I have a friend who has come to visit, and I want nothing more than for him to leave.
You know the type of friend I speak of. He comes in, makes himself comfortable and manages to bust up your entire routine. He’s the type that no matter how many conversations and arguments you have, no matter what techniques you brainstorm or how many professionals you see, he just doesn’t want to leave. And he will kick and scream and hold on for as long as he can before he goes.
My friend caught up to me on Feb. 12, as I was in the final miles of an 11-miler in preparation for the Shamrock Run 15K in Portland. I had just completed a pretty good stretch of hills through a local neighborhood and then decided to take a stab at Watercrest Rd., the most killer hill in all of Forest Grove. If I am preparing to tackle a race along Portland’s Terwilliger Blvd. and its hills, throwing in one more would be good for the training.
My mistake. Three-quarters of the way up that hill, my old friend came to visit.
Achilles Tendonitis.
By the time I finished my run, it was obvious that he was here. But like an idiot, I didn’t start into war mode right away. I rested, but I didn’t ice. I didn’t stretch. I just let him stay there, lying like the cushions on my couch.
After a Sunday off, I continued on my merry way, continuing my runs for the next couple of days. Finally, my buddy told me that he would be staying for a while. The discomfort was too much to run. While my right heel wasn’t in pain, I knew that if I didn’t stop right then, things would get worse.
That meant no running. After nearly two years of avoiding the injury bug through marathon training, I was suddenly forced to the world of ice, elliptical trainers and water running. My last day on the roads was Feb. 17, and outside of a short track run to test my progress (a mistake I realized after the fact), I haven’t run a step since.
Achilles’ return visit was a real shock to the system for a couple of reasons. First, I had gotten my running groove back. After cutting back my mileage for the two months after the Portland Marathon, I was charging full force into the next step in my running renaissance. The goals had been set: Shamrock in March, Haag Lake 10-Miler in May, the Helvetia Half Marathon in June and Portland again in October. I had started doing tempo runs and speed work. I started tracking calories in an effort to drop some of the weight that didn’t come off during marathon training. My “friend” Achilles put that plan to a screeching halt, like the emergency brake pulled on a speeding freight train.
The second was how long Achilles stayed for his first visit. He introduced himself to me about seven years ago. He showed up when I was going out for a training run with members of the track & field team at the university I work at. I did everything I thought I was supposed to do to get him to leave. I stopped all exercise for six weeks and gave it complete rest. I stretched. I iced. I saw a podiatrist and sports medicine orthopedist. I did physical therapy. And through it all, not of it worked.
I gave up on running. I gave up for four years. I gave up on the sport that buoyed me through high school and college and gave me so much personal satisfaction for years. I gained 20 pounds. I got out of shape. I simply gave up.
This time, I tackled my unwanted house guest head on. I stretched as much as possible. I iced religiously, as much as five times per day. I went and saw a podiatrist, who is a marathon and Ironman triathlete himself.
After two almost three weeks, things were feeling better. There wasn’t as much pain. Maybe my “friend” had hit the road. I stepped onto the track to give it a go. The doc said to give it a try if it felt like the pain was minimal. After one mile, things felt good. I walked a lap, and then reeled off another slow mile. Another walking lap, and then a third mile. Coming off the track, things still felt good. I stretched. I iced and sat down to finish the workday.
But he hadn’t left. He hadn’t hit the road and neither would I. By the end of the day, Achilles was back. And he hurt more than ever. The back of my heel stiffened up badly.
When I had to sit at home while my wife and dad went off to run the Shamrock Run, that’s when the depression really set in. Not only was this injury back, it was set to be here for a while. My first goal was gone. The money was paid, but the race number was never claimed. I began to wonder if this friend of mine was going to keep from running for another Olympiad.
I am convinced that, like the stages of grief, there are similar stages of injury. I suffered the denial that this Achilles injury could be as bad as it was. There was the anger of knowing it was back. There was the bargaining of thinking I had conquered it in two weeks and finding out that, in fact, it was not. Then there was the depression of knowing that not only was I not running, but that I had missed my first goal race and would not be running for some time.
The fifth stage of grief is acceptance, and in working through an injury there is certainly a stage of accepting that this injury, my “friend,” might be here for a while. The first time Achilles came to visit, the acceptance came in giving up on running for four years. This time around, though, I am committed to not let that happen again.
I have stayed committed to cross training and finding ways to try and maintain my fitness. My current regimen includes four to five days a week of either elliptical training or water running. I am staying diligent on my stretching and icing and will do so until I freeze my friend out. I am committing to using the down time to re-educate myself on training technique. While on the elliptical, I am re-reading Marathoning Start To Finish, the great training guide produced by Warren & Patti Finke for the Portland Marathon Clinic. After that, I plan to read the Daniels Running Formula to begin to fine tune planning for my next marathon.
I have re-committed to stretching after I workout. I had stopped stretching for a while, buying into the theories that stretching didn’t have much value and being conscious of the time I was spending in the middle of my workday on my workout. Saving a few minutes by not stretching will help productivity, right? I have learned, the hard way, that my body needs stretching.
I am starting to lift weights again and incorporating core training to help strengthen those areas that give me problems, most notably my lower back and lower legs. I have never been able to stick with a weight program for more than three weeks in the past. My hope is with this visit my Achilles coming again that I will stick with it and reap all of the benefits strength training can provide.
The toughest part of this process for me will be keeping a positive outlook. People who know me well know it doesn’t take much to pull me down, to give up hope on certain situations. I believe things are getting better and I have a positive outlook on what’s ahead. I may miss another goal race, but that simply means that I need to adjust my sights. If I miss Hagg Lake, Helvetia is still a possibility. What if I miss out on Portland? There is Seattle the next month.
If anything, I am positive about one thing. I am positive that I want to show my friend Achilles the door, once and for all.
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