Holy Sh*t I'm Nervous

My stomach is full of snakes, reeling and lunging dramatically from my throat down to my bowels.  I haven't raced since May of 2014.  I've become a different person since.  I no longer run and I no longer try to unless I'm careening down a steep hill chasing after my kids.  In little more than a year I've tried desperately to reignite my passion and see myself at the starting line once more.  Every ounce of my energy focused around that moment when I could run again for so long.  When I realized it wasn't going to happen, I couldn't run without extreme pain, I begrudgingly decided to take a break.  I no longer wanted to heal for running.  I wanted to heal for me.

The only time I run anymore is when I take my boys mountain biking.  I run beside them while they pound the roots.

This April my husband bought me a mountain bike for my birthday.  I also invested in a used road bike.  Four months now I've devoted my energy to those two sets of wheels.  It is the antithesis of running.  In fact, most runners can't stand cyclists, and especially mountain bikers.  I've been glared at by more trail runners in the last few months than my seven-year-old has rolled his eyes at me in his entire life.  "I'm one of you!" I always want to scream at them.  I'm no dirty biker.  I get over politely.  I smile, I wave.  "Enjoy your run!" I always share enthusiastically.  But it doesn't help, I've crossed sides and today I am going to prove how far I've come.

My husband's first race.

I entered a local mountain bike series. A couple weeks ago, I watched as my husband rode a race as my guinea pig.  Standing on the side of the mountain cheering, I could only think, "These people are BAD ASS!"  I've never seen so many crashes, bloody knees, pounding muscles, and smiles of pure grit.  It scares the hell out of me, but I want to try it.  The races are held in the evenings during 90 degree heat.  There aren't any water stations and only a medical crew at the finish line.  There are no t-shirts, goody bags, or other prized materials.  I will earn a beer at the finish line and nothing more.   


Approaching the starting line is a celebration.  I've learned in the past year that I'm strong and adaptable.  I love competition.  It's that competition that has my stomach flexing and turning.  I'm excited, nervous, curious, and want to throw up.  I don't just want to survive the race, I want to thrive in it.  This isn't the outcome I pictured for myself a year ago, but I am proud of becoming a Bad Ass.


~Roadburner

A Soggy Ride

Soggy weather or not, I found heaven.  This morning I shed the glances from other moms at the carpool drop off at my boys' school.  I wore 3 layers on top and bike shorts on the bottom.  I'm sure they were thinking, "That lady is nuts!"  But a little rain never stopped my running.  Who cares if traveling at 18 mph forces the water droplets to pelt my face and leave a constant stream of water running down my glasses?  The roads were empty and the animals were out en force.

I've never seen the Platte River this high.  It was spilling over the edges by a good 6 feet.  The water lapped the edges of the bicycle underpass.  But the sound of rushing water provided peace and serenity. 

The best time to enjoy a wildlife refuge is in cooler temperatures, when you can actually see animals.  The rain drizzled constantly, cooling my body efficiently, and finally proving to my husband that my $100 cycling rain jacket I bought two years ago was a great find!  I rode 17 miles around Chatfield State Park, keeping to the paths and roads that hugged the reservoir.  All of the clouds hung low and because I was one of a very select few weirdos who braved the weather, it was utterly silent.   

Those are vultures.

At one point, I rode along a dirt path atop the dam, admiring the 100 foot drop to either side of me.  Swallows swooped daringly in front of my bike by the dozens, greedily grabbing at the invisible insects.  They didn't seem to notice or care about my presence and instead protected me from a constant battering of bug juices on my handlebars.   

Several deer hunkered down in the woods, enjoying the peace, standing erect and proud like statues.

For once I wasn't rushed.  I didn't feel like I had anywhere to be or a speed to conquer.  Because of the quiet, my competitive spirit slept, finally leaving me to enjoy the ride.  I stopped often, watching the herons, vultures, deer, bunnies, and song birds.  My mind drifted and I had some time to process the news from last week.  My life is complete.  I can do everything except run, and while there may always be a hole begging to be filled, I am not in any hurry to undergo another surgery.   This decision needs more time.  I'm not giving up on running, just taking a planned break; and this time it will be my choice.

FYI clipless shoes aren't ideal for hiking.

Meet BlueBelle.  Today, I christened my road bike as a cyclocross bike.  She took it like a champ!

For one full year I have done physical therapy every single week. I've been in constant rehabilitation mode and not had the opportunity to enjoy activities.  Throughout the healing process I kept telling myself, "When I get back out there, I won't take it for granted."  By constantly wanting to run, I'm taking what I can do for granted.  I've worked hard to get to this point.  Last year I couldn't ride a bike or sit in a car for any period of time as the pain was unbearable.  I have my life back and I want to enjoy this summer filled with cycling, mountain biking, hiking, camping, Pilates, and swimming.  Surgeries come with risk and rehabilitation, no matter what a surgeon says.  They don't have to live with the consequences of their words.  I do.  For now, I am going to make my own adventures and ride on, rain or shine.


~Roadburner 

My Surgery Officially Didn't Work

One year ago I ran the Colfax Marathon for the second time.  Fourteen miles into the race I felt a strong pull on the inside of my leg.  It started in my groin and shot to my knee.  Each additional mile it pierced through my muscles growing worse, until finally around mile 21 everything went numb.  Crossing the finish line, the pain revived and walking became increasingly difficult.  I thought it was simply due to the race and things would recover after some much deserved rest.

I didn't run for three weeks.  When I returned to running, the pain returned.  Eight weeks went by and I couldn't run for more than a quarter mile without pain shooting down my groin.  So I sought the help of a physical therapist who did everything in his power to strengthen the muscles around my hip and groin.  Nothing worked.  Physical therapy seemed to make things so much worse, increasing the pain and inflammation to the point that I took on a strong limp just walking around the grocery store.  By August I'd seen two separate physical therapists and underwent a series of tests.  Everything led me to August 28, 2014 where I surrendered all doubt and let a surgeon reshape my entire hip socket and give me a new labrum to cushion the bones.  For a full month I was bed ridden.  I read my boys stories and helped them with their homework from my bed, while a machine moved my leg and a brace supported the structure.  Neighbors and friends brought us food and cared for our kids.  I was humbled and grateful.

Six months later I was supposed to be fully healed and able to attempt running again through a couch to 5K program, but the exact same groin pain returned every time I attempted running.  In every way I was stronger than ever.  All of this weight lifting and strength work defined new muscle in my legs, swimming kept my lungs fit.  But my groin still shot arrows of pain.  I went to a new physical therapist hoping a new set of eyes and hands were what I needed.  It helped a lot for two months and brought a lot of the inflammation in my hip down, but I still can't run.

It's time to face the facts.  The surgery didn't work.

If it worked, I wouldn't have the EXACT same pain every single time I returned to my sport.  So I started researching again and found other runners like me who'd gone through very similar events who had a sports hernia.  Essentially it is a tear in your abductor muscle that won't heal and every time you return to the sport that originally injured you, it will come back.  It will come back 90 years after the injury.  It never goes away.  Ever.  The only option is a quick 5 minute surgery where they cut the abductor away from your body.  Within 10 days you are back to a normal life.

I saw a sports hernia specialist yesterday.  "Your hip surgery was a waste.  You never needed it.  I'll put money on that.  What you have is a groin injury.  Not a hip injury.  I see this all the time in runners and it is really sad because you give up so much for nothing."  The doctor looked me straight in the eyes as he said this.  It's been a long year.  I've been patient and open-minded.  I've tried new things and put myself in new situations hoping it would make me stronger and better.  I've put faith in people that perhaps didn't deserve it.  And here I sat looking at a man with pitiful eyes apologizing for another man's mistakes.

I'm angry and so tired of this nonsense.  One full year of physical therapy, 8 months of rehabilitation and pain, and a false hope this would ever work.  But it wouldn't work.  My hip wasn't the problem.  So now here I sit with a new set of questions.  The doctor asked me if running is worth it.  "Have you considered never running again?  If you just don't run you won't need this.  If you want to run, I can fix you, but I fully understand after everything you've been through why you may want to wait."

Yes, I've considered never running again.  I've considered it every day for a year.  But I miss running.  I miss it so much it is stupid.  Running is after all, just a sport.  There are lots of replacements out there to get your buzz, why does it have to be the one thing that seems to reject me?  I love biking and I have 2 beautiful bikes.  One is a road bike that took me 21 peaceful miles yesterday along a beautifully paved river trail.  The other is a mountain bike that handles bumps and curves like a jaguar eager to pounce.  And while I love biking, it isn't the same as running.  Running is pure and transparent.  It isn't about technology and gears, it isn't about how big your tires are or how much your components weigh.  It's about you and a simple pair of shoes.  What is more pure than that?  When I run it is only my two feet carrying me places and nothing more.  It is independent and uncomplicated.  This time away for the last year has brought me to fully accept and appreciate that purity more than anything else.  I've worked long and hard at trying to find a replacement, but nothing exists.  Nothing is as simple as it is to run.

I ran 1.37 miles today.  I wanted my groin to hurt; perhaps as some sick sadistic punishment forcing the pain out of me, or maybe just to make sure I still enjoy it.  I ran fast and hard, making a point of passing another runner 100 yards ahead.  Screw taking it slowly and easing into things.  I don't know if I want to take my chances with another surgery.  The doctor told me I have a 90% chance of a full recovery.  If the surgery works, and he thinks it will, I will be able to run again with no limitations.  Have I come this far to quit trying?  Or am I so desperate for an answer that I've become childishly gullible and will accept any cure?  Either way, I miss my sport.


~Roadburner

Starting Over

I've been on a downward spiral lately, mentally and physically.  Every time I return from a physical therapy appointment or a visit with my doctor, I receive negative news.  While the first 3 months post operation were filled with fuzzy bunnies and progressive healing, the last 3 have been plagued with doubt and regression.  One week I'm told, "Hang in there.  In another month you should be able to try running again."  The next week we discover my range of motion is even worse and my pain now tripled.  The next thing I would hear sounded like this, "We don't know what is causing your inflammation to continue.  We can try another round of anti-inflammatories if you want.  You know, running just may not be an option for you anymore.  Try not to do anything that upsets the joint, including walking or biking.  It's time to scale way back." 

Honestly, I'm mostly at peace with the idea of not running so much again.  (Don't get me wrong, the thing I crave most right now is a 16 mile effort, but I can't focus on that, it doesn't help.)  However, being told the only way to heal is through taking endless amounts of stomach lacerating pills and not using my legs, made me feel like I was drowning.  My limbs were not amputated!  I still have full functionality of my parts.  They just hurt when I use them.  Not walking is not an option.

I want my life back. 

Last Thursday I was given two options.  The first was to get a cortisone injection in my right hip joint, hoping to reduce the inflammation.  My latest round of oral anti-inflammatory meds helped, but not enough.  When I walk more than a half mile, my hip flexors become miserable.  So the second option was to ride this out for however long it may take, hoping my hip stops hurting in the next year or two.  I came home completely defeated.  Hip arthoscopy was supposed to be a 4-6 month recovery.  "You'll be running again by Christmas.  It is not too much to think you can't run another marathon next May..." Now this could be a 2 year recovery, just to be able to walk normally again?  

Not liking my choices, I decided to go for a second opinion.  Today, I met with my original physical therapist who diagnosed me 9 months ago, without MRI or Xray.  I trust him tremendously.  After working with my range of motion and strength for an hour, he found a few stretches that he thinks will relieve my hip pain.  I told him swimming makes all the difference in the world and he said that's because it's an extension exercise.  So he prescribed a series of stretches to perform every other waking hour for the next 6 days.  He believes we can reduce my inflammation and return my range of motion back to normal in the next few weeks, without using any anti-inflammatory drugs!

I was on the right track with swimming and he warned against stopping my 1-2 miles each day in the pool.  My body literally craves the water and that one element may make the difference between a full recovery and a limited one.  If we can get the pain and inflammation down in the next few weeks, we will start rebuilding my strength slowly and progress to biking again.  He told me not to stop walking.  That too is an extension exercise and it will provide really nice information on whether these stretches help or not.  In the next 2-3 weeks, I should be able to walk one mile without pain.  He believed it very possible; I needed that boost in faith. 


~Roadburner

Claustrophobia is Drowning

Over the years I've become claustrophobic, and not in the cute, "Oh, she doesn't want to go into that cave," sort of way.  No, I have nightmares about a crazy guy entering my house and my only way of escape is following my boys through this terrifyingly tight attic space complete with twists and turns.  I push my oldest son through the final crevice and I cannot for the life of me figure out how to contort my body enough to fit.  Every time, I wake a hot sweaty mess thinking, "Damn, if my life ever depends on contortionist flexibility and tight corridors, I'm screwed!"

Claustrophobia transcends itself in the water.  There is no tighter space with a higher risk of suffocation than drowning!  No, I didn't know this right away.  I thought my funny side breath was caused by tight muscles, inexperience, and general dork-fishery.  For some reason I drop my driving arm every time I take a quick bite of air, there is nothing I can do to convince that propeller to stay put.  I decided a few weeks ago it was time to learn how to breathe on both sides.  Perhaps that would fix my form and provide a more fluid breathing pattern.  I did some research on maintaining proper form while breathing in the crawl stroke and the experiment I found was enlightening.

Try this: go to your local pool to where the water is about shoulder length deep.  Take a deep breath and sink into the water, expelling your air slowly out of your mouth so that by the time your butt hits the bottom you have absolutely no air left in your lungs.  Not one little ounce of air can remain but your mouth needs to stay wide open.  Then, completely out of oxygen, sit there for a count of 2.  Sounds simple right?  Nope, it is death defying, terrifying, pure panic inducing, craziness!  Holy crap it scared the junk out of me!  The goal is to perform the same exercise multiple times at the beginning of every trip to the pool until you can work your way to the deep end.  A 9-12 foot depth is ideal.

While I haven't worked my way past 6 feet deep, I've improved tremendously.  And I've realized the fear of holding my mouth open under water when I am almost out of breath is terrifying.  The problem is, tensing up in a panic makes me sink.  The more natural and relaxed my body remains, the better it floats, the better it glides.  It also takes half the effort.  Obviously when I run out of breath and my mouth remains open, gulping for air, while still under the surface, that is a major mistake in my stroke.  Something went hopelessly wrong.  It doesn't happen often, but the fear of the possibility is enough to mess with my head position in the water.  Instead of turning my head slightly to reach the surface, I jerked my head, twisted my shoulders, and dropped my legs.  That's ineffective, and slightly embarrassing when observed second-hand.

I know it is a stupid exercise, but I took it to heart because I wanted to find out exactly what was holding me back.  Clearly it was fear.  Since I've identified my fears, addressed them, and focused on relaxing, I've improved my form tremendously, and learned to flip turn!  I completed a continuous 2.4K today swimming the crawl stroke with flip turns at every end.  What other fears are holding me back and what other weird experiments can I perform to seek them out?


~Roadburner

Forget the Experts - I'm Goin' Solo

One month ago, my surgeon told me to run.  However, my defiant body doesn't give a crap what a doctor says.  I tried it three times, each a week apart, and only for one mile of running/walking.  My hips were so sore the day afterwards, I decided it wasn't worth trying again for at least a month.  This last month challenged my mind more than my body.  What's gotten sincerely old is everyone telling me, "Be patient, you're healing.  It will happen."  Never seeing dividends after the investment especially at the promised points along the calendar infuriated me.  Each week, my surgeon and physical therapist became more and more surprised as to how my range of motion keeps decreasing and the entire area remains inflamed. 

No, I am not doing too much.  I followed the instructions of the experts very closely.  I've taken this healing very personally and I've listened to my body more in the last 4 months than I have in my entire life.  I find it funny that nobody comments on someone's training regimen until they get hurt.  And once that person is injured, it's time to throw it their face, reminding them often they did this to themselves.  Suddenly, everyone and their mother is an expert on your healing and knows what's best, because you've clearly lost the ability to think for yourself.  (You're injured, remember?) 

I've learned that exercise is a large part of my identity and onlookers reminding me to be patient, or hang in there, is as condescending as telling a child not to play.  Exercise is how I relax and stay stable.  Not being able to sweat for a extended length of time is frustrating and excruciating.  I love running, but I've learned to adapt and take on new activities.  To me, that is the absolute definition of perseverance... patience.

Two weeks ago, I decided to say, "Forget the experts.  It's my body."  Clearly what they tell me, doesn't work.  For four months I've focused my attention to spinning on a stationary bike.  Some days it feels really good.  Others, I can't walk my kids to school after the workout.  I lay awake at night in pain.  It's a dull ache that slowly builds throughout the night like that annoying princess and her damn pea.  Now I'm that complaining brat, who survives off a few moments rest each night.  Damn.

Last June, I decided to learn to swim freestyle.  The first time in the pool I looked like a drowning chicken, so I enrolled in a private swim lesson to teach me the basics and hopefully a starting point. 

I survived the humiliation and came out with hoards of advice.  Seven months later, I still drop my arm a bit when I breathe from the opposite side.  I am slower than most taking 20 minutes to cover a half mile, but I've been persistent and I've improved.  I'm comfortable in the water and can breathe from either side.  My pool workouts are becoming less cardio efforts, and more of a sustained fat burn. 
 

After my private lesson everyone looked around to see if there was someone ready to drive me home.  I couldn't understand why until I realized they saw the entire lesson on the waiting room television.

Swimming doesn't hurt.  So for two weeks I've dedicated myself to swimming 4 days each week for only 30 minutes.  I wanted to get out of the pool feeling refreshed, not exhausted, and leave on a good note.  The days where I stay in the water for 60+ minutes, I usually fumble out of the side of the pool almost smacking my chin against the concrete lip.  Part of listening to my body is not exhausting it, but building strength.  It's a balance I've needed for a while.

Instead of doing my strength exercises 3-4 times a week, I complete the routine only twice.  I continue to roll out my IT Bands, hip flexors, and glutes nightly.  For the first time in 4 months, I haven't hurt at all for 48 hours!  I feel good.  I walked my son home from school today and that familiar pull and instability in my groin wasn't there.  Hopefully I'm swimming in the right direction.


~Roadburner

     

Graditude from the Road

Three separate neighbors shoveled my sidewalk and driveway this weekend.  I used to shovel it all winter long, not because my husband wouldn't do it, but because I love the snow!  It is great exercise and so peaceful.  The quiet created by a fresh, deep powder is unparalleled.  I can't do it right now and relying on other people is humbling. 

After thanking my neighbors for their help, one said they wanted to show their appreciation for me and my boys.  The last few months have been difficult but I always smile and keep my spirits high, offering to bring meals, fresh bread, and other baked treats to show my gratitude for their friendship and kindness.  I transport the neighbor kids to and from school on frigid mornings, or walk with them on nice days so they have the safety and security of an accompanying adult.  "We can't risk you falling on this ice.  We need you too much!"

After finding out I needed surgery on my left hip, my mom ordered me a spin bike for my basement!  It is an early Christmas present and I couldn't be more excited.  Instead of driving to the gym every day and entering into needless competition with the elderly positioned beside my machine, I will now stride down a flight of stairs.  Although, I will miss the ease of a quiet rivalry.

In 3 months, I've met 8 people who had the exact same surgery.  Two were at the gym while I worked out.  One woman, only 3 days post operation planted herself right next to me on a bike.  I didn't want to pry, but crutches in hand, it was obvious she just underwent surgery.  She had that grimace between her eyes that everyone accused me of for 2 weeks post op.  "I'm so sorry, I don't want to be rude but, torn labrum?"

She smiled.  "Yeah, exactly.  How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess.  Hey, I'm 8 weeks post surgery and look at me.  I'm sweating up a storm on this thing, huffing away, with resistance I might add.  It gets easier.  And it isn't as bad as everyone warns.  You'll be fine."  I've seen her 3 times since and each time she looks so much stronger.

People rooted for me when I got knocked down.  Strangers ask what happened, they cheered me on, and prayed that I wouldn't see this road again soon.  Neighbors, friends, and family cooked, cleaned, and kept me company.  I was never one to willingly accept help.  I was too proud and I've quickly learned that is a character flaw.  A fault that needed change.  I've developed a new sincerity and the ability to graciously accept a kind gesture such as shoveling my driveway, not as an act of pity, but as love.  On the way to physical therapy each week I see patients entering the hospital with their own struggles and I quietly smile, sending positive thoughts for a swift recovery. 

It's not fair that I need to operate on the left hip only months after the right one was repaired.  But what I've gained from this experience has made me stronger and more grateful.  A life chalk full of irony and challenges is far more interesting. 


~Roadburner