Do The Hip Shake, Baby

I started running decades ago, before distance running became anywhere near as popular as it is today.

It was a more primitive time, before the Nike Waffle Trainer, before The Complete Book of Running, and before any of the magazines that line the racks of major book stores, magazines like Runner's World and Running Times.

Only crazy people and Olympic athletes ran marathons.

It was a much different time in 1973, the year I entered high school, the year my stepfather said, "You have to go out for a sport."

I'd been pretty good at baseball as a kid, so-so at basketball and really did not like football.

Plus, by the time I entered high school I had developed a sort of anti-establishment attitude toward team sports. They were uncool. As were marching band, proms, clubs and organizations of any kind.

But my high school guidance counselor, who also happened to be the school's cross country coach, suggested I try out for the sport. Actually, he said, I should just show up at the track infield and be ready to run. Cross country then had no tryouts, and the coach/guidance counselor was grateful for anyone who showed up.

Cross country had kind of an outsider mystique, a lone wolf status -- just you competing against your own best time, crashing through the woods in all kinds of weather and terrain. Rebels without a play book.

Up until then, the fanciest sneakers I'd ever owned were a pair of Converse All-Stars, which served as well for basketball as they did for tennis and gym class and running and bicycling. Think of them as primitive cross-trainers. Oh, well, I did have those baseball cleats from my Little League days but that was about it.

The coach said I had to get myself a pair of running shoes, and I thought and so I went out and bought my first ever pair of specialized shoes that were not traditional cleats or gym shoes.

I'd never heard of running shoes before (track cleats, sure). And there was not a lot on the market back then. The Nike Waffle Trainer hadn't been invented yet, and the Tiger running shoe was too expensive. But I remember the track stars at the 1972 Olympics wearing these crazy, red shoes. And the salesman convinced my step-dad those were the best for the money, so those were the ones we bought.

I'll never forget those Adidas SL 72s. Red suede-and-nylon tops with three-white stripes. A weird grippy white sole unlike any other with a slightly built-up heel, a pinched middle that followed the contours of a person's arch, broadened out at the ball of the foot and tapered at the toe. The shoe was snug, stable and fit like a, um, glove.

I loved them. I wore the hell out of them, slapping their spongy soles along the hilly, paved roads of Northport, NY, during practice and on my own.

There was no widely known manual for distance running, no Jim Fixx book on the shelves (The Complete Book Of Running came out in 1977). Only my guidance counselor coach to guide me.

His instructions abut running have stuck with me to this day:

•  Head up, shoulders back and hips tilted forward.
•  Sway those hips from side to side slightly and push off the balls of your feet. 
• Listen to the sound of your shoes hitting the pavement, like a snap or rim shot. 
• Don't pump your legs straight up and down like a soldier or marching band member.
• Don't drive down on your heels, for god's sake. 
• Let gravity guide you. 

My cross country coach was the closest thing I had to a guru, and I've done OK by him. I've never had a shin splint, IT band injury or seriously whacked out knees, which could be physiology and good genes as much as anything.

But I also never had any serious running injuries until last year. And that more likely was the result of normal wear and tear on a 52-year-old body, stress from a non-running back injury I'd received more than a decade before, and improper training before running a grueling marathon in 95-degree heat.

As I continue my rehabilitation, I tend to focus more on form than anything else. I feel myself sagging, or my shoulders drooping and my feet shuffling, and I remember those words of my coach. I snap my head up, throw my shoulders back,  and tilt those hips forward and suddenly I can hear that crisp staccato of my waffle soles hitting the pavement. And I'm right back where I started.

Now, watch this hip-shaking clip of the Rolling Stones rehearsing for Montreaux in 1972:

Rehab 101

So, now that I'm running again, and feeling better than I have in a year, I've got to resist the temptation to fall off the wagon so to speak, and go full out on my workout regime.


That's not to say I haven't pushed the envelope with a couple of longer runs, and one really serious workout this morning where I pushed up my pace, chugged up some hills and ran as hard as I could till I felt like hurling.


That being said, I realized that there are several really good rules to follow when recovering from an injury, especially the epic SI joint inflammation that I've been dealing with.


RULE # 1: Listen to your body. Respect its limitations. You can't just go from laying on the couch for a year to putting in eight-mile runs every day. Run your best, but when the piriformis pings or the knees ache, stop and stretch, walk a bit, and ease your way back into a comfortable pace.


RULE # 2: Drink. Lots. Of. Water. The muscles like water. They need to be bathed in fluid, according to an article read in a recent issue of Running Times magazine.For two hours after a run your body is still in recovery, even as the metabolic rate slows down, according to Julia Lucas. So drink up.


RULE # 3: Feed your body. You've just had an intense workout, and you've robbed your body of lots of nutrients as a result. I like taking a multi-vitamin after a tough workout.


RULE # 4: Take it easy. The hard part is over. Relax. Enjoy yourself. Do some gardening. Read a book.


RULE # 5: Treat yourself. After my nine-miler Thursday, I had a 15-minute deep tissue massage and a chiropractic adjustment. I allowed myself a full 48 hours to derive the benefit of that massage. The New York Times just reported on a study that shows one massage session can cause amazingly beneficial biological changes. As someone who had one of the most excruciating but most beneficial massages of my life, let me say, Om.


RULE # 6: Take your meds. I don't care what other doctors may have to say about the subject, but I'm a firm believer in a doctor-supervised medical treatment as part of any recovery program -- in moderation. The meloxicam (anti-inflammatory) I take every day works on the SI inflammation, along with the massage and the regular stretching exercises. If I need to take a tramadol or muscle-relaxer to ease that piriformis ping, so be it.


RULE # 7: Stretch. Always incorporate some kind of stretching as part of your recovery. I do a combination of yoga and physical therapy positions I've learned over the years. The worst thing you can do is sit around and stiffen up.


RULE # 8: Ice it down. If it aches, alternate ice with heat to reduce the inflammation. It works.


And now, "Body Rock," by Moby:

Turd On The Run

Sorry. But there is no delicate way to broach a subject every distance runner has hurdled at one time or another, and that is the efficient, discreet disposal of certain bodily wastes.

Nature sometimes calls at inconvenient moments, particularly on a nine-mile run to the beach and back before the sun is up, before any stores are open. Your stomach cramps, your intestines writhe, and.... you gotta drop a deuce. So what is a runner to do when that dreaded call comes?

Well, the answer is simple, unfortunately. You must do that doo doo that you do so well, and make due best as you can under the circumstances.

Relief is no simple task. You've got to find a secluded spot where no one is going to find you au naturel, shorts around the ankles, in an undignified squat. Running into the woods with nothing but a Harvest Moon to guide your way is no fun. Brambles, thickets and god knows if you're squatting in Poison Ivy.

If you're lucky, you can find a secluded spot under the beach boardwalk or a dune crossover.



I don't know how else to put this, but you've got to hope that the end result is firm and compact.

Finally, you pray that it is all dealt with quickly so you can pull up your shorts and run away from the evidence as fast as you can.

And now, Phish doing its own version of the Rolling Stones' "Turd on the Run," off of Exile On Main Street.

Bowling For Buddha

One of the hardest things about laying off running and pretty much any really strenuous exercise for a year is the weight gain. For me at least, it took forever to adjust my diet to the change in metabolism and the outrageous calorie burn you get running 40-50 miles a week, plus swimming and biking on cross-training days.

Despite the lack of exercise, I kept eating and drinking wine like Bacchus, failing to adjust my caloric intake. And I kept expanding like a balloon.

At the peak of my training two years ago, just before the Space Coast Marathon, I weighed just shy of 195 pounds. After the Tupelo marathon 10 months later, I was hovering around 205. By the time I got my doctor to get me an MRI three months ago, I weighed 229. Fully clothed. Wearing my five-hole Doc Martens.

 I was a happy Buddha, smiling and loving life.

But my doctor said lose the weight.

Running with an extra 34 pounds feels like lugging around two bowling balls strapped to your midsection. It is not fun. Your breathing is heavy. You plod along like Wimpy after indulging in a hamburger orgy. It does not feel good. You can only do about 3-4 miles a day, very slowly (10-12 minute pace in my case).





I've discussed weight loss plans with friends, nutritionists and doctors. The best one: eat less. Seriously. And cut back on the booze, never mind the miraculous restorative powers of Resveratrol contained in every bottle of red wine. As one writer once said, You have to stay hungry and stay sober.

And moderate exercise. Forty minutes a day of walking or biking or swimming, light jogging if your doctor OKs it. Basically, I've gotten back to running several times a week after my SI Joint injection and chiropractic treatment. I do regular physical therapy and yoga exercises to stretch out and strengthen my core and leg muscles. And I'm gradually losing weight. I am down to about 212-215 stark naked following a run or bike ride. I know that's cheating because there's a few pounds of water weight that will come back by day's end.

But I've noticed as I lose weight and recondition my core, I am running faster and stronger now that I'm no longer running around with two bowling balls strapped to my gut (down to one!).

Also, my back doesn't hurt -- hardly at all these days. I've stopped taking the Tramadol and the muscle relaxer, just a daily ant-inflammatory. My recovery rate is quicker, and I'm now running on average five to six miles a day, with an eight or nine mile run planned for this weekend.

And now, for your listening enjoyment, "Take The Skinheads Bowling," by Camper Van Beethoven:

Bowling For Buddha

One of the hardest things about laying off running and pretty much any really strenuous exercise for a year is the weight gain. For me at least, it took forever to adjust my diet to the change in metabolism and the outrageous calorie burn you get running 40-50 miles a week, plus swimming and biking on cross-training days.

Despite the lack of exercise, I kept eating and drinking wine like Bacchus, failing to adjust my caloric intake. And I kept expanding like a balloon.

At the peak of my training two years ago, just before the Space Coast Marathon, I weighed just shy of 195 pounds. After the Tupelo marathon 10 months later, I was hovering around 205. By the time I got my doctor to get me an MRI three months ago, I weighed 229. Fully clothed. Wearing my five-hole Doc Martens.

 I was a happy Buddha, smiling and loving life.

But my doctor said lose the weight.

Running with an extra 34 pounds feels like lugging around two bowling balls strapped to your midsection. It is not fun. Your breathing is heavy. You plod along like Wimpy after indulging in a hamburger orgy. It does not feel good. You can only do about 3-4 miles a day, very slowly (10-12 minute pace in my case).





I've discussed weight loss plans with friends, nutritionists and doctors. The best one: eat less. Seriously. And cut back on the booze, never mind the miraculous restorative powers of Resveratrol contained in every bottle of red wine. As one writer once said, You have to stay hungry and stay sober.

And moderate exercise. Forty minutes a day of walking or biking or swimming, light jogging if your doctor OKs it. Basically, I've gotten back to running several times a week after my SI Joint injection and chiropractic treatment. I do regular physical therapy and yoga exercises to stretch out and strengthen my core and leg muscles. And I'm gradually losing weight. I am down to about 212-215 stark naked following a run or bike ride. I know that's cheating because there's a few pounds of water weight that will come back by day's end.

But I've noticed as I lose weight and recondition my core, I am running faster and stronger now that I'm no longer running around with two bowling balls strapped to my gut (down to one!).

Also, my back doesn't hurt -- hardly at all these days. I've stopped taking the Tramadol and the muscle relaxer, just a daily ant-inflammatory. My recovery rate is quicker, and I'm now running on average five to six miles a day, with an eight or nine mile run planned for this weekend.

And now, for your listening enjoyment, "Take The Skinheads Bowling," by Camper Van Beethoven:

Road Hard

Daddy needs a new pair of shoes!

Or does he?

At what point do you know it's time to hang up your old running shoes and get a new pair? Do you wait until the tread is worn down to nothing? Do you chuck them when the foamy cushion has lost its snap and is squashed to the thinness of an 80-year-old's lumbar disk? Or do you keep running in them until the odor becomes absolutely unbearable, so foul even your dog won't sniff it anymore?

I've had these Brooks Adrenalines for over a year, bought at the Running Zone in Melbourne. Truthfully, ever since I injured myself during the Tupelo Marathon last Labor Day Weekend, they haven't seen a lot of mileage until lately.

But I have noticed the tread wearing down. And the heels are wearing down evenly. That's good. That means this must be the right model for me. Other brands I've worn -- the popular ASICS 2105 and the Mizuno Wave -- tended to wear unevenly, decomposing more quickly on the outer strike zone of the heel.

And they wore out more quickly than the  Brooks. So I guess I'm stuck with the Brooks Adrenaline.

That brings me back to the original question. Is it time to replace them? Or is there still plenty of life in them yet? Can I bear the smell for another week, two weeks or even a month?

While I ponder these questions, I think I'll listen to "Bad Sneakers" by Steely Dan. I never quite figured out what the song means, but I love the line, "I'm going insane, laughing in the pouring rain."

Better Living Through Chemicals

When I got the injection into my SI Joint (left), I thought I would be tossing out my meds, the ones that have been keeping me going the past few months as I dealt with this excruciating lower back/hip/butt pain.

But the post-procedure instructions had a sentence that meant worlds: "Continue your previous medication."

The technician in the doctor's office, whom I shall call X-Ray Annie, said I should keep taking my meds, but only the pain pill and muscle relaxer "as needed."

Sweet.

For the record, here's what I've been taking:

• Meloxicam, 15 MG
• Tramadol, 50 MG
• Metaxalone, 800 MG

Meloxicam and metaxalone sound like two ancient Aztec potions meant to raise the spirit of Quetzacoatl, and should probably chased down with mescal, but the doctor recommends against combining any of these drugs with alcohol.

Meloxicam is a pretty mild, non-steroidal anti-inflammatory which can have some effect on kidney function output if I take it too long. It appears to cause severe kidney damage in cats.

Metaxalone, a muscle relaxer that goes by the trade name Skelaxin (sounds like a Swedish diuretic or weight loss medicine?), is the gold standard. It doesn't make me drowsy, so it's good to take during the day. I can work and function pretty well on this medication, whereas even if I took one Flexoril at night before bed I would be groggy all the next day. Sometimes they make me hyper. Relatively few side effects, and even the people who invented it don't exactly know how it works except that it has some liver interaction.It a

Tramadol is bliss. It's an opiate-based painkiller that does the trick and still leaves me coherent and bright-eyed. Actually, I've noticed my pupils are like pencil points when I've taken one of these. Gotta watch it, could affect the kidneys.

I will keep taking the anti-inflammatory meds, as long as it takes until the inflammation is knocked down. And I promise to take the muscle relaxer and pain meds, only "as needed."

And now for your listening pleasure, "Sex and Drugs and Rock'n'Roll," by Ian Dury and the Blockheads:

The Roadkill Report

The SI Joint injection today was a big succes. The doctor gave me two valium to loosen up, and then shoved a needle full of fun into the crown of my sacrum, and another needle into a bone spur sitting on my ilium. Instant relief!

But drowzy! Man, I slept for three hours after I got home. The doctor recommended 24-48 hours of rest before resuming normal activitie

So while I'm shut down in recovery mode I think I'll answer some fan mail.

Dear Jeffro:
"Have you ever stumbled over a gator or slipped on roadkill?"
Frank Garza, Northport High School, Class of '76

Well, Frank, that is a really good question. As you know, both alligators and roadkill are savory delicacies among the true Floridians, the "cracker." Or as they say down here, "Dem's good eatin!"

As a longtime resident of Florida I've lived from Miami to Tallahassee, from Gainesville to Port St. Lucie. I've pulverized slow-moving pidgeons on the morning commute, and have smeared armadillo meat across the tarmac.

As a runner, I've seen a lot of those guts and gizzards up close and personal. Recently, I saw a small corn snake that was barely beaned in the head, but enough to kill it. Remember the difference between the benign corn and the deadly coral snakes: "Red touch yellow, kill a fellow. Red touch black, venom lack."

I also saw a gathering of turkey vultures or buzzards murdering something totally unrecognizable on more than one occasion.

They're fascinating creatures, actually. Nature's death scene cleanup crew. Only without the van, toxic chemicals and snug-fitting coveralls and gloves. I mean, they sit on the road, picking at dead rotting flesh until the only thing left is a grease stain. That is some serious, ruthless efficiency.

And they remind me of the vultures in the Disney movie, Jungle Book. You know the ones, the ones with Liverpudlian accents drawn to look like the Beatles, complete with mop tops!


Anyway, Frank, I came close to stumbling over a gator just the other morning. I was running along this quiet residential street that winds along Crane Creek, when I hear this crash through the rushes. I turned quickly enough to see a four-foot gator splash into the creek. Coolness.

And now, since my birthday is coming up and we been talking about roadkill, here's a video from the Drive-by Truckers (note the 40 Watt Club backdrop):

An SI Joint (Burnin' Down The House)

This is it, the day I go in for my steroid injection into my SI Joint. Ironically, my lower back and right hip feel better than they have in months. I have almost no burning or pain in the hip and butt, but no matter.

I'm doing it.

My neurologist explained that the inflammation is like a room on fire in a house. The injection will put out that fire before it spreads throughout the house and burns it down completely.

The attached video explains it pretty clearly, but you'll have to put up with a commercial from the Mormons first.

I've tried for a year to get this thing right, and my chiropractor and massage therapist have been very helpful pinpointing the pain and easing it through manipulation and massage. My chiropractor called it months ago -- telling me the pain was coming from my SI joint.

But they've taken me as far as they can on this, and now it's time to knock it out thoroughly and decidedly.

The doctor will first inject me with lydocaine to numb out the area, then inject a steroid stew into the crown of my right sacrum. I should feel the effects almost immediately. Here's hoping.

And so, here's a great video by the legendary Talking Heads:

Like A Sauna In Here

Running this morning, started at the crack of dawn to avoid the heat. Still spritzing like crazy.

Feeling well enough to tackle the causeway, and just as I'm heading up the eastern incline, two or three dolphins break the surface of the Indian River Lagoon, their black-purple backsides glistening like eggplants in the orange dawn.

Ancient Greek mariners read it as a sign of good fortune when dolphins followed their triremes out of the harbour. I look on their presence as fortuitous as well. Only one song I know of uses the word triremes, by the way, and that's "Deeper Down," by Wilco.



I logged 7.5 miles this morning, got lapped by the high school cross country team and sweated like a whore in church. I guess it's the humidity after all.

Capped the morning run off by chasing down a meloxicam  (15 MG) with a mango/strawberry smoothie. Yum!

Tomorrow's the day I'm scheduled to get a steroid injection in my SI joint. Can't wait. Hope to give the meloxixam, tramadol, and skalaxin the big kiss-off.

This morning's running song is "It's So Humid,"  by 2 Live Jews. Enjoy. And Mazel Tov!

1

Blue Light Special

Living on the east coast of Florida poses two serious challenges for long-distances runners: terrain and climate. It's flatter than a surfboard, and the heat index is off the scales.

Training for a marathon in the subtropics is downright crazy.

No escaping the heat. You just have to run before the sun gets up, because as soon as the sun crests the first yardarm, it's already into the high 80s with the humidity ratcheting up the heat index several more degrees. We have two temps: what it says on the bank thermometer, and what it feels like. There ought to be a third category: what it feels like running.

Finding a place to get in some decent hill work isn't easy, but if you live along the Intracoastal Waterway like I do, you go for the next best thing: a causeway.

The one I run is the US 192 Causeway, or the Melbourne Causeway. The official name for the span is the Ernest Kouwen-Hoven Bridge, named after a Dutch man who emigrated to Florida, and liked to build bridges and grow timber. He built the original Melbourne Causeway in 1919, and the Florida Legislature named a subsequent bridge after him in 1977. Nobody locally calls it by its proper name, and very few people who grew up here even heard of Kouwen-Hoven. My friends who grew up here call jokingly call it Mt. Melbourne.

Yesterday I ran to the blue light at the top of old Ernie's bridge, stopped and turned around, making a nice 5.5 mile run on a hot-as-balls Saturday morning. Here's the song, "Blue Light," by the band Bloc Party.

That's a big milestone for me, because it's the first time since injuring myself in the Tupelo Marathon that I was able to exceed 15 miles in one week. Not that I'm setting any land speed records yet.

Also, it marks the second time I tackled the causeway since I began running again three weeks ago, after a year of suffering from a back injury I got running the Tupelo Marathon. I call this route The Blue Light Special because of the blue navigational signal at the crest of the causeway, which I suppose serves a two-fold purpose: it lets boaters know where the channel is at night, and keeps planes from flying into it.

But it doesn't keep people from jumping from the top of the span, 55 feet above the Indian River Lagoon. People have died doing it, and a brass plaque right near the blue light serves as a reminder of what happens to fools who dare to dive off the bridge at their own peril. Don't wind up like "Doug Bob" commemorated here -- born in 1986, died 2002 -- you do the math.

Anyway, I think I hit another milestone that comes with old age -- erm, make that wisdom. When it hurts, stop. Which is why I stopped at the blue light and turned around. I could have kept going across the two-mile causeway, and done an eight-mile run instead of 5.5. But the heat was getting to me, I'd run all out and was pretty spent by the time I hit the top of the causeway.

And my SI joint was pinging something fierce, along with a little pain tickling the piriformis muscle. I knew it was time to quit, that my body had had enough for the week and I should be happy with what I'd accomplished reaching that 17-mile mark in one week, without dying of heat stroke.

Maybe I'll double-down and hit the Blue Light Special twice tomorrow, the day before I go in for my steroid injection.

OK. Now for a cool running song, the one that was pounding in my head while bopping down the causeway: Step On, by Happy Mondays:

The Devil's Backbone

"Ouch! I think I done broke my sacro-crackerjack!"

Had my epidural consult with a neurologist/radiologist today. Nice guy. Very informative. Tells me what's going on is I've got a lot of cloudy inflammation obscuring what should be a nicely defined line in the joint between my sacrum and ilium bones on the right side of my hip. Where there's smoke, there's fire!

That's the old Sacro-iliac, see song references to "The Hucklebuck," the "Lewis Boogie," "Rub It In," and "The Message."

By the way, if you're tired of doing the Booga-Loo or if you're scared of The Swim, you might want to do the "The Sacro-Iliac," by 10 cc.

Anyway, he explained as he viewed the MRI taken in July, I've got a lot of wear and tear on the old spine. Some disk compression, some outright disintegration in the case of one disk, and some still healthy disks, notably the ol' L4-L5 that had been operated on 13 years ago after it blew out while lifting a Sunfish sailboat onto its trailer. Sunfish is the most popular single-person sailing boat in the USA. Go to the Wikipedia article here.

He also saw some mild facet arthritis (facets are the little hooks that link together on the spinal column) and some bone wear, but nothing unusual for a guy my age.

"I can tell you've done a lot of living, and never missed out on an opportunity," the good doctor told me with a wink and a grin. Made me feel a bit devilish, as if he could read all my sins like a map etched all over my spine. Ah, well. Yes, I've abused the old body running, mountain-biking, dropping out of airplanes etc.



But he didn't see any real problems with disk protrusions, and recommended an injection right in the upper part of the ilium. It should douse the inflammation and mend the old hip joint.

I return in one week for the first of my injections. And afterwards, I should be up and running again in no time.

Oh, P.S. I ordered a copy of the MRI and will post as soon as it's available.

Back from the dead

It has been a year since I ran the Tupelo Marathon, which has the intimidating motto: "Trample the Weak, Hurdle the Dead." As the motto implies, Tupelo is a grueling run in searing heat, and can tackle the best trained athletes.

I hadn't run a marathon since the previous November, and had not been training as rigorously as I should have. I also had driven 14 hours from Florida to get to the race, and probably was not in any shape to run a marathon. But I'd driven all that way to make the cut-off, paid my fee and got my shirt. And I was determined to finish this marathon, to get that medallion, if nothing else.

I ran the first half nice and easy, at a slower pace than I've started out in previous marathons. I was heading into the second half at a comfortable pace I hoped to maintain and finish at around the four-hour mark.

Well, right around mile 20 I threw a major brick. I seized up, my right hip socket seemed to go out of place. The pain shot up and down my legs. I couldn't move.

But I finished the race, with a personal worst of 5 hours, 35 minutes or something abysmally close to that. And I got my damned finisher's medallion.

I spent the next day hobbling around Tupelo, checking out where Elvis was born and looking for some good BBQ. Next day, I drove to Memphis, where I found the best BBQ in my life: Interstate BBQ. Even got to meet the BBQ god himself, Jim Neely.

And for a year since I have suffered for my sins, with unimaginable sacro-iliac pain. My inept doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong with me, and I couldn't run. I gained 20 pounds. I felt miserable.

Finally, an MRI revealed I had disk protrusion at L4-L5, where I'd had back surgery 13 years previously. I'm fortunate that I bounced back from the microdiskectomy and was able to run and bike and stay active all these years.

But now I face the specter of never running again. My new doc (a former team doc for a big midwestern college) says no more marathons. Hang those medallions on the wall and take it easy. Sounds reasonable.

But if I give in, won't I become one of the trampled over? I've been on anti-inflammatories for a month, and been stretching and strengthening with ashtanga yoga. Yes, the right leg tingles, and the pain is still there in the lower back, but I've been slowly able to run again little by little. Four miles a day, every other day for the last few weeks, and today I ran my first 7.5, with causeways!

I feel better than ever, and plan to run at least one more marathon before I hang up my shoes for good.

Am I crazy, or is this just the exhilaration one feels bouncing back from the dead?