PTT: the Lemon of the Running World

Sometimes, in spite of all of the wonderful and amazing good in your life, it’s far too easy to get down about things. Anyone who knows me well can—and I am sure will loudly—attest to the fact that patience isn’t a gift that I have been granted. And it is not so much that I am a completely out of control, exacting, demanding, impatience monster (I don’t think). It is more that I am just really bad at allowing things sufficient time to develop…or, in this case, heal.

I had a fantastic 11 mile run last weekend. My pace was great, I felt strong and energetic, and other than some general soreness in my right knee and hip, I was in pretty good physical shape after my all-time longest run ever. The sun was shining, the air was cool but not frigid, and my lovely wife joined me for the last 1.5 miles to cheer me on. It was a pretty great long run. I ate and showered and ate some more feeling pretty good about my half marathon in three weeks.

          

Before the Run

After the Run

The Stats

 

An hour or two later I came down the stairs and felt a sharp twinge in the back of my right ankle. Huh—that’s weird, I thought. It didn’t really hurt, exactly. And it didn’t pulse or ache or feel terribly bad…just weird, really. And a little ouchy. The twinge was still there Monday morning. Grrr, that’s annoying, but at least it’s my rest day, I thought. The twinge was still there Tuesday morning. Shit!, I repeated over and again in my head. I probably shouldn’t run today, either. Also, I decided to call the orthopedist and get an appointment—which luckily was scheduled for Wednesday morning—I am not getting any younger so it’s probably a good idea to ingratiate myself to a good sports doc.

By then I was getting the terrible feeling that I might have strained my Achilles: a notoriously techy little tendon. I went to see the doc and she said, “Nope, not your Achilles…”

AWESOME!, I though.
“It’s your posterior tibial tendon.”

Considerably less awesome.

“It’s the tendon next to your Achilles and you have strained it.”

Tendonitis is bad news for a runner. It can be really painful and really difficult to get rid of.

In the doc’s opinion she thinks the posterior tibial tendon is the better one to mess up, but really we are talking a matter of small degree here.

            Because my pain is mild and we are pretty sure the tendonitis is as a result of doing my long run in a new pair of shoes that hadn’t been properly broken in—rather than some kind of mechanical flaw in my gate—the doc told me I could probably do some very gentle, easy running and that I should be icing and taking ibruprophen. I can also do some stretching and strength training to help the issue.

The big problem is that it is very easy to take mild tendonitis and turn it into a 6 month to yearlong battle with severe tendonitis. Herein lies my impatience. My half marathon is now, by my count, 16 days away. I am torn between trying to stay fit and trying not to completely blow 6 months of serious running training. Do I run and risk inflaming the tendon or do I skip running and risk killing my fitness level? I have tried to split the difference by doing some low impact versions of HIIT exercises—pushups, triceps dips, no jump burpees, squats, etc.—and low impact versions of cardio—elliptical, rower, bike, etc.—but the weather is gorgeous and the race is looming and it’s hard not to completely freak out.

All those demons in my head keep screaming:

Without running you will gain all of that weight back.

If you can’t run the race this work will be a waste.

You will never run again.

You will suffer months and months of pain and soreness in your leg and never be right again. Remember the plantar fasciitis. How much it hurt? How it took years to go away?

You are letting down your running buddy.

Failure.

Loser.

Pathetic.

            Before I knew it I was in a total tail-spin. I was freaking out.

            I tried hard to stay calm, and I really tried to remember that I could still work out. I could still stay fit. And ultimately, my goal was to be healthy, not to be a competitive long distance runner. I decided to take a full week off from running and see where I ended up. I took a few great bike rides and focused more on weight training.

I don't think I could be dorkier.

Good ride.

            Because things were feeling pretty good I decided I could try running again. Two weeks from the half, if I could get a few good runs in and do my 10k on the weekend I might be able to do the big race. I went out on Tuesday and did an easy mile: no problem. I went out on Wednesday and did 3 miles with my running buddy: still okay, but pretty tight. At this point ideas of running my 10k and being fit for the half started to creep back in—maybe I could do this!

            That brings us to this morning. I went out to try 4 miles. If I was going to run the 10k on Saturday morning, I figured I better get in at least 4 today.

Me, before the run this morning.

            But I couldn’t. I knew it about 1.5 miles in, but I kept at it, hoping the tightness would ease. By the time I was headed back home at the 2.5 mile mark I knew I was in trouble. Just before 3 miles I couldn’t go on anymore. I slowed to a walk and the pain eased. After a few hundred feet of walking, I shifted back to a jog again. Nope. Nope. Nope.

            This has been a really hard decision to reach, but I need to take care of my body and take some time off from running. I am cancelling my 10k and my half marathon. It sucks. I don’t cry very often, but I have been weepy all day. It feels like giving up. It has a whiff of failure. You set a big goal and just can’t achieve it…it feels unacceptable.

            But once again I can catch a glimpse of the thing I have been trying to nail down about running…it has become more than just a way to be fit. It is instructive. It is hard and unfair and exhilarating and boring and thrilling and empowering and crushing all at once. I am starting to realize that more important than the weight loss and the physical fitness, running has given me just a tiny little bit of wisdom and maturity.

The hours of quiet introspection, the running trance, the time outside in the weather—both good and bad—have challenged me as much mentally as it has physically, and that is the surprising and fantastic thing about running. As just truly shitty as it has been to realize that I am not going to be able to hit my goals in the next few weeks, a little part of me has learned that that is okay. If it is a choice between lifetime regular runner and distance racer, I am choosing the lifestyle over the one time thrill. It’s easy for me to dig deep and overcome the physical pain. It is harder for me to overcome my pride and take care of myself. But that is what I am going to do.

So it would seem that—at least for the next 2-3 weeks—I am going to be a cyclist and a weight lifter. By the time you see me next my quads will be larger than my waist and I will have no neck, but at least I will be able to maintain some level of fitness.

I shall close with the obligatory cliché: when life hands you lemons, make lemonade. 

These socks are rad. That is all.