Most of the greatest events in your life will sound like this, upon reminiscing. "So I was minding my own business when..." and excellence will ensue. A sister , albeit sinister version, to this would be, "Little did I know what I was in for..."
For example, I was minding my own business in a college theology class when the professor announced that we had to do a group project. My first pick in topics was full. So was my second. I just scribbled my name on a third and was partnered with a hot chick I now refer to as the Wife. What's funny is that when she tells the exact same story, with very similar details (she got her first pick), is she starts the story as, "Little did I know what I was in for..."
Well, in sport, there's a different catch phrase that foreshadows a tragic story is about to unfold. It's, "And then something happened..." and I've been living this nightmare for a few years in a row.
Two years ago, I was minding my own business and going for a run during a late January morning. I was in perfectly great shape and there was nothing special about this run. And then something happened. I stepped on an invisible object that caused a stress fracture in my left foot. I didn't really run again until April. Two plus months was more than enough to turn my running clock back to zero, and my clock wasn't all that speedy to start with.
Last year, I was minding my own business in mid-February and then something happened. Next thing I know, I was under doctor's orders to not lift or strain anything. Little did I know that I was in for no swimming, biking, or plodding for a few weeks. I recovered from that excursion faster than I did the previous year but it still put a major dent in my progress.
This year, I had successfully done 100 runs in 100 days. I had logged more 40 mile+ run weeks than ever before seen. I even hit 50 plus on an occasion. I was minding my own business on a treadmill run late one Friday night in April. And then something happened... I could feel the slight stretch in my left hamstring during a particularly fast 5k. The next day, I went for an easy 14 miler and put that tiny tweak behind me. Sunday's short run also felt normal. Monday was an off day.
So I was minding my own business on a Tuesday morning tempo run and then something happened. I was on mile 3 of doing some speed like work (nothing I do could ever be considered 'speedy') and the tweak turned into a full blown twerk. Nobody likes twerking. I ran back home at a pace that even I would have called slow. For reference, I was passed by several blowing leaves. Note: The wind was blowing in the other direction.
I decided to wait a couple of days before re-attempting my version of running. And then something happened... The twerk was still there. I cut myself off for another 10 days.
Here's the big fat lie of multi-sport: They say that if you're laid up in one of the disciplines that you can always fall back on the others to keep you entertained. They are complete idiots. What they don't take into consideration is the blow to your psyche. I've never had depression and I won't trivialize the hardships of people with the condition, but this was the closest I've been to what I think it would feel like. To put all of that effort and energy month in and month out to end up side-lined like this was excruciating. I didn't want to do anything expect curl up and wallow. I could feel the tendon stretch and be uncomfortable in the water and on the bike. My workouts in all disciplines struggled.
After my 10 day hiatus, I decided that I hated not running. On a fit of unintelligent desperation, I went for a run. This was a Monday. It was an easy 4 miler out and back with about 7 feet of elevation. After 3 miles, I was feeling pretty good and plotting out the rest of my week to get back to a 30 mile norm. And then something happened. At mile 3.5 I was walking in near tears as the twerk had reared it's ugly head. I resigned to another week off.
So my running has completely dropped off the Earth. My desire to bike was taking a hit by both the injury and the crappy weather pattern that's known as normal/ cold and wet for the armpit of America I call home. I happily have a few people that look forward to seeing me at the pool and will hold me semi-accountable for getting wet with them. It wasn't good but it's the best I had (and, truth be told, I'm not really all that worthy of their awesomeness, which in turn makes them all that much more awesome). On the bright side, I had been eating more. There's nothing like some weight gain to keep the unhappiness flowing.
The following Monday, I was getting desperate. I tried again. This time I didn't get the grace period of niceness that was allotted me during my last run. The hammy was tight the entire way. However, I remember thinking that I could keep this pace (slow) going at this pain level (mild) for quite some time. I once again started plotting my run mileage for the rest of the week. This plot line included an easy Tuesday morning run. I was 2 miles in to that 4 miler and then something happened. The twerk returned in it's full on ugliness (note: there is no such thing as a good looking twerk). I ran/ walked/ limped home.
As of this writing, that was a full 2 weeks ago. According to the googler, one of the paths towards healing is strengthening the glutes. Now, I'm into butt stuff! I'm rolling. I'm stretching. I'm doing bridges. I must say that things are looking mighty firm down there. Things in the hamstring area of my life have been looking up.
During this last bit of time, every once in a while, something would happen and I would re-tweak my twerk. I would pick something up and get sent a warning ping. I would do a sudden turn in just the right direction and feel a little extra stretch. These weren't painful, mind you, just enough discomfort to remind me that I'm not healed. Therefore, what I would not do is run on it.
And, at this stage of my existence, I am struggling to admit that I am afraid to run. No, not because I know I'll be slower than all of the work I've done this year should dictate. I don't mind being slow. You can't be me and be grumpy with slow. The running brings the pain and I'm just not in to twerking.
As it stands, I've got a half Ironman race on June 2nd. It's highly likely that will be my next run. I'm going to go for about a month without running and nearly 2 months without any real mileage so that I can survive a race. My big race goal is to not have any hamstring pain during the race. Any other kind of pain is acceptable, including mental anguish. This is not a good existence. Wish me luck.
