For the first time in eight months I had that feeling. It was just the faintest sense, a mere
glimmer. It was fitness. I knew it was there because I felt compelled to do
something I hadn’t even dreamt about all year: I checked my weekly mileage (a
whopping 49.7 miles, not quite half of what I typically will hit in
training). I knew my fitness had
caught the slightest of flames because, on Friday night, I set aside my running
gear, Body Glide, and, yes, even a water bottle and some calories for Saturday.
After five weeks of consistent running I planned to “go long.” I felt that mix
of nerves and anticipation that typically comes before a race.
The run was to be bookended by my responsibilities as a
father: my older son, Cooper, had a makeup soccer camp session from 9:00 – noon,
so I would drop him off, leave from the field, head to the vast trail network
of the Western
Greenway and return three hours later, shining in long-distance glory (and,
I suppose, sweat). I wanted to hit
twenty miles and the early miles were fine, so good in fact, that I ran without even thinking about my left knee, the one that had been injured in
December, operated on in April, and seemed to not want to get better until the
middle of July. It was a beautiful
day. About two miles from my
planned turnaround it was still a beautiful day. I, however, was no longer feeling so beautiful.
It happened first on the little downhills. There was no distinct moment of
reckoning, no misstep or epic fall.
Instead, what felt like the top of the right side of my butt just
started hurting. It felt fine on
the flats and ups, but running down I had to sort of limp. It felt like a muscle and came only
when my weight transferred to my right side and then pushed off. I shook it off, at one point smiling
thinking about how this literal pain in my ass was nothing compared to the figurative
pains in my ass and the literal pain I’d had the first two or three months
post-op. Still, the bravado didn’t
last too long, and, as I made the decision to turn around, I started worrying
about my ability to get back to Cooper in time. And then I started worrying about that steep hill I’d have
to run down, on a sidewalk. That
was really going to hurt.
By the time I reached this hill of destruction (Mill St, in
Belmont, for those in the area), even the flats hurt. My teeth were gritted against the absolute pain, but I still
chuckled (on the inside at least), thinking about how much sweeter this pain
was than the pain post-op. I began
to think I would try to get down the hill as fast as I could, almost sprinting. Upon attempting said strategy, my leg
basically buckled, I clenched my jaw and grimaced. I was relegated to a walk
that, in a different setting, a person could have mistaken for swagger. Suffice it to say, I got no swag’.
During the last two or three miles of the run a sentence
played on infinite repeat in my mind.
It was Araceli Segarra, from the IMAX film Everest, in her Catalan accent describing the last push to the apex of
the world: “It was the longest hundred meters of my life!” I may not have been
scaling the world’s highest peak, but those last couple of miles put a hurt on
my body and mind like few others have.
I grimaced. I laughed at
the absurdity of situation - just weeks after returning to running, I was clearly hurt. Again. I
worried what would happen if I couldn’t make it back to the field in time to
pick up Cooper. I struggled, both physically and mentally, knowing my “comeback” to running was being further thwarted with each step.
Practice was just finishing when I got back to the
park. I smiled to myself for the
dual pleasure of having made it back on time, despite what was now something very much wrong with my body, and for being able to
sit down on the rail at the end of the field. I was not smiling
when I attempted to stand and nearly fell over for the pain and the fact that
those muscles in your lower back/upper butt have a lot to do with your ability
to move your legs. I smiled again when
I made it to the minivan and sat down in the driver’s seat, almost instantly
extinguishing the pain. I did not smile when we got home and I tried
to walk into the house, each step onto my right leg causing the pain to return
in earnest to my right butt/lower back.
I didn’t smile much for the rest of the day.
Eleven days have passed since that last run. In many ways it was good I was hurt, as
the family went to northern Vermont and New Hampshire, and, being unable to run,
I spent more time with my nephews and niece than I ever have before. Nine days after the first flair I ran a
total of about 100 yards during a coaches vs. kids scrimmage at Cooper’s
practice. The effort was near crippling, nad “graciously” I offered to play goalie for the coaches where I could at
least pretend to play whilst looking like one of those blow-up tube-dudes you
see outside carwashes and wireless stores. Last night I rode my bike. The leg felt great.
Until I got off. Today I
was able to hit the stair-climber at the Y and made it to the top of the Burj Khalifa tower. I was able to walk afterward, albeit
with more of a limp than the swagger I had a couple weeks ago.
If these last eight months have taught me anything though,
it’s to be patient. I believed I was
being patient in my return to running – keeping the effort and mileage in check
– which has caused this newest set
back to weigh more heavily on my mind than any of the difficulties I faced
earlier this year. It has taken me
much longer to accept this injury and the limitations it has currently placed
on me – limitations that were made abundantly clear when my family spent this
last weekend in New Hampshire’s White Mountains and two of our three days
featured bluebird skies on the high peaks.
Limitations that have prevented me from playing soccer or tennis with my
kids. Patience. Tomorrow I see Tom Karis, the witch doctor (aka,
orthopedic massage therapist), as a first step in seeing what’s wrong (update: he thinks it is the sacrum that got out of line. This update comes on September 25th. I still ain't really running). And, on the bright side, at least my
knee feels pretty good! Running
will always be there. I’ve gone
through this before. In fact, this is how I've spent all of 2014.
Here’s to getting better.
