Despite running
successes, some challenges mounted, particularly with foot and leg
issues, and I did the best I could. I always had foot pain after
running, but in late April or early May, it started to intensify
around calluses while running, and didn't ease off afterward. After
about three weeks of continual pain, I couldn’t deal with it
anymore, so I stupidly tried to deal with it myself. Details
unnecessary, I started chemically burning a few holes in my feet over
a few days, realized that might’ve been dumb, and stopped – which
only served to make the situation worse. Some of the off-day pain had
receded, only to be replaced by more intense variants on running
days. I sprung and upgraded to Brooks GTS 12s to try to alleviate
some of the pain. They made no difference, and I instead focused on
changing my form, landing on my forefoot more, which helped a bit.
Besides that
stupidity, I had always been a klutz, which extended to working out
and running. Pulling a hamstring or a calf happened on a regular
basis, though buying a pair of calf compression sleeves, and
eventually progressive compression socks, helped slightly. In the
wake of long runs, limping around for two days due to blasted legs
never felt pleasant. Worst of all, I proved remarkably adept at
continuing to twist or roll either ankle about once a month. I felt
certain, and terrified, that I would eventually break one, and the
periods of rest after injury frustrated me.
Unfortunately, May
brought more challenges. Somehow, mid-month, I managed to hurt
myself, possibly at my new gym in a “get to know you” session
with a personal trainer, when I did several exercises I’d never
tried before that pushed me hard. Something didn’t feel right in
the area between leg and groin in the days after. While I’d pulled
that muscle a few times, this felt different. A doctor confirmed a
few days later I’d gotten an inguinal hernia. Initially, he
recommended I not run – despite a race lined up a week later. Since
I’d unwisely run ten miles a few days after realizing what type of
injury I’d accrued and wanted to test out how I felt, and it had
felt fine, the doctor approved it.
A week later,
Memorial Day weekend, I ran the Soldier Field 10-Miler race. I ran
from the stadium, south on the actual roadway of Lake Shore Drive and
back, which was awesome, but the race felt like a serious trial. I
experienced the perils of mistiming and misjudging water intake and
carbohydrate consumption. I ate far too small a serving of wheat
pasta over four hours before running, resulting in exhaustion of
energy reserves earlier than I’d anticipated; mistimed consuming a
gel and sucked it down more than 45 minutes before stepping out,
though I'd intended it to help with a strong start ten minutes
afterward; and drank far and away too much water in the hours and
minutes before the run, then couldn’t get near a bathroom until
mid-race, leading to extreme discomfort. I made it to mile six
without stopping. If that had been the only time I stopped, I would
have felt fine about my performance.
For most runners,
building endurance could be the greatest challenge for running long
distance, but mine was dealing with terrible knees. Now deeply
regretting that I’d not done the knee-lifts daily since college, my
knees still lacked strength and made long runs very painful at the
end. Though I’d built up some tolerance to that point, they’d
still start hurting almost immediately after six miles into a run.
Using a pair of patellar straps delayed the pain until mile eight,
but at that point, it overcame me. Whereas previously, I always had
kept moving in the past when being timed, regardless of circumstance,
even while injured, this time I surrendered. I stopped an additional
three times, walking a few blocks near the end, and considered giving
up. Luckily, I didn’t, and finished as best as I could, with people
on the sides of the path screaming at me to keep running. I shuffled
onto the Soldier Field grass and grimacing in agony. I considered
the race my first legitimate racing failure.
Immediately
afterward, I came to the most disappointing conclusion related to
fitness in quite a while: I probably wouldn’t have it in me to run
the Half Marathon scheduled for July. Despite training in a somewhat
committed fashion for several months, I probably had not tackled
enough long-runs. The idea that you could run ten miles and then be
capable of running 13.1 did not apply when a specific body part like
a knee could limit your performance – I needed to have done run
that distance before, several times, to get used to it. I envisioned
humiliating myself. Even if I wanted to attempt the half, I might no
longer get a choice – surgery was the only option to deal with the
hernia, and I wanted it performed as soon as possible. Though the
doctor told me it shouldn’t slow me down from running very long, I
used it as a cop-out to not run the Half Marathon. I felt like I had
just signed up too early to get a realistic look at the situation.
As I currently
write this, dealing with those issues, and not running since rolling
my right ankle two days ago, I find it difficult to stay positive
about my chances to run that longer-distance race. I’m disappointed
that my body seems to try to wreck itself, but even more disappointed
in my past idiocies and lack of foresight, causing serious bodily
harm that I’m now reaping.
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