Last night started with me experiencing the chills, not out of fright, but due to my stupid cold/flu/germs from outer space/whatever it is. That didn’t last, though, as by midway through the night I was hot and sweaty instead. Oh, and my nose was so stuffed up I couldn’t breathe. Or sleep. Not sleeping when sick is not a good way to speed recovery.
I managed to catch an hour or so of uninterrupted sleep around 7 a.m. when I finally dozed off, likely from exhaustion. When I awoke I discovered that I’d been breathing through my mouth (the only handy breathing orifice), said mouth was parched and my lips were almost chapped from. They still feel funny this evening.
I went to ye local drug store and got a not-over-the-counter decongestant. While it hasn’t completely unplugged my sinuses, it’s partially done so and more importantly, they are staying partially unplugged when I lay down, meaning I should be able to sleep tonight without being a mouth breather and get actual rest.
To balance this positive news, I am now coughing and sneezing a lot more.
I am not a fan of this head cold. No sir, not a fan at all.
This head cold I’m currently fighting is like what you get if you crossed a head cold with Africanized bees. I’m tired, I’m achy, my sinuses are so plugged up it’s like my nose went on vacation. If I get a little cold (ho ho) I start shivering as if I’m standing starkers on an ice floe.
And today it feels like it’s moving into my chest, so coughing and wheezing are what I can likely look forward to for the rest of the week.
I don’t like this. Please send a healthy body for me to occupy ASAP.
Today I had my left foot examined by a certified pedorthist. I got an official report and am heading back on January 21 to get an orthotic device that I will use in my walking-around shoes and running shoes. This is basically a fancy insole specifically molded to the shape of my foot and designed to minimize pain in the gimpy parts of my foot.
Here are the highlights (?) of my assessment:
Postural Observations Bilateral: Medium MLA, Hindfoot Valgus
Balance weak when single leg stance bilaterally
[Insert joke about Hindfoot Valgus being my new punk band name here]
The second line about balance is a polite way of saying I really suck at standing on one leg. My sense of balance is not weak, it’s silly and nearly non-existent. I could be on a tightrope a meter wide and still find a way to fall off. I don’t know why this is, but it’s been this way as long as I can remember.
Gait Assessment Bilateral: Time Of Heel Lift Early
Mtt arch collapse / splay
The first line was interesting to me. When I first gave serious thought to running back in 2009 my reading on the subject left me with the impression that heel injuries were common and and that a good stance would greatly reduce or eliminate the chance of injury. And in over 3,000 km of running I have never hurt my heel. Unfortunately this may have lead to me indirectly causing other problems. When I am striding–walking or running–I lift off my heel early, which tends to result in landing on the front of my foot harder than I might otherwise. You can probably guess which part of my left foot hurts.
Significant Clinical Observations:
Mr. James [I always feel weird when people call me Mr. James, partly because it makes me think of my dad and partly because it sounds like I’m being addressed a a teacher] presents with pain under left metatarsal heads. He has medium arch height, limited ankle dorsiflexion, dropped metatarsal heads with callousing bilaterally [interpretation: I have ugly feet. I was also asked if I had some sort of fungal infection because my toenail are like ten little mini horror shows]. He has limited ankle dorsiflexion leading to early heel rise and more pressure at forefoot during gait. Orthotics recommended to aid in shock absorption and take pressure off metatarsal heads. Footwear with good cushioning and forefoot rocker recommended as well as home footwear. Calf stretches regularly strongly recommended in treatment plan as well [this was a big thing; basically I’m as flexible as a board and need to change that].
I went home with a pair of sandals designed to cushion the proper parts of my feet. I’m to wear them around home, which is something that makes me feel old man-ish but if they work, it beats not old man-ish with an aching foot. I was also persuaded to get a new pair of running shoes with the aforementioned forefoot rocker, specifically the Hoka Speedgoat trail runners. Yes, the name is absurd. Will I get the urge to chew on tin cans as I run? Perhaps. It features “Balanced Meta-Rocker Geometry” and this particular feature is startlingly noticeable when you walk around in the shoes. I’m curious to see how they feel when running. They look like this:
The testing/assessment took about an hour and consisted of me walking/running on a treadmill and having my feet poked, prodded and stretched to see where it hurt, as well as the standing-on-one-leg thing. Fortunately the balancing part was not critical. The biggest takeaway as far as what I can do, apart from getting the orthotic, is to stretch multiple times every day and especially before running. Ironically, I used to stretch before running but after hurting an Achilles tendon back in 2012 I became concerned (paranoid?) that the stretching was increasing the chance of me injuring myself by overdoing it. The pedorthist (a nice woman named Lynne) told me this would be pretty much impossible to do without engaging in a level of excessive stretching idiocy that a rational human would not be capable of. This mostly reassured me.
I may try the goat shoes as soon as tomorrow.
To paraphrase the first Star Trek movie, The Foot Adventure is Just Beginning…
I was down an even two pounds today, dropping from 167.3 to 165.3. Even though I had no real snacks yesterday, this still surprised me. But it is encouraging.
Today I was bad and ate an apple strudel but was sufficiently guilty afterward to go out and do my first 5K in over four months, so it kind of worked out in the end. Not snacking is not easy but I’ve compensated for the strudel incident, behaved since returning from my run, and am fairly sure I’ll make it to bed without eating an entire cake.
Good news: With the Christmas break only two work days away, I will no longer be tempted by (and indulge in) assorted calorie-rich goodies regularly dropped off at work
Bad news: After going up by a pound following a workplace potluck yesterday, I indulged again today and expect to be up yet again tomorrow, erasing my meager progress. But from tomorrow forward, it’s all downhill. In a good way.
As expected, weighing myself much earlier today (around the usual weekday weigh-in time of 6 a.m. vs. 10 a.m. on the weekend) meant my weight was up. By 2.2 pounds. Egad.
On a more positive and less blimp-like note, yet another box of chocolates was passed around at work today and instead of gobbling a bunch as has become my standard response when offered, I took none. I wanted a big fat serving of poutine for lunch but instead only had a Clif bar. I wanted donuts. Lots of donuts. But resisted. Hopefully I can continue this trend.
Good news: I’ve stopped my weight from ballooning out of control like some out of control balloon. I’ve dropped from a peak of 167.3 pounds and leveled off at 166.3.
Bad news: The body fat percentage continues to creep upward. It’s now at 19.3%. This wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t normally a skinny guy. But I am normally a skinny guy and the tire developing around my gut is resplendent and awful.
Fortunately (?) I’ll probably be too busy this week to do much snacking, even if I wanted to (and to be perfectly honest, I still want to because I haven’t gotten to the point where I’ve curbed my appetite yet).
Imagine if the Titanic had crashed into a mountain of donuts instead of an iceberg and you have a decent summary of the second half of this week with regards to my weight and attempted weight loss.
I started the week trending down but by week’s end I was up on both body weight and body fat percentage. This makes me not so much a sad panda as a fat one.
I’m going to resume regular walks/runs soon, though the runs will be slower and shorter until I get my left foot sized up for a zany (and undoubtedly expensive) orthopedic device to prevent it from causing terrible and unpleasant pain. I also need to start stretching to prevent a repeat of the Summer Leg Muscle Tragedy or SLMT. The gist of all this is it’s time for me to get more active. It’ll be fun and hopefully injury-free.
I’m also going to try a reboot of the no-snacking thing this weekend. That will be less fun and more of a trial. But perhaps it will be a fun trial.
This morning I went to Royal Columbian Hospital to have an echo test (more formally, an echocardiogram) done. This is due to my doctor detecting a slight murmur in my heart and wanting to get it checked out now as it could become an issue down the road. The booking was made in August so that gives you an idea of a) how backlogged the system is and b) how urgent the concern is.
I was still nervous, even though I knew the procedure is simple, non-invasive and doesn’t even require donning a hospital gown and exposing your backside to one and all.
I arrived early as requested and was proud of myself for successfully navigating my way to the registration counter. After a minute or so of waiting, the clerk took my card, looked me up and told me I was in the wrong place. I needed Cardiology. I was apparently not there. She gave me directions, which I asked her to repeat just to be sure.
I set off down the hall, turning right, turning left, following just as directed. I rounded the corner and approached the registration counter.
The same registration counter.
If I was in the Labyrinth, the Minotaur would be giggling somewhere around the corner about now.
The woman took pity on me and actually escorted me far enough to insure I could not get lost again. I told her I was a total guy when it came to directions, hoping that would give me a pass at the expense of my gender and approximately half the population of the planet.
I arrived at the correct registration counter, took a seat, expected things to run late and they did, but only a little. A short woman with a thick accent escorted me to the room where the test would be done. Several times we passed patients being wheeled around on gurneys with tubes and bottles and looking frail and sick and it all reminded me of how hospitals are built on a foundation of depression.
The test room had low lighting, either to facilitate the test or to put me in the mood. The mood for stripping from the waist up and laying on my side on a gurney, with multiple electrodes stuck to my hairy flesh. Although this proved surprisingly uncomfortable because I had nowhere to put my left arm except kind of over and behind my head, the test itself was unremarkable. I had gel smeared strategically on my chest and a small ultrasound probe was pressed into the gel and moved around while the Philips Heart-o-Matic™ mapped out the organ that helpfully keeps me alive. Several times I was asked to hold my breath. This was as complicated as it got, which suited me fine. At the end I had to lay on my back and two more checks were done, one near my stomach, one near my throat.
Every few minutes some audio played. It sounded like water sloshing around and was presumably my flowing blood. It was disturbing because I imagine the sound of my pumping blood as being gentle and reassuring, not like water sloshing around a basin. Maybe this is what ultrasound sounds like, water sloshing around a basin.
I was done, she handed me a towel, I wiped down and left.
Actually, she walked me to the nearest exit and then I left. In my short time at the hospital I had already developed a reputation for getting hopelessly lost.
Now I wait to discuss the results with my doctor. My dad died of a massive heart attack at 58–I’m 51 now–so I’m a wee bit concerned about genetic shenanigans. On the other hand, my dad did not jog thousands of kilometers in his 40s and 50s, either. On the other other hand, Jim Fixx, world famous jogger, died while running–because of a bad heart. On the other other other hand (this is more an octopus now) the person doing the test did not gasp in horror at any point or mutter “Poor bastard” under her breath. On the fifth hand/tentacle, maybe she is just a consummate professional and expertly conceals such observations from the emotionally fragile patient.
I’ll know soon enough.
NOTE: The machine used for the test is not actually called a Philips Heart-o-Matic™. I did notice it was made by Philips, though, and had lots of dials, all of them thoughtfully labeled in plain English to better terrify anyone not familiar with its operation.
