Enjoying the Journey

Despite my best intentions, I've allowed a lot of time to pass since my last entry.  Tsk, tsk.  But so much is happening--and so fast!--that I'm having a hard time keeping up with the living, much less the recording.  

There are worse problems.

Since Hell's Hills, I've done two more events (The Maze 30K and Pandora's Box of Rox Trail Marathon).  Yeah, I went from a 25K to a 42K in one month.  So it's probably not surprising that there was some truly ugly running mixed in with some stellar efforts.  However, I can honestly say that EVERY experience yielded positives and I learned quite a bit about myself, ego, and recovery.


( Here are the full details on The Maze 30K and Pandora's Box of Rox Trail Marathon. )

Yesterday, I did the 25K out at Hell's Hills.  It's a trail race out in Smithville at a mountain bike park called Rocky Hills Ranch.  This same race was my first ever trail race back in '05.  I ran a 3:10 that day.  Since then, I've not done another 25K, though I have done many, many races that have multiples of 25K.  However, I am on the come-back trail and this race was to be a supported long run in my rebuild for distance.

Yesterday started out with some nerves and so I was glad to have company; I'd hitched a ride with my friend Cris.  Even better--once we got there, we ran into a whole bevy of girlfriends and we all promptly set up our chairs together.  I had really, really, REALLY been missing this part of the whole trail race experience.  Because of the time involved and the multitude of distances usually offered, trail events are much more sociable than road racing.  People set up impromptu aid stations, which turn into little sociable seating areas for recovery post-race. And it just so happened that many of my friends for a variety of reasons were doing one of the "baby" distances, the 25K, just like me.  All was right with my world.

When the gun went off at 7AM, I immediately felt like I was working too hard.  It's a single track, twisty trail, and it bottlenecked quickly.  I hate being stuck with a bunch of people.  You either get pushed to run too fast to keep up with the group or you wind up going too slow, waiting for an opportunity to pass.  I'm one who likes to be running pretty much alone in the woods.  My friend Marcia was up ahead, and she checked her faster pace to hang back with me.  The group eventually spread out, and the two of us had the trail mostly to ourselves.  My legs felt heavy and I was moving into the "beat-up" zone, where that little voice starts in on just what it is that I'm not doing well.  Marcia and I began to talk, and within minutes the run had turned from a crappy race performance into lovely trail time with a buddy.  Marcia saved my day.  While I never felt completely bad, I did feel slow and I had to work to focus on the fact that this was my long run, not a race, so there was no need to beat myself up about pace.  It was in fact my longest distance to date, on either road or trail, and my ankle began to protest in the last few miles (especially when we hit The Grind and The Wall, two steep, short climbs that merely pointed out that my strength in that side is still lacking).  By the time we came into the finish, I was ready to be done.  Time: 3:57.  Ouch.

Had it not been for the awesome camaraderie out there, I'd have been upset with the results.  But I got so much loving support from everyone I saw that there was no way I could pout or complain.  I got an arm around the shoulders from Joe with a "good to have you back out here," not to mention great laughs and conversation from my buddies.  One of the best moments was coming into an aid station full of friends I hadn't seen in awhile.  For the first time in about a year and a half, I felt a part of things.  And I got what I consider to be the ultimate compliment; my friend Stephanie Huie asked me to pace her at Cactus Rose in her first 100-miler this October.  

I have a lot of conditioning to do.  My plan is to do the marathon distance at Box o' Rox in a month.  Again, the race will be my longest run, so I merely need to get to 21 miles before May 5.  There's no taper, just a need to appropriate space long runs and recovery.  I have to remind myself that the time won't be pretty or anywhere near what I've done at a trail marathon before--I am simply working endurance at this point, with the idea that, as I continue to condition and build, the speed will eventually come back (especially as more injury weight comes off).  To even begin to put speed into play here would be too much, too fast.  I think my short runs on the road will have to suffice as speed work for the time being.

I have my big race at the end of June, a 2-day run around the Isle of Wight with the Seckers, my wonderful super ultra running buddies who regularly tackle countries and continents.  The first day is 37 miles, while the second day is 31.  Wouldn't have been a worry at all for pre-injury Leah.  However, I have to keep in mind that it was just the end of November that I ran 5 miles without having to take walk breaks, December before I could do back-to-back runs, January before I finished the 10-mile loop comfortably, and February before I covered 13.1.  I've worked up to 4:00 on my feet since November without set-backs, so I just have to continue to be careful.  Better to be undertrained than to hurt myself.  The beauty of the race is that many people will be walking, which means I can absolutely run and walk if I have to, so I've been working up my walking as well.  I feel pretty optimistic about getting ready for this.  In any event, it will be a lovely time with friends in a beautiful setting hanging out all day on trails.  

I wrote an AFM FitBlog post this morning about Micah True's death .  I came home this evening and immediately wanted to pull out my copy of Born to Run to refresh my memory on Caballo Blanco, as True was also known.  This is the crappy part of moving...I can't find my copy.  It must be in a box in storage, one of the many books that I haven't quite gotten around to unpacking yet.  And I'm too tired to go there, dig through boxes, and find it.  So I won't be rereading Born to Run tonight.

Books are like old friends; they are very comforting to me.  I reread my favorites over and over again.  I had originally borrowed a copy of Born to Run from my running buddy, Lindsey, who insisted I needed to read it when it first came out.  I fell in love, not with the idea of barefoot running (I like shoes) but with the way the author talked about running and how he fell in love with being out on the trail.  That was true to me, and so I had to buy my own copy in order to highlight and put stars by special quotes.

While I was looking for this book, I came across my copy of Going Long: Training for Ironman-Distance Triathlons by Friel and Byrn.  I had to laugh because my highlighter was still stuck in there, just as though I'd put it down yesterday instead of, oh, almost four years ago.  There are sticky notes in with my chain ring size and various miscellaneous bits of notes or figures stuck on pages throughout, as well as a Post-it on the front with instructions along the lines of "swim smart, ride hard, and run tough" (I can't remember the exact wording but you get the drift).  The book was my constant companion while I was training for IM Coeur d'Alene.  I shake my head whenever I remember one friend who summed up the de facto triathlete Bible as "oh, he just says you need to work on the bike."  Going Long was a wealth of information.

Just a few weeks ago, I found out that my childhood copy of A Wrinkle in Time had somehow accidentally been put into the discard pile and disappeared.  I'm not exaggerating when I say there were tears.  I parted with some 10 boxes of books, and those were the books I weeded out AFTER we moved; the number does not include the books that gradually left as I packed up the house in order to move.  People who know me and have come to the new house have asked, "How did you get rid of all those books?"  It was hard.  But some of it was fun; my daughter and I went through my art books and she made a list which she sent to her art major friends, who eagerly called dibs. It's easy to give away a signed Nic Nicosia book when you know it will be appreciated.  It's also easier to give away books when you know they're going to help someone; I sent many boxes of books to a friend for her German Short-Hair Pointer Rescue garage sale.  

I'm working on a book.  It's been dormant for a bit but I've been inspired by a friend who has vision and an ability to help take an idea to fruition.  One of these days, I hope to have my book out there in the world.  And I hope it makes it into the "must keep" pile.

I'm in the process of joining the digital age by joining Twitter (Lord help us all), and there was a space in my profile for a link to my blog. Hmmmm...I remember this.  I used to be pretty regular in my updates but, between moving and landing a new job, "Enjoying the Journey" fell by the wayside.  So I think it's time to blow the dust off this thing, stir the crickets in the corners, and get back to it.

As part of my job at Austin Fit Magazine, I get to do a lot of writing.  Mostly, it's quite a bit of fact-based, relatively invisible stuff.  Sometimes, though, it's personal; I have a piece in the upcoming issue that touches on my injury and recovery. When Melanie (our editor-in-chief) asked me to write it, I was hesitant.  It felt a little indulgent to write about myself in a print magazine.  So I tried to step back a bit and focus on the broad picture, using my personal experience merely as a framework to discuss the more universal concepts behind my particular experience.  (I'm being a little cagey because the issue isn't quite out yet--the April issue comes out any day now!)

Still, writing for a magazine is not like writing for your blog.  There's an assumption that the people who come to this blog are interested in my personal experiences, that all reading are simply dying to hear about my last run or the way I struggled over the pounds I gained while not training or just how I managed to snag another grand adventure.  It makes writing about those things feel safe.  But that's an illusion, isn't it?  There's no more guarantee that anyone reading this isn't rolling his eyes, exclaiming, "Oh, come ON.  You've got to be kidding?  Can you spell n-a-v-e-l g-a-z-i-n-g?" than there is with the random print audience.  Haters gonna hate.

My wonderful Ironman coach Amy Anderson led me to this blog as a training tool, a way to connect with the rest of the (rabid) Ironman-Austin community.  I think I'll pick it back up not just a sports training tool but also as a work training tool, another way to connect with the people "out there" who, like me, love Austin, fitness, and the words and stories that go along with all of it.  

Nice to see you again!

It's been over a month since I last posted; it feels like forever.

We're weeks away from moving. I'm doing the hard things now, like getting rid of some favorite furniture and sending my piano off to a friend for "babysitting" until my daughter is in a stable enough living space to house it. I'm not one who is really attached to things, but some things are harder to set aside than others. The kids' bedrooms are empty; the only things in there are in transition--either leaving for good or moving with us. Our bedroom is pretty bare (and will be extremely bare once the furniture set goes to a new home). Kitchen cabinets are empty except for what we use right now. The storage unit is full. I warned my son that this house will look very empty when he comes home in another week.

I've been busy with some new responsibilities with Austin Fit Magazine, helping new editor-at-large and friend Melanie Moore with writing and editing as they transition under her leadership. I love it. It's tons of fun, extremely stimulating, and something that I hope becomes permanent.

Running...well, I've been up and I've been down. Over the last month, I progressed to running 3 days a week (once on the road and twice at Lady Bird Lake) for up to four 7-minute intervals. And then, last week, I had a setback. My ankle announced "NO" and I made a trip in to see my wonderful PT, Christine. I thought I'd been reading my body but no, I'd been pushing a bit too hard and ignoring some subtle (well, they were subtle to me) signs that I was doing too much. Signs like achiness and stiffness in the morning, general soreness, and light swelling. (Things that most of us as runners tend to ignore; think of all those runs where the first mile feels like hell and every other mile is great.) My hilly neighborhood road route was too much, even though I was feeling great while running. I got wild and crazy and ran back-to-back two days in one week after I got stuck at home, waiting for a delivery and missed my regular run date--nope, not good at all. My ankle swelled horribly, there was a painful "snap" while walking, and so I've been sidelined and put back in the compression sock until Tuesday. And then, regression; I'm back to four 4-minute intervals twice a week.

I posted on facebook recently that recovery is the hardest training I've ever done, and I mean it. It's such a frustrating mental exercise. It's hard to reconcile what I'm allowed to do with what I want to do with what I used to be able to do with where I want to be in the future. This process is very lengthy, and there are very few "positives" to celebrate along the way because everything feels like less than before I was hurt. And now it looks like there's not even a very linear progression of improvement to count on. The irony is that I have my setback right after the first week where I began to feel normal, normal in running and schedule and how my body felt. Christine tells me this is good, that it shows we're pushing the edge of what I can do. Sigh. I can't wait for the day when it's my spirit, not my ankle, that determines "the edge."

I allowed myself 24-hours of pity party (and my walking partner Dr. Stephanie sure got an earful of it), so that's done. I think I'll take my bike in for a cleaning and tune-up next week and start hitting the veloway for a little something different. I need a schedule change up, something to do other than aqua jogging and walking on those non-running days. And I'm really looking forward to all the flat, new running routes that will be outside my front door in just 3 weeks.

Some weeks seem to attract important events.  I had a doozie of a week last week.

On Monday, August 15, we closed on the sale of our house of almost 15 years.  It's the house that has seen everybody's prom pictures, numerous homecoming dinners, and countless birthday celebrations; lamented the passing of beloved pets (dogs, cats, fish, firebelly toads); been a workspace for several jobs and seen us through a year of unemployment;  taken us through elementary, middle school, and high school and 2 kids' worth of college classes; it's been our home since my 18-year-old was 4.  Right now, we are renting back from the new owners until they can move in, which is November 1.  We had a dream experience, thanks largely to our fabulous realtor, Cindy Niels, who helped us prep, priced it right, and worked tirelessly to show it.  It had never occurred to us that everything would work out so perfectly, even in our wildest dreams.  The new owners love all the same things about the house that we did and they have a brand new young family.  I'm so happy that there will be kids enjoying this great home again.

That afternoon, my son and I made a trip to UTSA so he could take a Chemistry placement test.  He knocked it out of the park, and it was a great topper to the day.

On Wednesday, I got my "return to running" program at PT.  For the next 2 weeks, I'm working on my own, doing the strength and flexibility exercises that I was doing at PT.  In addition, I'm running!  Yes, it's short intervals (right now, I'm doing 4 x 3 minute intervals, with 2 minutes of walking recovery inbetween)...and it's going to stay that way for quite some time.  It will take me 12 weeks to get to my 40 minutes of solid running which will completely cut me loose to train as I see fit.  Until then, I'll go back in a couple of weeks for an evaluation to see how all this is progressing.  It's absolutely fabulous; I sweat during a workout!!  My PT, Christine, is whipping my ankle (and the rest of me) back into shape.  I went today to do my workout on my own and it felt marvelous.  I even did bouncy turns on the Bosu ball even though it wasn't on my list of things to do....shhhh...don't tell Christine....

That night, we had all the family in town over to our house for a so-long dinner for our boy.  We all talked about how it was most likely the last time we'd congregate together at Sophora Cove.  Sure, there will be a couple of things here and there before we move in October, but the odds that either of our away kids would be home are low.  This leaves our oldest daughter and her long-term boyfriend, who live here in Austin, to bear the full brunt of parental attention.  

To end the week, we took our youngest child to college at UTSA on Friday, August 19.  The hardest moment for me was leaving the house, knowing that he would probably never come back to it.  Another challenge was that he had to pack to move to college, pack to move to the new house, and pack for storage or get rid of stuff.  Now, both kid rooms (the big room that held both our girls as they grew up and our son's room with his Dallas Cowbody colored walls) sit virtually empty.  I have a little bit of work still to do in each but it is as though all of our children are gone--  which, in truth, they are.  It was a smooth move-in for the youngest (clothing disaster averted on I35 and roommate check-in awkwardness totally dispensed with) and he even managed to get into the Chemistry class that he wanted after drops had been completed.  Last we heard, he'd been to a welcome dinner, met new friends, and bought his books.  The fact that we haven't heard anything in the last couple of days is a good sign.

Between a "real" workout, closing out the house situation, and wrapping up the college process for the youngest, I feel as though a thousand-pound weight has been lifted off of me.  I don't think I really had any idea how stressed I was until significant chunks of my load fell away.  Sure, there's tons of stuff left to do but it's just moving stuff around.  I'm only getting better and I'll only be running more.  And it's now up to my boy as to what successes he chooses to have at school.  Exciting times.

In the meantime, the hubby and I are joking that our to-do list for next weekend is 1) learn French, 2) go sky-diving, and 3) get a tattoo.  Life is good!!

 This is my training journal, so I try to keep my entries to running (or lack of running and rehab).  But so much of what I do in running and training is tied in with life in general that the waters get a little murky at times and something more "life" related will make a splash I can't ignore or leave unaddressed.  This entry is really about setting goals...and how can any of us train without successfully setting goals?

Last night, I had the great honor and privilege of going to a cocktail party hosted by a dear friend who is launching her first book.  I've know Patti for more than 20 years; we go 'way back before her kid was born and before 2 of mine were around.  We met randomly through a mutual friend who wanted to put together a Bunco group (remember that '80's dice game that was really an excuse to hang out with girlfriends and drink?  Now it's called "book club.")

Because many of us were strangers to one another, our friend had us go around in a circle and introduce ourselves, tell a little something about who we were and what we did.  I don't remember exactly what Patti said, but she was certainly writing and freelancing and I distinctly remember thinking to myself, "Wow.  I'd like to do what she does."  We became friends over many evenings of dice and drinks, shared books, babies, interest in art, you name it.

Patti was my mentor into freelance writing.  Everything I know about being a successful freelancer and professional came from Patti, whether she simply modeled behavior or out-right instructed me.  Her help and guidance over time have been invaluable.

Several years ago, Patti announced that it was time for her to write a book on networking.  She wanted to take the things she'd learned as a freelancer, successful businesswoman, and consummate networker and parlay that into her new business: selling her book, speaking to folks eager to learn, and sharing with others her professional knowledge.  We were at a conference and she made a pledge to one day present her own book there.

And by God, she's done it.  She has produced a wonderful book; she's already moderated a panel of authors in discussion; she's speaking at various events about networking; she's selling her book.  I've watched her work purposefully and steadily to become exactly the person she wanted to be, doing the things she dreamed about doing.  I cannot express how proud I felt last night as she mingled among her supporters, signing copies of her book.

If you think about it, what Patti has done is not so very different from executing a successful race plan.  She spent a lot of time deciding what outcome she wanted and she took the steps to achieve it.  She invested in years of training to get to the start line.  What she did during her race was fueled by good decisions made from experience and keeping her eyes on the greater prize.  On the off days, she persevered because she was motivated by the rewards at the end to overlook pain in the process.  Patti visualized her success at every step.

I admire her so.  Watching Patti navigate this process has shown me that what keeps me from my own successes is ME.  If I can set goals, plan strategies, and successfully execute a race plan, then I can surely do the same with a life plan.  What is the difference?  Nothing but desire.  And sometimes, the very thing you need is that wonderful person who dares, dreams, models, and goes first....

 Yesterday turned into one of those totally unexpected great days.  The kind where everything seems to go right.

The very best thing was my physical therapy.  Over the last few weeks, I've felt that something about my recovery turned a corner; the walking is better; the swelling is less; I feel more and more like myself at every juncture.  When I went in yesterday, I was very pleased to be seeing my regular therapist, Christine, again (we'd both been on vacations for the last couple of weeks and so missed one another).

She did some testing with ankle raises and told me I'm at about 70% right now.  At 80%, I get to start incorporating running into my routine.  While I didn't comment on it, I did make a mental note that, with this number, I probably wasn't going to get to run at the end of the month as I'd hoped.  Oh, well; I set that aside as Christine briskly moved onto other new things.  She had me bump up my speeds on the treadmill during my side-to-side and backward walking...which meant I had to incorporate a bit of hopping into the motion.  Now, it may seem a small thing to you, but it's been quite a while (6 months) since I've been "airborne" in any capacity.  Hopping says progress.  You can't run without being airborne.  This was simply thrilling!  So I had a new speed PR on the treadmill...I've met my max speed on the Newton walking forward (3.8), and I've gone beyond side-to-side (from a 1.8 to 2.0) and backwards (from 2.0 to 2.4) all at full body weight.  I actually worked up a little sweat AND breathed a bit hard--nirvana!  I was grinning like a total loon.  This alone would've made the day a good one.  But there was more to come.

Christine had me get on a piece of equipment called "the Reformer"--nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!--which would allow me to essentially jump from a prone position, relieving my ankle of some 50 pounds of body weight.  First, I jumped with both feet in order to get the motion down.  It was like being a kid on a trampoline or in a jump-up.  So fun!  I was laughing and having a blast.  Next, she had me jump on the good leg only, my right one.  Piece of cake!  And then it was time to jump with only the bad one, my left ankle.  And it was funny; there was this momentary "oh shit" moment.  It was hard to take the first jump.  Total fear factor (irrational, I know, but that doesn't make it any less real) that something would go horribly wrong, that my ankle would collapse, that arrows of pain would shoot up my leg, that sort of thing.  I said as much to Christine, who told me that fear was normal and expected and that's why we were doing it here first...just try.  So I jumped.

It's hard to do justice to the feeling of pure joy that washed over me when it was just fine.  Nothing hurt.  Nothing was screwed up.  It just felt a bit stiff and unwieldy, kind of like it needed to "wake up" and then it was fine.  It was bliss.  It was heaven.  I did not want to stop jumping.

There were other new, challenging things to do but that was the big break-through.  It felt like I'd been given a big gift, and I hope I accurately conveyed to Christine just what a wonderful moment that was for me.

The rest of the day was filled with other fantastic things.  I went by the French Place house and found that they had started work on the outside trellis, which was a total surprise.  My hubby got back from his trip and joined me there, and we wound up having an unexpected late lunch date at El Chile, one of our favorite places.  That evening, we had a family get-together at the house for dinner (everybody but the middle child, that is, who is still working at camp).  And all of the good things for the rest of the day were surrounded in this wonderful glowing aura left over from PT.  One of the best days I've had in a long, long time.

 Recovering from a running injury has got to be something like drug rehab.

At first, you just feel so bad that you don't want to do anything.  The more normal you begin to feel, the harder it is to stay away from your drug.  It's a fight to keep from making justifications to do what you want to do ("Oh, my PT is just being overly cautious; a little bit of running won't hurt" or "Walnut Creek is not REALLY a trail, so if I just went out to walk a bit what would that hurt?" or "I know my body better than anyone and I'm feeling pretty good today" ).

Lately, I've noticed I can get a tad grouchy and resentful.  It's hard to balance being a part of things through spectating with that sour-puss feeling of resentment that everyone else is doing something fun that excludes you in a way that enables you to maintain a sunny disposition.

Tonight, I'm heading out to Inks Lake to help at an aid station in order to satisfy my running craving.  Cap'n Karl's is a nighttime 30K/60K trail race.  I have done the race back when it was a daytime event, and I have run the long-gone Inks Lake Trail marathon there as well.  I love the terrain because it is varied and interesting; you get a little bit of everything, from sandy creek-side bits to woods to a bit of more technical stuff on rock.  I've never done the granite domes at night but I think it would be a blast (and a little bit of a challenge trying to find trail markers and watch your footing in the dark).  This will be my first race to volunteer at since I broke my ankle; I've done some spectating but, until now, I didn't feel like my ankle was strong enough to take on long periods of standing at an aid station.  And really working an aid station is more exhausting than doing the event itself, at least as far as I'm concerned.

There's a tad bit of guilt at abandoning my son to go hang out in the woods all night but he told me it sounded like something I really wanted to do and he'd be fine (and of COURSE he'll be fine but that really has no bearing on mother guilt).  Yes, I really want to do this.  I'm practically hungry to be back out on the trail.  Not so much running in general, though I am totally looking forward to the day when I can simply add a few minutes of run-time into those Ladybird Lake walks.  But there is a true yearning for something that being on the trail gives me.  It's more than the physical act of running, though.

I think part of it is a need to "get back on that horse."  I told a friend a while back that there was a bit of fear wound into recovery, and she snorted at me and basically said that I was wrong.  (Not a very empathetic person to begin with...and someone who has yet to suffer a true set-back.)  But the folks who've had an injury along these lines get it.  Suddenly, you worry about pain and injury where you never did before.  I look back at my 100K out at Bandera and wonder at all the opportunities I had to injure myself.  And the worst that happened was I lost a crown.  Yes, what happened to me at Rocky was completely random and could've happened anywhere...and that's the scary part, the not being able to predict.  Before, it never was real that I should predict anything...now I can't seem to not predict it.

I keep getting closer and closer to 100%.  I've been experimenting with leaving my compression sock off during the day for periods of time to see if my swelling comes back.  It does, a bit, but more slowly and not nearly as much.  I'm going to rest up for tonight and plan to enjoy the hell out it.

(I was just startled by a noise and looked up in time to see Huff Huff Man running around our cul de sac.  I'll take it as a loud blessing!)

 I'm a sucker for rewards.  Positive feedback and motivation is what works for me.  Perhaps it all goes back to Mrs. Zimsick, my piano teacher, who rewarded successful lessons with (be still my heart!!) horse and pony stickers.  There was the occasional bird sticker but the horses were best.  I still have my lessons notebook and I vividly remember picking out certain stickers.

Christine, my PT, gave me a silver (or as she called it, "platinum") star yesterday at the end of my evaluation.  I wore it proudly the rest of the day and came home to stick it into my running log.

I had some good numbers.  My swelling had been at 1.3cm and 1.5cm the last two evaluations.  Yesterday, it was 0.3cm.  BAM!

Previously, I was able to balance for 28 seconds with my shoe on.  Yesterday, she stopped me at 1:00 and I was barefoot.  BAM!

I can't really remember all the other numbers except that they were all better.  My strength side-to-side has improved immensely but it has a ways to go (from 45 to about 80 in order to be running, and don't ask me the units on that because I don't know...%? Pounds of pressure? who knows?).

All of that was enough to put me over the moon.  I'm a numbers geek, and the numbers are clearly getting better; there's no doubt that I'm moving in the right direction.  I was extremely proud and very ecstatic.

And then Christine said to me..."And if all goes well like it has been, and if you continue this progress, I'm going to cautiously say that we can start to add some running into the mix by the end of the month."

Me, almost jibbering with excited disbelief and joy:  "You mean I get to run in here on the treadmill?"  

Christine:  "No, I mean outside. At body weight."

OH HOLY JESUS.

I can't really describe how that felt, except that there was a huge shit-eating grin on my face, some tears I couldn't really help and didn't quite expect, and a bit of weird joyous non-word-type exclamations.

2 more weeks in the compression socks.  Several new home exercises.  Adding some impact work into the PT sessions.  She warned me that we'd be pushing it to the edge of what I can do, that it would be hard and painful at times, and I only have one thing to say to that:

BRING IT!