Eat Drink Run Woman

Uno, dos, tres… catorce!
Hello, hello… ¡Hola!
I’m at a place called Vertigo.

What, pray tell, do the lyrics of a U2 song have to do with running the Hood-to-Coast relay?  Nothing, however, the song title is the same as the condition that plagued me during the race.

Let me back up a bit.

Remember the dizziness of which I spoke during North Olympic?  While I suspect it was due to dehydration, my internal gyroscopes had been off for about a month prior.  It never felt like full-on vertigo; rather, I would often feel light-headed when moving my head around quickly.  The sensation would come and go, but it started to get progressively worse the middle of July.

To my surprise, it did not affect my running, not even during a particularly tough BUAL™ workout.  The next morning, however, I felt like I was on a roller coaster ride.  I still made it to my yoga session, but during one position where I lifted my arm and turned my head toward it, I experienced a violent jolt of vertigo.  I left class immediately, canceled my cook date, booked an appointment with my doctor and stayed in bed for most of the day.

The next morning my symptoms were gone; I didn’t even feel the slightest bit dizzy.  My doctor did a preliminary check, then recommended I make an appointment with an audiologist.  (She didn’t think I required an MRI just yet, as most likely it’s a condition called benign paroxysmal positioning vertigo, or BPPV).  I saw the audiologist August 1, and unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately, depending on how you look at it), the results were inconclusive.  Considering I no longer felt any dizziness, I wasn’t concerned.

But then I went off the wagon.

My darling and I limit our alcohol intake in the weeks leading up to a race, avoiding it altogether for at least one week prior.  But in the days after my BQ I was in a celebratory mood, so we bought a magnum of wine the night before I was to leave for Salem for Hood-to-Coast.  We had no intentions of finishing the darn thing, but as the night wore on we found ourselves pouring one glass after another.  As I drifted off on the couch my darling eased a half glass of wine from my hand (I believe it was my fifth).  Soon after I stumbled to bed.

I awoke about 1 a.m. with the familiar roller-coaster sensation.  Each time I turned over I felt the entire room move.  I hoped the feeling would diminish come morning, but to no avail.  I somehow managed to pack my bags for my trip, but had to pay tribute to the porcelain god a couple of times.  My darling suggested I cancel, but I couldn’t let my teammates down.  Besides, it wasn’t as if I’d be cramped in a van and asked to run three separate legs for a total of 14+ miles over a period of 28 hours on little sleep.

Oh crap.

Fortunately I had made the wise decision to travel by train to Salem, which meant I could sleep most of the way.  My gyroscopes were still wonky, but I could function.  In fact, I even made my way to the dining area three cars away while the train was moving.  (Then again, perhaps it was stopped and the vertigo simply made it seem like it was moving).

Our team captain, Kris, picked me up at the station and I immediately fessed up to my condition.  I felt pretty stupid considering I could have avoided it by not drinking so much damn wine.  It would be one thing to have a running injury, but to be dizzy due to over consumption?  Inexcusable.

That evening I met the rest of my teammates and realized I was on a fairly competitive team (they placed every year).  I was somewhat intimidated as they seemed to be a bunch of Deena Kastors, but they welcomed me wholeheartedly.  I declined a glass of wine and headed to bed early, hoping my dizziness would be gone by morning.

So much for high hopes.

While I felt much better, I was by no means over it.  Since Kris had to work I helped myself to some breakfast and hung out in my room reading.  I also Googled home remedies for BPPV, thinking I could lessen the effects by the time I had to run (Internet self diagnosis is ALWAYS a good idea).  I performed the Brant-Daroff maneuvers on my bed, keeping my fingers crossed there wasn’t a nanny-cam watching over me (I’m sure Kris and her family would think me crazy).

The true test would be to run, so I strapped on my running shoes and headed out into the neighborhood.  As feared, my surroundings jumped all over the place as I ran, but I didn’t feel I’d fall over.  I ran 5K at an 8:36 pace, which was faster than my overall estimated pace for Hood-to-Coast.  I figured I was good to go.  After all, it wasn’t like I’d be running my first leg in the dark with my only illumination coming from a weak headlamp.

Oh crap.

Next up: Hood-to-Coast race report.