Time to Shut It Down Again?

My long runs the past two weeks: 12 miles and 14 miles. The latter proved especially successful, finishing with a 10:09 pace. Everything felt in order then and the next day when I did my recovery run. Unfortunately, later that day and on into the next morning, my foot started to hurt, that same twinge of pain that eventually led me to shutting it down three months ago. This time I have been more careful, but something I did in the last two or three runs has left me concerned that my running days are over, perhaps for the season. That would mean no training and no racing for the next several months. I cannot in words express how devastating that would be, the depths of depression to which I would fall would drain my soul. Over dramatic? Probably, but running has done something for me that nothing else can. I need it in my life. I need to get lost doing it; lost in thought, especially. I have a race this coming weekend, a 25k in Roanoke. Will that be the last one for a long while? I hope not. I will keep you up-to-date.

Still Running Forward

Friday, 9 May, in accordance with the 50k training plan I started, I set out to do a 10 mile run, by far the longest distance since I shut it down over two months ago. Imagine my fear (well, if you can). If my tendons wouldn't hold, that would put a huge dent in my progress toward the ultra I am running in September (40 miler). I still have a lot of base to build up for that. Of course, there will always be an ultra somewhere, so most important, for me, the ability to run, period. I long for that day I can lace on some shoes and bust out the door for a double-digit or multi-hour long run without hesitation, without concern for the overuse injury that has plagued me for the past few months.

Running the 5k a couple weeks ago was a big deal, but this 10 miler was huge. It meant everything in moving to the next stage in my recovery process. I had already rung three days last week, the most I had run in a week in over two months, and they were three days in a row. Thursday was a scheduled recovery day, and I had the choice of taking it completely off, which I did. Saturday was a scheduled hour long medium run, which I would make a decision about after Friday's run. Is the suspense killing you yet? Well, here's a hint, I chose not to run Saturday, at all. Fret not, however, because the 10-mile run was a huge success. Yes, my tendons gave me some pause during the first mile or two, but once they loosened up, I experienced smooth sailing most of the rest of the run. In fact, there was little to no swelling afterwards or the next day; however, I need to be careful, and I felt like after such an intense run (though not my fastest and still walking for one minute after every five) I should give my ankle an extra day to recover before I start the weekly training cycle all over again tomorrow.

The particulars of my 10-mile run surprised me. I had expected a 12-minute-per-mile pace. Mile one = 13:02. Ugh! But I quickly made my peace with it. One must not rush recovery. These things take time when done right. Mile two = 12:42. Better, but I wasn't burning up the road, which was a beautiful place to run. River Road, just south of Buena Vista, VA. It winds along the river among small mountains and cliffs, delightful. Mile three = 11:54. Now that's what I'm talking about! That felt good, and I loved that I still had the negative split chops; although, it's not hard to negative split after such slow miles. Mile four = 10:56. Whoa, I'm out of my mind! I didn't even consider sub 11:00 possible, despite the 5k performance. This was 10 miles. Was I pushing too hard? Would I run out of gas? Yet I pushed on. Mile five = 9:55!!! What the heck was I thinking? That can't lead to any good. At this point, I turned around, of course, and eased back, partly because I was starting to feel fatigued, but I was also worried about, once again, doing too much too soon. I sucked down a Clif gel. Mile six = 11:02. That felt more manageable, though I felt disappointed. Naturally, as is my way, I picked the pace up a bit. Mile seven = 10:12. Well, how 'bout that? After seven miles, I was putting in a solid pace. Mile eight = 9:39. Yes, I know, I put in an 8:40 mile during the 5k, but this was mile eight of a 10 mile run. How was my body doing this? Also, this was a training run. When I race, I shave oodles (you like that word?) of time off my pace. Mile nine (a lot of uphill climbing) = 10:03. I was spent after the climb, but when I saw the time, I felt awesome, and all the discomfort disappeared. Mile 10 = 9:44. Come on, now, is that not impressive? I am not bragging here. Why would I? For many runners that pace is slower than the molasses in January, but for me, wow! I pulled that off in the 10th mile of my longest run in over two months and still in the middle of recovering from an injury. Overall, I ran the 10 miles in 1:49:10 with a 10:54 pace. Happy? You bet, but reservedly so. I do not want to assume that I am back, fully recovered. I think that is still months away, but this was a giant leap forward. That is why I took Saturday off. I did not want to risk losing all that progress. Not that I thought I was still that close to majorly inflaming those tendons again, but I certainly didn't want to find out. So two days of rest, and Monday is an easy 45-60 minutes to start it all over again, with a 12 miler on Friday.

With that success, I registered for what will essentially be my first half marathon, but because it's me, a simple half marathon isn't enough. On 1 June, I will run a trail 25k (15.5 miles) in Roanoke. The is the next goal in this process. Of course, I will make sure to keep myself from overdoing it, but it will be so hard when I hit that trail, adrenaline pumping, and the mountain air nurturing the soul.

One Chapter of the Saga, Coming to a Close

In the mail today, I received a check from the insurance company for the City of Buena Vista. The check is to cover my medical expenses related to a freak accident that occurred on a run a little over two months ago in downtown Buena Vista: I put my right foot through a rectangular, flat metal water meter cover. When I stepped on it, near the end of my run, it broke in half, and the half I stepped on broke in half (total of three pieces). My leg dropped two feet below ground, and the rest of me sprawled out on the sidewalk thanks to my forward momentum. I felt the pain just below my knee almost instantly, and it increased rapidly until I wondered whether I would be able even to walk the remaining nine blocks home. A large hematoma formed just below and to the left of my knee. A nice gash topped it off, and another gash leaked a considerable amount of blood just below the right side of my knee. For days, blood drained from the hematoma, down the inside of my leg and pooled in my foot. Yes, I had a purple leg. When the pain started, finally, to subside, I realized that my self-diagnosed over-use injury was now hurting just as bad above my ankle, too. I had likely nailed the already tender tendons on my way into the hole. Fortunately, a doctor's exam, tetanus shot, and several x-rays later, everything appears to be in order, aside from the new and aggravated older soft-tissue damage, which always takes so much longer to heal. Now that I know that I am doing the right things to recover and that my medical bills are covered, I can continue to focus on rebuilding my running fitness base and strengthening my feet, ankles, and tendons in preparation for reentering the long running career I have planned for myself. So what if I am just an amateur. It's fun.