Circle of Pain
My natural stubbornness has taken me to some awesome places in the world of distance running — a couple of fifty mile finishes, lots of 50k treks through the forest, a fast-paced BQ marathon. I’ve gotten to see and experience the world in a way most people never will, and for that I am extremely humbled and content.
But one thing we running scribes poignantly leave out of our epic storytelling is the fact that we spend a lot of time banged up — nursing nagging tweaks and pulls and strains, annoying bumps and bruises and aches — sometimes suffering injuries bad enough that we have to stay off the roads and trails all together. And while I have taken the time to write about my most serious of injuries — the ones that leave me sidelined — I rarely wax on the day-to-day maintenance of whatever has the potential to become debilitating.
And looking over my log books dating back to 2010, I conclude that THAT struggle is worth writing about.
Long distance running is just as much about pain management as it is time on your feet.
In 2010, I was constantly bothered by an irritating hamstring pull that would never quite heal. It wouldn’t quite heal because dumbass me wouldn’t quite stop running on it.
In 2011, I had a meniscus tear that wouldn’t quite heal because dumbass me wouldn’t quite stop running on it.
In 2012, I dealt with daily tight calves, a reoccurring soleus strain, and eventually a tight IT band that wouldn’t quite heal because dumbass me WOULDN’T QUITE STOP RUNNING ON IT.
See a pattern here?
That 2012 tight IT band ended up costing me four months of training when it turned into full blown chronic IT band syndrome by late October. And while the injury has healed to the point where I am back now 100%, I haven’t been able to rack up the mileage necessary to make me feel comfortable about racing a marathon or fifty mile distance event.
The moral of the story here is to rest when these damn things first pop up. It sounds so simple.
THEN WHY IS IT SO HARD?!?!
My personality has a lot to do with it. I don’t like sitting still. I have an addictive nature that leads me to focus all my energy on the few activities I really enjoy doing, and nothing else. And the call to progress is annoyingly loud in my consciousness.
It’s pretty hard to progress when every step hurts.
But pain is relative, and I believe I have a pretty high threshold compared to most people. I crave that last 10k of agony experienced in a fast marathon. I like pushing my quads to disintegration on long downhill stretches. I box a couple times a week and look forward to a nice 1-2 power combination on my noggin. Pain, in a strange way, makes me hyper aware, alertly alive. It sends bursts of energy otherwise absent through my body.
Still, if exposed to discomfort long enough, I will eventually cave. Today I am on time-out with some wonky calcaneus-Achilles-plantar fascia something-or-other. Since I took up distance running a few years ago, nearly every morning has begun with me doing the old man walk out of bed. I have just accepted that as a byproduct of what I love to do. My heels are always sore. Every day. Always have been. So what?
Well, last week those sore heels turned into what felt like someone slicing the back of my feet with a switchblade, making it impossible to run. Of course, I tried to anyway. I have a 50 mile race coming up to get ready for!
So I finally gave in to logic and rested all week. They were feeling better. Much better. In fact, they felt so good that I was able to get out for a short run with friends on Saturday. No problem there. But today I’m doing the old man walk again, with sharp, stabbing pains showing up with random steps and while I know I could probably get out for another short run today with limited damage, FINALLY the voice of reason is finding a home inside my head.
I’m taking the rest of the week off.
There, I said it. I mean it. I’m doing it. Total rest for the remainder of the week.
And then I am running the Minnesota Voyageur 50 Miler on Saturday.
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