And No Snoopy Bandage :-(

Today is my first doctor visit since going off my immunosuppressant drug. I haven't had any symptoms such as rashes or intestinal distress that would indicate that my new and now unfettered immune system is attacking anything it shouldn't, so that's good. Meanwhile, I hope Immunity 2.0 is quietly and thoroughly tracking down the lingering traces of leukemia, but we won't get that report until after a bone marrow biopsy in a couple of weeks.

At tomorrow's appointment, I begin my re-inoculation. My new immune system has not been exposed to those childhood diseases I either had as a kid or was vaccinated against: measles, mumps, chicken pox, and a few other reasons we got to stay home from school for a few days. I'm not sure what the schedule is, but it's a lot of shots over the next several months. Some have to be repeated. And, at my age, they don't put a cute bandage on your owwie or offer a lollipop.

Jan and I went on another "long run" yesterday. After the usual 10-minute warm-up walk, the jog-(walk) intervals were: 1 (1) 1 (1) 2 (1) 2 (1) 3 (1) 3 (1) 3 (3) 3 (1) 3 (2) 3 (1) 2 (1) 2 (1) 1 (1) 1 (some). A total of 30 minutes of jogging, matching my PTPR.

I hadn't been planning to have a 2-minute break after the fifth 3-minute jog, but I needed it. On a couple of the longer intervals, I achieved muscle failure in my lower legs. Most marathoners have experienced this feeling in a race or two, when they start doing the "death march." The foot can no longer push off, and the thighs can barely lift, so even though you are willing your legs forward, you are just lifting your feet and then putting them down again a few inches ahead of where they left the ground. You tell yourself that you're still running, but you're not. You're doddering. You could walk faster, but you're too proud to walk, so you keep taking these tiny steps on appendages that look like legs but feel like loaves of french bread. Stale loaves.

I am familiar with this sensation, from a few marathons, but also from some shorter races, and even from some workouts. Some call it rigor mortis, or carrying the piano. It's a common sight at track meets.

I got some satisfaction running into it in workouts, like repeat 200s. It meant I was running as fast as I possibly could at that point in time, and even though my legs were failing me at the moment, I knew they would take the hint and be a little stronger in a few days.

Being familiar with dead legs on a run does not mean I'm happy about it. Intellectually, I know I'm doing the same thing I did 30 years ago — I'm running up to my limit, recovering, repeating. And, like 30 years ago, I take rest days between hard workouts. Except now a rest day means just walking, instead of an easy 5-mile run.

It's still hard to fully accept that I can reach muscle failure while moving as slowly as I am.

I also wish I were seeing more of a training effect. A few weeks ago, I did a pyramid workout with a 5-minute jog in the middle, and that was hard but possible. But I have had trouble making it to 4 minutes ever since. And I'm pretty sure I'm not running any faster, based on my GPS gadget.

On the positive side, I did modify a training plan last week (when I could not finish a 4-minute jog interval) to include a set of 1-minute "sprints," and those felt great. I was actually, finally, running.