Really bad experience today. I went out to the first of three ING Marathon Training Runs to be held before the big day. The course is set up like a race course, with fluid stations and emergency crews, but it isn't timed. You can go as far as you want, though the suggestion is between 6-20 miles.
Twice a minute for the first 5 miles I seriously considered quitting. But then I'd zone in on my body and realize, nothing was really in such terrible shape that I had to quit, I was just violently uninterested in moving forward on the same damn path I've been running on over and over again for the last 9 months. Yup, there's the weird cat. Yup, the Stretching Bridge. Hello, Magical Tree. Here's the hill I walk. What? No Gatorade? I'm dying here!
My music's tired. My outfit was my best race outfit but it's now got something scratchy on the inside. I lathered my feet up with Vaseline but a blister formed on my left foot, anyway, just like old times. I tried consuming a gel at mile 5, but I felt no burst of energy. My sneakers were loose - the new ones I bought are back ordered for another week - so I had to run in my old ones which I noticed are getting bald in places. I left my Nike+ gadget at work, so I couldn't even check my pace. I wore a Swatch so I'd at least know the time without having to pull the iPod out of my shorts constantly. A Swatch. Really, I need to buy a watch. I did have a Polar one that came with my heart monitor but when I went to put it on this morning the battery had died. It's cumbersome and the button's hard to push, so I'm ready to be done with that anyway. Sigh...
The only saving grace until mile 5 was fantasies of turning my story - this story - in to a movie. A book would be the logical next step but I'm not logical. I want to skip right to the fun part, the theatrical part.
The plot and scene are set. The characters are cast. The sound track has been selected. Today I planned the pacing and chronology. I've been struggling with that because nobody would go see this movie if they knew from the beginning that I didn't make it to the marathon. So, obviously, I have to make it to the start line, at least. The thing anyone (even I!) would pay $12 to find out would be what was actually going on in my life during this year, not just my little diary entries on line, and what's the marathon itself like - what do I see along the way? Who does what to get me through it? Do I eventually cross the finish line, and in what condition? Of course, the movie will be promoted with signature medals... and sponsored fundraising runs before screenings... and people will order customized T-shirts with their own name on it, Kevin Hates to Run, that simultaneously promote running, and the movie. My movie starts a running revolution. Not that I've thought much about it or anything.
So today was productive at least briefly. Miles 5-6 were a mixed bag. On one hand, running got easy as it does for me at this juncture... Mile 1 can be borderline fun and I think, "I can do this!" Miles 2 and 3 are torture and I want to quit. Mile 4 could go either way, depending on what's ahead. But by mile 5, I don't feel my legs much any more. I just go. Today though, I faced trouble. My foot hurt so much that I was limping as I crossed the 6 mile mark. There was a medical station with a tent. Two doctors saw me coming and approached.
I told them about the injury and what was happening, and they said the pain was likely because the injury hasn't actually healed, and the rest of my foot is compensating. I need a special orthotic, physical therapy, and ice and anti-inflammatory meds. Now. Or it isn't going to get better. Oh, and the ice treatment is to last 15 minutes, 5 x a day, for the first 24 hours. Then alternate ice and heat. I guess that's why my 2 minute ice applications haven't been helping!
I pulled off the running course and sat on a bench by a pond. Mad at the world. Mad at myself for playing soccer barefoot when I should have been protecting my feet. Mad that there wasn't another person to be mad at. Mad at my doctor who didn't give me better care. Utterly defeated.
I think I started crying when I was talking to the doctors but by the time I was seated I was fully bawling. My face and arms were covered with salt, which melted into my eyes and burned. My hands were swollen. I held onto a banana one of the doctors had given me. Fucking bananas!
A woman in running clothes, with a dog, came by and asked me if I was OK. "NO!" I burst out! I told her everything. She remained totally calm and sympathetic, and said she understood, and that this was normal, and that I needed to stop running immediately, get physical therapy. She also said I wouldn't fall behind, that 15 weeks is plenty of time to train, even with 2 weeks off, especially if I've already run 2 half marathons. I nodded but didn't believe her.
She immediately honed in on my training in Central Park. She said anything over an hour, I need to be running someplace else, to prevent boredom. She suggested taking the A train up to the George Washington Bridge and running along the Jersey coastline, looking at Manhattan. Or hauling over to the East Side Drive and running there, or along the Hudson, though that's so crowded it's annoying. I thought to myself, I could drive to the country and find a woodsy path to get murdered on and then I wouldn't have to worry about any of this.
Just when we were done talking the woman's unleashed dog returned to us from the pond where it had been cooling off, and it shook, as dogs do. I got covered with muddy water! I smiled and pet the eager, wet dog. "And get a dog," she added, when she saw my laughter and instantly restored mood. I thanked her for the pep talk and she went.
A few minutes later, I noticed, my foot did not hurt at all! So, I got up and returned to the course and ran 2 more miles. The staff along the side lines must have thought I was already on my third loop of the Park. They cheered, rang cow bells, and beamed with pride. I took it in even though I didn't deserve it. By the end of mile 8, my foot was burning and hurting again. I was close to my apartment so I dropped out. I told myself 8 was better than nothing. Better than 6 and better than 4. In fact, I exceeded my Training Peaks online mileage goal for the week by one mile! I over-delivered. So, why doesn't it feel good?
I cried again in the street on my way back to my place. I want to be able to do this. I want the pain to go away, so all I have to do is work on my mind. It was so "easy" before this injury. I didn't realize this was going to be a big deal. Why did I have to play that stupid "World Cup" soccer reenactment in Martha's Vineyard?
When I got home, I drank some coconut water, ate lunch and took a shower. I haven't iced yet. My list of things do today is long. Even though I was done with running by 9AM, somehow, half the day is gone already. I guess I can comfort myself knowing most people in NYC are just rolling out of bed and contemplating brunch at this moment. Later today I am going to pay a visit to a friend who is having her 90th birthday today. Now, that puts things into a little perspective, doesn't it.
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