In the wake of running 100 miles on my own two feet, chilling out has been a high priority. Post-race, I took a full 10 days off from running, mixed with some light cross training and gentle walking.
I also made sure to get on the mat.
It was during the shavasana (or relaxation/meditation) portion of a recent yoga class that I began to wonder what it would feel like to do a yoga class every day, for a week. Surely, lots of yogis do this, I thought to myself. Why not give it a try?
So I did.
Before I report my experience, I should first explain my own personal relationship with yoga. I came to the mat a couple of years ago, as a grumpy, injured runner looking for healing, both for body and mind. Having recently explored the power of meditation, the in-the-moment connection to the breath was something I could easily relate to, and it wasn’t long before I found myself in a yoga class once a week. The more I practiced, the better I felt.
Part of that betterment was encouraged by the environment in which I was practicing. I was lucky enough to find Tejas (pronounced teh-jus) Yoga, in the South Loop. From the very beginning, the owners, Jim and James, were so warm and inviting, that one would have a hard time not wanting to practice there, if for nothing else than to hang out, drink tea and have good conversation.
Considering that foundation, it’s no surprise that the teachers there also carry the same spirited warmth. Contrary to my pre-yoga reservations, I never once felt intimidated or overwhelmed at Tejas. In fact, it seems to me the teachers there go out of their way to make sure each student is comfortable, that modifications are always accessible, and that each person is set up to succeed, whatever his or her goals may be.
For me, this is essential. As an ultrarunner, as a boxer, as a person who makes his living teaching and practicing exercise, I come to the mat for mostly gentle, regenerative movements. I come to wind down, to heal, to focus on the breath, one inhalation and exhalation at a time. For me, yoga is not about wrapping my leg around my head. It’s about connecting breath to movement and staying present, the same cornerstones of running 100 miles or answering the bell.
But a class a day for seven days?
*Correction: there was, at least, a little sweat.
– – –
Monday, December 1, 2014
Pranayama Class with Jim Bennitt
3:30 p.m. – 4:30 p.m.
Pranayama is described as the “extension of the prāna or breath” or “extension of the life force”. Simply put, this class focuses on different breathing techniques alongside a gentle physical practice. On this day, we held a bandha (physical lock) that seemed to get deep within my hamstrings, while also exploring meditative visualizations connected to the breath. Jim asked us to project any thoughts on a screen within our minds. I was quite amused at the random relfections conjured up from deep within my consciousness. Inexplicably, Roger Rabbit made several appearances.
Overall, I left this class feeling super energized and awake, acutely aware of my hamstrings.
– – –
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
Open Class with Adam Grossi
7 a.m. – 8 a.m.
Like I tell my clients all the time, I have never heard someone say, “Man, I really regret getting up and doing that workout.” The same seems to be true for the yoga practice. While getting out of my cozy, warm bed at 6 a.m. didn’t sound very appealing, starting my day off with the immediate boost of a yoga class was well worth it. While the open class offers more challenges than the classes I typically attend, Adam provided me with options and modifications to suit my own yogic level. It felt good to sweat and to use more strength and balance than I’m used to. But most of all, it was a real treat to watch the sunlight slowly crescendo through the eastern facing windows with the progression of our class. I left feeling like a rockstar — a very grounded, introspetive rockstar.
– – –
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
Gentle Class with Monica Stevens
9 a.m. – 10 a.m.
Another great way to start the day, this gentle class is the type of class I typically attend at Tejas. The slower pace and focus on restorative poses is essential to my own yogic identity, offering the type of healing I need after running as much as I do. Monica’s clear instruction and warm sense of humor always puts me at ease, and she seemed to read my mind by getting us into a deep pigeon pose — indispensable medicine for my chronically tight hips and IT bands.
– – –
Thursday, December 4, 2014
Gentle Class with Marcelyn Cole
12 p.m. – 1 p.m.
Gentle classes on consecutive days? Thank you, sir! May I have another?
During my two years of practice, I have taken Marcelyn’s gentle class more than any other. Her calming voice and quirky sense of humor have been staples of my own yogic development, helping me heal, relax and grow to the best of my ability. This class was no exception as we explored familiar twists and deep connections to the breath. Despite my familiarness with this class, for the first time all week I did have a little trouble staying focussed and using my ujjayi breath. My mind was wandering more than usual, something I liken to bonking in the marathoning world. Luckily, I got it under control by the time we entered shavasana, my favorite pose.
– – –
Friday, December 5, 2014
Open Class with Zach Zube
12 p.m. -1 p.m.
Though small in size, this open class was a great mix of gentle and more advanced asana, with plenty of options for every practioner. There was a theme of groundedness, of forcing movement downward, as explained by our teacher, Zach. This meant plenty of forward folding and sequencing that promoted a sound connection with the earth beneath us. It was a pleasure to be back in a class taught by Zach. I took his Introduction to Yoga series a couple of years ago when I first started. His clear and thoughtful sequencing always puts me at ease, allowing breath and movement to flow naturally.
– – –
Saturday, December 6, 2014
Open Class with Adam Grossi
8 a.m. – 9:30 a.m.
My second open class with Adam this week, and again there were no regrets for getting out of bed early to attend. Unlike the Tuesday class, this one was packed! There were probably close to 20 people in attendance, and as such there existed a powerful vibe in the room. So many dedicated practitioners provided me with extra focus and a desire to be a part of the group mind, even as we were lead through more complex movements. I sweat more in this class than any other and I left feeling accomplished, strong, and ready to take on the day!
– – –
Sunday, December 7, 2014
Gentle Class with James Tennant
4 p.m. – 5:30 p.m.
I started this week of yoga by knowing exactly how I would finish. James was the very first person I met at Tejas and I remember how nervous and self-conscious I was entering those doors, only to have such feelings disappear after a mere two-minute conversation with him. His tangible, supportive spirit put me at ease and in a position to succeed with yoga. I never looked back. Since then, James’ teachings have been a regular and welcome exploration into my own higher being. Finishing the week with his gentle class was just an extension of that. The sequences flowed, my ujjayi breath connected me to the present, and time moved so quickly that I couldn’t believe 90 minutes had already passed.
When I got home that night, I was so relaxed and serene that I had no desire to watch a marquee NFL match-up on television — a rarity in its own right. I was ready for bed. Ready for peace.
– – –
While seven classes in seven days may be a lot more yoga than I am used to, one thing I did gain from this experience is the realization that despite not always being in a class setting, the yoga practice is deep within me, at all times. Over the last two years, I can’t remember a day where I didn’t do a forward fold of some kind. I can’t recall a day without invoking the ujjayi breath. There hasn’t been a day where I didn’t connect movement to breath, whether running, boxing or just working out.
It’s more than just attending a class.
It’s being present, connected to my body and its place among the stars.
The last time I raced to my maximum potential, I set a personal best in the half marathon. In the aftermath of that hard effort though, I also found myself crippled by the apex of bilateral Achilles tendonosis, an injury that would bury the rest of my lofty 2013 race plans and humble me to reevaluate my training.
That was six months ago.
Now I’m ready to give it another go when I toe the line this weekend at the Armadillo Dash Half Marathon in College Station, TX. I have been Boston Marathon training for ten and a half weeks now, slowly building back up to quality speed work and long, slow distance runs. I still don’t feel like I am in optimum speed running shape, but I do feel good. I feel strong. I feel focused.
And I feel like it’s time to see what I can do right now. But I also know that this feeling comes with a conscious finger hovering just above the abort button.
After my experience the last six months, my ultimate conclusion is that I would rather run slow than not run at all. To me, running is a gift. It’s a privilege. I am not guaranteed the ability to run, to have full use of my legs, to live this spry wonderlife each and every day. So each day that I get deserves my respect. If something goes wrong, I need to address it, immediately, and not just keep running anyway, just because. Like Stan Lee reminds us: “With great power comes great responsibility.”
I don’t expect to be swinging from building to building this weekend, using wrist-projected webbing and spidey sense, but I do expect to give my best race effort, using every bit of what is in the tank on that day.
Here’s to hoping I don’t run into any Green Goblins.
Or achy Achilles.
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.
Before I became a serious runner, all of the above would have been Greek to me. Or Latin. Yeah, probably would have been Latin.* But after several years of dedicated pavement pounding I am proud to report my working mastery of human anatomy — just one of the myriad benefits of identifying myself as a full-fledged running freak.
In fact, ever since making that dramatic transformation, I have notched one success after another. I quit smoking. I reached and now easily maintain optimal body weight. I got cut up into a lean (still not so mean) fitness machine.
No longer do I suffer from long bouts of depression. No more do I wake up feeling empty, without purpose, without drive. I don’t stress nearly as much about mundane, trivial situations that are out of my control; and overcoming hardships — major bumps in the proverbial road of life — hardly seem as impossible as they once did.
Running has taught me how to live — how to really, truly live, in the present, now and forever.
But perhaps one of the most beneficial real world applications born from my active lifestyle is that I learned about my own body. It started out simply, a long time ago by wondering what might be causing my heels to ache. That led me to study the soleus… then the anterior and posterior tibialis… then the gastrucnemus, gracilis and sartorius. Before I knew it I was
knee leg deep in anatomical terms, Wikipedia entries and real world exercise science.
The real irony here — and my parents can attest to this — is that as a student, I nearly went out of my way to avoid the sciences. I wanted nothing to do with understanding the mysteries of the body and in college, the only science classes I ever took were Rocks for Jocks and a bullshit applied chemistry class that I barely attended.
Fast forward to my 30s, after a couple years of really trying to understand my own body, I realized that all of the information I had retained could be applied to my workouts in the gym. Suddenly, things began to click. I was not only beginning to understand how my body worked, but also how I could manipulate it into doing what I wanted it to do faster, better and stronger.
Running isn’t just a recreational activity — it’s a potential life changer. One need look no further than this blog, this LIFE, to see clear evidence of that.
*After much research, it was (and still is) Latin.
Injury Rehab Update
Since my recent less-than-ideal half-marathon experience, things have been going quite well. I continue to strengthen my gluteus medius, hip flexors and hamstrings in an effort to eradicate the nagging symptoms of ITBS that have held me back since late October. In recent weeks, I have been able to work in minimal low mileage speedwork as well as some long, slow distance runs — all without any knee pain. This, to me, is further evidence that the Houston experience was just a simple case of too much, too soon. I continue to build upon my workouts each week with the hope that I can put in a good effort at Boston. I don’t expect I’ll be ready to run a fast time by April 15, but I do plan to enjoy the experience and cover the distance pain free.
Besides, I gotta give the gals at Wellesley College a good show of my gluteus maximus in my shortus shortius.
“Holy… effing… shit,” I said to Dr. Jay, my long-time chiropractor (and now, savior), “I wish I could explain to you the type of relief I’m feeling right now.” I lay there, face down, breathing alleviated breaths that seemed to crescendo into sweeter, livelier respirations of victory. Finally. Everything made sense. Sort of.
“Yeah, even your ribs were all out of whack.” he said.
Ribs? Back? But my problem is ITBS… or so I thought.
In fact, the last three weeks have been as frustrating as they have been debilitating. Laid up from my DNF at the Des Plaines River Trail 50 from what was most certainly IT band syndrome, I have spent the last 20-some days scouring the internet for anti-ITBS clues, searching frantically from one runner injury forum to the next, soliciting advice from anyone with any inkling of authority, even if his handle is RUNNERSLAVE69.
I bought a $15 compression wrap that would be better used as a headband. I endured three intense ART sessions. I rolled and stretched my IT band so much that I feel like I should be an inch or two taller.
But none of it seemed to do anything to help, which led to repeatedly asking myself: WHY? WHY ME?
My hip flexors are super strong! My gluteus medius could be used as an anatomy classroom specimen! My quads are about as muscular as one could ever expect them to be! SO WHY ME? WHY NOW? DON’T YOU KNOW I HAVE A MARATHON TO RUN IN 9 1/2 WEEKS?
It wasn’t until I was on the phone with my dad, complaining to him as best I could without turning into a complete baby, explaining how I went from being uber tough BQ runner to debilitated hobby jogger who couldn’t run 4 miles without a flaring IT band leaving him hobbled, depressed and defeated.
“First I throw out my back on the ab roller,” I told him, “then my knee locks up from ITBS, and then, because I was so frustrated with not being able to train, I went straight to the heavy bag without wrapping my hands and now I’m pretty sure I have a broken wrist.”
(Luckily, I don’t actually have a broken wrist. Just a sore wrist. A very, very sore wrist.)
“Wait, what did you say about your back?” Dad asked.
“I threw it out on the ab roller. The Monday before my DNF actually.”
“Maybe that and your IT band are related.”
DING DING DING!
Why didn’t I ever think of that? I should have known that. I should have known that!
“Oh yes, the two are definitely related.” said Dr. Jay. “When you strained your back, all the muscles around it tightened, pulling inwards, which pulled your hip upwards, rotating it into an abnormal position.”
With the rotated hip, the IT band got off track, and voila, after a few gentle miles I wanted to saw my own leg off. Thankfully, I won’t need to saw my own leg off.
In fact, Doc says after another adjustment or two, I should be back to normal. Seven to ten days should do it, which is fantastic news for humanity, considering I’ve been a moody bear without my regular training regimen to keep me centered.
But just in case I have any lingering ITB issues, I did buy some KT tape. I plan to start using it immediately, which finally offers me a legitimate excuse to experiment with shaving my legs.
As a 32-year-old runner, if I’m going to go long and far often, I need to be in tune with my body. It’s important that I understand and know its capabilities and its limits. I don’t have much room for error. I can’t screw this up because I’m one of those runners — the addicted type who has to do it to survive. You know, the runner you know whose sanity CANNOT AFFORD injury.
Serious injury means serious time not running.
And that is unacceptable!
I know because I’ve been there.
This past spring, after a few months of careless overtraining and a blatant disregard for my body for the sake of doing something I probably wasn’t ready to do anyway, I had to sit my running addicted ass down.
For six weeks.
No running. For six weeks.
I swam. Hated it. I biked. Hated it. Oh, and I pouted too.
The problem is: NO ONE LIKES A POUTY, INJURED RUNNER.
After that, I made it my mission to stay healthy first, consider performance second. And it’s working.
In fact, I am recognizing twinges and pulls and knots — all possible warnings of injuries that could come without immediate action. I am understanding my body in innate, primordial ways. It’s like being aware. I’m becoming conscious of what is going on.
Also, the following:
I avoid NSAIDS except for after really hard races where I’m expecting 3-4 days off from running for recovery.
I ice everything. If it even HINTS at aching I ice it.
I massage. Foam roller. The Stick. My own two damn hands. I’m working out knots like a boss.
I eat well. Whole foods. None of that corn syrup shit. No fast food. Just healthy and DELICIOUS stuff. Fish. Rice. Fruits. Vegetables.
I sleep. A lot. 7-8 hours every school night and 8-10 hours per night on the weekends.
And of course, if there’s ever a question that something will get worse if I run on it, I give it a day off. Yes. And I don’t get all pissy about it and act like a goddamn baby anymore.
I finally realized that one or two days off in a row isn’t going to hurt me. And if I think I might need to take a day off, then I just take a day off. I mean, if I even have to consider it then I just do it.
I’m doing all this and I’m also getting faster, stronger and more confident about where I can take myself. It’s hard to complain about that.