After Ironman Canada, I signed up to do the absurdly overpriced Las Vegas Rock ‘n Roll Marathon in December so I’d stay in shape and be able to continue training and working towards something. Unfortunately, my body was like, “What the hell, I thought you were supposed to let me rest,” and my left foot revolted by developing tendinitis. It’s probably my fault (though that foot is being a real asshole right now) because I held off on buying new shoes for so long that my old Kayanos deteriorated into something that probably came from the Derelicte fashion line.

Not wanting to shell out the usual $125 for the Asics Kayanos I usually wear because I’m tired of being perpetually broke, I opted to switch to a cheaper but comparable pair of shoes, the K-Swiss Konejo IIs. Unfortunately, by the time I got my new kicks, I was already experiencing tightness along my left shin and the outer edge of my left foot. Then my right Achilles started to get stiff during runs. Combine all that with the freak toenail (more on that later) and I was starting to feel like my body was falling apart. At least I stayed healthy during my Ironman training, but still, what a fall from grace. Three months ago I was crossing the finish line with my arms in the air and a sense of accomplishment bursting from my every pore. Now I’m chowing down on See’s chocolates and am pondering whether I can fit in a second nap before my three hour stretch of TV starts tonight (The Walking Dead, Boardwalk Empire, and Dexter make Sunday evenings super awesomesauce).

Coach T put the kibosh on running and made me go see Dr Perry. He assessed my injuries and determined that I have weak butt muscles. Apparently all that crap is connected somehow — my sad, sorry ass (which my mom refers to as my “pooch butt”) is causing tightness in some tendon that wraps down my shin and along/under my foot. He gave me my first ever acupuncture treatment and told me to foam roll, heat/ice my foot, and also gave me some super sad 80’s Jane Fonda jazzercise exercises to do, which amuse Jason to no end.

Jas is also entertained by my heating and icing process. Dr. Perry told me to fill a large bowl with hot water and a second bowl with ice water, and plunge my foot in the hot water for three minutes followed by 30 seconds in the ice water, then repeat two more times. My sympathetic boyfriend has thus taken to calling me “Bucketfeet,” despite the fact that I constantly remind him that I’m using bowls and it’s only for one foot.

Example dialogue:

Me, wearing a baggy pear of sweatpants and one of Jason’s long-sleeved t-shirts while stuffing my face with some sort of highly caloric abomination: “I’m not very womanly…”

Jas: “Awww, don’t be so hard on yourself, Bucketfeet.”

Me: “It’s bowl plus foot! Bowlfoot!”

So anyway, I’m doing all this crap for my non-Daniel Day-Lewis left foot. After my visit with Dr. Perry, I had to shell out an outrageous sum of money to see a specialist to get my toenail removed. Since I felt like getting my money’s worth, I asked him about my foot problem. The doctor’s prognosis? I have “abnormal” feet. Apparently the bottom outer edge of my feet sticks out more than most people’s.

Not my feet, obviously.

I also have a “very high arch.” He recommended getting Superfeet inserts for my shoes, which I already use. Great. So I guess the only thing to do is to continue foam rolling and not running. Teresa gave me the go ahead to run for 1:10 today to see how I’d feel, but the full marathon is definitely out of the question. I’m tossing around the idea of doing the half marathon, but since I haven’t been running much lately, I’m not sure I’ll PR, and it’s hard to get motivated to do a race knowing I could very well do much worse than expected. Blargh.

During my workout hiatus, I’ve fallen into the awesome habit of eating total crap, watching TV, and building my hand strength back up to pre-Ironman Rock Band dexterity (seriously, I used to rock the shit out of songs on Expert, and now my fingers are cramping after three songs). While I do enjoy the break from working out 16 hours a week, I can feel the restlessness and hunger start to creep back up. I’m already trying to figure out which “replacement” marathon I can do in February or March, not to mention which 2-3 half Ironman races I want to tackle in 2011 so I can finally kick some sub-6 hour ass.

I can’t wait to get back into the swing of things again. It’s weird because the grind of constant workouts definitely takes its toll, but once you take a break from it, you realize how much you’ve gotten used to pushing your body and you sort of start to miss it. Soon I’ll be back in action and on my way to working towards conquering my 2011 goals. All I have to do is heal these damn feet.

Once we were both on the mend Jason and I were all “Time to get serious, yo.” I was all geared up to go to Tuesday’s evening track practice and make my triumphant return (cue the trumpets). Jason went in the morning and gave me the following feedback:

• It was freakin’ cold
• It was really freakin’ cold
• A stretch of the track was covered in ice, making running quite treacherous
• Seriously, it was cold. Jason had to borrow tiny Tracy’s gloves so his fingers wouldn’t freeze off. I’m pretty sure the gloves are now stretched beyond repair.

I had miserable expectations for the evening track, but I didn’t have a chance to experience how cold and icy it was going to be–the extremely low temperatures prompted Teresa to cancel track. (Postpone the trumpets.)

Attempt #2 at our Triumphant Return was on Thursday. Jason and I signed up for an early morning interval cycling class and dry land swim conditioning. We set our alarm for 6 am and got everything ready the night before. At 5:40 am we were both awakened to the loudest fricking clap of thunder imaginable. We both sprang out of bed and uttered a simultaneous “Whoa.” He got up and looked out the window but saw nothing. We figured it was going to start raining and would probably freeze and make the roads slick. After climbing back into bed we heard another huge clap of thunder and anticipated the sound of falling rain next…but instead it was silent. Hmm…

A minute later my phone vibrated. It was Teresa texting me to say that it was snowing like crazy over in West Seattle so she was canceling classes. I said, “That’s weird, how is it snowing in West Seattle but not here?” Jason’s response: “Holy crap!” I looked out the window and saw blurs of white. In the 5 minutes between our first glimpse out the window and checking my phone, it had started snowing buckets. It was as if the sky farted and started pooping out snow.

We got a crapload of snow on Thursday and couldn’t work out because the Y closed and because we couldn’t run anywhere without rolling an ankle or slipping and cracking our heads open (which I’ll fully admit is something I’m prone to doing even when the weather is perfect). Aside from a trip to the grocery store, Jason and I were pretty much snowed in. Of course, having a snow day in Seattle is a built-in excuse to not work at the office, so my coworkers canceled work and all stayed home. I happily did the same.

On Friday morning my neighborhood was quiet and blanketed in snow:

The streets were empty save for two buses abandoned on Madison. The office was canceled again, so I stayed home and totally rocked the fireplace/hot chocolate/pajama pants/slippers combo. In fact, I got so comfy that I forgot to get off my ass and exercise. Silly me…

Jason and I planned on going for a run on Saturday but had afternoon plans to to see Gonzaga play UConn at the Battle in Seattle. We assured ourselves that “after the game is over we’ll go for a run.” Our optimism for both Gonzaga and for exercising lasted until the end of overtime when both the Zags lost and we were greeted with more snow flurries upon exiting Key Arena. A gruelingly slow hour later, we were finally home, our plans to run crushed under several inches of snow. The Y was closed, so we couldn’t swim or do an indoor workout, either. We managed to drown our sorrows with Mexican food and a few bottles of wine. “Tomorrow we’ll work out…”

Well, Sunday came. Once again the workout weather was…less than favorable.

The bush next to our front porch:

The steps leading up to our garage:

This is about as far as I can get my patio door to open:

Our bamboo is smothered under the weight of the snow:

And yes, it’s still snowing:

Jason and I trudged to Safeway to get stuff for dinner. We decided that a prime rib roast sounded nice and wintry, so we bought one, prepped it, and popped it in the oven. Since we both felt like fat, lethargic turds, we pulled our bikes out and decided to do an indoor ride. Triumphant return successful!

Er, kinda. The cooking roast heated up the entire downstairs, and my whole ride was choked with hot, roasted meat smell. I ended up feeling queasy and stopped after 30 minutes. The fact that I hadn’t worked out in two weeks didn’t help with my stamina, either. My triumphant return was pretty craptastic, but at least 30 minutes is better than yet another evening sitting on my ass, right? (The roast was fantastic, by the way. Way to reward your triumphant return with delicious meat and red wine, Rebecca!)

Okay, tomorrow snow be damned — I’m going to strap some tennis rackets to my feet and walk over to the Y for some swimming and weight lifting. If they’re closed (again) I’ll force myself to do another indoor ride (minus cooked beef stench) and will do sit ups and strength training until my limbs feel like noodles. I will push it to the limit (lim-mit!) and get back on track, damn it.

Or maybe I’ll open some more wine, prop up my feet, and queue up a movie…could go either way. (Who am I kidding, I know which way it’ll go…)