn’t have been able to actually do anything to help me physically, it was a good distraction. I highly recommend having at least one person that you can call during moments of running anxiety. It helps to have an external person tell you to take a deep breath.

Definitely plan out your water too. This was something I did not do. Plunking some water bottles down along the route before running is ideal. I even have little water bottles that can be carried easily. Yet I did not bring these with me or put my water out before the run. This lead me to the gas station at around the 7k marker. Since I had no mask, I tied my shirt around my face like a hot pink ninja. The gas station had a soda machine with the blue Powerade, which conveniently was what I wanted. Then to decide on the size. My options were Tiny (small), Medium (medium), Mega (large), and Maximum (child sized???). I felt that calling a small soda “tiny” was rather inaccurate given the fact that a small coffee in Iceland is less than one shot. If anything, the smallest size in Iceland should be called “tiny.” However, I suppose “tiny” was accurate in comparison to “Maximum” which was an entire 45 fl. oz. Naturally, as an American, I selected Maximum. This cup was so large my Viking-sized hand cramped up trying to carry it, which was honestly one of the most American problems I’ve ever had maybe only second to hurting my jaw trying to stuff my burger in my face.

I am not The Flash, and definitely not Supergirl or Wonder Woman (although it would nice to be). I have no super healing, super strength, super speed, super brain, etc. Super height, I guess I do kind of have for a woman my age, but for coming from a mostly German and Norwegian family, I am often one of the shorter people at family gatherings. This doesn't really get me much other than a few extra bruises and bumps from having to keep track of so much body. It also means I'm not super rich because I have to buy special clothes to fit my 6'1" frame. So generally, I am not super.

I am, however, a fairly typical millennial. I am anxious and depressed, will probably never own a home, and I am exhausted about 90% of the time from having to constantly manage the emotions of the older generation because they're too stubborn to just get a therapist like the rest of us. I grew up in a small house in Wisconsin with a middle class family. We worked, we played, and for the most part we still love each other. I honestly didn't even realize how basic my life really was until I moved to Florida for grad school and really started connecting with people. "Oh you also grew up in a middle class family with one sibling and you miss them but not enough to move closer than 2 hours away? Me too!" We like to think we are special and unique, but there comes a time in life when we all realize that we are all more or less the same person doing the same things as everyone else. Hell, even me just starting this blog about running and how much COVID-19 sucks is basic. It has been done before and it made whoever did it feel special and unique, and now it's my turn to pretend like I have something new and special to contribute to the running blog world (spoiler alert: I don't but I'm going to do it anyway).

Part of the fun of having been born in the early 1990's has been watching the world slowly go to shit over the span of my life. Had I been born any earlier or later, growing up in this rapidly evolving world may have been a bit easier. I know what floppy disks and hit clips are, but I also tend to stay fairly up to date on social media (just not TikTok because I have a tiny bit of a life). Watching the gradual decline of humanity over the past few years has lead me to wonder if maybe the world was always this shitty and the decline is a perceived effect as a result of my aging, or maybe the world really is falling apart. It is hard for me to truly judge the world since every single one of my data points is biased in a completely different way. Really this is more of something to ponder once I get a bit older. We still have to get through 2020.

This brings me to why I really am writing this (no, not just to feel special). In June 2020, I fell victim to the novel coronavirus, COVID-19. It was honestly one of the worst months of my life. I have run a half marathon with an upper respiratory infection and this was somehow worse. It started as just extreme nausea with a fever and aches so bad my skin hurt. Then one day that mysteriously went away. The next day I woke up unable to breathe. For some reason lying on my face made breathing slightly easier so I spent a week just lying there focusing on breathing. Since I am a massive nerd, I also took notes on all my symptoms and read papers on everything we know so far about COVID-19. Turns out life is pretty boring when you can't breathe. I did eventually recover although it took about a month before I could walk upstairs without needing to sit down for a bit at the top.

Since my appetite came back all at once, I ended up gaining back a bunch of weight since I was FAMISHED after weeks of barely eating anything. This was very much an issue as I have struggled with eating disorders and body dysmorphia (more on this later) since before middle school. I am still struggling with my feelings towards my body today after having survived a disease that has killed over half a million people in less than a year.