Tuesday, January 24, 2012

What's your story?

As I've alluded to, running has been nearly non-existent for me thus far in 2012. I've been incredibly blessed in my 15+ years of running and have managed to evade the common long-term injuries that plague distance runners. Until now. Well, December 1st, 2011, to be precise. It seems I've acquired a persistent case of plantar fasciitis with posterior tibialis tendonitis. And thanks to an orthopedic heavy PT curriculum, I am blessed+cursed to know the soft-tissue healing that must follow. 

After Chicago, I jumped into training for USATF Club XC Nationals relatively quickly. I had a few weeks off, a few weeks of easy mileage, then 4-5 weeks of grass, spiked up workouts twice per week. It was the last XC workout before Club Nats that I first felt that horrible, no good, very bad feeling in my right arch. It felt like it was going to snap. It didn't cause any lingering discomfort, so I blamed it on the cold. Well, after the race at Club Nats, my foot started to hurt. I hobbled around Seattle, blaming poor shoe choice. I hoped that when I returned home, I could ice it down, sleep in my night-splint a few nights and shake it off. After a few days, I did! But, like a well-trained, devious plantar fasciitis, it returned vengefully. I jokingly blamed XC at first. But truly, I think time off (hello hip weakness, nice to see you again) followed by a transition from roads to grass was a huge factor.

I consider my knowledge base to be quite beneficial in times like these. By Christmas, a voice in the back of my head says "shut it down." I rarely listen to my own advice. Luckily, I am fortunate to share my 40 hours/week office space with very adept and caring PT's. They listened compassionately, as I gripe about my inability to run 80 miles per week as though I'd experienced a traumatic loss. And through talking with them, I realized rest was the only option. After a week of rest without any relief, I caved. I did the unthinkable. I found myself unable to treat... myself. I scheduled my PT evaluation. This is when I knew the -itis was for real. The pity party turned into a rave.

Between unprovoked emotional breakdowns, I got my act together, bought a pass to the community center, and agreed (with myself) to start cross-training. This was a big step. I don't like cross training. I don't like showering at the gym. I don't like living out of a gym bag. I don't like wasting 15 minutes commuting to/from the gym. I could have already run almost two miles in that time! Well, I don't like it, but I am doing it. And it has its ups and downs.

I try to stay positive. I have this problem with a short memory. Whenever I am sick or have pain/injury, I can't seem to remember the feeling of being without the pain/illness. I get kind of fixated on the present. It's rather irritating and makes it hard to see the long term goal. I've since kicked up a playlist with some motivating songs. When I'm feeling positive, I remember my college teammates who ran sub-19:00 5k's off of the elliptical. I remind myself of Megs, who ran a 3:35 marathon, off of 3 runs and 4 elliptical sessions per week. I even occasionally think of the year I ran a  sub-41:00 10k after 6 weeks on the elliptical. I get my heart rate up, sweat like mad, and generally, look like a compulsive freak rotating days of bike/elliptical and swim/aqua jog. After two hours in the pool or a few sub-7 minute miles on the elliptical, I almost feel accomplished.



But then there are the days like today. Like the past few days, really. Those days when the pity-party turns into a rave gone bad. Days I want to triple up on Vitamin D. Days I am just not in the mood to be at the gym. Not in the mood to be injured. Not in the mood to keep pushing. These are the days that I just want to give up, buy a yoga membership, change my diet to paleo, and consider a meditative retreat like Julia Roberts in Eat, Pray, Love. So today, after dragging my arse out of bed at 5:15, so I could be first in line when the gym doors opened, just to get in 45 minutes on the bike before work, I am naturally thinking these thoughts, most of which are along the lines of: 

      This is crap. I hate the bike. I hate the gym. I'm not doing this anymore. I'm just gonna give 
      running up and take up knitting, or sewing, or baking. Maybe I'll just get fat. Maybe I'll just give     
     up and have babies. Or more cats...

And then a new string of thoughts pop into my head: 

     I don't want my story to end like this. I'm not content with a 2:53 marathon. I don't want 
     people to ask, "wow,did you ever think of trying to qualify for the Olympic Trials?" and my answer 
     to be "yeah, I started to try, but then I kinda hurt my foot, so I just gave up." 

I don't want that to be my story. So, my new mantra: I don't want my story to end like this. All along, I've been thinking, "if I can just make it back for Kent... Shamrock... Boston... Hillsdale... the 10k... something!"  Well, the only thing staying on my calendar is another OTQ attempt in 2013. While outlook for this spring is spotty, at best, it doesn't end here.



No comments:

Post a Comment