This week I was reminded of just how long a mile really is. In order to explain why a mile would seem longer this week than any other, some background information is necessary.
The past 8 weeks I have been recovering from a stress fracture in my left leg caused by over training after the Myrtle Beach Marathon in February. I did take some much needed time off immediately following the marathon, but instead of easing back into things I jumped straight into heavy mileage again. Although I have never had shin splints before I heard that they can be quite painful, so when my left leg began to hurt I brushed it off as a nuisance that would soon subside. After two weeks of trying to ignore the increasingly sharp pain in my leg while running, the pain turned into a constant stabbing sensation at all times regardless of my being in motion or at rest. I fought the reality at first that I had all the signs of a stress fracture, convincing myself that if I just rested for a bit then it would all go away. After two more weeks of denial, I finally gave in to the fact the a visit to the doctor was the next step.
Once at the doctor's office my suspicions were confirmed, and I was sentenced to 5 weeks in the boot. Jason and I had already planned a week long trip to California the next week so that I could compete in the Big Sur Marathon with my running buddy, Tyler, go wine tasting in Napa and Sonoma Valley, and see the sites of San Francisco with my sister and brother-in-law, the Tilts. The thought of missing the marathon, then doing wine country and San Francisco in a boot was so depressing that at one point I tried to talk Jason out of us going all together. Fortunately, we did go on our trip, and had a wonderful time. Cheering on my friend as she chased down the Big Sur finish line was surprisingly uplifting. I had forgotten how contagious the excitement of marathon day can be. Wine country was even better than we had expected, and our time in San Francisco was perfect. During our limited amount of time there we visited with Jason's sister Christine and her husband Andrew, were able to meet up with our good friend from Charlotte, Mary Leigh, and we even came up with a nickname for my boot, "Bessie."
Back in Charlotte after our trip I settled into a "normal" life as a non runner. I watched the beautiful spring days turn into hot summer ones and knew that when I did eventually run again my body missed the transition time from cold to hot weather. I worked much later at work than ever before because, well, why not right? I told myself I would swim to keep my cardio up, but that's really not my passion, and I made one excuse after another to avoid the pool most days.
Finally, after what felt like forever but in reality was such a small amount of my life, the doctor said the words I had been longing to hear, "you can take your boot off now." I am pretty sure that was followed with statements like "but you need to go slow" and "only if you are careful" and the one I know I pretended not to hear "you should keep it close by just in case your leg starts to hurt again." All I heard were the words of freedom. Of course, even though I knew better, the first words out of my mouth were "when can I run?" He just laughed while telling me to try walking and see how stiff my now atrophied leg felt with a normal range of motion.
Two weeks after following the doctor's orders and doing absolutely nothing but living life as a non-boot-wearing-non-runner, it was time to put it to the test. Last weekend I rode a bike for the first time with my good friend Erica and all seemed to be in order. I spent the following days alternating between the elliptical and our stationary bike, remembering how good it feels to break a sweat. Then, the moment I had been waiting for was upon me. This past Saturday I was sitting next to my husband Jason, lacing up my running shoes and leashing up our dogs to head out for a one mile run.
Our plan was simple: Walk the first bit until we reached the flat, soft greenway, then slowly begin to run. I was so nervous as we walked towards the greenway. I started wondering what I would do if we started and my leg started hurting again. Would I admit it and stop? Would I try for just a few more steps to try and shake out the cobwebs? Would I deny it all together and run the mile then tell Jason that it hurt? To my relief, the moment we hit the greenway and began to run I knew it would be alright. My entire body hurt. My hips were stiff, my knees were sore, even my feet hurt ... it was the best feeling in the world. There were no stabbing pains, just the sweet feeling of being sore. At one point I had to ask Jason to slow down because I was having trouble keeping up, and for the first time ever I was happy to see one of the dogs slow down for a potty break. I have no idea how fast/slow we were going, but we made it.
On our walk back to the house I had two thoughts running through my mind:
(1) This must be why people don't like running, that was actually hard
(2) I can't wait to do it again tomorrow!
No comments:
Post a Comment