Running At Practice vs. Running Practice

A few weeks back, when I met up with some TnT colleagues to celebrate Scott's successful completion of the San Diego marathon, talk turned to plans for the Market Square day booth and race.

Dave mentioned he needed some help manning the booth, so I said I'd gladly offer an hour or two of my time to help spread the word about TnT.

"But you and Erin will be running practice," he said.

Running practice? Of course I'd be running at practice -- just like I do every Saturday morning.

"No, you'll be running practice," he explained. With Dave tied up with Market Square Day responsibilities and a scheduling conflict with Coach Jack's new job, they'd turn the team over to me and Erin.

Yikes. Immediately my mind turned to the 'what if's' -- What if something goes wrong? What if somebody gets hurt? Or lost? I think I told Coach Jack about five or six times that evening to be sure to let me know ahead of time exactly what needs to be done and what to do in the 'what if' situations.

Then there were the simple things. Would I remember where the turn-arounds were? Would I remember what stretches we do?

It probably didn't help that I've actually experienced one of those 'what if' situations when I fell during training last fall. Please don't let one of the runners come around the corner bleeding from the knees and face like I did, I said to myself.

Erin and I met about a hour before the team run to get a few miles in -- since, as mentors, our runs with the team are unpredictable. We never know if we'll get our distance in or whether we'll need to lend a hand elsewhere.

It was a great day for running -- sunny and not too hot. The team trickled into the school's parking lot and formed a circle, settling in to listen to some quick tips on fundraising.

As we listened, Coach Jack pulled in and quietly entered the circle next to me. He handed me a the check-in sheets and a binder, showing me where to find the emergency information. Oh, and he gave me a first aid kit. I crossed my fingers that none of it would be needed.

Coach Jack patted me on the shoulder, told me everything would be fine, and pulled away, leaving the team in my hands.

With the fundraising seminar completed, Erin and I rounded up the team for the warm-up lap and stretching. The team was relaxed -- they didn't seem to mind that Erin and I were in charge. We must have been portraying confidence that we didn't really have at the time.

We were worried about losing runners -- it was the first time the marathoners would be running the full six-mile loop. They wouldn't know where to make the turns.

We described, as best we could, where the turn-arounds were and where the turns were. (Granted, we almost sent the half-marathoners on an extra mile, but were quickly corrected by the marathoners who told us that the Coast Guard station is the same place they turned around for five miles last week.)

With the directions conveyed, we started the run. Erin and I talked about our strategy -- should we run ahead to the turn-around? Should we stop at the Old Mobil to make sure the marathons go the right way? (We both knew there was no way we'd keep up with Nicholas, so we quickly abandoned that idea.)

We trotted out of the school and onto South Street. Just a few steps in, Erin and I agreed to turn around and let the runners continue. We'd drive the loop to make sure we could keep track of all of the runners. (With everyone running a different paces and distances, it's hard to do that while running with the group. Plus, if something happened, we wanted to have a car readily available.)

As we drove by our teammates, we'd slow down and offer words of encouragement or a thumbs-up. We stopped at certain points to make sure the runners knew they were on track.

Everything seemed fine. And it was for the rest of the run.

As is usually the case, it was a lot of worrying for nothing. (I've probably taken years off of my life worrying away at things that did not need to be given a second thought.)

We eventually waited at the school for runners to return, clapping as they made their way down the homestretch. Everyone cheered for Vicky's small personal victory when she made it back to the school before the marathoner girls.

Eventually, everyone made it back safely. Almost everyone had run farther than they had ever run before. It's a nice feeling being able to share that with the team.

Being in charge wasn't so bad. A lot of worrying for nothing -- as usual. It gave me a new appreciation for Coach Jack, who seems to head up the team effortlessly.

Even though it wasn't so bad, I'm looking forward to the return of Coach Jack and Dave on Saturday -- and getting back to the normal routine.

26.1 miles

A few weeks ago, as I was driving to my sister's summer place on Sebago Lake, I just happened to glance at a small mile marker sign on the side of the road: 26.1 miles.

Immediately, I thought about the marathon distance I'd be running this fall: 26.2 miles.

I remember thinking that I'd been driving along the Maine Turnpike for quite a while (26.1 miles, to be exact) and my mind questioned whether I'd be able to run that distance in just a few months. It seemed impossible.

But, as long as I stick to the TnT training -- and have the support of my teammates, friends and family -- I'm sure I'll make it.

I have the marathon training schedule posted on my work bulletin board and on my refrigerator, so I always know what's expected. It fits my nature just perfectly -- tell me exactly what's expected and I'll do it.

I've been pretty good at keeping up with the training so far. With my base mileage built up from the four half marathons I've done this year (never thought I'd be saying that!), I was ahead of schedule. Now, with the mileage increasing steadily, I'm right on track.

Cross training is really helping my running. I've added a few gym workouts -- weights or cardio, depending on the day -- and some yoga sessions. It's nice to give my legs a break and mix up the routine.

And even though I'm probably doing more in terms of exercise, running's becoming easier and I definitely feel stronger. I've just got to keep it up.

Just 16 weeks to go.

Turning Up The Heat

I've never sweat so much in my life as I did last night.

No, it wasn't from an extra hard run or a sudden heat wave. Last night I added something new to my cross-training repertoire -- Bikram yoga.

If you're not familiar with Bikram yoga, let me help you understand. Last night, I packed into a relatively small room with about 35 other people and twisted our bodies into all sorts of shapes for an hour and a half. And here's the kicker -- the room is at least 100 degrees.

That's no exaggeration. Ideally, Bikram is practiced at temperatures above 105 degrees, according to the brief online research I did.

I'd heard a lot about Bikram and know a lot of people who've tried it - and loved it. So, willing to give it a try, I decided to sign up for 10-day test drive.

I asked a friend of mine what I should bring. Her advice: minimal clothing and a couple of towels.

She was right. Normally, I'm pretty modest, but somewhere after the first five minutes of class last night, I was glad that I chose to go with only a sports bra and shorts. Even the light wicking material of my tanktop would have been unbearable.

(No, that's not me in the photo, but if I stick with this stuff perhaps it could be some day.)

I found my way to the second row (it was the second of two rows, just in case you think I was getting too ambitious) and placed my mat and towel on the floor. Others in the room did gentle stretches and some just lay motionless in a relaxed position while we waited for the instructor.

Somehow I ended up behind an incredibly toned and flexible man -- who happened to be wearing the smallest and tightest shorts I'd ever seen. He also probably had the fittest body I'd ever seen. As he contorted his body in ways that shouldn't be humanly possible, I resisted the urge not to stare.

Part of me felt awkward standing behind the nearly-naked man, but the other part felt as if I'd have a pretty good example in front of me to mimic his poses. He obviously knew what he was doing. (Turns out he is actually an instructor for another class, so my hunch to follow his lead was right on.)

Luckily, not everyone in the class was so perfect and toned. Sure, some were pictures of ideal body shapes and proportions, but most were what I will call 'normal' people.

The class started with two breathing exercises -- the first of which made me question whether the class was right for me when the instructor let out a guttural, throaty sound on the exhale. The class followed her lead -- letting out noisy, awkward exhales. I resisted the urge to snicker or run out of the room.

I re-focused my mind -- as I'm sure I wasn't supposed to be thinking about the germ-ridden breath of strangers that was filling the 100+ degree, air-tight room -- and concentrated on the deep breaths bringing oxygen to my lungs and blood.

The class got dramatically better from there and we moved into the postures. As a first-timer, I had to pay attention to exactly how my body was supposed to move. I watched myself in the mirrors at the front of the room and tried to replicate what I saw the others doing. We went through the series of postures, tightening and stretching our muscles in ways I'd never experienced.

The instructor guided us calmly through the series, correcting our form as to give us the most benefits. I'm sure the postures will come more naturally to me as my body gets used to working in this way. At least I hope so.

Soon, I was drenched with sweat. At one point, I noticed droplets plopping onto the mat below me. (I looked around to make sure I wasn't the only one experiencing this. I surely wasn't.)

I was sweating from places I'd never sweat before and my whole body was seeping. We were like chickens in a roasting pan, slowly letting out our juices. It wasn't at all like the sweat you experience after a hard cardio workout.

I knew I was getting an intense workout to my muscles, but I wasn't exhausted and my muscles didn't ache from use. They felt energized and lean.

When the 90 minutes were up, my body felt great. I felt stretched and relaxed, both physically and mentally. My skin was softer than I remember it being in a long time. It was like my whole body had gotten a facial.

I never thought I'd be looking forward to spending 90 minutes in a stifling hot room with a bunch of barely-dressed strangers twisting our sweaty bodies into almost-unnatural shapes. But I can't wait to go back.

His First Race

My Charming Friend finished his first race yesterday -- not that I had any doubt that he would follow through on his commitment to run Concord's Rock N' Road Race.

He did a pretty good job -- very good, actually -- especially considering that we haven't been running much lately.

CF agreed to the run the race as part of the wedu team, which I had joined in exchange for having their team captain at my table for a Big Brothers Big Sisters breakfast earlier this year. In my world, it's all about bartering and exchanging favors.

During one of our few practice runs, CF had completed 3+ miles (although perhaps there were some walking points in those runs?), so I didn't have a doubt that he could do it. Plus, being his nature, I knew that the race atmosphere and the energy of the crowd would pull him easily through the 3.1 miles.

And, as he later told me, he drew upon others for inspiration. "If they could do it, so could I," he said of some not-so-physically fit people in the crowd.

CF showed up in brand-spankin' new running clothes, definitely looking the part for the day and ready to run. (I was a bit disappointed that he didn't show up in padded Spandex like he told me he would.)

We made our way to the Big Bell on the State House lawn, where we were to meet the rest of our team. The rest of the team eventually joined us (I say eventually because I'm sure CF will point out that we were precisely on time and the others were late).

We laced on our timing chips, pinned on our numbers and headed to the Start Line. And we waited some more.

Then it started to rain. Oh, and it was cold.

Certainly not a great day for a race. I told CF once again that he's a good sport. I think it was probably the tenth time I'd told him that day.

The starting gun went off and the 5,600+ runners and walkers slowly took off. The rain came down and soaked us for the first mile. CF didn't complain and just kept running.

He didn't even stop at the chocolate covered strawberries or the straw hats being handed out to runners. (Maybe he just wanted to get the race over with?)

We spent the rest of the race people watching and commenting on runner's body shapes (and studying the extremely defined calves of a runner in front of us).

Soon enough -- in just a little more than 31 minutes -- we crossed the Finish Line. CF had finished his first 5K. I was so proud. He took it all in stride -- and talked about ways we could have made better time.

But for me it wasn't about the timing clock or distance or anything else. It was about doing something I enjoy with someone I enjoy spending time with. There'll be plenty of ways to improve our time for the next race.

Yep, the next race. CF's already given me the OK for me to sign him up for another 5K next month.

Either he's crazy or really likes me -- or maybe a bit of both.

That Doggie In The Window

I'm a sucker for puppy eyes. And Rebel knows it.

Sunday was the first day that I didn't take my furry running partner (not to be confused with my Charming Friend) with me on the run from my house.

It was in his best interest, but he didn't know that.

I woke up Sunday morning with thoughts of getting a longer run in. I had planned a 10-mile run with Scott and Erin on Saturday, but after a mishap with my lawnmower and a couple of house showings scheduled for the day, that didn't happen.

As I laced up my shoes, Rebel thought it was his cue. He ran excitedly to the landing at the top of the steps, waiting (somewhat) patiently for me to buckle his collar and leash.

Sorry, Buddy, I said. Not today.

It was 9 a.m. by the time I got around to the run. The sun was shining brightly and the temperature was somewhere in the high 50's.

I knew Rebel's double fur coat would be too much for him and that he wouldn't make the whole run without needing many water breaks.

Luckily, the 2 1/2 mile mark is the lake's boat launch where he can lap up the water and wade around to cool off. But I was planning to do the whole 7 miles around the lake, so there wouldn't be another water break for the poor pup.

I think Rebel sensed he might not be coming with me, so he bounced down the stairs and sat in front of the door -- looking expectantly at the doorknob, then at me with those puppy eyes.

Pleeeese, Mom, he seemed to say.

It was almost enough to make me cave. But I resisted, knowing that as much as I wanted him to run with me, it wouldn't be good for him.

I called him to the top of the stairs, apologized to him and gave him a good pat on the head. Again, the puppy eyes stared at me in disbelief.

As I crouched down to pet him, he even gave me his version of a hug -- he puts his paw up on my arm and snuggles into me. It makes my heart melt every time. I'm sure he knows it, too.

I won't be long, I told him.

It was the first run I'd done without him since I started running in August. We were a team, running buddies. How could I leave him?

I apologized again -- do dogs even know what the word "sorry" means? -- and headed out the door.

I heard a few barks from the house as I made my way down the driveway. (He never barks when I'm leaving the house.) Wait for me, he was telling me. Pleeease.

I turned around for one last look. A little face peeked out through the curtains in the picture window. Even from the end of the driveway, I could see the puppy eyes.

I took one deep breath, felt terribly guilty and turned out of the driveway to run.

It turned out to be a good run. I concentrated on some of the things Coach Jack had talked about on Saturday to improve form and efficiency. Plus, I didn't have to stop for any pee breaks along the way. How can Rebel can possibly lift his leg 15 times in a 3-miles run?)

By the time I made it back an hour later, Rebel had mostly likely forgotten about the episode. I'm sure he didn't feel neglected or abandoned.

Nonetheless, I gave him some extra love when I got home -- and made up for it with a trip to the dog park later in the day, where he met up with his pal (although I'm not sure the feeling is mutual), Bogey and some other new-found friends.

Maybe the hardest part of marathon training during the summer months is going to be resisting those puppy eyes.

Returning the Favor

When I woke up Saturday morning, I listened for rain -- even before opening my eyes.

I had told myself that if it was raining I wasn't going to run the Big Lake Half Marathon in Alton. But I didn't hear the sound of raindrops on the windows, so I reluctantly peeled my eyelids back to face the morning.

Within a few minutes, I was dressed in my running gear and packing a bag of things to keep my body fueled throughout the day -- a couple of GU gels, jellybeans, a banana, an orange, Gatorade and water. (I didn't end up eating all of those things, but thought that it was better to be over-prepared than under-prepared.)

I met up with Erin in Rochester so we could carpool to Alton, where we filed into the parking lot with the other runners. (Neither of us had an official number for the race after some last-minute changes in plans, so we decided we'd jump in at the starting line and jump out before the chute at the end of the race.)

We found Coach Jack and the TnT-ers in the school gym, dressed in their distinct purple singlets. Erin and I both wore TnT shirts, convincing ourselves that it wouldn't be as bad to 'illegally' run the race if we were there to support the other TnT-ers.

We lost the group somewhere near the starting line. As the race started and we made our way around Alton Bay, Erin and I chatted about nothing in particular -- running stuff, personal life stuff, plans to run the Maine Marathon (she's also signed up).

Somewhere between Mile 3 and 4, Erin decided that she was going to turn back. I felt pretty good and knew I could finish the 13.1 miles, so I kept going.

As I ran up the steady incline along Route 11, I found myself passing bunches of runners. From time to time, I'd end up chatting with the person next to me for a moment (wearing a Team In Training shirt sparks a lot of conversation).

There was a woman who told a story of running an Alaska marathon with TnT -- and having the race diverted because a moose was crossing the trail. And there was a TnT-er from the Boston team who was running her first half marathon. Then I caught up with Kara, one of my fellow Disney teammates.

Soon afterward I found myself running alone for a while. The steady incline continued and I made my way up the hill, taking in the views of the Lake Winnipesaukee. I passed an entertaining mile marker at Mile 5 that featured loud disco music, people in leisure suits and bubbles in the air.

And then Scott found me.

Scott's training for a marathon in San Diego on June 1 and was working on his longest run of his training on Saturday. He arrived before the race to get in 7 miles and would complete another 13 with the race.

Somewhere along the route, I told Scott that I felt bad that I didn't have a number and was running unofficially. He said not to worry because I was there supporting him today as part of TnT. Maybe he was just helping to rationalize my race entry, but it did help to know that I was helping him that day.

During the half marathon at Great Bay last month, Scott really pulled me through the last few miles. If not for him, I would have done a lot of walking. I couldn't take the hills anymore and just wanted to quit. He helped me mentally finish the run.

So Saturday's Big Lake was just the opportunity for me to return the favor.

I could tell that somewhere around Mile 8, Scott was getting less interested in talking. (It was Mile 15 for him.) He was approaching what is sometimes referred to as the Bite Me Stage -- a point at which you just want to finish and hidden parts of your personality will leap out at whomever is nearby.

Scott just got quieter, so I ceased the small talk and just focused on running next to him -- encouraging him up the hills, offering whatever fuel I had in my pouch and generally just moving forward.

As the mileage increased, so did Scott's pace. By the time we met up with Erin at a water stop (she stayed to help out during the race) around Mile 10, he was running at a pretty good clip.

Erin and I picked up with chit-chat as Scott continued his now-silent run. I could tell he just wanted it to be over. We offered some words of encouragement here and there as Scott neared his 20-mile mark.

As we make our way down the straight-away to the Finish Line, Erin and I left the pack (running unofficially, we couldn't run through the timing chute at the end). Scott continued to pick up his pace and press on toward the finish, determined to hit the 20-mile mark that day.

We lost Scott in the crowd at the Finish Line, which is unusual because he's 6'5"-ish and usually easy to spot. Erin and I hoped that he made it through the Finish okay and figured that he just wanted to get home and left immediately after the Finish.

I finished the 13.1 miles feeling pretty good -- it was the first time that I actually felt that I could have kept running, not that I was just pushing myself to finish the race.

It also felt pretty good that I could help out a fellow TnT-er. It's one of the great things about being part of a team, even if not officially.

When 13.1 Isn't Enough...

What are you doing October 5, 2008? If all goes according to plan, I'll be running the Maine Marathon. Yep, that's right. I signed up.

Now what?

Decisions, Decisions

I have a couple of decisions to make in the next week or so -- and I don't know why I can't make up my mind.

I need to decide whether to run the Big Lake Half Marathon on Saturday (yes, less than a week away). And, on a bigger scale, decide if I'm up for training for a full marathon.

The first one is a relatively easy decision. I told myself if I ran 10 miles yesterday (which I did) that I'd sign up for the Big Lake Half in Alton. So I guess that's what I'll do -- despite the fact that the 10 miles wasn't a great run.

I'm hoping I can attribute a less-than-quality run to the fact that I stayed up until 12:30 a.m. the night before, probably didn't fuel up as well as I should and felt as if I just need to get the run in so that I could make my 10:30 a.m. can't-be-late appointment to head to Maine for the day.

So, with my mind set on running the half marathon on Saturday, I guess I only have one decision left to make: Should I train for a full marathon?

I almost typed "Can I train for a full marathon?" but then decided to change it to the word "should" because I truly think (thanks to my experience with TnT) that I can do it.

Last year at this time, I never imagined that I could run a half marathon -- let alone be preparing for my fourth of the year already. And I know the people I've watched train for full marathons with TnT never thought they could do it. But they did.

And I can, too.

Despite that (sometimes wavering) sense of confidence, I still can't make up my mind about whether I should give it a try.

For starters, I can't decide which full marathon I'd like to try. I'd love to run the Chicago Marathon -- which would give me a chance to meet up with college friends and see the city where I lived in high school and college. I've thought about the Toronto Marathon -- which would bring me back to the city where I was born. And I'm considering the Maine Marathon -- which is on the next TnT training program, is nearby and would lend the support of fellow TnT-ers and family members.

Even if I could decide which one I wanted to try, there's part of me that wonders if I'd have the time I'd need to properly train. I also know that training for a full marathon will take a lot of dedication and some changes in lifestyle habits.

With the nagging part of me that keeps saying that the half just isn't enough, I'm sure I'll eventually get there. I just need to decide when, where and how.

My Charming Running Partner

The first person I told after I signed up for the Disney Half was someone I didn't really know very well. I'm not exactly why that is. Why didn't I tell my family, long-time friends or even co-workers?

I've come to know this person (whom I refer to as my Charming Friend) a lot better since August, and it turned out he was one of my biggest supporters during my Disney training (despite his somewhat sarcastic comments posted on this blog).

Throughout my journey, my Charming Friend has toyed with the idea of taking up running. (I try to contain my excitement when he talks about it -- thinking of what it would be like to have a steady running partner and thinking of the opportunities that training runs and races would give us to spend time together, get in shape and support good causes.)

I contain the excitement because I don't want to get my hopes up. I also don't want to be a nag or put pressure on him. I want him to run because he wants to run, not because I want him to.

You can imagine how hard it was to play it cool when he told me he just returned from Runner's Alley with a new pair of shoes. (Okay, so the shoes sat in the box for a few weeks (maybe more), but he still took the first step of buying them.)

I talked him into coming with me to the Fitness Expo before the Great Bay Half Marathon a few weekends ago, where I'd be picking up my race number for my third half marathon of the year.

Our first stop at the small expo was what I'll call the Remedies-For-All-The-Things-That-Can-Go-Wrong-With -Your-Body Booth: IT Band and knee braces, chaffing remedies, blister prevention, toe caps (I bought some of those), nipple covers (don't ask), shoe inserts and a bunch of other things designed to deal with problems that might arise while running.

It certainly wasn't a place I should be bringing a non-runner whom I hope will become my running partner, but he didn't seem to flinch. (Didn't start running right away, but it didn't scare him off entirely.)

A few days later, My Charming Friend did his first run -- a mile by himself on the concourse of the arena where he works. I was really proud, but tried my hardest to avoid gushing with compliments when he told me. (Don't scare him off, Teresa, I told myself.)

I wouldn't say he enjoyed his first run entirely -- I wish I could post an audio file of the voicemail message he left me about his aching shins, sore arches, throbbing back and the list of other ailments that his first mile had thrown at him.

But it still wasn't enough for him to quit. (I doubt that quit is in his vocabulary.)

The next day I joined him for another mile around the concourse -- a much slower mile, he told me, which I pointed out might be part of the reason he was hurting so badly after his first run.

He still didn't feel right, so brought his shoes back to Runner's Alley, exchanged them for another pair and chatted with the manager for a while about possible problems and fixes.

Not long after that, we ventured outside for a three-mile route in downtown Manchester that he created on www.mapmyrun.com -- which actually included scaling a brick wall (obviously not shown on the website route).

Three miles and he did it. And he finished strong, sprinting to our finishing point.

Again, I played it cool, congratulating him mildly on his accomplishment and patting him on the back (I know it drives him crazy to have his T-shirt pressed up against his sweaty back, so that move was partially congratulatory and partially intentionally annoying.)

He tried to play it cool, too, but I know he was proud of himself. (He sent a couple of text messages off to co-workers telling him he finished the three miles.) He also used the phrase "farther than I've ever run in my life."

TnT-ers use this phrase a lot. There's nothing like the feeling of running farther than you've ever run before.

And there's nothing like having a Charming Friend who takes up running -- or at least is willing to give it a try.

This Little Piggy ...

I have eight toenails.

In case you're wondering, I have 10 toes. But only eight toenails.

This toenail deficiency is a recent thing. It officially happened last weekend, although it's been a while in the making.

The day after my Disney race, I noticed that the second toe on my right foot was particularly tender. I wasn't sure why. It felt as if the tenderness was coming from underneath my nail. I couldn't see anything wrong with my foot, but it definitely hurt when I put pressure on it.

I chalked it up to the effects of my first half marathon. Could have been a lot worse, I told myself.

The next day, Ericka, a fellow TnT-er, ran the full marathon. Later in day, she complained of a painful toenail. Hers was worse -- she could feel and see the fluid build-up under the nail. I think she may have even tried to pop it. (Ouch!)

I didn't think much more of my toenail pain, but as the weeks progressed and my running continued, I found my nail getting yellowed - almost bruised. Eventually, it felt loose - almost as if I could flick it right off of my toe without any effort at all.

I did nothing, figuring if my body decided it was time for it to go, it would fall off.

Then recently, probably after my next half marathon, the same thing happened to the second toe on my left foot. Although the pain wasn't nearly as noticeable, that toenail suffered the same nasty process, yellowing, bruising and loosening.

Yuck. What had I done to my once-decent-looking feet? (At least I've been told my feet are nice ... well, were nice. No one's seen them lately. And at this rate, I won't be showing anyone.)

I stopped at Runner's Alley last week to pick up some socks and GU for my upcoming half marathon. While checking out, I decided to ask the woman behind the counter about my toenail mishap.

"Happens to people all the time," she said. She then asked me a series of questions: did I have my shoes fitted, how far did I run, how often does it happen?

She told me about the tendency for the foot to tighten during long runs, pushing the toes against the top of the shoe. She told me about various ways to lace the shoe to avoid pressure on the toes. But, basically, she told me that there's really not much I can do.

Great, another battle scar? Aren't the scars on my knees and shoulder from my fall enough?

Giving my nails a little trim on Sunday, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I made my way to the loosened toenails and gingerly started cutting. And kept cutting and cutting.

I discovered a fresh, new toenail growing underneath. I cut the old toenail all the way back. The new one was extremely delicate and thin -- like a baby's fingernails -- but it was definitely there. The right foot looks better than the left, but I'm hoping that the left one keeps growing into a full nail.

Just before writing this I decided to do a little research. (Like everyone these days, I consider 'research' to be typing something into an online search engine and trusting the information that pops up.)

I googled "running toenails" and found a host of website with stories and advice. The woman at Runner's Alley was right. It does happen all the time.

The consensus of the websites was simple: After ruling out possible causes (shoes that don't fit, socks that are too thick, running in hot weather, etc.) and watching for ongoing problems (extreme pain, infection, etc.), just deal with it.

I guess that's what I'll do.

I just hope my brand-new, baby-like toenails make it through the Great Bay Half Marathon on Sunday. They're only a week old. I don't want to lose them yet.