Team Parkinson®

So last week’s total mileage was 14 — just one mile longer than the half-marathon I intend to run in a few weeks.  But I’m not really concerned about that.  Tuesday’s 3.2 mile run (mentioned in my last post), Wednesday’s hill run in Runyon Canyon (about 4 miles up and down a fairly steep hill) and today’s 4.7 miles (48:30, well within myself — i.e., I had plenty of juice left at the end) put me at about 12 for this week, and Sunday I’ll do at least 3 more.   More importantly, I just feel good about my running — mentally and physically. 

I’ll do my next — and arguably first —  long run (an 8 miler) on Monday rather than on the weekend, because that’s when my running guru is available.  His name,  by the way, is John Ball, and he and his wife Edna are Team Parkinson.   It would take a ridiculously long blog post to do justice to them and to their work, so I won’t do that.  But here are a few things that you should know:  John and Edna are two of the most generous, selfless, committed people I’ve met.  They founded Team Parkinson, with guidance and funding from the indefatigable Carol Walton of the Parkinson Alliance (Carol is a force of nature, and I’m so glad she’s on our side!), and with brainstorming help from the amazing Mary Yost, in 2000.  John has been diagnosed with Parkinson’s for at least 25 years, and he’s dealt with it by running, running, and running some more.  Edna essentially runs the business and operations side of Team P (Edna  and John — I hope this is accurate!), while John runs and trains and speaks and writes and inspires.  John got me to  acknowledge my illness openly, rather than try to hide it.  John  got me into distance running.  John helped me change my attitude  toward PD and running.  I recall vividly my first long training run with him.  I must have been griping before, during and after the run about how hard this was, how I couldn’t do this, etc.  John finally said, “somewhere within you there’s a runner, but you really need to change your attitude.”  I was taken aback, but attentive.  He explained that this negative “self-talk” was pointless and counterproductive.  He urged me to replace it with positive thoughts — I can do this, I’m going to do this, I’m running 8 miles with Parkinson’s, for god’s sake! 

I still get discouraged and negative sometimes, but I believe in myself and my ability to fight this disease, and I attribute much of my attitudinal (is this a word?) growth to John and Edna and running for Team P.  Unlike Michael J. Fox (for instance), I cannot say honestly that I’m glad I have Parkinson’s, and wouldn’t change a thing if I could turn the clock back to my pre-PD days.  I actually would rather not have the disease!  But that’s not an option.  And I have derived some benefit from P.D. — and among the greatest benefits are the remarkable people I’ve met, and John and Edna are at the top of that list.

Feeling better about my training.  On Saturday, I did the 3 mile loop in 31:10, and on Sunday, 6 miles in 66 minutes.  The latter is  an 11:00 pace, which is exactly what I want.  Day off yesterday, and then an easy 3.2 miles in 32:40 today.   Tomorrow, I’ll do a hill run, and then this weekend, an 8 miler.   No time to write further now, but will try to do so later today.

I’m back in the game!  The training game, that is.  Yesterday (Wednesday the 18th), I didn’t exactly comply w/ my doctor’s orders.  He wanted me to run 1/2 mile, and then see how I felt.  Instead, I ran about 1 1/2, and then walked a bit.  This was still a major compromise on my part (I wanted to go much further); and I didn’t feel great during or after the run.

Today, though, a completely different story.  I feel so much better physically, and think I’m winning the battle against “walking pneumonia.”  Ran 3.2 miles easily in about 33:00, and did some physical therapy exercises afterwards.

I’m still well behind schedule, though.   My training weeks have looked like this:

Week of 1/26 – - 14 miles.

Week of 2/2 — 4 miles.

Week of 2/9 — 9.6 miles.

Week of 2/16 (so far) — 4.8 miles.

This is hardly adequate training for any distance race, and certainly not for a half-marathon.  But I’ve been doing the best I can w/ my illness (the respiratory one, not the Parkinson’s) , trying to get well without completely abandoning my running.   The Pasadena race is now 4 1/2 weeks away, and I need to get some serious mileage under my belt.  Long runs are the key — maybe  a 6 miler this weekend, 8 the following weekend, then 10, and finally, either 12 or no long run (depending on how i feel and what my running guru, John Ball, advises) the weekend before the marathon.  My goals for this race are the same as the goals for my previous marathon and two half-marathons — finish the race, don’t incur any injuries, raise money for Team Parkinson (haven’t started doing that yet), and have fun.  That sounds doable — right?

I’m still training for the Pasadena half-marathon, but my training runs have ground to a halt.  Had thought I’d be sufficiently recovered (from my “walking pneumonia”) to be running again, but I’m not.  John Lennon was right — life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.  

So I spoke with my doc today, and the conversation went something like this:

Me: So, can I run tomorrow?

Doc: Yes — run half a mile, and then see how you feel.

Me (incredulous): Half a  mile?

Doc (mildly annoyed): Yes.  Why? — do you want me to tell you to run further?

Me:  Of course.

Doc:  Well, I’m not going to. 

Got some really good news last week: my friend Geoff, whom I’ve known since I was five, is going to fly in from Boston to run Pasadena with me.  Well, not exactly with me — he’s much faster than I — but we’ll start together, and he’s running to raise money for Team Parkinson.  I was (and still am) very  moved by Geoff’s commitment.   Friendships like ours, and gestures like Geoff’s, are the stuff of life — they enrich and bring meaning to our days.  So — thanks, Geoff.

And now that he’s flying 3000 miles to join me, I’d damn well better do this half-marathon!

I haven’t posted anything in over a week; I’ll explain in a  moment.  Three items of note from today, in no particular order:

1.  Charles Darwin’s and Abe Lincoln’s 200th birthdays.  They could both pass for much younger, though.  It is impossible to overstate the impact each of these giants had on our lives, not to mention those of past and future generations.  I’ve come to accept the fact that, unfair as it may be, I won’t be remembered in this way 200 years hence.

2.  At the hospital today, I met a major film star, who couldn’t have been any nicer.   It’s actually quite a funny story, but I can’t tell it without disclosing the person’s identity, which I won’t do.  I did wind up with their hospital admission bracelet, which they offered freely and I accepted happily.  Weird.

3.  I learned this afternoon that I have “walking pneumonia.”  (Shouldn’t it be “running pneumonia?”  Or at least “jogging pneumonia?”  How about “staggering pneumonia?”)   For those of you keeping score, I ran my 3.2 mile loop on Monday the 9th (34:40), Tuesday the 10th (34:00), and today (34:00).  But I just didn’t feel right during any of the runs; and during today’s run, breathing was painful.  I’ve had a cough and other symptoms for some time now; I took the full course of antibiotics that my doc prescribed, and they did nothing for me.  So he told me to provide a sputum sample of the junk that’s in my lungs (unable to do so yet — it’s actually not that easy), and ordered a chest x-ray.  Bottom line: I have walking pneumonia.  I can’t exercise for at least the next few days.   He may put me on a different antibiotic; I should know tomorrow.

What does this mean for my half-marathon training?  I have no idea.  And what does that mean for my blog?  It means that I can keep doing it, but may shift focus — say, away from training runs and the Pasadena half-marathon.   Perhaps I’ll write about my favorite clafouti recipes.  (My wife, by the way, makes an excellent pear clafouti.)

Yesterday (Monday, Feb. 2nd) , took the dog out for a trail run — love running on trails, away from the unforgiving concrete and asphalt and relentless traffic, above the fray, among trees and plants . . . I used to run in Fryman Canyon, but a couple of bad falls there have dissuaded me from using that route.  There’s a particularly steep bit, with plenty of loose dirt and gravel, that got the better of me, and I have no wish to repeat the experience.  (I think it was Eliot who said “We had the experience, but missed the meaning.”  Well . . . I got the meaning.   Parkinson’s does limit me somewhat, and I acknowledge and accept that and make accommodation for it.)

Fortunately, there’s a trail run even closer to our house, in Runyon Canyon.  It’s actually a dog park, meaning that I can let Strummer (my dog) go off  leash — which brings both of us great joy.  Actually, it means that I can do so legally — off-leash dogs are prohibited in Fryman and other parks, though that doesn’t stop me and almost every other dog owner who frequents these spots from letting our pooches free.  In any case, it took me about 50 minutes to cover Runyon — from my car , parked on Franklin, up the hill to Mulholland, and back down a slightly different route. I have no idea what the distance is, but I’ll call it 4 miles.

 No run today — my cough has gotten worse, and I finally gave in and got an antibiotic prescription.  I may take another day or two off.

Did not run yesterday (January 31st) — I rarely run on more than two consecutive days.  I’m not sure of the running community’s view on this –but I know that three days in a row doesn’t work for me.  By the third day, I’m sore, and the run is a chore.

And sometimes, one day off isn’t enough!  (Or, to borrow from the tribal elder  in Little Big Man, “Sometimes, the magic works, and sometimes it doesn’t.”)   Today (February 1st), I ran 3.0 miles in 32:40.  Had hoped for a longer run.  Not worth dwelling on. 

My runs are measured in seemingly random distances; but of course, they’re anything but random.   They simply reflect the most convenient running routes in our neighborhood, involving the fewest crossings of busy streets.  So . . . my normal routes are a 3.2 mile run (two 1.6 mile loops), a 4.7 mile run (two 2.35 mile loops), and a 3 or 6 mile run on weekends (once or twice around a route that has too much traffic to be feasible for weekday outings).  It may seem crazy to be so precise about distances — but it does serve a purpose.

A glance at the calendar tells me that my goal — the Pasadena half-marathon — is just 7 weeks away.  I ran about 14 miles this week.  (This is why I measure my running routes so carefully.)  This is okay; but I need to start increasing my mileage soon.  I need to start doing a longer run once a week — maybe a six- miler soon, then an eight, a ten, and perhaps even a twelve.

Yesterday, I ran 3.2 miles in 33:30.  Today, the same distance in 31:40.  This is a significant difference, at least for me.  I’m a slow runner — 11:00 miles on my long training runs .  So it’s nice to know that on these shorter, “maintenance” runs, I can run at a sub ten minute pace.    I attribute today’s quicker pace to a better night’s sleep and better timing of my meds.

Over the  years, I’ve come to accept my pace, though I still consider it “slow.”   And it is slow — compared to my pre-Parkinson’s or early stage Parkinson’s runs.  But why bother to make these comparisons?  They serve no constructive purpose.  If I find myself dwelling on them, I try to recall two thoughts.  First –and I got this from my sister, as well as from other runners and other Parkinsonians — I should focus on what I can do, rather than what I cannot.   Second — and this flows naturally from the first one — “not bad for a Parkinsonian.”  (Got that one from a friend in a young onset Parkinson’s support group.)  Taken together, these two axioms remind me not to dwell on my condition, or use it as an excuse, but to avoid unrealistic expectations and stay positive.  Easier said than done, of course — but what isn’t?

And another thing about “slow.”  I recently saw the film “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.”  My wife and I watched it for about six hours,  when  we were finally overcome by  boredom.  (I exaggerate – we sat through an hour and forty-five minutes.)   “Button” is a cinematic sleeping pill.  If I’m slow, “Button” is glacial.   I guess we missed the good-enough-to-receive-thirteen-Oscar-nominations part of the film.