...any time now.

Still zero hope of running. Since my treadmill fail I haven't been cleared to try it again. I'm feeling particularly annoyed after a weekend full of races in the area, races I planned to win finish in the middle of the pack. I was never one to look forward to winter running, but if I don't hit the road soon I might actually lose my mind. I've been doing a lot of spinning and pilates to take my mind off of it... it's not working but I'm hopeful that all the spinning will help me fly up hills eventually.

When my bones decide to stop betraying me, I must remember how many times  since August 13th I thought the following:
- I wish I never skipped a run because I was too tired, hungover, cold, "forgot" to set the alarm,  didn't have a buddy, wanted to watch Bravo, wanted to go to brunch, etc.
- Always get out of bed and on the road because you never know when you won't be able to anymore. 
- I will cross train. I promise.
- Stop focusing on arbitrary number goals, focus on improvements over time.
- Shut up and follow your plan. 
- Don't complain.
- Stop whining.

for real.

gooooodbyeeeee treadmill.

in the PT waiting room, ready to roll.

Well. I ran. It wasn't pretty. It wasn't fun. It hurt.

After excitedly lacing up my trusty Mizunos and stepping onto the treadmill my hopes and dreams of being completely recovered were shattered by .25 miles when I realized I could feel the bone in my leg every step I took (not that I was going to say that out loud...). My physical therapist was watching my feet, analyzing my gait and looking at me grind my teeth together with every step - she thought it best I stop and pulled me off the 'mill at .41 miles.

Not only was I mad that I'm not healed, but who stops a run at .41?? That's not even CLOSE to being a reasonable, even number. I'm sure the .09 needed to get to  an even half mile wouldn't have killed me. No one wants to put that weird number on their excel spreadsheet of workout activity.

zombie tees on the dog's zip line.
totally normal.

Just because I had a huge runfail on Friday didn't mean I wasn't going to dress up like a zombie and chase 5k runners on Sunday. I was out of the house by 6:30a on a Sunday and dressed in running tights and a homemade zombie tee - the last time I was pulling those hours with that outfit was pre-fracture. I met my sister at the make-up tent where we were transformed from sleepy 20-somethings into sleepy zombies.

a close up.

The event was sort of a disaster from an organization standpoint, but we had fun nonetheless. When runners went to the start line, they were wearing flag football belts with three flags. Zombies were stationed all over the course on a mission to steal the flags of the runners, rendering them unhealthy and eventually turning them into zombies when they lost all three of their flags.

I got a little taste of the injury free life as I was running through a field chasing runners and stealing their flags. I think it was the adrenaline that blocked the pain signals to my brain. Running INTO a mass of runners starting their race isn't something I ever thought I'd try. While getting trampled was a very real possibility slight risk, it was fun...and we got to wear zombie make up and make shirts. Win.

helllooooooo, treadmill.

get ready, it's your time.

Who's running on Friday?? THIS GIRL! I have never been so happy to lace up for a jaunt on the treadmill. I've been behaving, going to pilates, doing my PT homework, taking spin classes and not running; so as a reward for my stellar efforts, my physical therapist has suggested a little jog on the treadmill in my running shoes (more specifically, the shoes I was sporting when my little snafu occurred...) at Friday's session.

In my mind, this is how it will go:
I step on the treadmill and pump the speed up to 4.5.

Impressed by my skill and flawless ability, the therapist recommends stepping it up to a 5 and working in some hills.

Once I master that for a mile, she instructs me to do a nice tempo run at a 6 to ease myself back into the running game and leaves me alone with some Britney tunes my iPod for the next four miles.

I hop off the treadmill and she says "You're cured! Please pay your co-pay on the way out".
 

I'm going to be pretty bummed if reality differs greatly from my completely logical expectation of Friday's visit because I'm hoping and praying planning to be released to traverse the land with my Mizunos on my feet and Garmin on my wrist.

i'm sweating...

...and it feels so good. Last night was my first jump back into any semblance of physical fitness. After my first PT appointment on Friday, they cleared me for spin classes. Not wasting any time, I signed up for a Monday session and was quickly reacquainted with cardio, glorious cardio. It was pretty fantastic to get home from work and change into spandex instead of sitting on the couch eating vacuuming the living room while baking cookies every night. Thank you, spin studio, I remember what working out feels like.

it might look easy,
but that is a tricky little devil
once assembled and your standing on it
[source]

Back to PT... I thought I'd be an A+ student and breeze through all of the exercises, but it turns out I lost more range of motion and muscle than I thought. After trying to master the crazy balance board, it was pretty clear my left side is still roughed up.

The good news: my muscle should come back really quickly thanks to that crazy phenomenon they call "muscle memory".  The bad news: I'm still relegated to the elliptical and stationary bikes for the time being. I'm hoping I don't have to start marathon training round two on a elliptical. I guess the other good news is that PT is sort of like personal training rather than "therapy". The woman I'm working with is great and willing to answer all of my ridiculous poignant questions; plus if  I have to run around to appointments every week, at least this one involves wearing gym clothes, working out and not waiting in a room for 30 minutes until someone arrives to take your blood pressure.

mason jar obsessed.

All the time off my feet lead to ridiculous amounts of crafting. Thanks to Pinterest, aimlessly searching online and just how darn cute those little jars are, I now have a whole lot in my house. I'm not only using them for crafting, I'm storing homemade sauce in them too. Win!

the tiny ones are darling

I recently redid a dresser I had when I was young and transformed it from a piece for the bedroom, into a kitchen catch-all. I had a ton of paint left, so I used it to paint the inside of mason jars to use as canisters in the kitchen.

it took forever, but it's my favorite part of the kitchen.

Craft 2: Painted Mason Jars
Supplies: paint (I used interior home paint, you can probably use anything); brush; sponge brush


There are two different ways to go about this. You can use the brushes to paint the inside of the jar, or, you can simply pour paint inside of the jar and get crazy.

Option one (with brushes)

this was an outside project

Steps:

1. Clean the mason jar and wipe any dust out of the inside
2. Starting at the bottom and creeping up the sides, paint the inside of the jar evenly (the regular brush can
    give you a streaky look, the sponge brush will make sure everything is smooth - the streaky look is neat
    though)
3. Let paint dry overnight, repeat the process until the paint is as heavy as desired





Option two (no brushes)

Steps:

I spray painted the lids black... they're still drying

1. Clean the mason jar and wipe any dust out of the inside
2. Pour paint directly into the jar; swirl around to ensure the inside of the jar is coated in paint

3. Let paint dry overnight with the jar laying on one side; move the jar to the next side about every two hours
   the paint can begin to side and create an uneven surface)

I used both methods. I painted the jars with brushes first, but I wanted the color to really saturate, so I ended it up pouring paint directly into the jars.