Best Version Yet

I've done this coming-back-from-injury thing often enough to have realized a couple of things.

1) The short distance speed comes back quickly.

2) The endurance does not.

I recall being acutely aware of this early last summer, after taking 2-3 months off from running to let an IT band injury (yes, it's a theme with me) heal. I was doing two speed workouts a week and kicking butt at them. Then I'd get to the weekend long run, and my own butt was the one getting the boot.

This time around: same book, different page. Perhaps doing a lot of speedwork is the reason stamina doesn't come back as quickly? It stands to reason, as your body likely can't do both well while still adjusting to mileage increases. But since my short-term goals are the 5k and 15k, and I don't plan to race a half marathon until June, I'm okay with doing the short-interval speedwork well and sort of plodding through the long stuff. 

At least, I thought I was okay with it.

I've been running on the treadmill a lot. Part of that has been because of the ridiculous wind we're having this spring- well, every spring, thanks to lakeside living. If there's anything I hate running in, it's wind. Give me cold, give me rain, give me heat… wind is my enemy! Also, the local community park's paved trail and local tracks are only now starting to open. Though I do long and easy runs outdoors, I've been taking my speedwork to the treadmill.

400s are fun, and good for 5k training. On Tuesday, I did a 7 mile, 10x400m interval workout, with the 400s at the 8.9 treadmill setting (6:44 pace). They felt good. Almost easy. But, they're 400s… and in my opinion, the easiest of speed intervals. It's not that hard to gut out a little more than 90 seconds of hard running if you get to jog for a bit thereafter.

On Thursday (today), I had a 6 miler planned. I'd had a rest day on Wednesday… and by rest day I mean a 60 minute trainer bike ride. With my growing list of cross-training activities, I think I had 2? 3? true rest days in the last month. Anyway, I figured with 48 hours since my last run, I could throw a little tempo into my 6 miles. Yes, it would require endurance that I haven't been honing for months, but 3 miles... how hard could it be?

After a slow warmup mile, I started at 7:53 pace. First half mile felt good.This is easy, yo! I was even entertaining thoughts of a sub-7:30 mile for the third and final mile.

That stamina thing? Yeahhhhh. So about 1200 meters in, this started feeling alarmingly…challenging.  Wait, whaaaaat?  At nearly 8 pace? No. Just… no. But as I headed into the 2nd tempo mile, it felt bad enough that I stayed put at 7:53, knowing I had another 2 full miles to go. Turns out when you have no hope of respite anytime soon, and your body hasn't run very fast for very long in ages, reality bites. I turn to the facts, looking for comfort. I've been injured. I've been away from running for awhile. I can't expect to come back and run tempos like before. But inwardly, I'm wailing, this isn't even close!! Three measly miles, c'mon, I was running sub-7:30 tempos last summer, FOR 8-10 MILES.

I took a quick water fountain break, and coming back to the TM, had a little “now what” moment. Shut down the tempo and call two miles enough, and jog it out with 3 more easy miles to make it 6? It looked tempting.Did my leg hurt? Maybe a niggle there, in the injury spot? I was injured 6 weeks ago, after all…I should probably stop.

Then my pastor walks into the Y and gets on an elliptical. The athletic pastor who knows I'm a runner and regularly inquires about my running, is also a basketball coach, and whose teenage kids are into track and soccer and, well, you get it…. a situation in which you don't want to look like a wuss. I wasn't going to hang there gasping over the treadmill's side rails when someone I knew personally was right there. So I prayed fervently and ramped up the treadmill settings, figuring whatever heavenly aura Pastor G. brought into the room could rest on me and save me from an untimely death.

That 3rd mile felt easier than the first 2, and I ran it in 7:47, praisetheLordgloryhallelujah.

Though it's easy to be bratty and ungrateful about the current state of your running when your wits are addled by exhaustion and and your competitive juices are in overdrive, a couple of cool-down miles at a nice easy pace was enough to get me mentally grounded again. That thing about “competing against the athlete you were yesterday” only works if today's athlete is coming from the same place as yesterday's athlete. When I think of my “yesterday” to beat, I look at last summer... 1:39 half. 45:xx 10k. (in a training run). Training to run a 3:30-3:32 marathon…  Or even the 2013 Peg, when I had 16 PRs in one year, and capped it off with my first marathon in 3:46. But I'm in a different place right now. 2016 Peg. Comeback Peg. I do a disservice to the injured Peg of a more recent "yesterday"- and any injured runner out there- by failing to be grateful for every healthy run. 

Those long sub-7:30 tempos and that half PR last summer only happened after several months of hard training. On the other hand, two months ago, I couldn't run 2 miles without pain. Remember what that felt like? Remember how you pined and ached for a run, and swore you would give anything to run without pain, no matter how slow? You have that now. Enjoy it. You will get back everything you had before, and MORE.

Being an athlete is more than just speed and stamina and being at your best. It's overcoming and staying mentally strong and training smart. It's letting the good things happen and unfold and grow in their own sweet time. It's staying in the moment, however hard it is, and not ruining that moment by yearning ceaselessly for an old version of you.

Embrace the new version of you, and then set your sights on making it the best version yet.

Better than 2013, and better than the short summer of 2015? Yes, and yes. 

I ended the run smiling, with 6 miles done. 3 tempo @ 7:51 average. My legs ached, but tired legs make me happy. I'll end this week with 26 miles, more than I've run since October, 2015. Very soon, I'll do a 4 mile tempo. Faster. Then 5, and 6, and 8. From there… the best version yet.

The Road is Callin'

 I did something today I haven't done in 5 long months:

 Speedwork.

 I remember the first time I did speedwork. I was completely new to running, having only 2 5ks under my belt. I posted a question to my online running-group site about what I should do to get faster. Intervals were suggested. I decided on 4x800. I did them, and it was the hardest I'd breathed and the most I'd suffered since giving birth to my daughter the previous year. I remember that I ran them at a little more than 8:00 pace. It took me another 3 months to actually run a 5k that averaged under 8:00 per mile. And I never ran a 5k that slow since.

My, how times have changed. Secondly, thank God for muscle memory. 

I just came off a 5 month injury, and most of it was spent not running. I ran 5x800 this morning at a 6:58 average pace, with a lot less suffering than those 4 first intervals 3.5 years ago. 

I did not expect to be able to keep up the sub-7:00 pace, but it was comfortable throughout. In fact, I'd only planned on 4 intervals, but after the 4th one, things felt too easy. My rule is: you should end with the sense that you could do one more interval if you had to, but you shouldn't feel like you could keep going indefinitely. In this case, I was too comfy with the 4. So I did 5 repeats. Even then, I felt like I could have done a couple more. But I'm coming off an injury; I have to be careful whether I want to or not. 

It was... oh, God, I can't even tell you how good it was. I felt good. I felt strong. Mentally, physically, everything. For the most part, I dislike the treadmill, but today, it hardly registered. I was in my own world, in a trance. Though I was at the Y during the busiest part of the day, the people around me just sort of floated around in hazy forms. It was just me and the 'open road' and I was flying and all was well. 

In fact, I feel a strength and stability I didn't have BEFORE. That's a weird thing to experience, coming off a long injury. But I think it's the strength training and weight-lifting. I distinctly feel a power coming from my hips and core that is new to me. Even more telling are the places I'm getting sore. Previously, I always had sore calves and quads after a hard speed workout. Now, the primary spots of muscle fatigue are in my butt, adductors, hamstrings, and hips. What I take away here is that the work I'm doing is making a difference, and the muscles that I need to activate for better running economy (hammies, glutes) are firing.  That explains the feeling of power and centered-ness from my core. Strength training, FTW! 

I had no IT band pain during. Nor after. Nor since. I rubbed stuff down with an ice bottle tonight just to be safe, but everything feels fine.

I've been on a euphoric cloud for the rest of the day. And it's another confirmation of what I know to be true deep down, no matter what other sports and activities I put my hand to. Running is for me. Running IS me. Given the heartaches running has caused me, I'm not sure that this knowledge is a good thing. Kind of like realizing you are in love with the bad boy, the player, the heartbreaker... but not being able to help yourself. Running still gives me chills and weak knees. Running makes my heart race. Running is my true love. 

"Don't look back,
A new day is breakin'
Oh, it's been so long since I felt this way.
I don't mind
If I get taken
The road is callin'
Today is the day."

The Best Of Things

What is hope?

What does it look like and how does it feel?

Where do you find hope?

I will tell you, from my little corner of the world. How I am seeing and feeling hope and where I am finding it. How I am defining it in my circumstance.

Hope looks like an early morning setting on the alarm clock to get that run in.

Hope is what you see staring back at you in the mirror at the gym after a bench press, squat, or bicep curl PR, knowing every muscle stronger translates to every mile faster.

Hope looks like new pair of running shoes. 

Hope looks like a confirmation email for a fall marathon registration.

Hope looks like mileage totals on a treadmill matching the exact distances you planned to run, not just the mile- or part of one- you managed before your body shut down.

Hope feels like singing in the shower, post-run, instead of crying.

Hope feels like the first pain-free 6 miler in several months.

Hope feels like descending two flights of stairs, and realizing that not one step was painful.

Hope feels like the sun on your face, while sweat is trickling down your neck and flying off your elbows.

Hope feels like the almost-imperceptible weight of Road ID on your wrist.

Hope is found in crosstraining that complements your running instead of replacing it. 

Hope is found in the reunion of pavement and sole/soul, your breath as it creates clouds in frigid air, the pounding heart and contracting lung, the freedom of solitude.

Hope is found in pain that is fatigue- and only fatigue.

Hope is found in the tedious hours of strength work and physical therapy that become worthwhile when your PT pronounces a tendon healthy.

Hope is found in the delightful, tangible, little reminders of reconciliation to what you love. Logging Garmin data… Freshly laundered tech shirts, hung up to dry… The bowl of fruit, granola, and Greek yogurt that will fuel you next workout... Filling an empty box in your running log spreadsheet with a number... Clicking submit on a race registration... Surveying marathon training plans… Foam rolling… Tearing the corner off a GU or HoneyStinger packet... Hearing the beep of your watch at the end of each mile.

What is hope?

It's what you have left. When you walk through the loss of your strength, allowing pain to strip you of expectations, goals and performances, Hope is the only survivor remaining to greet you on the other side. 

It births a tired and tattered courage to start afresh.  

It sees a mirage of yourself at full strength, and recognizes it as your future and not just your past.

It drops a mustard seed of faith on the long-barren soil of your dreams.

And then Hope prays for rain.

15 Miles. No Pain, All Gain.

    That sickening old cliche. "It's always darkest before the dawn..."

     Maybe sometimes it can ring true?

    Last weekend found running less, in pain, and wondering if the last 5 months of rehab and time off was in vain.

   Whatever that mysterious resurgence was, it must have been a momentary setback. Muscles too fatigued from cross-training? Some inexplicable inflammation increase? Just a cranky last gasp from the injury?

    I came home from the PT in tears and despair. Then I ran a 3 miler, and it was much improved. I ran 4.5 a couple of days later. No pain.

    Today, I ran 7.5 miles. I felt good the entire time. There was no pain, not during nor after. I iced and took ibuprofen to be sure, anyway.

      I could hardly contain my excitement, both during the run (especially once I hit 6 miles) and after. I've been sore- but content and glowing for the rest of the day. This is what a long- well, longish, for now-  run feels like! Oh my God... it's awesome. 

    Maybe it's the Protech IT band strap I'm wearing, cinching it tightly above my knee to keep the IT band from moving forward over the lateral epicondyle? I tried it back when I was freshly injured, and it didn't work... but let's be fair, everything hurt back then. Now it seems to be a game-changer. It's slightly uncomfortable, but far less uncomfortable than pain. Or not running.

     Maybe it's the Hokas? Every time I try to run longer distances in my other trainers, I have more pain. The wide, stable platform and the forward "rocker" design seem to change me gait slightly, just enough to make a difference.

    I still don't care for the shoe. It doesn't feel like my other shoes, not as streamlined, not as smooth. Conspicuous, big, and obnoxious. But if the shoe Makes Running Great Again for me, I can get on the bandwagon. Hoka should have a baseball cap made for that.

    Maybe it's just time. Maybe my body has healed. Maybe that was the last battle before the victory. I hope so. I'm so ready to move beyond this nearly 5 month struggle. Ready to run.

     A 15 mile, pain-free week was never so appreciated.

   

Will It Ever End?

I stare at the ceiling, the same familiar drop ceiling I've seen so many times in this room. My jaw is set in a hard line; I'm biting down on the inside of my lower lip to keep it steady. But no matter how I study the ceiling and steel myself, I can't stop a couple of the tears that trickle down my face.

My PT pats my knee and turns his back for a minute, pretending to busy himself with something else. There is silence. He's stopped asking questions for the moment, because he knows where my mind is and knows I can't talk about it. There's no need. He knows exactly what an endless journey this has been.

I've been coming here for a year and a half. 3 major injuries. No marathons. A sickening amount of money spent.

For what? For nothing?

I don't know.

Why bother?

I guess the therapy helps a little? Maybe I wouldn't be running at all if I wouldn't be getting treatment? But what is “not at all” compared to 60 miles spread out over 2 months, in runs of 3-5 miles. Most of them painful. What's that, in the grand scheme of marathoning?

It's nothing.

The PT starts talking again. We could try this. Or that. Continue with the ART? Definitely do the strengthening? Perhaps it's a stress reaction, taking time to heal. Though it should have healed by now. Let's look at all potential issues here. The hyper-extended knee is a strong possibility. We should move in that direction for strengthening.

But… then what? After all, I strengthened my hips and glutes for 4 months, and it didn't fix it. What if, in another 4 months, nothing changes?

He doesn't know. He can only tell me what he sees.

You know what I see?

I see weeks and weeks of little to no running. I see an entire marathon cycle length of zero progress. I see dreams spiraling down the drain into nothingness again. I see the third consecutive season, scratched. I see people around me racing and running, excited for their success, their Prs, their BQs. I see other runners healing from their injuries and moving on. I see into my heart, and I see pain and devastation and defeat. Over and over and over again. How long will it take, until I am broken completely? How much more until I am forced to concede? How often do I try training for a marathon, before I admit that it isn't in the cards for me?

How do you say good-bye to dreams? How do you live with yourself, always dangling helplessly between the inability to do what you love, and the constant, relentless ache for it? 

How do you cope when it never stops?

I can't speak much, for the rest of the session. There's too much emotion there, bottled up from nearly 20 weeks of waiting, hoping, and despairing. And counting the times before that, nearly 2 years of wasted time. 2 years of hope that never saw the light of day.

Woodenly, I leave the building and walk to my car. My body falls into a numb autopilot of driving- I could drive home in my sleep, I've been here so many times- but my emotions come rushing back in.

I weep my way across the city. Silent. Staring straight ahead. But the tears spill and spill but I'm barely aware of them. Like bleeding when you're in shock. It keeps coming. Like the injuries, like the pain...  Just. Keeps. Coming.

I go to the gym and do the exact same thing that brought me here: run. My knee is taped up in every direction, creating an awkward kind of bandage that I must run through. It's there to force my knee forward slightly. I don't know if it helps. Has anything helped, really?

The injury starts speaking up toward the end of the run. With as much treatment as the PT has done on my today, I'm surprised it's not worse. It's a couple of miles. But, that's not good enough. I want to run without taking ice and ibuprofen, without straps and tape forcing my muscles to do other things. I want to know that I will end the run happy and strong, not sad and in pain. I want to run free and unfettered, in both mind and spirit.

Run free…

I can barely remember what that's like.

And so I go on. They all say it will get better. They all tell me to hang in there, to have faith. To believe. Because it will end, eventually.

Will it?