This blog is for any runner who loves zombies and pugs as much as I do. If you don't care for either of those things, then stay anyway while I complain about how hilly running in PA is - seriously, I can't go a mile without an incline.
If you talk with the Alabaster Runner (I don't know how though - for reasons completely uknown, he completely shot down the idea of posting his cell phone number on here.....loser) he will confirm that I always secretly wanted to have a black toenail from running as some sort of "running badge" from the sport. It seemed to me that getting a black toenail from completing higher mileage was a rite of passage into "real" running, much like taking your first unexpected #2 on a long run behind a bush (I had a look out, but much more than that I wish I had brought toilet paper), or hitting 20 miles on a training run finally without dying on the side of a road somewhere. I briefly thought I was getting a black toenail during marathon training, but turns out I just need to be more diligent when wearing shower slippers at the gym locker room.
However, when looking up running injuries and coming across this image (warning - graphic) my oddball fantasy has completely dissipated and shriveled up into repulsion.
I mean.....is that normal for a runner's black toe or does this individual need to immediately confess all his sins and pray for swift death? I think I may have dodged a bullet here.
My first race since being injured with PF is scheduled for May 14th, the Lower Allen Park Adventure Run roughly 2.8 miles and littered with military style obstacles. It should make for a good comeback race considering it is not even a full 5K, and the running is interjected with pull-ups, mud crawling, and rope climbing. My concern does not rest so much in the fact that I could barely finish a mile run a few weeks ago (although I really should spend some time musing over what that might indicate); my primary goal is to snuff my older brother out of a win anyway I can.
The short version is not quite as epic as the Count of Monte Cristo (“I swear on my dead relatives - and even on the ones who are not feeling too good - I am your man forever!”) – yet it still haunts me to my core. The alabaster runner, my older brother Michael, and myself, all ran out first half marathon together last fall. It was the Amish Bird-in-Hand ½ Marathon and my brother had never run more than 8 miles before, he’s a daily smoker, and he didn’t have much experience running outside. In a logical world these facts would indicate that I would fare somewhat better. But in bizarro “screw the pooch” world, Michael managed to keep pace with us the entire time without seemingly much labored effort. Although taken for surprise, I enjoyed our family run and even envisioned a race photo of us all crossing at the same time and making a beeline for the Dominos pizza booth. For 12.5 miles we all agreed on this storybook ending UNTIL in the last half mile of the race Michael decided that our little Disney finish wouldn’t suffice and he pulled out in front and smoked me by one muthafu*** minute for the win. (It should be noted that the alabaster runner saw Michael speed away and in turn A.R. pulled ahead too and finished fifteen seconds ahead of me – so apparently all the men in my life athletically betray me).
I can handle being beaten – that happened about 10,000 times over in the Shamrock Marathon – you get oddly used to the cold air of someone passing you. But we were going to finish together as a family and Michael gloated and reviled in the win too deliciously for my taste. So when he suggested we join him on the Adventure Run, I knew this was redemption. Unfortunately, my current plantar fasciitis presents a problem that I didn’t forecast when I signed up for this race. With that in mind, I came up with some back up ammo to take Michael down – I present practical tips to beat your running rival.
Work on strength training – if I can’t run at my full 100%, I have to take him down on the obstacles. I will have to tap into my inner Jillian Michael's physique and shame his girly arms on the rope climbs. (Note: this only works in the typical 5K obstacle run – unless there are some crazy mud run marathons going on that I’m not privy to).
Pray to God that he becomes injured as well. I don’t wish him ill necessarily, but a bout of cholera wouldn’t kill him. (Second note: research if cholera kills someone).....(Third note: it does).
Play it off like I’m not looking for sweet revenge, give him a false sense of a “family fun run” and then pass him at the end (while simultaneously screaming “SUCKA” at the top of my lungs). Keep it classy. However, since I have been emailing Michael at least once a week for months and throwing around phrases like, “Mud is thicker than blood” and “Ready for the can of whoop a** yet?”, I think the innocent act would be moot.
Cheat – obviously the most heinous and deplorable option at my disposal. Not. seeing. downside.
To my devoted followers (thanks Dad), I’m sorry I haven’t updated the blog in over a week. I have been plagued with an unbearable fever, chills to the bone, less than adorable sniffles, and a sore throat. Thank god none of this has affected my running.
This is where I hang my head in shame and mention I’m not currently running nor am I supposed to run for another three weeks. After several pitiful attempts to run a mile (ah…...sweet memories), my physical therapist decided it was best for me to completely stop repeatedly humiliating myself running and let the plantar fasciitis heal until the Adventure Run (3 miles) on May 14th. How appropriate that I run throughout the entire cold-as-balls winter and when the best time of the running season rolls around, I’m condemned to the spin bike at the gym? Although I have to admit, the spin class leaves me dripping in sweat and I got this “hover” nonsense down to a science.
Since I’m still in some flu like agony, I’m going to cut this one short (you’re welcome Dad) and leave it on this note:
Geoffrey Mutai just ran a full marathon in – I can’t even believe that speed. Someone just ran a full 26.2 miles almost two minutes faster than it took me to run a half marathon. It actually took me a hawt minute to realize that he would have lapped me RUNNING TWICE THE DISTANCE. Personally, I don’t take it as a sign that I run too slowly, I'm putting it out there, let's be frank - I think he’s running dangerously too fast. Slow it down buddy, you’re making about 10 million recreational runners look really bad. Yeesh.
This past Sunday I eagerly laced up my new Asics to go for a beautiful run with my dad, who was visiting, and the alabaster runner. The AR was going to kick out one loop around the surrounding farmland which equals out to 2.5-3 miles, something I would literally give my own leg (in exchange for a better one of course) to accomplish– my dad took pity and joined me on my one mile endeavor around the neighborhood. Luckily my pride was already gunned down mercilessly weeks ago during the marathon, so I’m extremely comfortable with runner’s pity as of late.
The only way I can possibly describe the run is that I resembled and felt like a bloodied, wounded baby deer gimping along after being hit by a huge SUV head on. Don’t perceive my analogy wrong, I adore baby deer; I just needed to use nature’s most innocent creature to violently describe my agony.
My arches were tender, but they weren’t really that painful. The seventh circle of hell was courtesy of my left knee that decided screwing me over in one race wasn’t sufficient. It started to throb almost immediately and I knew that finishing my recovery mile was a pipe dream. After wrapping up my whooping .5 mile run, my dad walked me home, which was nice because my other option was limping alone and swearing at the top of my lungs like a lunatic.
I expected my arches to hurt – that is why I’m going to physical therapy after all (side note- I just discovered my insurance covers up to 60 visits, not too shabby Manor Care…..not too shabby). Having my knee give out not only surprised me, but it genuinely angered me. One ailment at a time please, get in line left knee - if anything, my rippling biceps are due to be strained. My physical therapist assured me that it’s not actually a knee issue, which only hurts because of the issues with my arches, but that doesn’t make me feel all sunshine and Elmo better. All I can grasp is that I can’t run a mile right now and I discovered The Macaroni Grill is ripe with unlimited bread at the table. It’s like a Greek tragedy.
My next “run” is scheduled for tomorrow morning; I’m pretty pumped to see how this will play out. On an unrelated note, if I don’t post again within 72 hours, can someone check Route 472 in Hellam and make sure I’m not lying dead in cow manure?
I am acutely aware now that there is a major difference between pulling a Kevin Federline and taking a few days off exercise - and being told by several sport therapists that I need to stop running for an undetermined amount of time. The first example is by choice, I have no shame admitting that during marathon training I skipped out on some of my 4 a.m. bitterly frigid runs to sleep in and dream of being independently wealthy. Of course I always rationalized with myself that I could make up these missed runs and many times I did (other times I didn't and between me and Jesus, we're both wildly ok with that).
The second example is not by choice - thus making it slightly more devastating. My physical therapist said my case of plantar fasciitis isn't too terrible and that I can begin to run as soon as I feel comfortable (although he did helpfully suggest that I may want to stop hobbling first). He did remark (unprompted I might add) that I have the flattest feet he's ever seen in his entire career. I immediately decided that this might only be his second week on the job - he must have been an ice trucker for years before having a mid life crisis and switching over to therapy. This theory had absolutely no flaws until I glanced at the faded picture of him cutting the ribbon to officially open the therapy clinic back in 1984.
Long story short - too late - while minimalist shoes work just splendidly for those blessed normal individuals that actually have an arch in their foot (that damned alabaster runner) they will cause me continuous pain in my arch for as long as I continue to feebly run in them. At his request I brought in my vibrams for our next session and laid them on the table for Mr. PT - and without him even pointing out the problem, I could see that the shoes severely leaned inwards as pregnancy test positive of my over pronation.
So I have to give up my beloved vibrams if I want to run without re-injuring myself every few months - and truthfully I suspected as much since October. I did my research and settled on a pair of Asics Foundation Gel 8 shoes to fill the running void. The tentative plan is to run next weekend (assuming my arch does not throb like a beeyotch anymore), somewhere between 1-3 miles and take it slowly from there. At first I can surmise that these heavier shoes will only slow my zombie pace even more, but I should stay on track to BQ by the time I'm in the 60+ age bracket. I've come to terms (sobbing can only take up so much of my time) that this injury means revamping my running schedule and starting small again, gradually re-building up to half marathon status by the fall.
While all this isn't depressing enough, I have to practically smack potato chips and other junk food out of my hand lately. And the second third bowls of pasta have to stop as well - there's no need to carbo-load anymore when my most extensive cardio consists of speed walking to the bathroom after my morning coffee.
But I refuse to end on a bad note - so here's the cutest thing you'll see all day!
Despite various warnings from extremely credible sources, I decided to keep my hotel reservation and run the Cherry Blossom 10 miler yesterday in D.C. The alabaster runner had prior work obligations so I was going solo on this race – which suited me just nicely – I needed redemption from the Shamrock Marathon and an easy ten mile run would give me some runners’ pride back. I can’t even think of shamrocks now without quietly rationalizing that maybe the ending scene of “Saw” where Cary Elwes chops his own foot off isn’t that crazy after all.
I arrived in D.C. and settled into my room at the amazing Hyatt Hotel – yes, it is the host hotel and although I did recently comment about less than stellar host hotels, this reservation had been in the works for months prior to that post. Canceling would have been downright wasteful, especially when there is a Starbucks right in the hotel lobby. I’m a reasonable person – soy latte please.
I made haste to the expo because while I was busy getting lost in downtown D.C. earlier (really, no left hand turning signals….I call bullshit), I had discovered that the line to the expo wrapped around the building on all four sides. That was something to look forward to. As I stood in line I thought about how nice the weekend was turning out to be and I looked up to see the clouds take on a nice darker blue/gray hue. Without warning the wind started blowing furiously and the sky opened up to release the equivalent of Noah’s Ark rain on everyone waiting innocently for our race packets. And by rain, I mean buckets of small angry hail. Looking around at the few individuals around me that did have umbrellas (and enough sense to access weather.com); I cursed myself for not doing my elementary weather research more thoroughly. Don’t just look up the weather the day of the race you fool! I was even more dismayed to remember that I had experimented with the smoky eye look that morning, which now dissolved into more of a “heroin whore” palette with mascara dripping everywhere.
This post is already getting lengthy – and I haven’t even gotten into the expo yet – I’m going to speed this up. The expo was great and I now know the better part of D.C.’s Chinatown. I don’t know how I got lost within a one mile radius but I did. Save your applause for the end people, it's embaressing otherwise.
The Race
With over 20,000 runners, organization is obviously key for a major race, and Cherry Blossom was on top of their shyt. I didn’t have to wait for bag check and everything flowed to the exact scheduled minute. No matter what else you take away from reading this post, the Cherry Blossom is a coveted race for a reason – it rocks. The volunteers are friendly and didn’t mind telling me several times over how I cannot have the medal mailed to me if I leave now.
Honestly, one of the best parts of racing is listening to the conversations around you while in the corral. I heard how some people were under-trained, others were first time racers, many were veterans of the Cherry Blossom, and a select few mentioned a nagging injury that might complicate a victory (actually, that was just me bitching to the girl next to me who innocently asked how I was doing). That’s how the orange wave rolls.
For the first three miles I felt amazing, I couldn’t believe I almost cancelled running this race due to the opinion of a few people who clearly didn’t know what they were talking about. My heel was doing just fine, thank you – take your concerns elsewhere Dr. Stelmach of Apple Hill Podiatry. I have my suspicions about the validity of your “medical license” anyway. At mile 3.5 I even kicked it into high gear to set that land speed record of a 9 m/m pace. Balls to the wall!
Well to settle the most basic human question, God does exist because his sense of cruel humor at mile four had my Achilles chugging along like a champion; it was my left knee that ruined my chances of the Olympic trials….et tu Brute? It was terrifying and painful while I limped off the course three times to work out the kinks (that’s what they call excruciating injuries nowadays right, kinks?) I seriously considered taking the dreaded DNF and having a super fun ambulance ride back the hotel. I wasn't that thrilled to experiment with the metro line in any case.
Honestly, it probably would have played out like that too if I hadn’t just passed the closest medical tent – another one wouldn’t be coming up for a couple of miles. My Einstein brain bargained with my screaming knee that if I got the next medical tent and conditions didn't improve, I would drop out and tell everyone a Kenyan pushed me. Otherwise…..I would gut it out and pray that someone severely mislabeled the mile markers.
At the halfway mark I was still managing a 10 m/m and was able to run through the pain so the decision was made to finish out this race. Plus I had prepaid for the medal. In the last three miles the pain even subsided enough for me to enjoy the scenery and make small talk with the other runners keeping pace (I talked to a lot of AARP people at this point and was passed by the completely underestimated wheelchair division of the race). When I saw the National Monument I almost cried with happiness. I finished the race strong and in a respectable time table for someone with several injuries (). Screw your bran muffins and bananas, give me my medal.
And the banana. I’m pretty hungry actually.
The Aftermath
I managed not to limp to the hotel, which was fortunate considering an unusually high amount of runners caught up with me and asked how I liked my vibrams. I thought it would look bad on my part to be caught in a Quasimodo shuffle but answering, “Oh, they’re great, just ease into them. No problems whatsoever …..move along now – I hear the 5 Guys and Fries opens soon, don’t want to miss that!”
When I finally got home the severity of my injuries increased dramatically as I nearly suplexed my adorable pug into a wall when she hopped onto my knee. Filling bags of ice and wincing in agony pretty much took up the rest of my Sunday evening (keep your jealousy at bay people, I can’t help but live the wild James Bond lifestyle). My left knee and my right heel are calling the shots now – neither one is a real big fan of walking, which leaves me in an awkward stride today at work. I made an appointment with my foot doctor today because I want to hear the “I told your dumba** not to run any races” in person and figure out the extent of my damages.
I want to end this post very simply though: If I had to go back in time and decide whether or not to run the Cherry Blossom, I would still do it all over again.
Edit: Since visiting said foot doctor, it's prescribed that I wear a small arch brace all day, go to physical therapy for the next few weeks, and intimately know my strasburg sock at night. To add more pain to this, I got my issue of Runners World in the mail today - damn you and your inhuman legs Kara Goucher!
