What Running (And Failing At) A Race Taught Me

Pre-race, post-potty - the high point of my day.

The End: Shaking, incoherent, sobbing, vomiting and laying under all my blankets still in my sweat-soaked racing clothes: This was how my kids found mommy yesterday.

The Beginning: "Sure, give me some of your pills!" Famous. Last. Words.

That pretty much sums it up. But if you want all the gory details of my Worst Race Ever (swiftly followed by Very Important Life Lesson), read on:

The day dawned bright and beautiful and cold. Gym Buddies Allison, Megan and I met up all kitted out in our glittery skirts and painted hair. The drive in was easy, we quickly found a parking spot, we were plenty early for several potty breaks and I even got to meet Reader Jen at the starting line (which got awkward when Allison asked her if she wanted me to sign her bra. Jen replied, "Do people really ask you that?!" And I was like, "Um, NO. Just Allison!" I'm sorry Jen!). But even with everything going so swimmingly, I was still really anxious. Have to do my best, remember?

Allison and I after getting all prettied up.

It was my last long training run that did me in. My "fun" goal for the race was 1:30 for the ten miles - an easy 9 minute pace*. I knew I could do that. But then I had an awesome run outside. And then an even better one inside. I'd consistently paced at 8:40/mile. I didn't want to tell anyone for fear of jinxing myself but if I could shave that down to 8:30/mile that would be a personal record (PR) for me for this distance. Sure I'd have to run a hard race but I could do it! If I just had a little edge... Just, you know, something to give me a tiny push... Something like... a pill?

Seduced by the allure of a PR, I convinced one of the Gym Buddies who is into that sort of thing to give me a couple of caffeine pills. It's just caffeine, I reasoned. Sure I'm caffeine sensitive but it wasn't that much and my Gym Buddy uses them all the time and has had great results with them. I mean it's not like it was crack, right?

Might as well have been crack. Actually, crack would have been preferable.

I knew something was wrong about 20 minutes after I swallowed them. A strange fog came over my mind, my heart started pounding and I began to shake uncontrollably. Nausea rolled over me in waves. "Don't worry, you'll feel better once you start running," my friends reassured me. And for a few minutes I did. Then I realized something strange; I could no longer feel my limbs. You'd think this would be a bonus for an endurance race - hey, I'm flying! - but when I say I couldn't feel my limbs I mean I couldn't feel my body. It was the strangest feeling and not at all pleasant. I realized the downside to this when I tripped over a stick and caught it between my legs - it took me 10 feet to figure out why my legs weren't propelling me forward anymore. I also managed to tear off half my fingernail (Where? On what? Who knows??) and get a bruise on my thigh the size of a fist.

You remember the children's story The Red Shoes - little orphaned girl covets red dancing shoes, girl gets shoes and loves them more than anything else, the shoes become possessed and bind to her feet forcing her to dance until at last she convinces someone to chop off her feet. And then she dies! Charming little tale: deadly sin, demonic possession, punishment that way overshadows the crime - sure don't make fairytales like they used to! Well, I was now the girl in the red shoes. My legs only had one speed: sprint. So I ran the first three or four miles at a crazy pace and then it hit me. No, not another stick. The nausea that had been building now punched me in the stomach and I immediately knew I shouldn't have blogged about runners who poop their pants because I was pretty sure I was about to join their ranks. I stopped just long enough to blow chunks. Thankfully they came out of my mouth. (I never thought I'd be so grateful for barf!)

I have never, ever vomited during a race. Wanted to, yes. Done it, no. I walked a few paces and then my stupid possessed legs took off again. This became my strategy for the last 6 miles: sprint until I was 99% sure I was going to puke again and then walk. Sprint, heave, walk. Repeat. I'm pretty sure this particular strategy isn't covered in any of the major running manuals. Can't say I recommend it either. By mile 8 I just wanted to die. If I'd known the neighborhood at all, I would have ducked out of the race but I knew I had to make it to the finish line to find my friends and my ride home. So I continued to run the most schizophrenic race ever, alternately confusing and horrifying fellow runners and bystanders alike. Hey kids, don't do drugs!

The finish line is supposed to be a glorious moment where you sprint with your arms held high in the ecstasy of victory. I dragged over it after having walked most of the final mile, my possessed leg muscles twitching in protest. To be honest I don't remember much after that. I hugged Gym Buddy Dennis. Some man I didn't know gave me a picnic blanket to put over the two sweatshirts I was already wearing over my running clothes and I still couldn't stop shaking. I ate one bite of a salted nut roll only to throw it back up in my mouth. My legs were weak, I wanted to cry and my heart was beating so funny I was sure I'd just self-medicated myself into a heart attack. I kept a brave face on until I got home (at least I think I did, my friends would have to tell you how convincing I was) hoping that my husband would be home. He wasn't.

I burst into hysterical sobs, threw up again and eventually managed to drag myself into bed which is where my kids found me sometime later crying and hyperventilating. By the time my husband got up there I begged him to take me to the E.R. I was that sure I was dying. Instead he changed me into dry clothes, gave me a few sips of Sprite and put me back in bed where I spent the rest of the day. I couldn't eat a thing until this morning. Between sweat, tears and vomit I lost 3.5 pounds in 24 hours so while I missed my running best, I think I set a new PR in bodily fluid spewage.

To say I was bitterly disappointed in myself would be a massive understatement. I spent last night trying to decide which spot this event would take in my Top 10 List of Things I Most Regret. (Top 5, probably.) I spent most of this morning wishing for a do-over and calling myself every iteration of idiot I could muster. After avoiding it all day, I finally broke down and looked at my time on the race site. It wasn't great (1:37 - 9:40/mile) but you know what? It wasn't terrible. I finished. I cannot believe I finished at all. As far as mental toughness goes, this was by far the toughest race I have ever run. And yet I still did it.

Then I did something even better: I looked up the times for all of my friends that ran it. Since I'd puked up any last vestiges of pride and competitiveness, I was able to look at their times and just see their accomplishment. And it was a beautiful thing! I was so proud of them I started crying all over again but happy tears this time. Every person had to run their own race yesterday and they all did. Every single one finished. Megan got a PR in the half-marathon. Allison ran her first 10-miler and looked adorable doing it. Kandi & Ben finished within 1 second of each other (the couple that runs together, stays together!). Jeni ran her first 10-miler and hit her goal while her two young daughters cheered their hearts out for her. Other Megan #1 ran her first-ever half marathon and Other Megan #2 paced her step-for-step; they crossed together. Tom shaved 30 minutes off his last half time. Candice finished her first half marathon. Melissa and Julie and Greg and Other Megan #3 (seriously, we have that many Megans at the Y) and Jen and Other Allison all ran great runs.

In that moment I realized that if I can be proud of all of them - and I SO am! - then I can be proud of myself too. I may not be proud of what I did but I am proud of myself for finishing. And that is, after all, good enough.

What is your worst race story? Anyone else ever take a shortcut to help them only to have it massively backfire? What moment do you wish you could do over?

*I don't normally use actual numbers when I post because I know numbers are very triggering for some people and for the rest of us, well, comparisons are odious. My fast is your slow, my slow is your fast... whatever. But writing this out without the numbers ended up needing more calculus than I remember. My apologies if this made you nuts.

Post-race with our finisher's medals! Boy howdy did I earn this one.

Being Good Enough: How to Separate Who You Are From What You Do

The caption says "Not good enough for Beijing." Well there go my dreams of ever being a champion head lifter.

I'm nervous. Not nervous in a betrayed-by-my-bowels kind of way. Yet. (Which speaking of being betrayed by one's nethers, ESPN had the most fascinating article on explosive pooping while racing. Seriously, you must read it. It was in their Body Issue which I want to hate because it feels like using naked chicks to sell more copies a la the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue is so tired and yet I love it. Think less bikinis on the beach and more biceps. Lots more muscles. The cover even features a paraplegic tennis player! Of course she's gorgeous and starkers except for a strategically placed tennis racket but how cool is it that they put a woman in a wheelchair on the cover? There's such a fine line between art and artifice.)

I'm nervous for my race on Saturday. You know, the one that I signed up to run "just for fun" and have managed to suck all the fun right out of. (Well, almost. Gym Buddies Allison, Megan and I are running in sparkly tutus - mine's purple! - and striped knee-high socks. Fun!) I'm worried that I'm not going to be good enough. What is good enough, you ask? No idea! Like Alice at the fork in the woods, I don't know what the end goal is. Of course Alice had the Cheshire cat mocking her and her angst. At least I'm feline free. And like Alice, I realized today that I need to decide now, before I take even one step in the race, what the end is going to be. That whatever I do is going to be good enough. Finishing will be good enough. Even if I don't run my 100% best race, I'll still be good enough.

This is difficult for me to believe because I'm so used to defining myself by what I do. At times this has worked well for me. Like when I got straight A's in school then I was Charlotte the Smart Girl. It cuts both ways though. I remember the first time I decided that I was Charlotte the Bad Person because of something I'd done.

"Charlotte?" My high school teacher frowned at the note, "You're to go to the office. The police want to talk to you." Yeah he actually read it out loud. There were some gasps, lots of snickers. Nothing says fun like getting pulled out of 3rd period by the police! By the time I got to the office I was shaking head to toe. I was having visions of being an unwitting drug mule like Brokedown Palace and I'm nowhere near as cute as Claire Danes in prison clothes. Does the U.S. deport underage non-cute unknown-package acceptors?

Someone handed me the phone. "Charlotte? This is Detective Johnson from the Police Department. Do you know a Nathaniel X?"

My mouth went dry and I knew this phone call had been a long time coming. "Yes," I squeaked. Nathaniel and I worked together at the local university and even now it's hard for me to describe our relationship without putting unsure quotation marks around each descriptor. We were "friends", certainly. For awhile "best" friends even. We were together all the time. Despite our ten-year age difference, I had a massive school-girl crush on him. He might have had one on me too. To this day I don't know whether he really loved me, just thought he loved me or was only pretending to love me in order to manipulate me. He was the first boy to tell me he loved me. He was the first boy to tell me I was sexy. He was also as crazy as a guy's night out with Charlie Sheen, Mel Gibson, Michael Jackson and Robert Downey Jr. And unfortunately his brand of crazy manifested as pervert. Which meshed perfectly with my brand of crazy - insecure.

I became his confidant for things that no fifteen-year-old should know. Every conversation with him would start "You can never tell anyone this. Do you promise me? You're the only person I trust." I was too young to know that anytime anyone says this, that telling anyone and everyone is exactly what you should do. So I kept his secrets. And became a erstwhile victim of some of them. The more he told me, the less I wanted to know and the more I believed him when he said I was a part of all this.

The police, apparently, agreed. "Do you know where Sara is?"

"Isn't she in school?" I whispered.

"No, I'm afraid Sara's gone missing." The detective added, "And her parents think you might know where she is." Sara was one of my oldest friends and even though we'd grown apart since the advent of high school - she was cool, I was not - when Nathaniel had asked me for her number I gave it to him. Do not misunderstand the magnitude of this. I knew what he was. I pimped out the girl with whom I still had the "friends" half of a "friends forever" heart necklace.

I burst into hysterical tears, sobbing mascara streaks all over the secretary's shoulder. I didn't know where she was and that was the truth. But what I did know was that she was alternately intrigued by and afraid of Nathaniel and his overwhelming advances. Much like myself, I suppose. And now Sara was gone. Plucked, so they told me, right off the street when she went to take care of a vacationing neighbor's pet. Would she have gone willingly with Nathaniel? Perhaps. Would he have taken her if she hadn't? Did he? I didn't ask why he hadn't taken me.

"Can you contact Nathaniel?"

I could. I had his private pager number. I had his e-mail. I knew the chat rooms to find him in. I knew he would answer if I called him. And so the sting was set with me as the bait. Even then I was conflicted. Torn between wanting to warn him, an impulse that baffles me today, and wanting him caught as soon as possible. It dragged on for weeks as I printed out copies of every cryptic e-mail, had short stilted phone conversations with an officer listening on the other line and typed in chat rooms with a cop taking notes next to me. I only talked to Sara once and she told me she was fine and to leave her alone before he took the phone from her and hung it up. I cried as I listened to the dial tone for 10 minutes.

If this were TV, this would be the climactic moment where I jump in and do something terribly risky and yet heroic like drive out to the deserted barn and unchain my friend while fighting him off with a horse whip and my razor wit. Instead... nothing happened. Eventually Sara showed back up at home. Except she wasn't really Sara anymore. I didn't see her smile or laugh for a long time. In fact I didn't see much of her period. Nathaniel, on the other hand, was more in than out of my life for the next several years. Sara had refused to talk to the police, refused to press any charges and the information from me was not enough to convict so he was free to do as he wished. What is a girl to do after she's participated in a police sting that ends messily with the perpetrator still in her life and the cops totally out of it?

I internalized it. I made it my All My Fault because that was the only thing I had control over. I ended up tearily apologizing to Sara for not protecting her (which only earned me a glassy stare) and then tearily apologizing to him for the betrayal (which got me this). And with every word I knew: Charlotte was Bad. I created this terrible thing and therefore I must be terrible. The worst effect of this was how perfectly it set me up for the next man to abuse me, for the horrific spectacle of the Very Bad Boyfriend.

Charlotte back then had no intrinsic self worth, I was only a sum of my actions. And as extreme as this sounds, it's a belief that much of our society reinforces today. People are made and taken apart for what they do in their jobs, in sports, with their bodies. You are only as good as your next big accomplishment and only as far away from bad as your next big failure. And nothing is ever good enough.

But I refuse this black and white interpretation. I am not fifteen anymore. There has got to be a line between who I am and what I can do. I just need to take a deep breath so I can find it. Because in the end, this fear of failure is permission not to try. And I'm better than that.

There is great power in good enough.

There are some posts that I really agonize about posting and this is one of them. (And yes, some of them do remain unpublished.) I may regret writing this but I'm putting it out there in the hope that perhaps you can tell me how you figured out how to separate who you are from what you do. How do you get over that paralyzing fear that you will never be good enough? How do you stop feeling like you always have to one-up yourself? And was anyone else totally fascinated by that ESPN race-pooping article??

The Best Indicator of Your Overall Health [Hint: It's not what you think]

It's not your BMI. It's not your cholesterol. It's also not your resting heart rate, your back squat max, your weight, your body fat percentage, your BMR, your RMR, your AT or even your SDTG. (Okay, I made that last one up; some of the alphabet was feeling left out.) It's definitely not your shoe size (although that is important to know). So what is the number that researchers have found that is the single best indicator of your overall health? Your VO2 max.

Which is how I found myself awake in a puddle of cold sweat at three a.m. last night. I am not a person who normally dreads a workout but whether it was flashbacks of Middle School P.E. - my teacher used to chase me around the track throwing footballs at my head until I cried - or just my perfectionist nature, I was scared. See, first thing in the morning in Boot Camp, the Gym Buddies and I were taking the Cooper Fitness test, an assessment used to find your VO2 max. And would consequently tell me if I am a worthwhile human being. (Note to self: write post about how I give numbers too much power in my life.)

How To Get Yours (For Free!)
The most accurate way to measure your VO2 max is to do the Darth-Vader-masked-run-on-a-treadmill test but that's spendy - expect to pay 150$ - 300$ - and I am nothing if not cheap. Also, the last time I did that test I almost* mooned the whole gym because I was running so hard my pants were falling down and I didn't dare spare a hand to hold them up because I was too occupied trying to keep my hands from ripping that suffocating mask off my face and hurling it at the nearest trainer.

The Cooper Test goes like this: run as hard as you can for 12 minutes and then given the distance that you cover (in meters, naturally, we're being scientific here remember?) and your age you can get a fairly accurate approximation of your VO2 max. It was exactly as fun as it sounds. Which is not at all. It was horrible pain. Maximal effort is bad enough in 20 second increments during Tabata sprints; it's hellacious when you do it for 12 minutes. Upon finishing our run - in a heap, on the dirty gym floor - Gym Buddy Allison exclaimed, "My insides have never hurt so much before!" But our suffering was not in vain: I'm proud to say all the Gym Buddies scored in the highest rank for both the run and our VO2 maxes.

(We won't talk about how this wasn't good enough for me because it was lower than the last time I had my max measured even though that was to be expected as we lose about 1% of our VO2 max per year as we age. So I stewed about it all day until Allison told me to get a grip and learn to live with being "just superior". Seriously, self, get on that "numbers mean too much to you" post.)

So why would anyone do such a thing to themselves just to get a number?

Your VO2 Max is your maximal oxygen uptake and reflects how well your body takes in and uses oxygen while you exercise. VO2 max "is widely accepted as the single best measure of cardiovascular fitness and maximal aerobic power. Absolute values of VO₂ max are typically 40-60% higher in men than in women.” Your average man has a VO2 max of 45, while an average woman's is 38. Just for comparison purposes (because who doesn't like to compare suburban soccer moms with the world's most elite athletes?), Greg LeMond's is 92.5 and the highest ever recorded, belonging to a Scandinavian cross country skier for which my keyboard doesn't even have the ability to type his name, is 96 - in his off season.

The Research
Danish researchers examined 86 men and 115 women, all between the ages of 23 and 27. They tested their VO2 max. They then studied their physical activity, blood pressure, blood lipids, body fat and smoking habits. As expected, a greater VO2 max was significantly correlated with a better cardiovascular profile. (And for your surprising research finding of the day: Physical activity was not correlated with a better cardiovascular profile.) This means that the higher the VO2 max, the lower the LDL cholesterol, body fat, and blood pressure. They also found that a higher VO2 max a correlates with a decrease in symptoms of the scary metabolic syndrome and is an "excellent predictor" of heart attack risk.

The take-home message from today's workout is if you want to lower your cholesterol, blood pressure, body fat and bikini inhibitions, then your workouts need to be intense enough to increase your VO2 max. If better heart health is your goal, it isn't enough just to be physically active (although physical activity of any intensity has numerous other benefits). You have to keep pushing yourself. Never get comfortable! And also: Remember that numbers are just tools to help you understand yourself better, they are not value judgments. (Repeat three times every morning.)

So do you know your VO2 max? How important are numbers to you? Are you able to look at them as just information or do they pack an emotional wallop too? Have you ever mooned anyone accidentally or on purpose??

*Not to be confused with the time I DID actually moon the whole gym thanks to a heavy pager from the childcare center attached to my weakly elasticized yoga pants. Good times!

Running 101: Get a Professional Shoe Fitting

Gorgeous sunny morning. Nice cool - but not cold - temps. Crisp clean air. Beautiful scenery. And to top it all off, an awesome new playlist on my MP3 player. Indeed, all the makings of a magnificent long run. Which it was (my pace time surprised me so much that I rechecked it on 3 separate websites to make sure I wasn't imagining things). Unfortunately, my perfect run was marred by one little thing: a blister breaking out on my right arch. Sadly, I realized as I unlaced my sneaks, my gut feeling was confirmed that these were not good shoes and I was going to have to revisit my shoe options. I didn't want to admit that my beloved Asics had failed me but it was true. This was the 3rd style I've tried since the demise of my beloved GT-2120's and each had been worse than the last.

Not knowing where to begin, I started with one of those 100-page advertorial spreads so commonly found in magazines this time of year. One of these yearly staples is the "Perfect Shoe Guide" which purports to help you find the perfect shoe for your foot. If you've ever read one of these, you discover very quickly that you need to be on intimate terms with your body. First you need to decide what type of exerciser you are. Are you a runner? A jogger? A walker? A trail runner? A trail runner who jogs up hills and sometimes walks when the scenery is really gorgeous? Second, you need to know your arch type - high, normal or so flat you'll never have to worry about getting drafted. Generally they tell you to step with wet feet on a paper bag and then match your imprints to the pictures in the guide. Lastly, you need to know what your "pronation" status is. It's at this point that I generally get so frustrated that I stop reading all together and go surf the web for cute workout pants (although then I need to know my waist measurement and my inseam and ... why are women's clothes so complicated??).

So, I started by looking up pronation. While the definition is pretty simple - it's the degree you roll to the outside or inside of your foot when you run - telling whether you do it is not. It's hard to watch yourself run without smacking into stationary objects. For the first time in my warehouse-shopping, bargain-hunting, online-sale-loving life I realized it was time to call in a shoe professional.

So I trotted myself off to Runner's Gate, a running boutique near my home*. The first thing I noticed was the indoor track that went around the sales floor. It was probably 50 laps to a mile but I suppose it could keep the sales staff entertained on slow days. The second thing that caught my eye was the lack of shoes. Being used to shopping in stores that rightly end in -house, I was surprised to see one wall with three shelves of shoes. That's it. The last thing I noticed was that I was the only customer in the store which meant I got the devoted attention of the owner Phil.

After listening to me babble about how Asics are the only shoes that have ever worked for me and my left foot is a half size bigger than my right and how I have to shave the hair on my big toe or else it looks like a daddy longlegs and scares my children (true story) he sat back in his little rolly chair and said, "Well, let's see it. Take your shoes off."

I'd expected this. And yet I'd still forgotten to wear socks. Or fix my self-mutilated pedicure. Or shave my big toe.

Phil did not recoil in horror. Although he did ask me if I preferred cushioned or non-cushioned socks as he proffered me a basket of demo socks to try on. Cushioned? I didn't even realize that was an option. All my gym socks come from Target or TJ Maxx where they only have one kind and the Puma logo may or may not be backwards on them.

While I was debating sock philosophies in my head, Phil was evaluating my feet. His verdict? High arches, no pronation (so I'm a "neutral" runner), and MY FEET ARE THE SAME SIZE. I KNOW. How have I lived all my life with these feet and thought I was a normal-arched over-pronater with freak-show feet? How could I have been so wrong?!

According to Phil's assessment I'd been running in the wrong shoes for years. He brought out a stack of boxes, one pair of each neutral shoe he carried. I pulled the first pair out of the box. "Oooh pretty!" I gushed over the hot pink, gray and black kicks.

He frowned at me. "Function first."

Oh, right. I dutifully jogged around the track to see how they felt while inside I was thinking about how weird it is to have someone watch me run. Is my stride too long? My arms too stiff? Heaven help me, do I have a Phoebe Run??

To his credit, not once during the try-on fest (8 pairs, I believe) did he laugh at me. Not even when I told him the reason I need new shoes is so I can run the Monster Dash in full costume in a week and a half. In fact, he even helped me troubleshoot how to make wings that would be more aerodynamic than the ones I found at Target! In between laps, Phil let me pick his brain about various running trends: Barefoot? Good for the short occasional workout, not great outdoors or for long distances. Shaper shoes? Utter ridiculousness. Newtons? Pricey but will indeed help make you faster but only if you don't have any existing biomechanical issues with your gait. Talk about your full-service shop!

After the frenzied circle running, I decided on the shoes that felt the best. And they weren't the Asics. I got a pair of Saucony Ride 3 shoes. The pretty pink/gray/black ones, even. I'd never even tried Sauconys before. The snobby part of me always ignored them as they were cheaper and I figured cheap shoes couldn't be good shoes. But then I took them for a run. No blisters, no hot spots, no shin splints or calf cramps. Nothing but good sweaty running! A hard 9 on the treadmill where I sweated so much my ponytail (little nubbin that it is these days) was dripping water down my back and my shorts were so soaked that it looked like I'd wet myself (perhaps I did! Ever since childbirth I can't be sure my bladder isn't pulling one over on me.) didn't even phase them.

Of course once I got home I immediately looked up my new shoes on my fave discount shoe websites. They were 5$ cheaper online. But you know what? The 5$ was more than worth it to finally have someone help me find the right shoe. Oh, and to discover that my feet really are the same size. (Whatever will I talk about at parties now?!)

What are your favorite running shoes? Have you ever had your gait and feet analyzed by a professional? Cushioned or non-cushioned socks? Have you ever been surprised to discover one of your body parts was not what you thought it was??

*FCC: I was not paid, given free or discounted merchandise or compensated in any way by Runner's Gate nor by Saucony. Sadly. It would have been nice to get free shoes! Saucony - call me when you need a new spokesgirl!

What Do You Think About While You're Exercising?

Bloody rampages can really get the blood pumping - in more ways than one. The hottest new fitness trend coming out of Japan (where else do all slightly demented yet meteoric trends come from these days?) is Samurai Training. The aerobics class, which is open to both genders but is almost exclusively dominated by women - and if that doesn't tell you something about modern Japanese culture then I don't know what does - promises to give you a good sweat while you cut a swath through the bad guys with your katana, the traditional weapon of choice for Japanese Samurai. Including Tom Cruise. I mean, he's even got one in the movie poster and everyone knows movie posters are 100% historically accurate. (We'll discuss later how I learned all my important historical facts from Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure and thereby humiliated myself during a family game of Trivial Pursuit by mispronouncing the famous philosopher as "So-crates.")

A group fit class where you get a sword? Sign me up! Okay, so the sword is plastic but according to devotees of the new sport the emotion is so sharp that even Hello Kitty temporarily sprouts a mouth just so she can snarl while delivering "40 disemboweling thrusts" in rapid succession. Practitioners of the ancient-cum-strip mall sport not only get to disembowel imaginary foes but also get to behead them, stab them through the heart and hack off limbs (presumably the imaginary foes then cry, "Come back, I'll bite your legs off!"). Samurai classes are not for wimps: "The sessions follow Mr Takafuji’s original, punishing take on kenbu — a macabre sword dance that he said was historically performed by samurai around the remains of their recently cleaved opponents."

I want to try this class so bad that I might need to seek comfort in the styrofoam lap of my Japanese legs pillow to calm myself. Anyhow, while I'm waiting for this trend to hop the ocean, it got me thinking about, well, all the things I think about while I'm working out intensely. I don't normally picture "recently cleaved opponents" - although perhaps now I'll try and work that in to my next Turbokick class - but I do have some pretty violent fantasies. Indeed, working out my violent thoughts was one of the initial and very powerful draws of both kickboxing and Karate for me. When Turbo Jennie yells for us to grab someone's head and pull it into our knee, I'm totally picturing it. My favorite is when we do a backhanded punch thingy - I can feel a nose cracking under my knuckles. I used to think this predilection was just me working out my sordid past but after reading this article, apparently I am not alone. Samurai girls don't just kick butt, they slice it off and hand it to you on a platter.

While rolling heads and crushed bones are pretty much the exclusive purview of my martial arts classes, I do have quite the active imaginary life in all my athletic endeavors. When I'm running on a treadmill I'm imagining myself... running outside. Sigh. But when I'm running outside I imagine all kinds of scenarios: that I'm the last person alive running from a village under siege to warn the next village over (this one is particularly awesome for trail runs), that I'm a time traveler running to make my jump back into my own dimension so I can reunite with my lost love, that I'm running to a planet where pee-soaked playlands don't exist and Chuck E. Cheese only exists in nightmares. You know, whatever it takes to get me up that hill. Sometimes I even like to imagine I'm on TV (yes it would be the most boring channel ever but it's my fantasy so get your own cable station) with judges critiquing my form. "Look at that bicep curl! She's so controlled and steady! Can she eke out one more rep? I dunno Bob, I see a bead of sweat... oh there she goes! I was wrong! What a feat! Can you hear the crowd? This is one for the history books!!" Like I said, active imagination.

So what do you think about when you work out? Anyone else fantasize about killing people during kickboxing? Running away from the Nazis during your jog through suburbia? Would you try the Samurai aerobics class with me??

Random Foot Pain While Running [Help a Reader Out]

People run funny. It's true. If you've ever set up camp next to a track and watched the funny mammals go round and round then you'll know that you don't need retinal scanning to uniquely identify someone - you just have to watch their running gait. (Although I hear it's hard to make dead bodies run so perhaps there is still a need for fingerprinting and the like. Or Voodoo.) I remember one woman at our Y known solely by the moniker "Pam Who Runs On Her Toes." And Pam was truly a sight to see, boinging up and down around the track like a gazelle wearing moon boots. Her legend lives on passed down from runner to runner despite the fact that I don't think she's worked out there for 3 years now.

The net result of all this weird running - besides good stories - is weird foot pain. While I myself have experienced shin splints and corns, and the Gym Buddies have had bouts of plantar fascitis, Reader Joshua's (of TechnicalParent) pain was all new:

I've never been a runner. Exercise wasn't something my parents instilled in me as a child. So, I've just started running and am kind of enjoying it. The only problem is that my feet are starting to hurt; not the arches, but the tops of my feet close to my toe joints. Do you know anything about the physiology of running? Am I doing this wrong in some way (obviously)? I guess I mean in terms of hitting the ground too hard, or not using my full foot and putting too much weight on the balls of my feet. Any help/advice would be appreciated, mostly by my feet, but the rest of me, too.

I replied oh-so-helpfully with three suggestions:

Congrats on taking up running! I'm glad you are enjoying it so far! I'm not an expert on foot pain but I do have a few ideas for you to consider:
1. Your shoes. Are they old? Are they actually running shoes (not cross trainers)?
2. Your stride. Have you ever had your stride analyzed? Are you a mid-foot striker? A heel-striker? Heaven help you, a toe runner? Most specialty running stores will analyze your gait for free and give you suggestions to make it more efficient.
3. Stretching. After each run, do "towel pick ups" to strenghten and stretch your toes. Drop a hand towel on the floor and then pick it up using your toes. Repeat... oh I don't know, a bunch of times:) I also like to write the alphabet with each foot to stretch my shins & feet.

Don't continue to run on it though if the pain is getting worse!

I should have just said, "Wow you're a freak! I've never heard of that!" and then shut up because really I have no idea. But I bet one of you knows what he's talking about! Have you ever had weird foot pain while running? Did you run through it or take a rest? What did you do to get past it?

The Cure for Exercise Headaches [Help a Reader Out]

If this is how you hydrate, then I think we found the problem...

Seeing as you all did such a great job with Laura's question last week regarding buying cardio equipment for a home gym, I thought I'd throw a bit tougher question your way this week. (Yeah, yeah, you can take the teacher out of the classroom...) In this week's installment of Help a Reader Out, the feature where you guys help answer questions that I don't know the answer to, Sunny writes:

"Lately, after my runs, I have been getting these massive headaches, even though I drink a ton of water before and after. A colleague suggested I start drinking some Gatorade (G2, w/ less sugar) to replace lost electrolytes, but I am not a fan of drinking those dealios, even the less sugar variety. I have also read they aren't all that great at replacing electrolytes anyway. Any suggestions? I don't want to keep taking Advil after I run and nothing else seems to work. "

First, Sunny, I love that you used the word "dealios." Since reading your e-mail I have resolved that I must find more occasions in my life to work that one in. (Although the only ones that come immediately to mind are naughty. Stop that!)

Second, my completely uneducated guess would be to wonder if you are suffering from hypoglycemia or low blood sugar. You don't say how long your runs are or what your pre- or post- workout nutrition is like but for me - and everything is about me, right? - I get the sugar shakes and a headache pretty easily if a) my workout is intense and goes longer than an hour or b) I didn't eat beforehand.

If you've ruled out both dehydration and hypoglycemia, other common sources of headaches include hormones (seeing as this is the Internet and all, I will refrain from asking where you are in your girly cycle), neck/back strain, and stress.

Lastly, there is such a thing as exercise-induced headaches/migraines. I know about them because Gym Buddy Candice suffers from them and has had to severely curtail her workouts because of them. Unfortunately, that is pretty much all I know about them. But I'm guessing at least some of my readers know lots about headaches and exercise. What do you guys say? Anyone have some tips for Sunny?

Well, they're a vegetarian's nightmare but who knows - they might help with your electrolytes. Or with your mid-run cravings for Peking Duck. PS> Why is "beef stroganoff" blue??

Bodily Functions & Fitness 101: Blood, Tears, Vomit, Saliva & Poop

Pee. Sweat. All kinds of gaseous emissions. We've covered a lot of embarrassing stuff on here the past week. We giggled, we shared our worst moments and I unwittingly earned the privilege of having everyone in Turbokick ask me if I've had any soy that day before they'll stand next to me - every single class (answer: no, I learned my lesson thankyouverymuch). But there are a few odds and ends we haven't talked about yet, bodily functions that while still potentially humiliating in a fitness setting aren't common enough to warrant their own post. So, enjoy one last ride on the gross-out-mobile.

Blood
There are really only two ways to bleed out while working out (okay, there's three if you watch a lot of C.S.I. but you only have to worry about that way if you have a chimera twin, an enemy in the mafia or are Marg Helgenberger's asexually produced spawn.) Basically you've got an accident of some type like a ripped-off fingernail in a basketball game, a scraped knee from stepping into a pothole or a bloody nose from punching yourself in the face during kickboxing class (done all three!) Or you're a menstruating woman. The former is easier to fix, both your skin and your ego, than the latter.

If you've had an accident of some sort, take a time out and bandage yourself up. Don't try to gut through it; none of us want to see your blood on the court, the pavement or the gym floor. Band-aids are cheap, awesome and can even add to your street cred on the weight floor if you buy the cool camo kind. For the love of little green apples, cover your open wounds people.

Aunt Flo accidents are a bit harder to contain. In an ideal world every woman of a certain age would be prepared at all times with appropriate surfing gear to ride the crismson tide. And yet all of us have been caught by unawares by Mother Nature's gift at least once. So, how to best avoid become a walking Rorshach test? I used to carry a tampon in my gym purse all the time until my children decided it was candy. That I wasn't sharing with them. Thereby necessitating them to pull it out and whine loudly that I open it at least 7 times a day. Now - when I'm not gestating, that is - instead of riding the cotton pony, I use a Diva Cup. Seriously girls, this thing is the best invention for athletic women since sliced bread (what bread has to do with menstruating, not even I can come up with). I love it so much that let's just say I'm always walking along the beach in soft focus.

Tears
Have you ever cried at the gym? I totally have. I did last Thursday, in fact. A friend of mine (hey-o Sarah!) lent me a book about dealing with the death of a loved one - it's a long story - and forgot to mention it had kids dying in it. A fact I discovered whilst stretching out my middle splits after a particularly relaxing yoga class. I cried so hard that I had to pull my hoodie up over my face to stop the two teenaged boys also occupying the stretching mats from staring at me. I made quite the picture spread-eagled on my face with my hood up sobbing uncontrollably. Anyhow. My point is, whether you're hurt, embarrassed or just have a soft spot for your favorite weight rack, tears happen.

What to do? If you're asking me, obviously I'm for letting 'em out. The harder I try and stifle my tears the more come out my nose as snot. Other options include excusing yourself to the bathroom, breathing heavily into your sweat towel ('cause of course you're using one, right?), and finding a non-sweaty shoulder to lean on. Like sweat, if you get tears on equipment, wipe it up (preferrably with sanitizing spray). It's not that we don't feel your pain - we just don't want your pinkeye.

Vomit
Having just spent the past few months repeatedly vomiting in public places, I have to tell you that there's really not much you can do about this one except look appropriately horrified when you're finished. On a good day, you make it to the bathroom or at least a garbage can before letting the chunks fly but all the rest of the times it's puke in a pool. That's why they make that crazy-cool-why-can't-I-buy-it-for-home-use vomit absorbing powder.

Saliva
Once during bootcamp, an old man hawked a loogie over the balcony where he was walking on the elevated track. That loogie landed on the floor right next to my left arm while I was holding plank for three minutes. There was splatter. On me. This should go without saying but I'm gonna say it: Don't ever hawk a loogie indoors. Not on an indoor track. Not even into the drinking fountain. It's your spit/boogers, you swallow it. The end.

Poop
Ah, I finally got to poop! And why does it not get it's own post here at GFE when there is obviously so many fitness-related things to say about it? Because tons of people have covered it so much better than I could. Strangely, I have never had problems with "runner's tummy" nor any other incarnation of poop and exercise (I'm as surpised as you are, frankly.) So I give you the experts: You've got pooping while running (warning: picture not for the faint of heart). Pooping while weight lifting. Pooping in a Karate tournament. You've also got the helpful folks who tell you what the color of your poo means, what your poop says about your health, and what exercises to do to help you poo. And, just for fun, an article about Suri Cruise's poop.

I don't know about you all but I certainly learned a lot during this little bodily functions course. Interesting factoid #1: no matter what combination of poo, exercise and fitness I typed into google The Great Fitness Experiment came in the top 5 hits - take THAT search engine optimization! Interesting factoid #2: you all have led some pretty embarrassing lives. One of these days, I'm going to put together a post of all the best comments on these posts because you guys shared some hilarious stories!

So, one last time in case we missed any gold star stories, anyone else had any experiences with blood, tears, vomit or poo while exercising? Did I miss any crucial bodily functions? Anyone else come up with a great euphemism for menstruating that I missed??

Birth Control Makes You Weak, Running Makes You Wrinkly

From the same people who decided to kill off Bert on Sesame Street, comes our depressing research news for the day.

Birth Control Pills Make You Weak
Every girl now knows that strength training is integral to good health. It shores up our bones, helps us live longer, and - of course - helps us look better in a bikini. Gone are the days where thin was good enough to strut your stuff. Now, as every ladymag will helpfully point out (in 6 weeks or less!), you need to be toned. And for once I do actually agree with them. I not only feel healthier and think I look better since I started lifting weights but I also feel more powerful, a much-needed boon to my piddling self esteem.

Unfortunately, according to a new study from Texas A&M University and the University of Pittsburgh, your birth control pill could be undoing all those gains. Researchers took 73 premenopausal healthy women and divided them into two groups. The first group took oral contraceptives while the second did not. (I'm assuming that the groups were self selecting.) Both groups were then put on a 10-week strength training program where all the participants did 3 days a week of the same weight lifting program, supervised by exercise physiologists and controlled for number and intensity of exercises. Particpants were also told to get a minimum of 0.5g of protein per pound of bodyweight a day.

At the end of the ten weeks, the women off the pill built 60% more muscle than women on the pill. 60-freakin'-percent. That's a lot of lean muscle. Researchers theorized the lack of gains was due to increased levels of cortisol (the dreaded muscle canabalizing stress hormone) and decreased levels of testosterone (yes, girls have it too), as evidenced by blood tests.

This brings up an interesting point that I have been wondering about lately. From my experience, pregnancy generally seems to make me a bit weaker when it comes to weights. There are many possible causes for this like fatigue, nausea and stretching ligaments, but deep down it feels as if I'm just inherently weaker when I'm pregnant. And since the pill works by mimicking low levels of pregnancy hormones, I'm guessing that the real deal will work on muscles the same way. (Note to researchers: if you want a pregnant fitness guinea pig - call me!!) During my last pregnancy, I focused on just maintaining my muscle mass until about 8 months and then it seemed like a downhill slide to the finish line. I definitely had to make up for the loss after the baby was born.

This also has interesting implications for the does-birth-control-make-you-gain-weight question. Obviously if a woman is on the pill, now known to increase cortisol and decrease (or at least impede the formation of new) lean muscle mass, then it would absolutely affect her weight.

I would assume these conclusions would hold true for any type of hormonal birth control. So where does that leave a girl who wants to get lean but not pregnant?

Running Makes You Wrinkly
On a slightly more frivolous note, the morning radio show I sometimes listen to (the same one that once based an entire 30-minute segment on whether or not you can tell if someone is obese over the phone) reported that "it's a fact that running makes you wrinkle prematurely." The DJ based her assertion on "research" that has shown that repeated high-impact activities cause gravity to work harder on the body, specifically causing the delicate skin on the face to sag earlier than non-runners.

When someone says research, I say Google! It's like my own version of Marco-Polo but more educational. After much searching of the Great Internet, I discovered many anecdotal reports of premature wrinkling due to running but no actual research. The London Times reports

Claims made recently by one American plastic surgeon that running is the biggest cause of premature wrinkles after smoking and sunbathing are dismissed as absurd by most experts.

“Anyone who loses too much weight, whether they run or not, will look more haggard,” Brewer says “In general, running makes you more youthful because it results in a firmer, better-toned body and improved circulation.”

So it appears that as long as you wear sunscreen and a hat to minimize sun exposure while running outside, you can probably cross this fear off your list. Now you can spend your time worrying about more important things - like birth control!

Any of you have any personal experience with either of these topics? Anyone else hyperventilating over their choice of birth control now?

Should Men and Women Compete in Separate Triathlons?

My favorite memory of my first road race:

Man 1: (To buddy, right after I passed them going uphill) Dude, you just got passed by a girl.

Man 2: Yeah, well. So did you, dude.

Man 1: You think we can catch her?

They did not catch me. A fact that made me glow with pride every time I thought about that race afterward. Now, make no mistake - I'm not that fast of a runner. I usually hit in the top 30% but I have never won a race. I do pass some folks, but more often than not I'm the one getting passed. And yet, I did beat those two men that day. I think I giggled.

Part of the behind-the-scenes work for this blog is that I field a lot (a lot) of queries from PR people schilling everything from fitness books to toaster ovens to pinhole glasses. They want me to promote their product/event/insane website. The nice ones give me stuff to try out and give away to you guys. The courteous ones get my name right. But the majority of press releases I read are anonymous, hastily written, often irrelevant blog-o-mercials. They get deleted very quickly. Normally.

But this afternoon I got one that caught my eye. Despite doing everything wrong - the greeting simply read "hi", it was obvious they had no idea what my blog was about other than generic fitness and the "promotion" was entirely self-serving - they got my attention because they had a novel concept. They were pimping the TREK Women's Triathlon Series, in their words, "the first triathlon created by women, run by women and exclusively for women."

My first reaction was why on earth would you want to do that? I don't run races for men - in fact I don't chat with anyone, regardless of their gender, when I'm racing - and yet I certainly don't mind them being there. I've never had a bad experience with a man in an athletic competition of any sort. In addition to motivating me to go faster, they've given me directions to the biffies, talked down my nerves on the bus ride to the starting line, given me high fives and thumbs up, cheered when I crossed the finish line and offered me mole skin for a blister among other niceities. Of course women have helped me tremendously as well.

In every competition I've been in, it just feels like everyone there is an athlete and their gender is irrelevant. Sure, a man always gets the fastest time but that doesn't make me feel badly about my performance. Lots of women beat me too! Men and women are built differently. Men have narrower hips, longer legs and more lung capacity, all boons when it comes to racing. Besides, the anatomical edge is ameliorated by having seperate finishing categories. My gut reaction: Women already rock traditional triathlons so why would we need a separate race?

But then I was talking to my sister on the phone this afternoon (as I do every afternoon - seriously, the only dark spot in my luminescent life is the fact that my siblings live so far away from me!) and her take was the polar opposite. "I can totally see why women would want a women's-only triathlon," she exclaimed.

"But don't you think it's patronizing? I mean it's a Sprint Tri distance (1/2 mile swim, 12 mile bike ride, 3.1 mile run) and yet instead of calling it a Sprint Tri, they call it a 'women's tri'? As if women could only be expected to do the shortest competition distance?"

"You're being too sensitive," she said in her best mommy voice. (Side note: when did she get old enough to have a mommy voice and when did I get old enough to recognize it?) "Lots of women are intimidated by triathlons. The distance and the lack of men is just supposed to overcome that hurdle - to get women competing who wouldn't otherwise try it. "

"Hmph."

"Besides, it's all girl power. And I'm all about women banding together. I mean, that's the whole appeal of Curves, right?"

So now I'm asking you guys: Is there an advantage to separating the sexes in athletic competitions such as road races and triathlons? Would you be more likely to compete in an event that was only open to people of your gender? What if someone started advertising a Men's Only Tri? Have you ever had a bad experience with someone of the opposite gender in a race? Do you run faster in a mixed-gender setting? Do you feel like I've suddenly sprung a pop quiz on you and now your palms are sweaty and your mind is blank? I have that effect on people...