Confession of a Rebel Recovering Runner

I don’t follow the rules of the faux road. That is to say, the treadmill. Let me explain. I am on my second return from injury/to running in as many months. Unlike the last one, this one is a fault of my own stupidity, impatience and immaturity as a runner. Also, unlike the last injury, I am coming back from this one slowly. While I thought I was being conservative in February, I was in fact, not. That brings us to this week. Following a week of nothing (literally, nothing. I wrote a blog entry called “Living Lethargically: A Non-Training Log,” but decided not to publish it) and a week of biking and pool running, I have advanced to a run/walk every other day schedule. Jay from a month ago would have scoffed at the mere suggestion of such a pedestrian program. But this is a new me. This is a me that has spent the last three Sunday mornings at physical therapy, learning must-do daily strengthening exercises for my weakened left muscles. This is a me that has spent one hour a week on an acupuncture table, needles sticking out of my head, arms, legs and feet (a practice I was previously skeptical of). It’s worth noting that none of this was free.

Pride be damned. If I’m told to walk/run, I’m going to walk/run. If I must do it on the treadmill, I’m going to do it on the treadmill. Monday was the first day. The plan was 10 minutes run, 5 minutes walk times four. It was raining Monday, so the YMCA was particularly busy. I found an open treadmill and hopped on, adjusting my speed to a 7:15ish pace. When 10 minutes was up, I reluctantly cranked down the speed to a brisk walk. I looked around to see if anyone noticed. I wanted to explain to everyone what I was doing and why I was doing it, even though they definitely didn’t care. As the end of my second walk approached, I ran into a problem I have never experienced before (because my rule in the past has been, unless there is a tornado outside, don’t run indoors). My 30 minute time limit was about to expire and there was a line forming to the left. People had written their names on the white board to secure a spot. Heck, there was a sign on the treadmill that clearly stated I had 30 minutes. Of course, I wasn’t going to quit my run halfway through. I hadn’t run in three weeks, and I wanted to take in all I was allowed to take. I started thinking of ways I could fool people. Once the belt stopped, how long could I run in place before someone noticed I was running on an non-moving treadmill? Would it be enough time to get it started again?

As the belt slowed, people began to perk up. They could sense the silence of my treadmill. Slowly, they got out of their stretching positions and moved toward me. My legs kept moving. I was furiously pushing buttons. The stupid screen kept flashing “Great workout!” and “Workout summary…” I tried to clear it. It wasn’t working. There was a guy next to me now, waiting. I kept my iPod on, pretending to be oblivious to anything but the music and the movement. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he moved on and I finished my run.

Why am I writing all this? I guess it serves as a confession. I feel guilty about acting so inconsiderately and wanted to get it off my chest. The happy ending is that the gentleman that so patiently waited for my treadmill didn’t have to wait much longer. Scarred by my actions, I decided to alter my schedule. This morning when I was unexpectedly woken up at 4:55am, I decided that since I was up, I might as well just go run then. In another hour, the crowd would filter in. So I did, and there was no one waiting.

Back on (the) track

I've never beat around the bush when it comes to the track. I don't like it. There is no special place in my heart for repeated 400 meter loops. Give me a rolling asphalt road or a dirt trail any day. That being said, it was kind of nice to pull into the familiar parking lot that sits above the JCSU track -- adjacent to the giant metal bull -- in West Charlotte Tuesday night.

Actually, Tuesday started with another odd and uncharacteristic first. I woke up at 4:45am ready to limber up, dress up (for the cold) and head to McAlpine for the Miner's Run. But as I limbered, I could tell my legs weren't as fresh as they could be from running both Saturday and Sunday and in an time where caution is king, I changed directions and turned left on Providence toward the Dowd Y pool instead of right toward McAlpine. By 5:20, I was swimming laps. It's the earliest I have ever been submerged in water. By 5:55, I was being kicked out by a gaggle of old ladies who needed the pool for water aerobics.

I've gotten off track (pun). I got out of my car already geared up and launched right into a two mile warmup down to the cemetery and back. By the time I got back to the track and passed by Caitlin and her menagerie of male minions doing a minuter workout, Aaron was there and ready to go. Of course, our workouts were dramatically different. He was doing 3X2000, which for a guy with just nine runs under his belt since eight weeks off, was a bit ambitious. I thought I could probably manage the first 800 of each one, going right into a moderately paced run in between the intervals.

What I wasn't counting on was how good of shape Aaron is in. Adrenaline and the excitement of going fast for the first time since mid-November got me through the first lap with little effort. By the second lap, my body and mind realized just how quick we were moving. It was a shock to the dusty system. Still, I clung to Aaron's shoulder, not backing down. We hit the 800 in 2:34 and I was breathing pretty heavy. Ok, I was panting.

After a two more pedestrian paced laps around the track, I was ready for our next one. We took off with the same force -- shot out of a cannon. Two laps of me holding on for dear life while Aaron seemed to move effortlessly through the turns and accelerate down the straightaways. This time, I pulled up alongside on the final stretch to finish stride-for-stride. Well, I finished, but he had three more laps to go. 2:32. I repeated the motions for number three, finishing in 2:31.

I was winded, but after watching Aaron click off one 75 second lap, I made a go at an unplanned fourth 800. Through the lap, I taunted Aaron with the hopes of being motivational, saying things like "don't let the guy with the broken ankle beat you," and "I haven't run in eight weeks." He was killing the workout, so this was probably useless, but still fun for me. With no expectation of doing anything more than three, I pulled out after a 76 second 400 happy with the small amount of work.

In the grand scheme of things, and in comparison to workouts of the past, this was kind of a joke. But I am measuring success differently right now. I am simply looking for signs of life in the legs. They're there, and that's a good indication that I'm not starting from scratch.

The Slow Return

I feel like every time I launch into a story about my injury, I start it the same way: "The hardest part about getting hurt is..." Today, I can definitively say that the hardest part about getting hurt is coming back. It hurts. It's soul crushing and it takes an incredible amount of restraint.

I started running again on January 22nd, 17 days after my Doctor told me I could start back when I thought it was appropriate. That was a challenge in itself. The first run was really just a jog. 18:43 seconds at a warm-up/cool-down pace with Caitlin, Aaron, Ben and Billy. But oh, it felt so good. Nearly 19 minutes of bliss. The CRC Board of Directors had travelled to Asheville for our mission and vision retreat and to run the Hot Chocolate 10K. I had really looked forward to the race, but after accepting the fact that I wouldn't be at the starting line, I simply looked forward to being AT the race. Seeing people working the flats and the hills wasn't depressing, it was inspiring. Lauren, Aaron, Allen, Matt, Boriana, Sarah, Scott, Billy...they all had great races and it reminded me that I've had and will have great races too.

What's tough about building back up your strength and endurance is that it is just that --
building. Just like any project, when you rush, you are bound to screw the whole thing up. Runners who've been down seven weeks, can't just start running 80 miles a week again. Instead, you run a fraction of that distance and continue to cross-train to make up for the rest. After that first run in Asheville, I was back to my monotonous, yet important activities. To supplement my tiny running workout, I found myself in the pool at the Asheville YMCA, passing over the same band-aid stuck to the pool floor 100 times. Gross. Sunday morning when everyone got up early to find some trails in the mountains, I got up early and got in my car to make the two-and-a-half hour drive back to Charlotte. I drove almost directly to the Dowd YMCA (stopped for coffee and to see Pepper) where it was two hours of spinning and swimming.

Monday: Spin lift.
Tuesday: Perhaps the best proof of my desparation and lonliness. I woke up at 4:45am just to meet the Miner's Run group by 5:30 at McAlpine, run two miles out with them, then turn around and run back by myself. In the evening, I swam.
Wednesday: Spin, swim.
Thursday: Five easy miles in the morning before flying to Austin, Texas. When we got to Austin, Lauren was nice enough to take me a YMCA, where I swam a mile in a heated outdoor pool. I have to say, I am stunned by her willingness to aid in such an obsesion.
Friday: Off, although Lauren and I rented a kayak and rowed for an hour.
Saturday: 6 miles in Burnet, Texas at sub-7:00 pace. I've still got it! My legs hurt, but my heart feels fine.
Sunday: Only because it was run or do nothing, I did my first back-to-back runs. I only had a couple of beers on Saturday, but I must have drank enough to forget the marathon I apparently ran. Wow did my legs hurt! I limped along, waiting for five miles to be done and over with.

Today it was an hour on the elliptical and a swim. I'll try to run every other day this week. The thing is, running is so easy. You don't have to go anywhere to do it if you don't want to. You don't have to fight off all the people fighting for a machine at the Y. (Side note: it appears people are sticking with their resolutions a little longer than usual. Come on people, it's February! Wendy's is calling your name! Square beef!). You can get up and go, and that's why it's so tough to stop yourself.

On a non-running related note (I can do that, because it's my blog), Austin, Texas may be the coolest city I have ever visited. There is music everywhere, and good music to boot. Every eatery we walked or drove by looked like one I'd like to stop at. As we sat at an outdoor coffee shop listening to a jazz/bluegrass band on Sunday afternoon, I found myself wondering how a city like Austin landed in a state so incredibly different.



But it wasn't just Austin itself that was awesome. We were there to see Lauren's family. It was her granddad's 80th birthday and we celebrated at two lake front cabins about an hour outside the city. For me, it marked the first time I'd be meeting all the aunts, uncles and cousins I'd heard so much about. I have to admit, it was intimidating and at times overwhelming. But it was also really cool. I'm sorry I don't have a more eloquent word, but that's what it was. I'm already looking forward to getting to know everyone better and becoming part of their family.

Please forward my mail to the Dowd YMCA

The injured runner has two choices, both of which include a certain amount of wallowing in self-pity. He can chose to be defeated by the injury and recover with weeks of armchairs and reruns of "How I Met Your Mother", or he can chose to find creative ways to keep the injury from keeping him down. You can probably guess which one is more diffulcult.

Since beginning my cross-training regimen five weeks ago, I have been telling people that being injured takes way more dedication and willpower than being healthy. Maybe when I can run again, I'll forget all this. But, in the past month plus, I have concluded that dragging yourself to the gym for a spin class, a lap swim or an hour on the elliptical machine no matter what time of day, is exponentially harder than getting up for a 5:30am run where you know you're at least going to have the support of friends.

But oddly enough, it's the promise of the latter that keeps me trudging to the Y every day. Whether it's true or not, I tell myself that if I work really hard to maintain fitness, it will be easier to keep up with the group of runners I miss running with so much.

The Y is a quirky place. I know this because I spend anywhere from two to three hours a day there. In my hours of cardio substitutions, I have been on a bike in between two very large men, both of which were singing at the top of their lungs to songs that only they could hear. I have been in the pool alone on the snowiest, iciest day of the year, aquajogging with such intensity that I am sure the lifeguard thought I was some sort of lunatic. She may have been right. I have been adjacent to many an exerciser who is either immune to deodorant or simply chooses not to wear it. I have a reguarly attended a spin class tought by a the world's biggest Alan Parsons Project fan who kicks off each session with one of their weird progressive rock tunes.

Yesterday, I came home from a morning of cycling and swimming with a stupid idea. I would get up the next morning and do my own triathlon. I'd swim, take a spin class and aquajog. My attempts to recruit fellow indoor triathletes failed, but I charged on. A least I knew I would win. At 8:15am, I yelled *bang* and then slowly eased into the pool to begin the swim. Since this was my own triathlon, I would determine the distance. I figured a mile was sufficient, and started counting the lengths until I hit 72.

I hopped out of the pool with 15 minutes to spare before the 9am spin class. Thanks to the annual New Years Resolution rush, bike space was slim, but AJ had signed me up while I was in the pool. I attacked the bike with vengance, upping the resistance when the instructor said and not just reaching down and pretending to turn the dial as I have been known to do. I burst out of the saddle when we hit a "hill" and made sure the RPMs on the bike stayed exactly in the prescribed range. By the end of the class, I was drenched in sweat. Since the class was only 45 minutes, I kept pedaling to get in an even hour.

Transition two was me walking out of the cycle room, down the stairs to the pool locker room and changing back into my wet jammers.

The ability to aquajog is a fairly recent development. I saw a second doctor about a week ago, who painted a much prettier picture of this injury than the original physician's assistant I saw. After examing the x-rays, he added elliptical, walking and aquajogging to my repetoire. He also took me out of the boot. So, here I was at the last leg of my triathlon. Anyone who's ever aquajogged knows it's a mind-numbing activity. One has to do something to segment it. I went with a 5-4-3-2-1 x 2 interval workout. As I hit the intervals, I could feel my heart rate soaring, and despite being mostly submerged in cool water, beads of sweat were forming on my forehead.

As my stopwatch hit one hour, I jumped out of the pool feeling victorious. Obviously, there was no medal, no high-fives, and I chose not to throw my hands in the air out of fear of looking like an idiot. But I did have a big smile on my face. I wasn't happy for exercising for three hours. I've done that before and the workouts have been harder. I was celebrating the triumph of mind over matter. Each time I finish one of these workouts, which give me no adrenaline rush and are usually done with no company, I am amazed I was able to stay in it. I am not trying to brag, but to illustrate that the pull to just stay in bed, or just walk the dog and call it a workout are so strong sometimes that it takes willpower I didn't know I had to overcome it.

As for the injury, it's progressing. As I mentioned, a new doctor and CRC member took me out of the boot. He left the return to running up to me, which is a dangerous delegation. But I am trying my best to handle it like a mature athlete. With pain as my guide, I will attempt to run again on January 22nd when the crew goes up to Asheville for a 10k. All I plan to do is jog the warmup, then slip into the Y for something supplemental. Pain will be my guide. If it hurts, I'll stop. Caution is key. I will run Saturday but probably not Sunday. Monday might get two or three miles then Tuesday it's back to the pool. As eager as I am to get out there, I am eager to get out there and stay out there.