“Blue Sky” 60 Minute Spin Mix

A new 60 minute spin mix is posted at spinningmixes.wordpress.com.

Run With It!
J.R. Atwood

Bachelor Moment

Every so often, though with decreasing regularity, I have what Lauren affectionately calls “a bachelor moment”… Putting my wool sweater in the dryer; wearing the same shirt three days in a row on a run; eating tuna fish and mac and cheese (organic, though!) more than once a week for dinner. A former girlfriend still cracks-up when retelling the story of how she requested I grab a few things at the store, including some tampons, and I asked if she needed them with wings. (For the bachelors out there who would not understand why a woman finds this so funny, it’s because pads have wings, not tampons. Who knew?) Bachelor moments indeed.

But this morning my bachelor moment yielded a mini-Eureka moment. I was low on milk and soymilk, though I was craving some cereal I had bought earlier in the week: organic pomegranate granola with cherries. I had run out of yogurt, too, and scanned the fridge to see what I could use to create a breakfast meal. (One time I made a large “salad” out of condiments at a sausage restaurant in Santa Cruz: relish, pickles, mustard, sauerkraut, and diced onions. Mmm!)

I came across some organic chunky cinnamon apple sauce. Hmm. This could work.

I mixed my granola in a large bowl with a few heaping spoonfuls of applesauce and had a taste. It was great! I should do this more often, I thought: occasionally swap soymilk and yogurt for applesauce with my granola. I finished-off my cereal with three organic kiwis, a few cubes of organic cheddar cheese, and a large handful of edamame beans. Yum!

I shared my “discovery” with Lauren over AIM while at work and offered to put the same breakfast together for us tomorrow morning. She said if I do, then I might really be a bachelor. I guess it’s back to soymilk and granola.

J.R. Atwood

Getting Better

I came across a fantastic resource when researching potential causes, diagnosis, and prescriptions for my shin pain. An article titled “How to avoid tibialis-posterior tendinitis and iliotibial band syndrome,” at SportsInjuryBulletin.com, explained in an easily digestible manner the physical science of my injury. More important than the article’s ability to describe and explain my pain, it offered a seven-step “Tibialis-Posterior-Tendon and ITB Fortifying Programme”… Basically, a number of exercises to strengthen my ankles, shins, calves, knees, and hip flexors.

It is tedious and somewhat boring doing 45-minutes worth of simple exercises inside a gym, but I have noticed a decrease of pain and increase of strength in my injured legs. I am confident that if I incorporate this seven-step exercise routine into my regular training program, I will avoid this type of injury in the future.

(Hoping to) Run With It! (soon),
J.R. Atwood

EnviroSports Muir Woods 25K Trail Race

The rational part of my brain, along with my orthopedic surgeon, my parents, coworkers, and Lauren, told me not to run this morning. The emotional side, however, replaying the scene of Steve Prefontaine setting an NCAA three-mile record on a bloodied foot sewn together with 10 stitches, lured me into lacing up at sunrise.

A glance out the window at 6:15 AM confirmed the forecast of weathermen on the radio the night before: this would be a gray and rainy Saturday in San Francisco. If I had been healthy and able enough to pursue my normal training regimen over the last three weeks, I probably would have hit the snooze and cuddled-up with Lauren under the covers, content to take day off until better conditions arose.

But I have been sidelined for the last three weeks and I was restless. Channeling the spirits of US Postal Service employees throughout the country—“Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds,”—I did some quick morning stretches and kissed Lauren on the forehead goodbye. “Be careful,” she offered in a warning tone as I jogged downstairs to gather my gear.

I made a quick pre-race snack—organic crunchy peanut butter and dark amber honey on a couple of slices of organic flaxseed bread, an apple, and half a Balance bar leftover from the grab bag of goodies from a previous race—and drove over the Golden Gate Bridge. The roads were quiet this early gray morning and the bridge looked like it was sitting on a pillow of cotton—a cloud of fog had settled onto the bay such that a none-the-wiser tourist would not know water separates San Francisco from Marin.

I turned off Highway 101 and followed Highway 1 west along a windy road in near whiteout conditions. I could barely make out the headlights in my rearview mirror of what had to be, at this time and on this road, another racer winding their car around the hills and towards the ocean.

Pulling into the parking lot at Stinson Beach, I easily found a spot to settle my car among the small collection of dedicated athletes. Many of the parked cars still had their engines humming, heat cranked, wipers working overtime. Runners and a few supportive family members huddled inside, half grabbing a few extra minutes of sleep; the other half were singing along to the bombastic lyrics of Eminem or gently headbanging to the blasting music AC/DC for motivation.

In the corner of the lot crouched half-a-dozen staff and volunteers under three small pop-up tents with a sign advertising the EnviroSports Muir Woods Marathon, 25K & 7 Mile Trail Run.

At around a quarter-till-nine the scene started to awaken. Umbrellas popped up, lines grew at the bathroom, and Dave, founder of EnviroSports, climbed atop a picnic table to offer a hearty “Have fun out there!” There was maybe 75 to 100 of us, no more, singing along to “America the Beautiful” as the kick-off to the race.

The marathoners marshaled themselves to the sand for the beach start. I was struck by, and soon infected with, the low-key attitude of the event. No giant “start” sign above a sponsor logo. No dance team leading group calisthenics. No microphone. No starter’s gun. Just a quick countdown and “Go!” Some male runners had longer hair than the women, and certainly more on their face than on their legs. (Even dudes with 72-hour shadows like to show off their chiseled legs.) A few people donned plastic garbage bags to stay dry. No one was wearing any fancy uniform or matching apparel. As they funneled out of the beach, high fives were offered to spectators lining the start.

Ten minutes later, with the rain slowed to a slight drizzle, those of us running the 25K course counted down from 10 and easily jostled for positioning out of the sand and across the asphalt. We wouldn’t pound pavement for another 15.5 miles.

Immediately I found myself smiling, feeling loose in the arms and light on my feet. This was a lot of fun! I enjoy doing local 5 and 10K runs because so many families participate, and there is an undeniable “awesome” factor at “elite” multisport and endurance events. But out here, on the trails, in the open… There is no opportunity to have an ego. All pre-race buzz and anxiety, all during-race jockeying, all post-race hoopla… It’s dwarfed or muted by the awesomeness of the experience of trail running. One cannot help but be swallowed by the beauty of nature.

For three miles, up we went. And then up. And then up. It was a brutal climb along the Dipsea Trail and aptly named Steep Ravine that provided no relief to the quads or lungs. There was a sense of mission, however, among the three or four of us that fell into line with each other, as we shuffled from sea-level and climbed 1500 vertical feet to Pan Toll Ranger Station.

From here we turned right onto Old Mine Road for five miles of pure exhilaration: just as we went up, it was time to go down. Or in my case, bomb down!

I let it loose with a mix of gliding, leaping and striding over stumps, rocks, puddles, streams, gravel, mud patches, and upended trees. I swung into the “outside lanes” as I crisscrossed down switchbacks. On the narrow single-track I’d yell, “On your left” and get a high-five or “Go get ‘em, dude” from a few of the marathoners I managed to pick-off.

It was like doing backwoods steeplechase! At a few spots, I was brought to a complete stop by a fallen tree trunk. I maneuvered myself, limbo style, under them before picking up speed again, the whole time my eyes quickly darting from side to side and scanning the ground in front of me for the best “line” to run.

On this descent I was in a zone, unable to let my mind wander onto the things I usually contemplate while plodding along on a training run, or even in a race. It took intense concentration to stay upright and find sure footing—and even then it wasn’t guaranteed. I slipped a few times and had to deeply dig my heels into the thick mud to prevent overrunning the trail and into brush or off a switchback. I saw a number of people roll ankles and touch the ground with their hands to break falls.

We were now deep into Muir Woods with streams of sunlight filtering through the thick redwoods and misty air. The fauna was so green and lush that it felt prehistoric—I half expected to see a stegosaurus eating the wildflower deep in the forest floor.

When the downhill slope began to level off, I knew the fun was over. In eight miles I had slogged up, then sprinted down, a giant hillside. Now I had to get out by climbing up again.

I made a pitstop in the bathrooms at Camp Alice and took a few minutes to stretch my legs and swallow some gel. I looked at my Garmin Forerunner—I had dipped into a pace of 4:30/mile at certain stretches of the downhill.

At this time the group of three that I had run with for the first three miles were approaching. We said hi, slowed to read the signs about which trail to ascend, and then settled into a familiar pace.

With my adrenaline drained, this three-mile climb, up the Sierra and Bootjack trails, was not as much fun as the opening three-mile-long hill. Again, though, I was inspired by the world in which I found myself: a dense forest of two-hundred-year-old trees, grassland and brush spotted with vivid wildflowers, under a gray but magnificent heaven-like sky. The soundtrack to this scene was running creek water, mating birds, and a distant crashing ocean.

As gorgeous as everything was, my legs were getting heavier. I slowed to a shuffle until I saw the aid station at the 11-mile mark. I jogged/staggered to it and indulged in some much needed fuel: peanut butter pretzels, a handful of trail mix, half a Clif Bar, some Cheez-Its, all washed down with some Gatorade. I took a few minutes to chat with the volunteers and take-in the view. (And to catch my breath.) I cheered on a few runners who passed through without a pause for fuel and then joined them on the march along the Matt Davis Trail.

The singletrack trail snaked through an open field of knee-high grass. The clouds were parting, the rain diminished to a thin mist, and the ocean beckoned on the horizon. After a mile or two of gently rolling hills, the trail turned into a slippery and ankle-wide series of steep switchbacks. I pushed my luck—and pounded my legs—during miles three through eight and decided to slow-up a bit here. I picked-off a dozen people doing the seven mile run and a few, doing the 25K, who had run past me at the aid station. But I also stepped aside twice to let a runner pass. I was content not to give chase, in part because I knew that the event was coming to a close. I wanted to take-in as much of the scenery from these beautiful vistas as possible.

It was a tricky exercise navigating down this windy, slippery, narrow, steep hillside—only in a few areas did I feel I could get into an all-out “run.” And almost all too soon, I found myself back at sea level. I crossed the quiet street that bisects Stinson Beach, the community, and rounded a corner to enter the parking lot from which I had exited 150+ minutes earlier. A couple dozen people—volunteers, EnviroSports staff and stronger runners—clapped me in. I mingled with some folks and munched on the home-baked banana nut bread Dave, EnviroSports founder, makes for all of his events.

I found myself hobbling a bit to my car, favoring my left leg. My right shin, ankle and foot were sore, but not throbbing. I took this as good news. Later in the day I checked the results: even with two breaks totalling near seven minutes, I took 16th overall and third in my age group.

We’ll see how my shin feels tomorrow, but no matter the pain, it was worth it. I had a good race, but even better was the experience of being out in nature, exploring the trails of three state or national parks. This was my first EnviroSports event, but certainly not my last.

Run With It!
J.R. Atwood

Man vs. Cheetah

Filed under “That’ll make you run fast…“, read the story of rugby star Bryan Habana being chased by a hungry cheetah. Having a 30-yard head-start, Habana challenged the giant cat to a 100-meter dash. The cheetah, chasing after an eight-pound leg-of-lamb attached to a teddy bear that was dragged along the outside lane to keep the cat from going after Habana, can go from 0 to 60 MPH in three seconds.

Amazingly, the race was a draw. Tempting fate again, Habana challenged Cetane, the 2 1/2 year-old cat, to a rematch. The second running wasn’t as close–Cetane won by a length… The length of a hungry and sprinting cheetah. Wild.

Notes: You can watch the amazing video of Habana racing Cetane by clicking on the video link in the CNN article. The event was sponsored by De Wildt Cheetah and Wildlife Trust, “a conservation group involved in cheetah awareness programs in South Africa for 35 years.”

Run With It!
J.R. Atwood

Best Sport Movies of All-Time

“Bad News Bears” is a better movie than the Academy Award-winning “Million Dollar Baby.” At least according to movie critics. Check out Rotten Tomatoes’ countdown of the Top 53 Sports Movies. Where do such other classics as “Caddyshack”, “Bull Durham”, “Rocky”, “Hoosiers”, “Lagaan” (?!), and my personal favorite, “Breaking Away” land on the list? After clicking through the countdown, no doubt you’ll want to add “Pumping Iron” and “Offside” to your Netflix queue.

Day of Doctors: The Good, The "Take This and Call Me in the Morning", and The Smelly

Yesterday afternoon I had the unique opportunity to see an orthopedic surgeon, a chiropractor, and a massage therapist… back to back to back. (This sounds like the start to a bad joke.)

I was in search of treatment for my shin pain. As I mentioned last week, I have been experiencing an acute pain in my right shin since late March. My primary care physician took an X-ray, which came back negative. He offered little advice or help except to write me a referral to see a specialist.

Yesterday was the earliest I could see the orthopedic surgeon. His office was housed in the sixth floor of the main building on a hospital campus. He was an ideal doctor–professional in presentation, with a warm demeanor, interested when he took my history, confident in his questioning and diagnosis. I told him I mainly wanted to know one thing: Could I run through the pain, or will increased activity further agitate it to a worse state? He himself is an avid runner and I found it comforting, in a way, to have someone understand my athletic drive.

He didn’t look too long at my leg or shin, nor did he feel around my sore areas for more than a minute–most of his analysis was based on my oral storytelling of events leading up to my shin pain. He said he didn’t think I had a stress fracture, though arranged for me to have a bone scan later in the week to definitively rule this out. He also didn’t think I had shin splints. Rather, he said I was probably experiencing overuse stimulation. Then he went into “doctor speak”… Throwing in a bunch of polysyllabic and Latin words, sandwiched between a sports analogy, he said overuse stimulation is, basically, what happens when a specific part of the body experiences great stress as the result of overuse. (I took notes.)

The way to get better, he said, is to actually increase the frequency with which I work out, but to severely decrease the intensity. He was skeptical I’d be ready for the Big Sur Marathon at the end of the month, or even the 25K trail race I registered for this Saturday. “This might take at least six weeks of recovery. Rather than running hard four days a week, you need to take long walks of 30-60 minutes five to six times a week; at the end of these walks, slowly build up from a few hundred yards of light jogging to 15 minutes of easy running. When you can do this pain-free for a week or two, then you can get back into your regular running routine. Oh, and take plenty of Advil.” With that, we exchanged some pleasantries and said we’d speak on Friday to go over the results of the bone scan.

From there I went immediately to a chiropractor. I have never been to a chiropractor and have always been a bit dubious of the practice. Lauren, however, has been seeing a chiropractor for the past few months and returns home relieved of her back pain–if even only for a day or so–whenever she has an adjustment. I am fortunate to work at an organization with great benefits, which includes insurance for chiropractic care. Knowing I’d only have a $10 copay, and having tweaked my neck a couple of days earlier, I arranged for an appointment.

Lauren’s doctor is not covered by my insurance, so I first screened the list of available practitioners to see who had an office near my home. Then I went to their websites and read-up on their philosophy and experience. I picked a guy who had two offices in city–a booming business is a good sign, no?–and who has been practicing for over 20 years. I was also impressed by his slick website and liked his picture under his name on the homepage. He looked young, confident, and athletic, perhaps another doctor who was a fitness nut like I.

When I entered the office, however, I was greeted by a guy who looked like Richard Dreyfus’ slightly diminutive but identical twin. I don’t have anything against Richard Dreyfus–he was great in “Mr. Holland’s Opus.” But I was expecting a young, fit, tanned and toned doctor. “You’re Dr. Portsee? [Not his real name.] Oh. Okay.” Maybe the picture on his website, the one under his name, was a picture from 20 years ago? And fifty pound ago? And a foot taller ago?

I told myself not to get caught up in the superficial. Walking to his office, however, I began an internal dialogue about my own preferences, biases, and stereotypes. I chose this chiropractor, in part, because of the way he looked on his website–like me, but with a lot of medical training.

In the flesh, however… This wasn’t even the same person! What kind of purported doctor deceives would-be clients so blatantly? Is this a sign of Dr. Portsee’s character? Or just good marketing?

And what does it say about me? The fact that I am uncomfortable by this somewhat disheveled, kind of mumbling, quick shuffling doctor?! If I hadn’t seen his picture, I wouldn’t now be uncomfortable. But I did see his picture! And this isn’t him! It’s like George Costanza carrying around a cutout of a model from a fashion magazine claiming it’s his ex-girlfriend. Kind of pathetic, isn’t it? Or am I the jerk? Am I right or wrong for feeling misled by Dr. Portsee?

By the way, I call him Dr. Portsee because “portsee” was what my brother and I used to call… um, farts, when we were little lids. And this doctor’s office smelled like someone had been doing lots of portseeing.

I told Dr. Portsee I didn’t have any specific back pain that brought me to him. Rather, I was curious, if not a bit skeptical, about chiropractic medicine. How can chiropractic care help me?

He gave me an exam/consultation, not stopping to change the radio frequency or turn the volume down on a station that was playing a mix of “Sexyback” and “My Humps.” I heard him humming/singing along to the chorus and detected an increase in the portsee-potency in the room. At least he was comfortable.

He said I have a slight case of scoliosis, which I knew, but that my neck and spine were in pretty good shape. I asked him if he would be able to help me with my shin pain at all. He quickly ran his leg down my right knee to shin, over my jeans, and said my right tibula was twisted inwards. He pulled out something that looked like a cross between a pistol and a staple gun. Dr. Portsee said it is a tool used for adjustments–part of the “activator method.” He gave me a “shot” on my right tibula. It felt like Dr. Portsee flicked me with his finger.

He asked if I was comfortable getting a neck adjustment. Just a few minutes earlier, I engaged him in conversation about how he came to be a chiropractor. Dr. Portsee over-shared… He said he was a mediocre, if not failing, twenty-something living at home when he was “recruited” to the field by the friend of a friend. Somehow it came up that a couple of insurance companies thought he was over-billing; he was in the middle if an audit. These are not things that inspire confidence in a new patient, especially considering the fact that I was still upset about Dr. Portsee using someone else’s glamour shot to drum-up business!

I told him I was okay for now, thanked him for his time, said I will call him if I decide I want an adjustment, and complimented him on his website. It’s what brought me in.

Out in the fresh air, I came to two conclusions about chiropractic medicine. One, I agree with the concept that gave birth to its practice: bones get out of sync and our backs and necks probably need to be realigned or adjusted sometimes. Two, not every chiropractor should adjust peoples’ backs or spines. As in every other field, there are the good, the bad, and the smelly. Dr. Portsee wasn’t quite a quack, but he wasn’t for me.

I strolled to my last appointment of the day, my shin still sore. It was with JF, a massage therapsit. The Quad Queen recommended I call JF for an appointment. “She the best in the business.” I didn’t know how a masseuse could help me with my leg pain.

“I don’t know, Queen. I’ve been to two different massage therapists before and all they did was rub my back. It was relaxing, but certainly not effective in healing my body.”

“Just call her,” the Quad Queen said. She got the nickname after setting an age-group world record in the Ironman triathlon and the Quad Dipsea, a legendary local trail race. The Queen knows her stuff, so I called JF.

For sixty minutes, JF worked the muscles and cartilage in my right leg. She explained the complementary and supplementary relationships between various muscle groups and, like an expert acupuncturist, found specific “hot spots” in my leg that caused my shin pain to increase or decrease. Most interestingly, she dug deep into my heel and right foot. My pain, quite literally, went away.

“Wild!” is all I could say. Who would have thought that my shin pain was connected to the muscles in my right foot…? A spot where I had no pain?!

My experience with JF was almost magical, especially in contrast to the styles, techniques, and results from my orthopedic surgeon and chiropractor. As a retired competitive runner, JF understands the psychology of an athlete. As a massage therapist, she knows the anatomy of the human body. As a great communicator, she explained, in laymen terms, how my shin pain could be related to other parts of my body, especially the tightness in my calves, cramps in my quads and hamstrings, and the ball and heel of my foot.

I felt pain-free for the first time in three weeks. I wanted to run a marathon right then and there. (She told me not to.) I thanked her profusely and promised I’d return if I am to ever get injured again.

Walking back to where I parked my bike, I passed the office for my orthopedic surgeon. He was a nice guy, but typical of most doctors I’ve seen: quick to suggest medicine for pain management and quick to suggest a series of tests in hopes of ruling out worst case scenarios. Rarely have I had a doctor who says, “This is what your problem is…” And rarer still is the physician who provides a proactive, holistic approach to well-being.

Next I passed Dr. Portsee’s office. Chiropractic care, similar to my experience with yoga and new-age “mind-body” exercises and practices, offers an alternative, but a similarly unbalanced alternative, to traditional medicine and doctor care. Daily meditation, a positive mental attitude, an adjusted back, and a wheat-germ pomegranate smoothie, while good for the body, are not things that fix my body when it is broken.

JF, however, took time to actually feel what’s wrong in my body. She physically worked on the problem areas of my leg. And the results were amazing.

I am not suggesting that traditional and alternative medicine should have no role in the care of one’s body. They do. I am glad I am getting a bone scan tomorrow to rule out a worst case scenario. And JF said that massage therapy is enhanced when coupled with treatments from neurochiropractors who understand the relationship between muscle therapy and bone adjustment.

Simply, the body is a complex machine. And there are many ways to tweak, tune, and fix it. For me, massage therapy worked when nothing else did.

I’m looking forward to running (finally!) again on Saturday. It’s time to run hard and get dirty!

Before I go, I’ve got a joke for you. Have you heard the one about the surgeon, the chiropractor, and the therapist…?

(Getting better so I can) Run With It!
J.R. Atwood

“Wild Style” 60 Minute Spin Mix

A new 60 minute spin mix is posted at spinningmixes.wordpress.com.

Run With It!
J.R. Atwood

Is God Real?

Jon Meacham of Newsweek facilitated an incredibly interesting dialogoue between two of today’s most influential, though fervently opposed, spokesmen about religious issues: Sam Harris, atheist advocate and author of two best-selling books, The End of Faith and Letter to a Christian Nation, and Rick Warren, the better-selling author–The Purpose Driven Life has sold over 25 million copies–and founder of Saddleback Church, which regularly draws 25,000 members every week. The topic of their provocative and thoughtful four-hour-long debate: Is God Real?

Wandering and wondering,
J.R. Atwood

Going Deep After Going Too Hard

Two Saturdays ago I ran 11 miles of the Run Like the Wind 1/2 Marathon. The next day, I ran the race. I was training through that particular race… (No coach would advise their athlete to run hard for 65 minutes 12 hours before an 85 minute competition.) After both of those runs, my right shin was extremely sore. It felt like a large bruise on the bone, but there was no discoloration. I found myself limping, sometimes severely, for the next few days and was favoring my left leg. Besides some spinning and stretching, I took things easy for the next three days.

On Thursday I felt good and fresh, my legs anxious to run and my shin pain diminished. I did a six mile steeplechase throughout the city, bounding over grates in the bike lane, jumping on the giant cement blocks that line the Embarcadero waterfront, swerving in and out of the parking barriers that divide walkers and bikers along Crissy Field, springing up some of the famed hills of the city, hurdling over park benches. But at work, I found myself limping.

Since I ran to work, I had to run home and took things slow. I figured I needed to stretch my legs, hoping that increased blood flow would help alleviate the now throbbing pain in my right shin. I attended a Bikram yoga class–a terrible idea. I couldn’t move my ankle, point my toe, or flex my calf without shooting pains in my shin. I tried massaging my calf and shin and ankle and foot, but this too caused acute pain. For 90 minutes I showered in my own sweat, contorting myself into numerous pretzel shapes and wincing in pain in a 100+ degree room.

After class I called Lauren to pick me up. I couldn’t even stand on my right foot; walking brought tears to my eyes. I gritted my teeth and swallowed yelps of pain as I hobbled to her car on the other side of the street.

The next day I taught spin… I didn’t think a low-impact exercise would aggravate my leg, but I was so severely favoring my left leg that my right foot unclipped from my pedals four times.

I took the weekend off from any athletic activity, which was extremely difficult. I’ve almost become addicted to running now.

Yesterday I tried some more low-impact cardio: 45 hard minutes on the elliptical trainer and eight sets of 500 meters on the rowing machine with 60 second rests between intervals. (Here, I continued to favor my left leg.)

I felt good this morning and taught spin fairly pain free. I went to my doctor in the afternoon who sent me to get an X-ray. He’ll refer me to an orthopedic surgeon tomorrow and I hope this specialist can give me some further insight as to if I have shin splints, a stress fracture, inflamed tissue, or none of the above.

While I have been forced to adjust my training the last two weeks, I am still determined to maintain my fitness level. After seeing my doctor I decided to check-out a water running class at the Presidio YMCA.

It took a couple minutes to get used to water versus land-based running, but our instructor put the 14 of us–half on the older side, half on the younger, all with various lower-body injuries–through an intense workout that had me gasping for breath a number of points.

It was a great cross-training activity, and even after I get completely better, I plan to incorporate at least one day a week of water running into my regular routine. I was able to stretch deeper and stride longer than I otherwise would on land, and to do so without the stress and tension on my joints and knees from pounding the pavement.

I had really been bummin’ these last few days about not being able to run, but I am in a great mood this evening after having discovered water running. It’s the next best thing to the real thing. And hopefully tomorrow I’ll have an update on the status of my shin, or at least a specialist to see.

For the next few weeks, I figure I’ll be forced to do low-impact cardio and cross-training between ice and Advil sessions. (I hate taking any kind of medication or pills, but at the advice of a friend who qualified for Kona this past weekend at the Ford 70.3 Ironman in Carlsbad–she knows what she’s talking about!–, I bought some ibuprofen to contain the swelling in my shin.)

And until I see you on the trails again, look for me in the deep end!

Run With It!
J.R. Atwood