One step at a time...

Today I got to run 2 miles! I did the first 10 minutes barefoot on the grass at school and it felt fantastic! I even bumped into Ash, who was finishing up his 12 mile long run. I had to put my shoes back on for the last 6 minutes however to avoid beating up the soles of my feet too much. They need to toughen up a bit before I'll be able to run very far without getting blisters. Putting shoes back on felt terrible after 10 minutes of foot freedom; it felt like I was wearing combat boots and I could tell my footfalls were different, more awkward. My leg started to hurt just a tiny bit as well. I'm not sure if it has anything to do with my shoes or simply the fact that I had been running for a couple miles. Anyway, I hope to be back to running on a daily basis soon, but it might be another week still. We'll see.

Let the races begin...

This weekend was my first race back with the team. It was a short 1500, but I could still tell I was out of shape. My speed just wasn't there. I guess it was a decent time (4:39) for coming back with almost no speed workouts under my belt, but I was still disappointed. Others had good races though. Ashenden had an epic kick at the end of his 1500 to take the win, and Muffenbeck came from nowhere and finished with a 4:34. It was fun to be back with the team at the meet. I am looking forward to what will be a fun track season.

Going Tribal

Another week in the SwimEx. I've been really trying to work it lately, pushing my body to its limit in the pool to take advantage of the low-impact training. My leg, while slowly getting better, is not in a hurry to repair itself completely; I figure I'll be back in another 5-10 days, but who knows. I've accepted the fact that this season is pretty much over competitively, and now I just want to return to running so I can get back in shape and have some fun. The limits placed on my training over the past few weeks have given me a lot of time to think, and I've come to realize a few things:

1. I have been injured more or less continually for the past 16 months.

2. These injuries are all chronic, over-use injuries. I nearly always have at least one at any given time, sometimes multiple.

3. Russ and the athletic trainers have put me through every treatment imaginable in the attempt to fight off these injuries, yet nothing but old fashioned ice has had any effect.

4. I've also been guided towards the use of increasingly more supportive and well-cushoined (not to mention more expensive) shoes, as well as insoles, arch supports, heel gel cushoins, etc.

5. Despite the increase in technology put into my shoes and treatments, I'm getting hurt more frequently and for longer periods.


After putting all this together I've made a conclusion: None of it is helping.




I'm currently reading the best selling book, Born to Run, by Christopher McDougall. This fascinating (and highly entertaining) tale recounts the experiences of the author as he ran the treacherous trails and cliffs of Mexican no-man's-land, slowly transforming himself from a tall, gangly injury-magnet into an ultramarathoner. He's joined by a small crew of runners from all over the country, each expressing their love for the sport in unique and colorful ways. There's a couple of California surfers who spend their days running along the beach while listening to Beat poetry, a vegan champion known for his primal screams at the start of every race, a trainer who's coached ordinary people into superathletes, and a seemingly crazy barefoot fanatic who deftly picks his way through the trickiest of terrain while relying on nothing but the natural design of his feet. They are all led by a mysterious man whom the Mexicans call the "White Horse," an American who left everything behind to live among a tribe of running machines hiding in seclusion deep within canyons visited by few outsiders other than the occasional drug traffickers. The group hopes to link up with these tribesmen for a 50 mile race that no one would watch.



I haven't finished the book yet, but it's already pointed something out to me: If you really want to be great at running, you need to love it. You need to live it. You need to become a runner. Running is not what you do. It's who you are.



Faced with the fact that all the modern sports science has failed, I've decided to throw it all away. I'm starting over with a clean slate. As of this moment I'm overhauling my diet, going back to the more or less vegetarian cuisine that I used to love in my high school days. I'm getting rid of processed carbs, or processed anything for that matter, and focusing more on whole grains, fruits, and vegetables. When I finally ease back into running, I'm ditching my expensive Brooks Glycerins and the high arch supports in favor of...my feet. I'm going barefoot as much as possible, weather and conditions permitting. I might even try to dig up a cheap pair of generic running shoes with as little cushoining as possible. I'm going to be the best teammate I can be. I'm going to stop worrying so much about my own performance and just enjoy the ride. I'm going against the flow, rebelling against everything my coaches and trainers have taught me over the past few years, and seeing what happens. I'm not going to train. I'm going to run. I'm going to be who I want to be, not who scientists and coaches and all the "experts" tell me to be. I'm might end up going to nationals next year, or I might end up exactly where I am now. I'm just going to do it, and I'll find out how things work as I go along.

Let the revolution begin.

I sat on the edge of the table in a cramped room within the campus athletic training facilities, listening to Coach Russ, Jenny, and the team physician discuss my inability to heal. Three months after the onset of pain and my right peroneal tendon was still causing the same problems it did before the season even began. Ten days without running had left me mentally depressed and it didn't seem that anything would change soon. My fears came true as the Doc looked at me and essentially said what I already knew: "You have an injury, but I don't know exactly what it is or how to fix it. Let it rest."

This was the scene earlier today as I spent the latter half of the afternoon being worried over by my ever-more-distraught athletic support staff. Months of painful, bruising massages, electrocution, icing, heating, and even lasers have reseulted in no progress whatsoever. The athletic trainers, having finally exhausted all available options, are giving up. From here on I'll be spending my days in the SwimEx pool, trying to retain some sort of fitness while my body slowly repairs itself and returns to full health. Time is the only medicine I have left.

And so I wait. Yet again, as another season slips away into the obscurity of injury and unrealized expectations, I shall pass under the radar. This situation has become so routine by now I can hardly believe my own faith in the monster that still resides within me. And I do believe in it still. It is there, waiting, steaming and sizzling and building its rage. It will never go away, no matter how many injuries and illnesses and mediocre performances may curse my career. The body grows weak, tires, and breaks, but the monster never dies.

I will be back, and the past three seasons will be avenged.

Working So Hard Yet Going Nowhere

March brings warmer days, sunny skies, and the promise of spring. High school athletes are just starting their track seasons, while us college folks are wrapping up the indoor half and starting outdoor, the "real" track season. A couple new individuals have joined us and the team is out running in shorts on a daily basis now thanks to temperatures in the 40's. Perfect running weather.

I only wish I could take advantage of it.

I've been reduced to no running whatsoever, a final attempt by Russ and the athletic trainers to eliminate my peroneal issues. While my teammates are out enjoying the warm weather I'm stuck indoors, huffing away on the elliptical. My daily trial of sweat and stagnant motion has become a saga of sorts, the story of a season going downhill from its very first week. After dropping steadily since the beginning of December, my weekly mileage has finally levelled off at zero. I've watched as nearly all of my fellow runners have sustained injuries of their own, nursed them, healed, and returned to the roads and the track only to be replaced by others. Some of them have come and gone multiple times, yet always I remain, sentinel of the fitness center. I've run the full circle of abuses in the training room, suffering electrocution, bruising, freezing, and burning at the hands of students and their superiors alike, each trying to find a way of forcing my leg into healing. Numerous painful sessions of the so-called Graston "Massage" have left my lower leg discolored from internal bleeding for the past several weeks, all in the name of re-injuring tissue to jumpstart the healing process, and all to no avail. Ultrasound sessions that had no effect in January are now being tried once again, along with the application of lasers. Yes, lasers. I didn't even know there was such a thing as laser therapy. Apparently Jenny, Buck, and Russ have exhausted all available options and are now trying whatever random techniques they can think of that may or may not have anything at all to do with a chronically sore peroneal tendon. The doctor is coming in later this week to look at me, and there's a 90% chance he'll suggest a heel wedge-which won't work of course, because we've already tried three different heel wedges. And because they never work. The only treatment thus far that has had any real noticeable effect is the simple ice bath, which I rarely get a chance to use because they drain it before I'm finished working out and getting all my other treatments. I've more or less come to terms with the fact that I'll never be healthy again, and that as long as I continue running I will always carry at least one chronic injury with me. Such is my fate.

I must be getting to bed now. Off to the fitness room at 8 am to give the elliptical machine its workout. I'm getting very good at that.