Rolfing - Part I

One of my bosses recommended that I try Rolfing to fix my ankle tendon and help me get back to running. It sounded kind of weird and new agey, but my desperation won out over my skepticism, so a Rolfing I did go.

So what exactly is Rolfing? I'll let Mr. Internet explain:

My bricks are way out of line. But at least I'm not
wearing a diaper as that person appears to be.

"Rolfing, also called Rolf therapy or structural integration, is a holistic system of bodywork that uses deep manipulation of the body's soft tissue to realign and balance the body's myofascial structure. Rolfing improves posture, relieves chronic pain, and reduces stress. Rolfing helps to improve posture and bring the body's natural structure into proper balance and alignment. This can bring relief from general aches and pains, improve breathing, increase energy, improve self-confidence, and relieve physical and mental stress. Rolfing has also been used to treat such specific physical problems as chronic back, neck, shoulder, and joint pain, and repetitive stress injuries." (from medical-dictionary.thefreedictionary.com)

That sounds great and all, but I'm wondering if it will actually work. I suppose if it doesn't help, at least I'll get some weird stories out of it.

Week 1: I arrive at the Rolfing lady's house (already this seems weird) and, per her instructions on the phone when I made the appointment, go around back to the screened-in porch, which I'm supposed to go through to get to the "waiting room." The door to the waiting room is locked. I knock and no one answers. I sit on the back porch trying not to look like a burglar. After about 10 minutes, a car pulls into the garage. I'm pretty sure I'm at the right address, but I'm still a little worried that whoever gets out of the car is going to be all "Who the hell are you and why are you on my back porch?!" But I am at the right place and the Rolfing lady introduces herself and glances disapprovingly at my flip flops. Apparently they've got to go. She tells me that I need to get shoes with better support and spends the first 20 minutes talking to me about shoes, making me try on her shoes, and giving me a dissertation on ordering shoes from Zappos.com. Then I have to strip down to my undergarments and she watches me sit, stand and walk, pointing out all the ways I am doing those things wrong. I feel like I'm in one of those Lifetime movies where sorority sisters draw insults on pledges' bodies in sharpie markers as part of some sort of hazing (I could be making that up, but it sounds like the kind of crap they show on Lifetime). Except I know she's not mean, she's only trying to help me. And everything she says is true. I do have terrible posture. Things she points out that are wrong with me:  my neck is too far forward, my shoulders are hunched, I'm tilted to one side, my arms don't move enough when I walk, my arches are collapsing, and some other stuff I forgot. But suffice it to say I'm a big mess structurally speaking. Evidently this is the price of 30 years of trying to be invisible, of hunching inward because I don't want anyone to look at me. She has me lay down on the massage table and does her Rolfing thing. It does not feel like a massage at all. It's awkward and at times more than a little painful. When she's done she has me sit, stand and walk again and seems pleased to see some improvement. She asks me if I can feel a difference and honestly, I can't, although there aren't any mirrors so I can't see myself and admittedly I have very little body awareness. When I leave, I feel like crying. It seems so hopeless, like I have to undo 30 years of incorrect alignment and relearn how to sit, stand and walk before I can run again.

Week 2: I can't bring myself to throw away my flip flops so I put them in my gym bag, figuring I can still wear them in the shower at least. I buy Birkenstocks and shoes with better arch support. I feel like an 80 year old. But I have to admit the new shoes are comfortable and my ankle doesn't hurt when I walk in them. The Rolfing lady says my movement is improving. But when she's moving my muscles around, she keeps telling me that I'm holding too much, fighting myself and I need to let go. It sounds like something I would do, but I still don't know what she means or how to let go. She says "Let go," then "Good, can you feel the difference?" Sheepishly I admit that I can't. She tells me it may take time. I can see that when I stand up straight, my arches don't collapse as much as they do when I stand in my normal slouchy way. When I catch myself slouching at work, I try to correct it and my back is starting to hurt from all the sitting up straight. My ankle still isn't right. I was hoping to attempt a short run by now, but I can tell it's not ready. Sigh.

Week 3: She tells me not to wear my orthopedic inserts. Something about how it's too big of a transition for my body and it will cause problems elsewhere, plus once she fixes my alignment and builds my arches back up, the inserts won't match my feet anymore. I don't much care about the reasoning. I'll take any excuse not to wear the inserts, since I actively dislike them. We go through the routine again. I stand and she looks at me from the front, back and side. She watches me walk. Evidently my posture is getting better but is still not right. More bodywork on the massage table. It's very uncomfortable. But I know that I need this - even if it doesn't fix my ankle problems - so I don't become a hunchbacked old lady.

She initially told me the typical treatment is 10-15 sessions. I can't see myself going there 7-12 more times, but to give it a fair shot, I'm willing to schedule a few more sessions. I have another appointment in 2 weeks, where she's going to watch me run. That should be interesting.

Lyric of the moment: "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, stand a little taller..." (hopefully)

The weekly strange

A carefully curated collection of oddities. Or some random weird things that happened this week.

Tuesday morning a little after midnight, I woke up to the sound of a car alarm and went to the back window to check it out. In the only incident I've ever witnessed of a car alarm going off when something is actually wrong, there was a car on fire in the Frontier parking lot behind my house. It smelled terrible, like burning rubber and chemicals. I don't know if cars can spontaneously combust, but there didn't appear to be anyone around. I called 911, they asked me for my information three times, then confirmed there had been other similar reports. The firemen arrived a few minutes later and put out the fire. I went back to sleep and when I woke up the car was gone. I almost thought it was only a dream, but I had taken a picture of the burning car.

Perhaps in sympathy over his fallen comrade, Bug wouldn't start on Tuesday morning and AAA came to replace his battery. My car now apparently thinks that I am trying to steal its radio and has enacted its anti-theft system. Since I bought the car used, I don't have the code to reactivate the radio so my choices are to drive around in silence (weird at first then oddly peaceful) or buy a new radio (though it would be impossible to ever top Bug's 1999 sound system with cassette player and semi-functional buttons). Now when I turn on the car, the radio display reads "SAFE" as if it is an umpire and I have just slid into home plate.

Today I wistfully remarked that if spinach tasted like peanut butter, I'd eat more of it. Then I made it happen. The resulting smoothie (ingredients: peanut butter, frozen banana, milk, vanilla yogurt, spinach, a little vanilla extract) was an unappealing shade of green but tasted like a peanut butter and banana smoothie. It's a weird feeling to drink something that looks like wheat grass but tastes like peanut butter.

Lyric of the moment: "You're such a strange girl. I think you come from another world..."

What I want to be when I grow up

Lured outside in the rain by the ding of the Skippy truck, we were standing on the sidewalk in front of my house waiting for the bearer of frozen deliciousness to make its way towards us. Some dude on a bike stopped at the truck while making his way down the street. As he rode past us, a "look ma, no hands!" smile on his face, hands in the air, fists full of popsicles, he let out a cheer of awesomeness. I've never known what I want to be when I grow up, but that moment - spontaneous, free spirited, content - epitomizes the way I want to feel in whatever it is I do.

Lyric of the moment: "And I wonder if everything could ever feel this real forever, if anything could ever be this good again. The only thing I'll ever ask of you, you've got to promise not to stop when I say when..."

Patience is a virtue. That gets you to the chocolate factory.

The other day I was watching this guy ahead of me on the expressway who was speeding across lanes, weaving in and out of traffic, in such a hurry to get wherever he was going. At first I rolled my eyes and thought, "look at this jerkface." Then I realized sometimes I am that jerkface, speeding through my life with reckless impatience to get where I want to go instead of slowing down, going with the flow and enjoying the ride.

I want so badly to get back to running, to get faster and stronger and better at everything. All at once. Immediately. I have become Veruca Salt from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, all "I want an Oompa Loompa, Daddy. I want an Oompa Loompa now!" And acting like that is not the way to get better at anything. Or to inherit a ridiculously cool chocolate factory.

I know I have to be patient, but patience is hard. Sometimes it feels like waiting around for something that may never happen. Sometimes it feels like putting in a lot of effort and not seeing results. It would be nice if the universe would send me an encouraging sign, perhaps a singing telegram (so much fancier and way cooler than an email), something to the effect of "Keep going. STOP. Things are happening. STOP. Your life is changing. STOP. You just don't know it yet." (All I know about telegrams I learned from cartoons,  but I'm pretty sure STOP is an essential part of telegram-speak). I want to believe that everything happens for a reason, that wherever I am it's where I need to be, that I am making some kind of progress, even if it's imperceptible right now. But all I can do is keep going, hope for the best and try not to be a jerkface or a bad egg.

Lyric of the moment: "When you try your best, but you don't succeed. When you get what you want, but not what you need. When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep. Stuck in reverse...Lights will guide you home. And ignite your bones. And I will try to fix you..."

Vacation from running

In the spirit of viewing obstacles as opportunities rather than obstructions, I've decided to enjoy rather than lament my vacation from running (because vacation sounds better than mandatory hiatus). So this past weekend, I finally worked up the nerve to get in the pool at the gym and try aqua jogging, sweated my ass off at Bikram Yoga, and went for a bike ride on the canal path. I had no idea what I was doing. I'm embarrassingly bad at all those activities, but I had a lot of fun trying new things and generally making a fool of myself.

Aqua jogging is like running in slow motion or through jello, but far more refreshing and less sweaty. I never took swimming lessons so technically I don't know how to swim, but I've always liked being in the water. And if I can't run on land, then I will run at sea (er, in a pool). At some point I may even buy goggles and attempt swimming.

Bikram Yoga was offering a 3 month unlimited pass for $100, which is a huge savings considering one class normally costs $20. I'm guessing the summer months are typically slow since the idea of sitting in a 105 degree room when it's 90 degrees outside is less than appealing. I'm aiming for 2 classes a week for the next 3 months and hoping that it will make me stronger and more flexible.

I have a hybrid bike that has been sitting in the garage collecting dust for a while. Biking is not my favorite, probably because there are too many gears to choose from and I am perpetually in the wrong one. I usually feel like I'm pedaling fast but not going anywhere. But I'll keep trying and maybe I'll get the hang of it eventually. In the meantime, at least the old people speeding past me can have a good laugh at my expense.

I also went to the library to get new books and spent some time relaxing in my hammock swing, reading and drinking cold beverages.

I am starting to feel more optimistic, like I have options, that I am down but maybe not yet out.

Lyric of the moment: "I told you about all those fears, and away they did run. You sure must be strong. And you feel like an ocean being warmed by the sun..."

Lockport Caves

Yesterday we went to Lockport Caves, a man-made tunnel built in the 1850's that used surplus water from the Eric Canal to provide hydraulic energy to power three factories. The tour guide told us the tunnel was blasted from solid rock, in basketball-sized increments and they hired kids, nicknamed "blast monkeys," to light the fuses on the explosives, then run back out of the caves before the blast (you know, because where better for a kid to spend his formative years than a tunnel full of explosives, rubble and the potential to develop black lung).

It's advertised as an underground boat ride so I thought the boat ride part would be longer, but it was mostly a walking tour with a 15 minute boat ride at the end. It was still a neat mini-adventure and Lockport is only an hour and a half drive from Rochester. Walking through one of the old water pipes to get to the cave was cool. And the boat ride reminded me of going to Penn's Cave as a kid. I'd like to go back there sometime.

Lyric of the moment: "But I don't tend to worry 'bout the things that other people say. And I'm learning that I wouldn't want it any other way..."

We're on a boat, for some reason looking like drunken sailors.

A life of awesome sauce and free high fives

A few days ago, I read an interview with Deepak Chopra and Oprah and one part stuck in my head. Deepak was talking about his time at a monastery in Thailand where they walked barefoot and he said "My head monk asked how it was walking. I said it hurt without shoes. And he said, 'It hurts on the foot that's down, but the one that's up feels really good—so focus on that one.'"

Sometimes it's a lot easier to focus on the things that hurt, the things that aren't going the way I want them to, but what's the point of that when there are so many good things I could be noticing instead? It's probably impossible to notice every single thing that happens. I think my brain would explode from overstimulation. Or something like that. And if I get to choose which things I pay attention to, I'd prefer the awesome sauce over the bummers.

List of body parts that feel good today: eyes, ears, mouth, teeth, tongue, nose, brain, fingers, arms, elbows, toes, knees, stomach, lady parts, left ankle, butt, neck, hair (ok, that one is probably cheating since hair can't feel pain, but it makes this list slightly longer than that of the body parts that hurt today, so I'm considering it a sign of progress).

Other things that are good: Bug was in the shop with transmission problems (which I wouldn't have known had I not been away over the weekend, leaving Bug in my parents' garage, where they noticed he was leaking fluid). The repair bill was $429. At first glance, that seems like a negative event. Except that it led to me walking home from and to work, which reminded me how pleasant of a walk it is, almost meditative somehow. While walking I had two realizations. 1) If an unfamiliar dog or cat crossed my path, I'd think nothing of petting him/her, but if an unfamiliar person crossed my path, I'd think it extremely weird to pet him/her. Why is it more natural to touch a stranger of another species than a stranger of the same species? Why do I have such odd thoughts sometimes? 2) I remember when $429 would have seemed like a lot of money. If I've gotten to the point where such a car repair bill is no big deal and I don't have to worry about it at all, I must be very lucky indeed. And my boss practically chased me down the street, trying to give me a ride home and offering to let me borrow his other car. Like I said, lucky. Plus, on my way to pick up Bug, I walked past a dude on a bench who said "Hey, free high fives," gave me a high five, then said "Yeah that's right." So there's that.

I guess nothing that happens to me is inherently bad. It's my interpretation or judgment of the situation that assigns it a value of goodness/badness. So I can judge everything in a positive light, or maybe even get to the point where I won't judge it at all.

When Bug needs repair I don't get upset or discouraged like I do when I need repair. I just think, he's old, these things happen, it will get fixed and everything will be fine. And I suppose the same is true for me. Bug and I aren't going to break any land-speed records or win any beauty pageants, but most of the time we get where we want to go. And the rest of the time we get lost and end up somewhere even better.

Lyric of the moment: "And if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones...And if you're still bleeding, you're the lucky ones...And if you're in love, then you are the lucky one..."

A Jen divided against itself cannot stand

Dear Jen,

We know you're upset about what happened in the Poconos, but get over it. If running 22 miles instead of 26.2 is the worst thing that happens to you, your life is pretty freaking good. And we're upset too. For over a month we've been trying to tell you that something's wrong, that we're injured and need rest, but you wouldn't alter your race schedule. We kept trying to get your attention - the posterior tibial tendon pain, mad blisters from that stupid tape you put on our feet, even some chest pain as a last resort - but it took you 22 miles to realize that you were just injuring yourself more for no reason. It's only one race, one day. Sometimes you have to cut your losses and take the long view. If you want to keep running well into old age, you have to let go of individual workouts and races and focus on getting and staying healthy.

Maybe you should stick to fall marathons since you always fall apart at the spring ones. What? Too soon? Seriously though, you have to chill out. We do the best we can to do everything you ask of us, but you never give us any credit. You don't take care of us. You call us fat and ugly and lazy. We were looking forward to going on the zip line but you didn't take us because you didn't think you deserved it. In the car on the way home you actually asked Mike if he still loved you and, even worse, you half expected him to say no. If anyone else was as mean to us as you are, we'd never speak to them again. This isn't working. It's not us, it's you. And since neither of us can live without the other, we have a few demands:

1. Feed us high quality fuel at regular intervals. We don't know why none of the health care professionals you've been to have mentioned this, but look up which foods reduce inflammation and promote healing and eat those. Cut way back on sugar. It increases inflammation.

2. Stop being so hard on us and saying mean things about us. You can relax and accept us the way we are. It doesn't mean you'll end up sitting on the couch eating Cheetos all day. You can let yourself live without letting yourself go.

3. Take some time off. For real this time. Take us to yoga and spinning. Stop whining about how you're too fat for a bathing suit and get in the pool. We've always liked the water. If you don't know how to do something, ask. You'll learn. We'll run again when we're ready, whenever that is. Don't stress about it.

4. Stop getting so upset when things don't turn out the way you wanted. If you can't do what you love right now, then love what you can do. Everything happens for a reason and you're right where you're supposed to be, so enjoy it. Or something like that. We're not in charge of that stuff, we're just a bunch of cells.

For better or for worse, til death do us part,
Your body

Lyric of the moment: "I won't run, I won't fly, I will never make it by without you..."

The bionic man and the fearless flying baby

My dad had hip resurfacing surgery yesterday. The surgeon (whose name is Dr. Drinkwater - is that great or what? My dad said he'd rather be operated on by Dr. Drinkwater than Dr. Drinkbeer) said his old hip was in bad shape and he should feel much better with his new metal joints. They can only do one side at a time and have to wait at least six months in between, so he will have another surgery next year to fix the other hip. Then he will be like the bionic man!

It's weird to think about my parents getting older. It seems like they've been the same age as long as I've known them, which obviously isn't true. When I was 5 years old, my dad was 30. Now I'm the one who's 30 and my life is very different than his was at this age. 

We went to visit my dad in the hospital and were sitting around in his room talking and telling stories. My parents told the story of how when I was a baby I used to climb out of my crib and throw myself on the floor. Apparently it happened all the time. They had to put pillows on the floor around the crib so I didn't get hurt. Of all the stories of my childhood, this one is my favorite. It's just so weird and inexplicable. I mean, what kind of baby does that? At best, an imprudent one, at worst, a not-so-intelligent one. What was I thinking? Where was I trying to go? I don't remember being that young, but I like to think that I was a fearless flying baby in search of adventure.

But something happens as we get older. We're not so fearless anymore, and it's a shame. Maybe it's because we become more cognizant of the fragility of our bones and our lives. Maybe it's because we get hurt and become more cautious as a way of avoiding further pain. But don't we also realize that is the times we are most fearless that get us to all the places most worth going, even if we suffer a scrapped knee or a bruised ego along the way?

I've changed a lot since my crib-escaping days, but I hope that fearless flying spirit is still in there somewhere.

Lyric of the moment: "It's always darkest before the dawn..."

Flat feet follies

I have flat feet. As a kid I thought this was really cool because my feet made the best footprints. Evidently it's not so cool anymore because the sports medicine doc said my flat feet are causing the tendinitis in my ankle. No one had a good answer as to why it only affected one leg or why this problem has only surfaced now, after 15 years of running on my flat feet. The doctor recommended custom orthotics to correct my wayward arches. I don't think my feet are going to like being bossed around by some fancy pants inserts, but if it will make the tendons happy, I'll give it a try. The orthotics won't be ready in time for the Poconos marathon, but the trainer showed me how to tape up my feet, which will supposedly offer more support and inhibit any further damage. I'm planning on doing a test run this weekend with my taped up feet to see how it feels. The first order of business is to keep on icing and resting my leg to cure the existing inflammation, then the tape/orthotics take over to prevent a recurrence.

It would be nice if there was some overlap between the things I'm good at and the things I enjoy. I was pretty good at school and chemistry, but I didn't take much pleasure in either of them. Running is one of the few things I'm actually passionate about, but I'm not much good at it. And it seems I'm built all wrong for it too. I wouldn't care so much about the not being good at it part if I could just get back to running without hurting myself. Sure, getting stronger and faster would be nice, but all I really want is to keep running for as long as possible.

It's time to let go of any goals (read: foolish hopes) for the Poconos race. I don't know what's going to happen and I'm guessing it won't be good, so all I can do is run and enjoy it. I found a zipline adventure place that's close to our hotel, so I'm totally getting in on that awesomeness. I'm going to think of it, not as a race, but as a fun weekend getaway in which I also happen to run for a long time with a bunch of other people. When I put it that way -  running! zipline! exploring new places with new people! - I'm starting to get very excited about Poconos weekend.

Lyric of the moment: "It was the hope of all we might have been that fills me with the hope to wish impossible things..." (I would much prefer it to orthotics, but sadly The Cure is not the cure for everything.)