It's been 72 days since the last day I ran - and I ran (with some walking) for 5 hours. Today, I ran for 6 1/2 minutes. All morning I couldn't concentrate at work, knowing that today was the day I was going to "break my fast" in physical therapy and test out my ankle on the treadmill. Since my last PT visit last week, I was feeling like I was close to being back to normal - perhaps at about 90%. I dreamed of being able to run for 15, 20, 30 minutes at a time on the treadmill as I gained my strength and stamina again, felt the rush of my endorphins kicking in, clear my head as I often do when I run, and start to shed some of these pounds i've put on since i've been injured. It's been a rough winter, and now, i'd be on my way to strength, better health, happiness, and the ability to train for another competition.
(Sigh), but things never go quite as planned. I came out of the locker room and headed straight towards the treadmill. My therapist firmly told me that I had to take it easy - this was just going to be a little jog. Another therapist in the gym laughed and said, "It's all relative - saying take it easy to a marathoner means going for a 12 miler to them". I smiled - they both know i've been so anxious and i'm the person that would run through pain instead of shy away from it. If I was to experience shooting pain, I had to stop immediately - I could reinjure myself and we would have to start this whole process all over again.
So I started out with a 3 minute walk - then cranked up the speed and started jogging. Yes! I'm back! This is awesome! I couldn't help but smile. An older gentleman, who is a patient that generally comes in the same time I do to rehab his shoulder, looked at me, smiled, and said "You look great! How are you feeling?" "So far so good" I responded. Couldn't be happier. Of course, that only last for about a minute. The pain started coming back - no, don't! Go away! It's not fair! I ran for another minute and a half, debating in my brain whether or not this was "bad" pain. I knew that it was - I just didn't want to believe. So, eventually, the voice of reason took over and I slowed down to a walk again.
So many emotions and thoughts running through my head during the next four minutes while walking. Am I ever going to be able to run again? How am I going to lose the weight I want to lose and get back to my old form? What would my life be without running? Sure, just a few years ago, it didn't exist in my life - but I can't remember those days. Ok - time to regroup and give it another go. After all, that was the first time I ran in over 2 months - maybe i'm just a little rusty. So I started to crank up the speed again - but this time, made it a slower jog. Hmmm...ok, I feel it - it's not that comfortable - but this time, there is no shooting pain. Maybe I just started out to fast. I lasted 4 minutes this time - it wasn't the best or most comfortable run. I have a much longer road ahead of me than I anticipated.
There is the possibility that I can reinjure myself - it's a tough injury to come back from. It's frustrating, but I have to remain positive and steadfast - roll with the punches and eventually - someday, I'll get out there again, on a trail in the crisp air with rays of sunlight peaking through the branches and trees. On this day, however, I won't take it for granted - when those mental demons start creeping into my mind, i'll finally have something to battle them with - and i'll win - because no matter how badly I might feel during a particular run, i'll know that it's so much better than not being able to run at all.
As cliche as it is - we go through the hard times so that the good times are that much better. I just have to remind myself of this every day during recovery - and if you see me, please remind me too.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Shut Down
I haven't run in 69 days. Not that i'm counting or anything. So if you do the math, the last time I ran was in the Philadelphia Marathon. That shooting pain that I felt in my left ankle at mile 10 and kept running on for another 16 miles turned out to be a bit more serious than I anticipated. About a week after the marathon, I went to a podiatrist, got x-rays and an MRI, and was diagnosed with tendonitis in my posterior tibial tendon. I'm very fortunate that it was only inflammed, not torn. But I would be on a slow road to recovery.
So, for the past 10 weeks, I started out in a walking boot to immobilize my foot and ankle. Just after the New Year I was downgraded to an ankle brace. My joint got very tight and stiff in the boot and my calf and foot muscles atrophied, so I began physical therapy 3 weeks ago. It's been painful and frustrating. I wanted to run in a half-marathon in Virginia Beach with Lee on St. Patty's Day - but I won't be ready by then. So i've been inactive - no running, no cardio whatsoever, no strength training - for the majority of the last 10 weeks. And i've been eating - I got injured just in time for the holidays. I've been depressed - I found a sublet for my apartment who just 2 weeks after signing the lease wanted to back out. Nothing seemed to be going my way - I started gaining weight. So much so that I feel ugly, unattractive - which does not put me in the best frame of mind to date. So i've been living in my own personal hell.
But now, there's hope. I got custom made orthotics this week, which is somewhat uncomfortable but seems to be helping. My last PT appointment, I did an exercise that generally causes so much pain I have to use my good foot to take some pressure off of my bad foot - this time, I did the entire exercise without the aide of my good foot and was in relatively less pain. Progress is being made - and we are going to try to run on the treadmill next week! Just in time for me to start my triathlon training on February 4th. I have friends that tell me I have to be patient - that even though i'm not where I want to be, i'm on the right track - and i'll get there. I know they're right. It's just been a struggle. Some days I want to give up. It's cruel to be on such a high like I was during the marathon - only to come crashing down and be in a funk for months. Thanks to everyone for sticking by me. I still have a long road ahead - but i'm not giving up.
So, for the past 10 weeks, I started out in a walking boot to immobilize my foot and ankle. Just after the New Year I was downgraded to an ankle brace. My joint got very tight and stiff in the boot and my calf and foot muscles atrophied, so I began physical therapy 3 weeks ago. It's been painful and frustrating. I wanted to run in a half-marathon in Virginia Beach with Lee on St. Patty's Day - but I won't be ready by then. So i've been inactive - no running, no cardio whatsoever, no strength training - for the majority of the last 10 weeks. And i've been eating - I got injured just in time for the holidays. I've been depressed - I found a sublet for my apartment who just 2 weeks after signing the lease wanted to back out. Nothing seemed to be going my way - I started gaining weight. So much so that I feel ugly, unattractive - which does not put me in the best frame of mind to date. So i've been living in my own personal hell.
But now, there's hope. I got custom made orthotics this week, which is somewhat uncomfortable but seems to be helping. My last PT appointment, I did an exercise that generally causes so much pain I have to use my good foot to take some pressure off of my bad foot - this time, I did the entire exercise without the aide of my good foot and was in relatively less pain. Progress is being made - and we are going to try to run on the treadmill next week! Just in time for me to start my triathlon training on February 4th. I have friends that tell me I have to be patient - that even though i'm not where I want to be, i'm on the right track - and i'll get there. I know they're right. It's just been a struggle. Some days I want to give up. It's cruel to be on such a high like I was during the marathon - only to come crashing down and be in a funk for months. Thanks to everyone for sticking by me. I still have a long road ahead - but i'm not giving up.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Running Anniversary Retrospective - Tying Up Loose Ends
This post will tie up the loose ends from my Half-Marathon to the beginning of this blog in July 2006.
The following weekend after the half-marathon, when my final exams and final papers of grad school were over and done with, I went home to Philly to run in the Annual Broad Street Run - a 10 miler which begins in North Philadelphia in front of Girls High and runs to South Philadelphia with the finish line in the Naval Shipyards. The day before the run, my friend Coleen was hosting a pub crawl as a fundraiser for her participation in the 3-day breast cancer walk. I posted my response on her evite page, stating i'd be there for the earlier portion of the crawl but would have to get home at a decent hour to be well rested for the race the next morning.
A few days later, I got an email from someone who I probably hadn't thought of in close to 14 years - a woman named Jenna who I went to high school with. She was two years ahead of me in school (same year as Coleen) and we all acted in our high school musicals together. Turns out Jenna had read my post on the evite and was also going to be running in the Broad Street run as well. We caught up with each other over several emails and discovered we'd been on similar paths - moved away for college only to find our way back to Philly in our thirties, worked in non-profit organizations, recently discovered running and both had an interest in making a career change within the legal sector. Not only was it cool to reconnect with someone back home, but it also was a blessing that I found someone else who was as committed to her running as I was.
In New York I had Lee, Janet, NYRR's, etc. to keep me in shape and focused towards my running. Now, I was leaving that support group and was facing my biggest challenge yet in training for my first marathon, but I didn't know where or who to turn to to begin. This is when Jenna told me about Phillyfit's marathon training program and well, the rest is history if you read the beginning of this blog to this point.
Jenna and I carpooled at the end of May to our first group run with Phillyfit at Valley Forge park. That first day I ran the three-mile pace run with Diana, one of the assistant coaches who works for the FBI (I just thought that was the coolest thing). I also had a chat with Stuart, one of the faster runners who also had an appreciation for the arts. In the earlier, shorter runs (from 4 - 8 miles) I met and ran with a couple who had just moved up from North Carolina, Tom & Amy as well as Gretchen, a nurse who lived by the Art museum and whom I would meet up with along Kelly Drive on occassion to get some weekly runs in. As exciting and unsettling as the transition moving back to Philly and starting a new life was, I always had my running and the support of other runners to escape to - it made my life feel "normal" regardless of what was happening.
This concludes my retrospective of my early running days in the Spring of 2004 to my first marathon in the Fall of 2006. It feels like the close of a chapter in my life. What's the next chapter? I start training for my first triathlon February 4th....so stay tuned.
The following weekend after the half-marathon, when my final exams and final papers of grad school were over and done with, I went home to Philly to run in the Annual Broad Street Run - a 10 miler which begins in North Philadelphia in front of Girls High and runs to South Philadelphia with the finish line in the Naval Shipyards. The day before the run, my friend Coleen was hosting a pub crawl as a fundraiser for her participation in the 3-day breast cancer walk. I posted my response on her evite page, stating i'd be there for the earlier portion of the crawl but would have to get home at a decent hour to be well rested for the race the next morning.
A few days later, I got an email from someone who I probably hadn't thought of in close to 14 years - a woman named Jenna who I went to high school with. She was two years ahead of me in school (same year as Coleen) and we all acted in our high school musicals together. Turns out Jenna had read my post on the evite and was also going to be running in the Broad Street run as well. We caught up with each other over several emails and discovered we'd been on similar paths - moved away for college only to find our way back to Philly in our thirties, worked in non-profit organizations, recently discovered running and both had an interest in making a career change within the legal sector. Not only was it cool to reconnect with someone back home, but it also was a blessing that I found someone else who was as committed to her running as I was.
In New York I had Lee, Janet, NYRR's, etc. to keep me in shape and focused towards my running. Now, I was leaving that support group and was facing my biggest challenge yet in training for my first marathon, but I didn't know where or who to turn to to begin. This is when Jenna told me about Phillyfit's marathon training program and well, the rest is history if you read the beginning of this blog to this point.
Jenna and I carpooled at the end of May to our first group run with Phillyfit at Valley Forge park. That first day I ran the three-mile pace run with Diana, one of the assistant coaches who works for the FBI (I just thought that was the coolest thing). I also had a chat with Stuart, one of the faster runners who also had an appreciation for the arts. In the earlier, shorter runs (from 4 - 8 miles) I met and ran with a couple who had just moved up from North Carolina, Tom & Amy as well as Gretchen, a nurse who lived by the Art museum and whom I would meet up with along Kelly Drive on occassion to get some weekly runs in. As exciting and unsettling as the transition moving back to Philly and starting a new life was, I always had my running and the support of other runners to escape to - it made my life feel "normal" regardless of what was happening.
This concludes my retrospective of my early running days in the Spring of 2004 to my first marathon in the Fall of 2006. It feels like the close of a chapter in my life. What's the next chapter? I start training for my first triathlon February 4th....so stay tuned.
Friday, January 05, 2007
Running Anniversary Retrospective - My First Half-Marathon
WARNING - I may share a bit more information than some of you might want to read. So PROCEED WITH CAUTION.
I woke up at 4:30 am on April 29th, 2006 to get a car down to 5th Ave. and 90th St., where I would pick up a bus at 5:30 am to take me to the start line in Queens. I don't think I had slept any more than 3 hours the night before. I was a bit nervous. Besides the 10 mile race I participated in in January, I had only done two long training runs. A 10 miler in Fort De Soto Park near Tampa, FL when I went down for Spring training mid-March and for a 2 hour run in Northern Manhattan two weeks prior to the race. I wasn't feeling so great that morning, it was difficult to eat my pre-race meal of a whole-wheat bagel and peanut butter with gatorade to wash it down.
The sun came up during the ride to College Point, Queens, which made that chilly morning very bright. We arrived an hour before the start so I wandered around the park a bit. I ran into a familiar face - a gentleman who was the elevator operator in the building I was interning at on 5th Ave. To that date, he was a friendly face I said hi to in the morning - but now, our relationship would be taken to a new level. Here we both were, early on a quiet Saturday morning before the majority of the city was up, ready to tackle 13.1 miles because we wanted to - because it's in our blood. He had run this race before and informed me it was somewhat hilly so to take it easy. At 50 years old he had run several marathons but was now sticking with the half-marathon distance.
I was standing in the bag check area in a sliver of sunlight, trying to keep warm, when a gentlemen from New Jersey who was also standing in the general vicinity started a conversation wtih me. I confessed it was my first half-marathon and he did his best to calm my nerves. It was about 15 minutes to the start of the race, so I decided to take off my warm up gear, check my bag, and wait in line for the port-a-potty. I still wasn't feeling so great - I thought it was just nerves. When I got into a port-a-potty, I discovered why I wasn't feeling so great. I began to menstrate. "Wonderful", I thought to myself. My first day of menstration every month was always the worst with heavy flows and cramping - sometimes accompanied by fever and fatigue. So not only was I not prepared (meaning no tampons on me out in the middle of the park), but I also had to run 13.1 miles with this problem. Not much I could do about it - just had to work with it.
So I headed to the start line - about 3,000 people showed up for the race - and no spectators. It was an eerily quiet, chilly, and bright Saturday morning. I lined up between the 9 and 10 minute milers. My goal was to finish the half in 2 hours 5 minutes - which translates to a 9:30MM pace. I reigned in my nerves once we passed over the starting mat to not start out to fast - had to conserve energy. I reached the 1 mile marker and looked at my watch - 10 minutes even. So I was on a good pace. I was feeling ok during the first few miles. I ran between 9:15 - 10:00 MM depending on the hills, and enjoyed the scenery. As I approached mile 5, I had planned on taking a gel. I had practiced taking gels during my long run two weeks prior to this race, and it seemed to go ok. So I ran up next to the water station, didn't stop, and washed down the gel while running. I wanted to run the entire 13.1 miles - not even a second to stop for water. Almost immediately after washing down the gel, my stomach started to rumble. Then, pressure in my abdomen. Uh huh - could this be? diarrhea? Yup - I had the runs, literally. I had to go. But I couldn't stop. I had to keep going - I had a goal.
So I carried on, squeezing my butt cheeks on occassion when I felt the urge to go. It only came in waves. So when I didn't feel my cramps or my urge to go to the bathroom, I was doing ok. Never let my pace up - around mile 10, it looked like I was still on pace to finish in 2:05.
Runners always talk about hitting "the wall". They normally talk about this in reference to a marathon - but for a beginner like me, it could happen in a half-marathon. It had never happened to me before - until I hit mile 12, that final mile. Then, I was just dragging along - shuffling my feet. I wanted to stop. I had no energy. I had to go to the bathroom. I wanted to vomit. My heart monitor had chaffed the area in the center of my breast bone - nothing hurt more than fabric rubbing against raw skin. Thoughts were creeping in my head - how in the world could I do this two times in a row to finish a marathon? Maybe distance running wasn't for me.
With all this running through my head as I was shuffling along, I turned a corner, and all of the sudden, there were people. The entire race there were no spectators, until these last few hundred meters. Some of them were faster runners who had already finished the race. Others were those who had finally woken up and decided to check out the race. It's what I needed to start picking up the pace. Always finish strong, no matter what. Once I saw the finish line, I sprinted with all my might the last hundred meters. Breathing heavy, I heard a person yell "Yay! way to finish strong!". I crossed the finish line and looked at my watch. 2:06:19. Only 1:19 off of my goal - with diarrhea and my period. Not bad at all, I was quite pleased with myself. Off course, I was shaking like crazy - I had to find an available bathroom quickly.
I felt weak during the bus and subway ride home and was in and out of sleep the remainder of the day. But the sense of accomplishment I felt was well worth the pain and suffering. It showed me I could do it - I could get through it. So what did I do to celebrate this accomplishment? The next day I logged on to register for the Philadephia Marathon in November. What can I say? I'm a glutton for punishment I suppose.
I woke up at 4:30 am on April 29th, 2006 to get a car down to 5th Ave. and 90th St., where I would pick up a bus at 5:30 am to take me to the start line in Queens. I don't think I had slept any more than 3 hours the night before. I was a bit nervous. Besides the 10 mile race I participated in in January, I had only done two long training runs. A 10 miler in Fort De Soto Park near Tampa, FL when I went down for Spring training mid-March and for a 2 hour run in Northern Manhattan two weeks prior to the race. I wasn't feeling so great that morning, it was difficult to eat my pre-race meal of a whole-wheat bagel and peanut butter with gatorade to wash it down.
The sun came up during the ride to College Point, Queens, which made that chilly morning very bright. We arrived an hour before the start so I wandered around the park a bit. I ran into a familiar face - a gentleman who was the elevator operator in the building I was interning at on 5th Ave. To that date, he was a friendly face I said hi to in the morning - but now, our relationship would be taken to a new level. Here we both were, early on a quiet Saturday morning before the majority of the city was up, ready to tackle 13.1 miles because we wanted to - because it's in our blood. He had run this race before and informed me it was somewhat hilly so to take it easy. At 50 years old he had run several marathons but was now sticking with the half-marathon distance.
I was standing in the bag check area in a sliver of sunlight, trying to keep warm, when a gentlemen from New Jersey who was also standing in the general vicinity started a conversation wtih me. I confessed it was my first half-marathon and he did his best to calm my nerves. It was about 15 minutes to the start of the race, so I decided to take off my warm up gear, check my bag, and wait in line for the port-a-potty. I still wasn't feeling so great - I thought it was just nerves. When I got into a port-a-potty, I discovered why I wasn't feeling so great. I began to menstrate. "Wonderful", I thought to myself. My first day of menstration every month was always the worst with heavy flows and cramping - sometimes accompanied by fever and fatigue. So not only was I not prepared (meaning no tampons on me out in the middle of the park), but I also had to run 13.1 miles with this problem. Not much I could do about it - just had to work with it.
So I headed to the start line - about 3,000 people showed up for the race - and no spectators. It was an eerily quiet, chilly, and bright Saturday morning. I lined up between the 9 and 10 minute milers. My goal was to finish the half in 2 hours 5 minutes - which translates to a 9:30MM pace. I reigned in my nerves once we passed over the starting mat to not start out to fast - had to conserve energy. I reached the 1 mile marker and looked at my watch - 10 minutes even. So I was on a good pace. I was feeling ok during the first few miles. I ran between 9:15 - 10:00 MM depending on the hills, and enjoyed the scenery. As I approached mile 5, I had planned on taking a gel. I had practiced taking gels during my long run two weeks prior to this race, and it seemed to go ok. So I ran up next to the water station, didn't stop, and washed down the gel while running. I wanted to run the entire 13.1 miles - not even a second to stop for water. Almost immediately after washing down the gel, my stomach started to rumble. Then, pressure in my abdomen. Uh huh - could this be? diarrhea? Yup - I had the runs, literally. I had to go. But I couldn't stop. I had to keep going - I had a goal.
So I carried on, squeezing my butt cheeks on occassion when I felt the urge to go. It only came in waves. So when I didn't feel my cramps or my urge to go to the bathroom, I was doing ok. Never let my pace up - around mile 10, it looked like I was still on pace to finish in 2:05.
Runners always talk about hitting "the wall". They normally talk about this in reference to a marathon - but for a beginner like me, it could happen in a half-marathon. It had never happened to me before - until I hit mile 12, that final mile. Then, I was just dragging along - shuffling my feet. I wanted to stop. I had no energy. I had to go to the bathroom. I wanted to vomit. My heart monitor had chaffed the area in the center of my breast bone - nothing hurt more than fabric rubbing against raw skin. Thoughts were creeping in my head - how in the world could I do this two times in a row to finish a marathon? Maybe distance running wasn't for me.
With all this running through my head as I was shuffling along, I turned a corner, and all of the sudden, there were people. The entire race there were no spectators, until these last few hundred meters. Some of them were faster runners who had already finished the race. Others were those who had finally woken up and decided to check out the race. It's what I needed to start picking up the pace. Always finish strong, no matter what. Once I saw the finish line, I sprinted with all my might the last hundred meters. Breathing heavy, I heard a person yell "Yay! way to finish strong!". I crossed the finish line and looked at my watch. 2:06:19. Only 1:19 off of my goal - with diarrhea and my period. Not bad at all, I was quite pleased with myself. Off course, I was shaking like crazy - I had to find an available bathroom quickly.
I felt weak during the bus and subway ride home and was in and out of sleep the remainder of the day. But the sense of accomplishment I felt was well worth the pain and suffering. It showed me I could do it - I could get through it. So what did I do to celebrate this accomplishment? The next day I logged on to register for the Philadephia Marathon in November. What can I say? I'm a glutton for punishment I suppose.
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