Summer runnin'

My usual running attire in the summer consists of 3/4 length running tights and a t-shirt that is long enough to cover my bum.  Sometimes I wear a jacket as well.  This is Scotland, after all, and summer runs tend to be not so different from winter runs.

But its been so hot lately that I've had to give in and break out the running shorts.  They're not as short as the shorts worn by those women Olympic runners - those weren't shorts; in fact, they were smaller than most of my pants - but they are short enough to expose bits of my legs that haven't seen the light of day in years.  And I've had to resort to just a vest top, not only to try to keep cool but to try to undo the farmer's tan that I was developing.

I feel incredibly self-conscious in them and try to do my runs at a time of day when there's minimal risk of anyone seeing me, but on those occasions when a car has driven past or someone on a bicycle has overtaken me or I've wibble-wobbled my way past someone out for a walk, I've been heartened that no one has laughed, snickered, pointed, crashed, or tried to video me for posting on YouTube.  Or if they did, at least they were subtle about it.

Anyway, body anxiety aside, the running is going well.  I had kept my long run at 5 miles for a couple of weeks but today I increased it to 6 miles.  My long slow run pace is now a comfortable 11:00 to 11:30 minute mile, and the pace of my other runs is coming along nicely.  I even managed to run a 9:30 minute mile last week, which pleased me immensely.

I wouldn't be me if I didn't have some niggle or another, and this week's entry is an achey bit half-way between my left ankle and calf on the outside of my leg. It comes and goes during the run and doesn't make me change my gait, so I figure it's nothing to worry about.  Plus, when I get my Chi Running form right, the ache goes away.

It did cross my mind to try wearing my compression socks when I'm running, but shorts, a vest, and lime green knee-high socks really might bring some unwanted attention (and not in a good way).  Plus, think of the tan lines.  Oh, the horror!

A yowl from the Great Beyond

It has been eight days since Tess died, and I have missed her every minute of each of those days.  I talk to her constantly, sometimes out loud but mostly inside my head, and see her shadow everywhere.  Because something is better than nothing, I've been looking forward to her kitty spirit making an appearance.  This is perhaps not so odd as you might think because I have form in this area. 

About a week after the late and still much loved Suggs departed for the next world, I was comforted several times by the feeling of him flopping his full weight into the bend behind my knees when I was in bed (this was his favourite place to sleep and, believe me, there was no mistaking this for anything but the sensation of a large and very substantial cat snuggling in).  In the first six months after his death, I clearly would hear the sound of cat biscuits being crunched in the kitchen at regular intervals.  When Tess came to live with me, there still would be the occasional crunching sounds even when she was nowhere near the cat bowl. (Tess didn't seem to mind that Suggs occasionally popped in for a visit; in fact, one of her favourite places for a while was in the back of the garden by his grave.) 

So, I have had every expectation that Tess too will make her presence known.  And today, she did; however, being the contrary cat that she was, it didn't take the form that I was expecting...Mornings are hardest, and I've taken to getting up a bit earlier than usual so that I can have a good cry before I need to get on with the day.  This morning at about 7.30, I was sitting on the sofa missing Tess and talking to her about how sad I was without her, just sort of rambling, really. I was well into the flowing tears/blowing of the nose phase of the conversation when I heard a buzzing sound from across the room.

I had no idea what this was - I thought it might have been a fly that got itself stuck in the spider's web on the window - but then realised that this was the sound of my mobile phone turning itself on.  I've had this phone for over two years and it has never ever done this before....I had an immediate sense of peace and a strong sense of Tess's presence, although I did feel a bit silly as I checked the phone just in case she had maybe managed to send a text....And then, later on after my shower when I was looking in the mirror to comb my hair, I noticed a splotch on my cheek that looked suspiciously like a cat's paw print.  I moved the mirror into the brighter light by the window and damned if there wasn't the shape of a clear paw print on my left cheek.  My girl had come back to say hello.

I kind of thought that, when the time came, she'd announce herself by a yowl or two, especially at 4am.  Or maybe by the sound of slurping water as she had yet another interminable drink.  What I wasn't expecting was for her to use technology.  If I had known she liked that sort of thing, I'd have let her have a go on the iPad.

 But then again, she was her mummy's cat; and if I'm Gadget Girl, why would I be so surprised that my cat reached out to me through one of my favourite gadgets?  Such a clever cat!  There'll never be another one like her.

An epic post for an epic cat

Tess, that most beautiful and loved of cats, died suddenly early in the morning on Monday, 30 July.  We knew that the renal and kidney disease would take their eventual toll, but had hoped that it would still be some months before the end came.   And, during what we now know was the last week of her life, she carried on as normal (albeit in a slightly reduced capacity):  she hunted voles, she slept, she ate roast chicken, she watched the birds, she went on little walks, and she slept some more.  And then, I think, she just decided that it was time.  Her death came quickly - probably within 10 minutes – and I am convinced that she waited for me and Bassman to come downstairs before she said good-bye.

So, this is me, saying good-bye to my girl.  Because before she was our cat, before she found stardom in Bassman’s blog, she was just my cat.  And this is how it all started.

Suggs.  Gone, but still loved.

You had me at the first yowl:  Prior to Tess and Bassman, I shared the Rural Retreat with someone else and his two cats.  When that relationship came to an end in 2004, I got custody of the Retreat and the cats.  Unfortunately, within six months of each other, both of the cats had to be put to sleep.  I was devastated but knew that, someday, I’d have other cats to love; to me, having future cats is a way of honouring the love that I feel for all of my previous cats.

Anyway, by the time of my birthday in October 2005, I felt ready to open my heart to new cats.  I was clear that I wanted two, and headed off to the SSPCA to have a look.  The staff person directed me to a pen that held a young mother and one of her kittens, who were being rehomed together.  The mum was a lovely white and black cat, very friendly and docile, and the kitten was as adorable as only kittens can be.  I didn’t feel an immediate burst of love for them but I figured that would come with time, and tentatively committed to taking them home with me the next day.

On my way out of the cat section, my attention was caught by a skinny, shouting tabby cat.  She was very pretty, and I’ve always had a soft spot for tabby cats, but she was just one cat and I wanted two.  Still, I asked the staff person about this wee cat with the loud, rasping voice who was definitely making her presence known.  The tabby had been with the SSPCA for almost six months; no one wanted her once they heard that she had been left at the SSPCA because she had been aggressive in her previous home.  The staff person also said – because ‘we’re ethically bound to point this out’ – that the tabby also had been aggressive to staff and they all had the scratch marks to prove it.  They were thinking about sending her out of area in a week or so to see if a different branch would have better luck at rehoming her.

I shouldn’t have – because I really wanted two cats – but I asked if I could have a closer look at her.  When I walked into the pen, the tabby walked up to me with her tail in the air; I held out my hand for her to smell, and she bumped her cheek against my fingers.  I bent to pick her up, which caused the staff person to quickly say, ‘She doesn’t like that…’  But too late.  I already had an armful of purring, snuggling cat.  ‘Huh,’ said the staff person, ‘never seen her do that before.’  But I really wanted two cats so I reluctantly put the tabby back down and left, with her shouts ringing in my ears.

That night, I couldn’t get the tabby out of my head and, when I woke up the next morning, I had made a decision.  I went back to the SSPCA first thing and, an hour later, left with a shouting, yowling tabby cat who was whizzing around like a Tasmanian Devil in the cat basket - and the staff person was left with several gashes in her hand as a result of micro-chipping the tabby and then trying to get her into the carrier.  (Important note:  There had been serious interest in the mum cat and kitten after I had left the previous day, so they would be going home with someone too.)

The tabby cat, as you will have figured out, was the cat who became Tess.  (She came without a name.  I chose Tess after ‘tessera,’ which is an individual tile used in creating a mosaic.  She was a small piece that had an important place in a bigger whole.)   Although this was the first time that she got her own way with me, it certainly wasn’t to be the last.

Learning to live together:  

A brave cat, at the end of the first week

As soon as I let Tess out of the carrier at home, she hid under the dining table and didn’t come out during the day for three days.  I sat on the floor for those three days where she could see me but didn’t make eye contact with her; I talked to her constantly.  On the third day, she finally crept out to take a treat from my hand but retreated back under the table at any sudden movements or sounds.

It was different at night.  As soon as the lights went out, Tess began to yowl.  And yowl.  And yowl.  She truly did not stop for the entire night.  I understand about not reinforcing negative behaviour and resolved to ignore the yowling until it stopped but, by the third night of no sleep, I couldn’t take it any longer.  I moved myself downstairs and slept on the sofa with the light on.  Tess didn’t come near me, but at least the yowling stopped.  This was the second time that she got her own way with me, and me sleeping on the sofa to keep her company when she was upset or lonely or bored became a pattern.  But I didn’t mind.

As I got to know Tess, I realised that she was not an aggressive cat.  She was a traumatised and neglected cat.  Any sudden movements, especially towards her head, either made her run away or strike out with her claws.  When she finally, after several weeks, let me begin to stroke her, it became clear that her hindquarters were particularly sensitive; stroking her too close to them would also result in a flash of claws.  Some cats, just like some people, don’t like being touched in certain ways.  When her limits were respected, though, she was the gentlest of cats.   And, even when Bassman or I got it wrong, she always gave plenty of warning.  If we were too foolish to ignore that – well, that was our problem, not Tess’s.

Learning to play

Tess didn’t know how to play; I spent a great deal of time encouraging her to chase a piece of string, chase balls, chase toys etc.  She eventually got the hang of the string and her ‘mouse on a string’ became her favourite toy, but balls sent her running away in a panic.  She didn’t seek out affection; it was almost a year and a half before she invited herself onto my lap but, even then, she crouched rather than snuggled.  She kept herself alert for danger, ready to flee at a moment’s notice.

But none of this mattered.  I loved the cat that she was, loved her feisty nature and ‘fuck you, world’ attitude, loved the small signs that she was coming to trust me, and had no desire or need to make her into a different cat….I don’t know her history before she came to me.  All the SSPCA knew was that she had been dropped off in a box after hours, with a note saying that she bit and scratched.  Over the years, the vet made some educated guesses as to what Tess's early life might have been like.  The crumbly nature of Tess’s teeth, which resulted in multiple dental surgeries and most of her teeth needing to be removed, was likely the result of poor nutrition as a kitten.  Her intolerance of sudden movements towards her head was likely the result of having received a blow of some kind - whether from a person or an object, we'll never know - to her face as she had always been missing all of the smaller teeth in the front of her mouth.  And her exaggerated startle response to loud sounds and quick movements certainly was not indicative of a cat who had been loved and cared for.

Life before Bassman:  Tess and I were on our own for almost two years before Bassman joined us.  She became a very talkative, expressive cat who liked to have a good conversation (mostly about food, it must be said.  She was a cat, after all, not a member of a debating team.).  I could tell by her tone of voice whether she was hungry, whether she was bored and wanted her mouse on a string, whether she had caught a vole and wanted me to come and watch her eat it, and whether she was panicked because it was night and it was dark and she didn’t know where I was (usually in bed, trying to sleep). 

Ready for some bathroom love

She became affectionate but on her own terms and in her own way.   She much preferred to wind herself around and bump her head against my ankles when I was sitting on the loo (apologies if that is too much information) and to shout from the bedroom until I went upstairs and lay down on the bed with her than to snuggle on my lap on the sofa.  She occasionally permitted me to pick her up for a cuddle; she would politely purr and stay in my arms long enough for me to not feel rebuffed, but made it very clear when she was ready to be back at ground level.   She was often waiting for me at the top of the drive when I arrived home from work but would promptly set about ignoring me, as though it was somehow too risky to let me know that she cared.

She stayed by my side throughout the winter of 2006, when I had a horrible viral infection that meant that I couldn’t breathe lying down.   We sat and snuggled together on the sofa during the long nights when I struggled to catch my breath and we walked slowly in the garden together when I began to regain my strength.  In fact, she liked nothing better than to walk with me up the farm track and climb over the drystone wall, into the woods, where she pretended that she was a tiger, slinking through the jungle in search of prey.  (In reality, she would give a frantic yowl whenever I got out of sight, but I suppose that even tigers need their mums sometimes.)  And she proved herself a good judge of character as she saw off several unsuitable suitors, offending one of them so much with her dismissive behaviour that he refused to return to the house because ‘Your cat hates me.’  Yes, she did and, by the end of our brief involvement, so did I.  But that’s another story.

Two become three:  And then Bassman came onto the scene.  Tess immediately gave her approval; just as well, because if she hadn’t, there would have been no further dates.  The three of us fit together so well even from the beginning and Bassman, like me, saw and valued Tess’s unique qualities and had no wish for her to be a different kind of cat (although I’m sure that he could have done without the 4am yowlings).

Waiting for Richy to finish the scaffolding

 For her part, Tess really seemed to relax with the added dimension that Bassman brought.  It became apparent that, although her primary bond was with me, she really couldn’t be bothered with other women.  I did have sympathy for my cat-loving female friends who would crawl after Tess and try to entice her to come close enough for a cuddle, only to have her flip her tail contemptuously at them as she nipped out the cat flap.  No, Tess liked the boys.  Bassman’s lap quickly became the lap of choice and she much preferred him over me when it came to brushing her.  She enjoyed helping Richy the Builder and Norman the Painter, following them around the garden as they carried out their jobs.  She was completely comfortable with Tony the Cat-sitter and with Squirrel James and his son Jack, allowing all of them to make a fuss over her.  We even caught her allowing Francis the Postie to tickle her tummy a couple of times.  Such a little tart…but amazing to see her relax with other people after such a difficult, difficult start to her life.

Bassman has written eloquently and accurately in his blog over the last five years about Tess’s quirky, eccentric, take-no-prisoners approach to life, complete with photos that utterly capture her character.  There’s no need for me to repeat all of that here, and you can have a rummage through his blog to either remind yourselves or to learn for the first time about what a brave, valiant, irreplaceable cat she was.  All that’s left for me to say is how thankful and honoured I am that Tess chose me to spend her life with and, even if that life was much too short and the sadness at the moment is much too much, I wouldn’t have traded my time with her for any other cat in the world.

Most Beautiful, I will miss you forever.

 

And with an Elvis snarl, the cat left the building. (Cat noises supplied by Bassman.)

Practical shoes

If I spent as much time running as I spend obsessing about running shoes, I'd probably be a lot further along my rehab road by now.  Although I logically know that shoes (no matter how beautiful) do not possess magical powers and that running form is more important than any pair of shoes could ever be, I still have a teeny tiny bit of hope that The Right Shoes will instantly make me a sub-8:00 miler and that my aches and pains will be a thing of the past.

I say this because I did not entirely warm to the lovely neon Kinvara 3s and today returned them to their home at Run4It.  It wasn't really their fault.  I did like their flashiness and they were very comfortable for walking but I came to the conclusion after several sessions on the cross-trainer and a very brief jog on the treadmill that it will take years before my achilles tendons and calves relax enough and are strong enough to tolerate running in 4mm drop shoes.  And, given how impatient I can be, I didn't trust myself to resist the Kinvara temptation and to not push things faster than was good for me.  Plus, the toe box was a bit big and I needed to tighten the laces so much that I created a big puckered crease of shoe.  Very unsightly.

 Triumph 9, currently on my feet

I'm not giving up on the idea of running in shoes with a lower heel-toe drop.  A bit of research directed me to the Saucony Triumph 9 (8mm drop) and the Inov-8 Road-X 238 (9mm drop), which are more reasonable choices for me at this point.  My local Run4It doesn't carry this particular model of Inov-8s but have ordered them for me to try.  I did a quick test run on the treadmill in the Triumphs, though, and didn't notice any difficulties with them, so I handed over the Kinvaras and took possession of the Triumphs.  And here's a photo of them, so that you can admire them too!

There's a first time for everything

I am a fidget, physically as well as mentally.  If jiggling my legs, swinging my foot, squirming in my chair, and hop scotching from tangent to tangent inside my head burned calories, I'd be able to eat cake to my heart's content and still be able to fit into my skinny jeans.  As an antidote to my fidgetiness, I've briefly tried yoga and mindfulness meditation but moving that slowly or, indeed, just sitting without doing anything else makes me want to scratch my eyes out.  

I did take a couple of tai chi classes several years back, reasoning that at least you get to move so maybe that would suit me, but no.  My confusion over left and right meant that I was always moving in the opposite direction to everyone else and my uncoordination meant that I struggled to make my legs and arms do what everyone else's were doing.  Plus it was SO SLOW.  (I learned later that that class got to do fighting with swords after they got more proficient at the moving slow bit, which sounded like fun, but I probably would have ended up skewering myself or someone else.  I suspect that a lucky escape was had by all.)

So when Pilates - with its emphasis on core strength, flexibility, and slow, precise movements - was mentioned in the ChiRunning book and on the ChiRunning course as something that could be useful for running, I was intrigued but sceptical of my ability to engage with it.  However, because I will do things for running that I wouldn't do under any other circumstances, I decided to give it a try.

Today, then, was my first Pilates class.  I had a 1:1 session at the beginning of the month where I was shown some basic postural exercises and told that I had a very weak core and some muscle imbalances.  Quelle surprise.  Sigh.  I signed up for a series of six mat work classes which should be enough time for me to know whether this is for me or not.

Basic level, but it still froze my brain.

I'm the only beginner in the class and, while the instructor did a good job of keeping an eye on me, I still had virtually no idea what I was doing.  I quickly gave up on matching my breathing to my movements; in fact, I had to remember to breathe full stop.  I managed the physical movements okay when we had to just use our arms or just our legs but, when we had to combine the two, my brain short circuited and I could only lay there motionless until my neurons untangled themselves.  The instructor assumed that I was tired and I didn't correct her. 

I didn't hate the class, I hasten to add.  I had to concentrate enough that I didn't find it boring.  I felt a bit looser afterwards and I certainly noticed that my legs were tired when I did a quick cardio session at the gym afterwards.  And I've been much more aware over the couse of the day of keeping my pelvis level.  I think that I see potential in this.

I can't wait, though, until we get to fight with swords...

A lovely achilles

Happy calf!

I have been given the all-clear by Julie the Physio!  My calf hasn't bothered me in weeks, aside from some very minor and very occasional twingeing which I just ignore, so I was not surprised to receive official confirmation that I am All Better.  There was no pain at all when Julie dug her fingers into my calf (aside from the actual pain associated with someone digging their fingers into your calf), and she couldn't feel any adhesions at all.  Hurrah!

Also a lovely Achilles

 I asked Julie about the achilles tendon soreness that I've experienced during and after the last couple of runs.  She had a good feel of both tendons, including what felt like sticking her fingers behind them.  Best not to think too closely about that...Anyway, there was no pain, tenderness, or even discomfort, no matter how hard she poked.  In fact, I apparently have 'a lovely achilles.'  Huh.  Who knew?  I was very pleased to hear that, after all of my various achilles problems over the years, the tendons are still smooth and slender with no signs at all of lumps, bumps, or scarring.  Again, hurrah!

This helps to confirm my hypothesis that the various niggles that I'm feeling are related to my new Chi way of running.  It will take time for my muscles, tendons, and even joints to adapt to being used in a different way and I need to be careful not to do too much, too soon.  Patience patience patience.  Blah blah blah.  As long as it all comes together in time for the Aviemore Half Marathon on 14 October, I'll give it all the time it needs.

Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't

 I read somewhere that, when you start to change your running form, it can feel for a while like things are not quite fitting together.  If that's true, then I definitely must be doing something right because my last couple of runs have felt...not crap, exactly, but disjointed.  Like my body isn't working as a whole anymore.  I don't necessarily see this as a Bad Thing because, when I allow myself to fall back into my usual way of running, I'm aware of how much worse that feels than the new awkwardness.

Take my last Shetland run as an example.  It was too windy to hear my metronome and, what with the wind and the hills, I really struggled.  I knew that I was overstriding, heel striking, and shuffling - just like I have for years and years - and I had the achilles and hip pain to prove it.  My next run, once I was back home, was fine.  I kept my cadence up, focused on good posture and a strong core, and let my legs relax.  However, I got carried away and ran too fast; by the evening, my achilles tendon was tender to the touch.  Too much, too soon.

Today, I was back to struggling again.  Sore achilles on and off for the first mile and a half, not able to keep up with the metronome, slouching, overstriding...and then, for the last mile and a half, it suddenly got better.  And I had an epiphany.  I might be evolving a more healthy, sustainable, and efficient running style, but I still have the same body.  I still need to take a substantial amount of time to warm up, I still need to stretch before I run, and I still need to go slow for at least the first mile, none of which I did today.  ChiRunning is about observing, listening, and adapting according to what one's body needs on a moment by moment basis, not having a plan that must be followed at all costs.

So, here's what I've learned over the past week.  Relax.  Warm up properly and stretch before each run.  Initially turn off the metronome because I need to go slow until my body loosens up and because I find it really hard, at this stage anyway, to run slow enough with the metronome for that to happen.  Slow down even once I'm warmed up; the speed eventually will come but, for now, it's more important to allow time for my tendons and muscles to get strong. 

Sigh.  This is going to take FOREVER.  And learning lessons about 'patience' obviously will be for another week.

Kinvara 3 in white, citron, and pink

Gear update:  Ever on the lookout for opportunities to purchase nifty new shoes, I bought a pair of Saucony Kinvara 3 running shoes today with the hope that they will assist my transition to mid-foot striking.  They are between what I have always run in - stability shoes with up to a 12mm heel-toe drop - and minimalist shoes that have a drop of zero and that essentially mimic barefoot running.  The Kinvaras have a 4mm drop which, given my tight achilles tendons and calves, I'll be lucky to manage.  Still, the Chi way is all about slow and gradual changes, over years if need be, so I'll have even more to be patient about.  Hurrah!  In the meantime, I'm happy to just sit back in the moment and admire the neon citron loveliness of my new shoes.