Life ain't a track meet. It's a marathon.

I thought I'd give everyone a break from all the whining about back aches and hip problems and knee pain until I had something substantial to report.

Now, I do. I'm back to a regular running schedule -- four miles a day, three days a week just to get back into the groove, and I've already dropped my pace by almost two minutes -- from well over 12 minutes to just under 11 minutes. It is a good feeling to move along at a 10:30 pace, even if it's a far way off from the under 9-minute pace I need to set for myself to beat certain people I trash-talked last week.

The biggest news is that for the first time since I began running again, I didn't have that hip socket pounding that had been plaguing me, and my SI joint didn't flare up. That is true progress.

I had laid off running for about a month over the holidays. I was having serious hip pain on both sides, right above the posterior saddle. And the SI joint, blah blah blah. I fought it with anti-inflammatories, ice packs and pain killers and just good old fashioned slackitude. Nothing like lazing around for two weeks watching TV, reading books, eating junk food and guzzling red wine for proper R&R.

But when I got on the scale and saw my weight had climbed over 210, I had to take action. I decided, Fuck this pain, it's just something I'm going to have to live with, laced up my running shoes and hit the road. And it felt like hell, the femur grinding into my hip socket, sending sharp stabbing pain into my SI joint.

Ice and Tramadol followed.

Two days later, I went out again. Ran four miles. Pounded away like a lumbering ox. Ice and pills.

Saturday, I had my first breakthrough. Ran four miles at a 10:35 pace. Ice. Pills.

Sunday. Forty minutes of yoga. No running. No ice. No pills.

Monday. Every muscle in my body ached from the yoga.

Today (Tuesday): Ran four miles. Feeling no pain. Yet.

And now, Ice Cube has a message for ya.

Frost on My Pumpkin

Wouldn't you know it? Soon as I get over this horrendous cold and feel well enough to start running again, the temperature drops to below freezing. WTF? This is Florida!

Much as I love a roaring fireplace and the seat heaters in my Volvo, I don't mind running in the cold. Like it, actually. Must be my Northeast upbringing.

Running in sub-freezing weather is nothing new. When I was a runner in high school, in Northport, Long Island, I ran in the snow, over icy roads, in howling winds. Many's the time I wore a ski mask to keep my face from getting frostbite, two pairs of socks, thermal underwear AND sweatpants. Not to mention a Hoodie under a ski jacket from time to time.

About a dozen times a year here on Florida's Space Coast, I have to drag out the cold-weather gear for a run. An old knit ski cap from the Gap. Thick gloves I bought from a sidewalk vendor in Manhattan. Fleece jacket. Long-sleeved T-shirt. Sunglasses if it's bright out. Hoodie optional depending on wind speeds.

Nothing beats running on a cold, clear brisk day with the sun shining in a bright blue sky.

I have to admit, though, those first few deep breaths of arctic air in my lungs felt like I was having a heart attack. But after the first half-mile, my body had acclimated -- my lungs were turning that frigid air into warm, moist breath and the heart was pumping oxygen enriched blood throughout my body.

I keep my torso, head and hands warm, but run with my legs exposed. I like the chill against my thighs. The cold is nature's painkiller and the air felt like ice packs wrapped around my quads and calfs.

Also, I don't really understand the expression, "Freezing my ass off." My ass was the least cold part of my body out there, I assume because of all the subcutaneous tissue and blood vessels in the derriere. It would take a really cold day to actually freeze one's ass off!

The best part of an invigorating run in the cold, of course, is getting back inside with a hot cup of Joe!

And now, Louis Jourdan and Ella Fitzgerald sing for us!

Hips Don't Lie

My body is an ever-loving mystery. All the aches and pains, the quirks, the routines I need to adhere to so I can get out of bed, straighten my back and walk into the kitchen to feed the cats and make the coffee.

As I get older, things happen that can only be explained by the phrase: "Welcome to middle age."

Case in point: I ran four miles this morning. No problem. Actually felt pretty good except for the depressing fact that it took me 45 minutes to run what I used to do in 35 or less on a good day.

Now 45 is a good day.

So I showered, dressed for the day and went into the kitchen to unload the dishwasher. And wouldn't you know it, my hip socket popped something fierce. Not "Ive-fallen-and-can't-get-up" fierce. But just the same, I had to go hobbling to the medicine cabinet for some meds: Metaxalone and Tramadol. 

After I threw down the meds, I hobbled back to the kitchen, pulled an ice pack out of the freezer and eased myself onto the couch for some R&R. 

And it set me wondering: how is it I can run four miles without a hitch, but when I twist or pivot from one side to the other, my right thigh bone feels like it's popping out of my hip socket.

My former primary care physician said it's arthritis, and that the only cure would be surgery.

I don't think so, and that's why he is my former primary care physician. I mean, what is it about doctors who think the answer to everything is surgery?

Now that I've had this series of steroid injections for my SI Joint, it's time to focus on the hip socket-thigh joint. Deep tissue massage has relieved the symptoms to a degree, but there must be something else going on. 

And don't tell me it's just middle age.

So now, for your listening pleasure, Shakira:

Shakira ~ Hips Don't Lie @ Yahoo! Video

Master of the Universe

OK, so I am not the fastest runner in the universe. Never was. Not even in high school.

But I wasn't the slowest, either.

And as a middle-aged adult, I was putting in respectable times, 22-23 minutes for 5ks, finishing the first half of a marathon in under two hours, hitting a personal marathon record of 4.06 two years ago at age 50!

So when this hip injury sidelined me, I was bummed. I was on my way to breaking the four-hour marathon!

But I had to stop running for a year, until I finally got diagnosed with a Sacro-ilial joint injury and got referred to a specialist for steroid injections. He told me to stop running until he was through treating me.

After my last steroid injection, he advised that I could run again, but not all out like I used to run. Two-three miles at the most. He said my disks were so shot, running for me was akin to riding on the rims of a car after the tires had blown.

I wouldn't want to take a car like that out to Daytona, would I? 

I've got news for him:  I couldn't if I wanted to.

Now, I find myself running at a 10-11 minute pace, barely covering 3 miles in under 40 minutes. I suppose that is what my doctor had in mind when he said to "use it, but cruise it."

Today was my fourth run since he gave me the green light. I'd say my pace has picked up since that first run, and the pain doesn't increase after a run. Those are good signs. My goal is to slowly and steadily improve my pace to under 10 minutes a mile.

Ultimately, I want to get to where a 9-minute pace feels like cruising, not racing.

And I want to lose another 20 pounds. I reached 205 this morning, good for 6'1" but be better. I still feel like I'm holding a 20-pound bowling ball in my lap when I sit down.

Slowly, once again, I am becoming master of my own universe.

Now some Pulp:

Master of the Universe

OK, so I am not the fastest runner in the universe. Never was. Not even in high school.

But I wasn't the slowest, either.

And as a middle-aged adult, I was putting in respectable times, 22-23 minutes for 5ks, finishing the first half of a marathon in under two hours, hitting a personal record of 4.06 two years ago at age 50!

So when this hip injury sidelined me, I was bummed. I was on my way to breaking the four-hour marathon!

But I had to stop running for a year, until I finally got diagnosed with a Sacro-ilial joint injury and got referred to a specialist for steroid injections. He told me to stop running until he was through treating me.

After my last steroid injection, he advised that I could run again, but not all out like I used to run. Two-three miles at the most. He said my disks were so shot, running for me was akin to riding on the rims of a car after the tires had blown.

I wouldn't want to take a car like that out to Daytona, would I? 

I've got news for him:  I couldn't if I wanted to.

Now, I find myself running at a 10-11 minute pace, barely covering 3 miles in under 40 minutes. I suppose that is what my doctor had in mind when he said to "use it, but cruise it."

Today was my fourth run since he gave me the green light. I'd say my pace has picked up since that first run, and the pain doesn't increase after a run. Those are good signs. My goal is to slowly and steadily improve my pace to under 10 minutes a mile.

Ultimately, I want to get to where a 9-minute pace feels like cruising, not racing.

And I want to lose another 20 pounds. I reached 205 this morning, good for 6'1" but be better. I still feel like I'm holding a 20-pound bowling ball in my lap when I sit down.

Slowly, once again, I am becoming master of my own universe again.

Now some Pulp:

Riding on the Rims

OK, so today I had the third and last of the steroid injections into my Sacro-Ilial Joint. Have I told you how painful it is to have a long needle jammed through your back muscles and into your hip? My doc calls it needle trauma. Ouch!

But hopefully it is the last time I will have to endure that, at least for a long while!


Anyway, while I was there, Doc and I chatted about my back. My spine. We looked at the MRI of my spine and he pointed out some salient features on that road map of my life.

Why? Because I asked him about post-treatment activities, like running. He said one or two miles a day -- or three to four in my case -- would be all right.

While my L3-4 disc was nice and plump, my L4-5 and other discs were toast. Flat as pancakes. My vertebrae were riding right on top of each other, without any shock absorption in between. And the facets were sitting on top of each other's gel-covered tips, where all the nerve endings are.

He explained that bone-on-bone was like riding on the rims of a car. Would I want to take that car to Daytona and drive around the track at 150 mph? No, I think not.

But, that is what I'd be doing if I ran more than a couple of miles a day. So be it.

Question is, really, can I pull off one more marathon on those rims? Can I qualify for the Boston? Don't trains run on rims?

Stay tuned. These tires are blown and I'm riding on rims, but I won't slow down.

Here's a new guy named Brock Zeman, with some pals, singing "Riding on the Rims."

I Walk The Line

I decided this morning that, rather than drive or ride my bicycle to the corner 7-11 to get my Sunday New York Times, I'd walk the short (half-mile) distance.

So, I put on my sweat pants, draped a hoodie over my long-sleeved Giants T-shirt and set out down my driveway. Imagine my consternation when the joint pain settled into my hips and I could barely stand up straight. Hands on the back of my hips, I hobbled down the street like an old man. Oy!

"Good morning," the chipper store clerk chirped as I entered the sanctum of fresh brewed coffee, 12-packs, and assorted degrees of fried food-like objects. "Morning," I grumbled, paying for my paper via debit card.

On the way back, I forced myself to stand up straight, swing the shoulders back and pick up the pace. The sooner I got home, the sooner I could take the pain pill I'd forgotten to take before my outward bound trek.

Once home, I settled onto the couch with a fresh hot cup of coffee and started dissembling the Times, eventually getting to this story about Jon Mendes, a 90-year-old man who was still running the New York Marathon. Well, running isn't quite the right word, more like walking, although he planned to jog the last 100 yards in. “Makes it look like you ran the whole way,” he told the Times.

And he likes to finish the race with a glass of Black Label!

I was inspired by the story of this ex-Marine colonel who flew with John Glenn and Ted Williams so much that I've decided, should I make it to 90, I will celebrate by participating in the New York Marathon. If I can't run it, I will walk it. And I will finish, even if I have to crawl across that line.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Johnny Cash: