The Surgery

One week before the surgery my anxiety grew to unprecedented levels.  Everyday I became more anxious.  I can't explain how hard it is to imagine laying down on a table knowing when you wake up, you will feel incredible pain, not be able to take care of your kids, and not be able to walk for over a month.  I knew the recovery was 6 months long, there wasn't a short end in sight.  No, I wasn't afraid of dying on the table or anything that dramatic but I worried how much all the stress affected my kids.  On the way to school one morning my three year old asked me, "Do Mommy's die?"  I was flabbergasted.

"NO!  I am going to be fine and Mommy will always be here."

"But you said they would put you to sleep for the surgery.  Will you wake up again?  How will you know when you are awake again?"

He is three and obviously didn't understand the scope of things.  He didn't understand anesthesia, honestly I don't really get the science behind it either, but his worries were real.  No matter how many times I told him I would be okay and that I wasn't worried, this was just a small bump in a very long road, he saw through me.  I was terrified.

For some reason my surgery was bumped from 12:30 in the afternoon to 2:45pm.  That meant no food and only 8 oz of water starting at midnight the day before.  Happily, it afforded me the opportunity to bring my oldest son, Ethan, to school, and spend the morning with Owen.  We went to the library and a park.  I put him down for his nap at noon and because he forgot my surgery was only hours away, I didn't remind him, and I didn't say goodbye.

As I walked out of his room, my eyes welled up.  "Breathe deeply."  I walked downstairs, told my husband it was time to go, said goodbye to my father-in-law who reassured me I would do great, and strapped on my seat belt.  My poor husband.  I am brave for everyone else in the world.  My boys never see me cry.  I stay strong at the hardest times for them so that they always have a rock, but the second my boys are out of view, I loose it every time.  I looked out the window and cried.  Randall didn't say anything which I was unbelievably grateful for.  There are times to talk, to reassure, to listen, and times to quietly understand.  At that moment I needed to let it out for a few minutes so that I could put myself back together by the time we arrived at the surgical center.

I calmly checked into the center as everyone watched me limp into the lobby.  In one hand I held my $1,900 brace, the other clutched a set of crutches.  My husband had my hospital bag equipped with a toothbrush, clean clothes, and my ID.  Within 5 minutes a nurse asked me to follow her back.  My husband would be allowed to follow in 20 minutes or so after they prepped me.

Nurses are seriously angles sent from Heaven.  They are the most wonderful people I have ever met and the things they witness and endure are beyond courageous.  They aren't there for a fancy paycheck or title.  Everyone of those people were there because they wanted to be.  They knew I was freaking out on the inside.  Their x-ray vision saw straight through my brave facade and knew how to help.  When I get nervous, I become painfully sarcastic.  They rolled with the punches and dealt them back beautifully.  Before inserting my IV, Nurse Linda asked if I needed to pee one last time.  I said, "Yeah that's probably smart."  As I waddled away, butt hanging out of my open gown, she laughed, "I knew we would scare the pee out of you sooner or later!"  The bathroom door slammed closed and I knew I was in good hands.

For some reason I pictured a female anesthesiologist.  Instead I got a wonderful older male who reassured me he anesthetized the dinosaurs.  He asked me what I needed from him and I simply said, "Don't let me wake up.  Let me fall asleep before I enter the operating room and then wake up when it is all done and I will love you forever."  He smiled and assured me he could do one better.

When you have work done on a major joint, it hurts.  There is no way of sugar coating the amount of pain you feel when you wake up and the best way to combat that pain is to block the nerves off before they cut you open.  I never had an epidural when my two boys were born.  They were both completely natural so I was a little nervous about a pain block.  But this time I had nothing to prove.  Let's make this easy on myself, the nurses promised I wouldn't regret it.  The anesthesiologist found a cluster of nerves using an ultrasound, then poked around my back 3-4 times using a huge needle (5 inches long) until my quadriceps jumped around like a pendulum on a clock.  Once the muscle danced, the doctor knew we found the right nerves, he released the medication and within 5 minutes I couldn't feel my right leg.  They sedated me slightly for this so I wouldn't move, but when he finished pulling out the needle I joked with the doctor, "That was the most pathetic sedation I've ever felt!"  He snickered.

Within a few minutes they put more meds into my IV, "This is the good stuff," the doctor smiled.  And we made our start towards the operating room.  Randall was standing in the main hallway.  He looked scared.  I smiled at him, full of blissful drugs, and said, "It's okay.  I love you.  I'm fine.  I'll see you soon."  Black.

I don't remember the sterile operating room.  I don't remember the 15+ people.  I don't remember my puncture holes, the cameras, the continuous x-ray machines, waking up apparently very emotional, nothing.  At one point a nurse appeared very faint.  There was pure white light and her cute little blue hat holding back her hair.  "Jen, take your boys to the beach.  Have you been to the beach?"

"Yes."

"Take your boys there.  Relax.  Build a sandcastle.  Splash.  Have fun."

When I awoke at 6:45pm I felt a lot of pain in my hip and back.  I looked down.  I was in my brace and it felt tight.  "How long have I been here for?  Have I been awake for a while?  I hurt."

Nurses flooded the room and immediately started dosing me with amazing pain meds which washed away my discomforts like the sand under my toes.

"You lied to me."  I teased.

"What?  We did?"

"Yeah, you said I wouldn't dream.  I had the most amazing dream.  My boys and I were at the beach and we built the biggest sand castle you've ever seen.  We body surfed in the waves and my oldest son touched a huge fish.  It was beautiful."

"Oh, sweetheart.  That's wonderful.  You awoke from the anesthesia very upset.  You were scared and crying.  We told you to take your boys to the beach and you immediately calmed down and drifted back to sleep.  You love your boys very much.  They are your calming place."

"Where is my husband?"

"He isn't allowed back here until you are fully awake.  We will take you to your overnight room and he will be there waiting."

While I was fully terrified of the surgery, it wasn't so bad.  I fell asleep telling my husband I loved him.  I woke up with my boys at the beach.  Soon after my husband held my hand as I asked him the same questions over and over again.  He kept smiling at me saying, "You did great, Jen."

I had two full time nurses that night in the hospital.  They were with me every hour delivering pain meds and helping me to use the toilet.  I asked my physical therapist weeks before the procedure how someone pees after this surgery and she said she had no idea.  Well, now I know, like a 90 year old woman with a walker and no range of motion in her hips or legs.  It sucks.

The morning after surgery my right knee and leg were literally three times bigger than normal.

I am partially weight bearing relying strongly on crutches for everything.  I will wear TED compression socks 24/7 for two weeks.  I have calf squeezers for blood clots 20/7 for two weeks and a passive motion machine that moves my knee in and out at a 45 degree angle for 2 weeks and an 80 degree angle for the third week.  I use that machine 10 hours a day.  Half of my labrum was "crab meat" so they cut that all away.  The surgeon said the other half was torn but usable so they stitched up the tear, stretched it out and rolled it up on the other end to replace the irreparable damage.  They anchored that all down and ground down my hip bones in multiple places.  I had a large bone spur on my femur (the ball part of the hip) that caught everything nearby and left lots of tears and scaring.  That little devil is forever gone and my hip has zero impingement.

Owen cuddled with me right away.  He really missed me and wasn't afraid of the machines.  My oldest struggled at first as he came home from school to me strapped down to all this stuff and it scared him.  Once he saw it was still Mommy under all that he gave me a hug of relief.  

When the surgeon came out of surgery to talk to my husband, he said I had the hip of an 80 year old grandma.  Now I have a perfect hip.  He deemed it a huge success.  I now do physical therapy exercises twice a day every day, and will visit the PT office once a week, for the next six months.  I ran 2 full marathons and 9 half marathons on an "80 year old hip."  Give me time to heal properly and I will prove what I can do with a healthy one.

6 Days Post-Op.  This is my second time outside in a week.  I get a few minutes each day where I get out of bed and outside is the first place I ask to go.  

This morning I asked my husband to sit on the porch with me for an hour while the kids were at school.  He looked at me really kindly and said, "Jen, I really need some exercise."  Don't I know it!


~Roadburner

Aging Gracefully From the Back of the Pack

My husband and I met really young.  We are high school sweethearts and he has been my best friend for over 15 years.  During that time we always promised each other that we would age gracefully.  What the heck that even meant, I have no idea.  I think we were aiming at the beautiful ideal where you don't fight the aging process, you accept it as it comes and whamo, you are old people smiling at each other from your front porch rocking chairs. 

We were young and so naive.  I think part of aging is learning to fight it.  The older I get, the more I find myself trying to prove that I am better than my age.  I must remain invincible, untouched by wicked wrinkly fingers and gray hair.  I found my first gray hair a few years ago, plucked the imposter immediately, and soon after found a few more.  I have yet to break down and color the bastards, but one day I will.  Until then I age gracefully, while my hair thins with a sturdy pull at each white strand.

On my 30th birthday my friends told me these would be my golden years.  My thirties were supposed to stand for knowing who I was, not having small babies in the house, having a strong career path, and money finally in the pocket.  Finally, I was old enough to enjoy the spoils of life, but not too old to feel burdened by pain and popping joints.  That's why I feel betrayed by my defective hip. 

For months now, I've embarked on a journey deep within my head.  I'm soul searching in a last attempt of a quarter life crisis.  If my body shows signs of aging, wearing away at the joints at just 30, what should I do with my remaining time?  At first I thought I should hide in a corner and protect the precious moments I have left with my working limbs, but that's a waste.  Why would I fix my broken pieces if I plan on letting them collect cobwebs? 

My husband and I discussed moving somewhere new.  Maybe a small town would do it for us.  No more over-crowded suburbs.  Our boys could grow up under the stars, climbing trees, riding bikes in the forest, and learning to kayak down mountain rivers.  That sounds like a peaceful existence.  Every morning, I could wake up to the rushing stream, hop in my canoe and enjoy the silence.  Maybe I could run a couple days a week, but I wouldn't need it anymore.  I could avoid further injuries by falling in love with my hollowed out tree trunk and a paddle.  Better yet, I could finally become a cross country skier, and plow new paths on rolling hills. 

Sadly, we need money and that lifestyle is not conducive to a paycheck.  My husband has a very specialized skill set and I like food on the table and a roof over our heads. 

Honestly, I don't know where this leaves me.  I'm not invincible.  It sucks, but someday I am going to get old.  My right hip is "50% healthy," which isn't a great score when I plan to live another 60+ years.  My left hip has the same condition as the right, but hasn't reared its ugly head yet.  I've watched my mom struggle with arthritis for a good portion of her adult life and I always thought, "Man that is horrible.  Good thing I won't have to deal with that."  I assumed I got other genes or something.  She was unlucky, while I knew I would remain untouched.

Instead of adjusting my life's trajectory, I am making small changes which I think are making me a better person.  I completely jumped outside of my comfort zone and learned to swim.  At first I was terrified of being judged by the lifeguards and natural swimmers, but throw on a swim cap and goggles and no one knows who I am.  The safety of anonymity is exciting.  I enjoy the water and monotony of laps.  It is the same action over and over, lending itself to a beautiful repetition that creates a meditative state. 

Now I live at the back of the pack.  Walking with a group, I am always last as I can't keep up, but I have more time to observe my surroundings and for the first time in my life, I enjoy simply walking from one point to another.  It is nice to not train for a race, the pressure of certain paces and distances are obliterated.  My old calendar was organized from month-to-month from one race to the next.  Now, I am looking forward to trick-or-treating with my boys this Halloween.  Small goals don't have metals and praise, but I am learning to appreciate their merits. 

Unexpectedly, I've improved through this process.  I know I have a lot of great healthy years ahead of me and it is now that I must take the time to decide how to spend those precious moments.  I took my body for granted, expecting it to age without much wear and tear.  I thought I could pound out thousands of miles without consequence, but luckily I now see it is about balance and enjoying the effort.  With a healthy and strong body I can challenge myself in ways I've never dreamed.  I thought I was a runner.  That was it, I ran.  But I am not just a runner.  I am a mother, a wife, a friend, a marathoner, a swimmer, a biker, a hiker, an adventure seeker. 


~Roadburner

I am scared. But I am stubborn and lucky to be so loved.

My entire life has been turned on its head.  Typically I run every morning for at least an hour before my children awaken, but I haven't run in months.  The range of motion in my hip degrades weekly and while I have put off this surgery to the very last moment, the time has come.  It isn't like I haven't tried to talk myself out of it.  I got 3 surgical opinions.  I trained with two physical therapists.  I neglected all exercise except walking for 3 weeks, hoping my hip would miraculously regenerate a new labrum and cartilage.  Instead, the injury has gotten much worse.  At first it only hurt when I ran, now it hurts if I sit for more than 10 minutes, or stand still for more than 5.  Walking hurts, biking hurts.   This is necessary and I know that.  I can't live with this pain and I am one lucky girl that I have the opportunity to fix it.  My surgeon said I have a 50% hip.  He promises he can give me a 95% hip.

I met with my surgeon one last time for the preoperative discussions.  I quickly discerned the meaning of preoperative, "Fill out a crap load of paper work, sign your financial and physical life away, and sugar coat the operation one last time so I don't run at the alter." 

"Can you give me something for the morning of?  Just to take the edge off?"

"No.  We need you fully aware and able to sign your leg beforehand.  Once you do that, we will give you a nice dose of Valium."

"Wait, what?  Sign my what?"

"Yeah we will mark the incision sites and you need to sign your hip next to my marks to show it is the proper location."
 
Next they fitted me for my $1,900 brace (WHAT?), handed me 7 pain and anti-inflammatory prescriptions, and a pair of crutches.  We went over the expectations for the various cold water circulating machines, passive movement machines, and calf squeezing equipment that will be strapped to me 24-7 for two weeks.  The reality struck.  "When will I be normal again?  You know, walking without a limp and pain free?"

"I can guarantee you will be walking without a limp around 7 weeks from now.  You will be pain free in 3-4 months.  Jen, this is a long recovery, be patient."

As the doctor readied himself to leave, I laughed, "You know I am letting you cut me open, shave down my bones, put screws, pins, and someone else's cartilage in me, all so that I can eventually run again.  Is that just stupid?  Should I have my head checked?"

The doctor smiled, "Yeah, we can check that too if you'd like."


My husband and I went to dinner afterwards.  We needed time to clear our heads.  As we sat at the table in near silence I told Randall my biggest fear is letting go of control.  When they put you under, you put all of your trust into a total stranger.  My doctor is one of the best in the country, but he is still a stranger.  He doesn't know me.  He doesn't know my boys.  Afterwards I will be relying on so many people to get dinner on the table, and my kids to and from school because I can't drive or walk for a month.  I take pride in caring for my kids and always being available.  This won't be easy stepping back.

Ethan, my oldest son, wrote a story in school yesterday that his teacher wanted me to see.  They read a book about worries and how to make them go away, their task was to respond to the story with their own experiences.  He wrote about me.  He said, "My mom has a full plate.  I can tell she is scared and worried, but she won't tell me she is because she is strong like that.  But I am worried for her.  I don't want her to hurt or not be her anymore.  Running makes my mom happy.  I want her to be happy and run again, but I am worried."

This broke my heart.  And all I can say to my son is that he is right.  I am so strong and so damn stubborn that I will be fine.  I have amazing friends and family surrounding me.  I took them for granted as I had no idea how lucky I was to be loved so much.  I never knew how my loved ones would step up and offer their support and service.  We will be okay because of them. 


~Roadburner

Forgetting Fear and Forging On

Two weeks ago my surgeon informed me that I needed surgery.  I turned ghost pale while he went over the procedure in detail; my head spun with each mention of needles, pain blocks, fracturing, traction, graphs, anchors, and sutures.  The moment he left the examination room, I threw my head between my knees trying to avoid throwing up or passing out.  My husband patted my back and asked if I was okay.  I turned up to him and responded, "It is a damn good thing I never went to medical school.  I'd make a feeble doctor."

I tried to buy a few more weeks.  Knowing that I'd already gone through 8 weeks of physical therapy, the doctor offered to let me try two more weeks of therapy until I came to terms with things.  "When you are ready to schedule.  Give us a call." 

It is really hard to pull the trigger on something like this.  I have two small boys, both of whom are starting back to school next week.  While it will be good to get them out of the house while I recover, it's my smallest son's first year of preschool and this transition will be substantial.  It is important that I am available and present while he gains confidence for the first few weeks. 

And frankly, this will suck.  Who signs up for something knowing they are going to really hurt when they wake?  That's masochistic.  The surgeon told me I will have my leg in a machine that moves the knee in an out for 8-10 hours a day for at least a week.  Physical therapy starts the day after the surgery, but there is no weight bearing for 3-6 weeks, leaving me in crutches, hip braces, and unable to drive or care for my boys for an unknown amount of time. 

However, I haven't driven my car without pain in weeks.  There is something torturous about sitting with my leg out and slightly flexed to control the gas pedal.  Forget squatting on the floor or chasing after my kids on the playground, it's literally impossible.  Last night I woke up at 2:30 in the morning feeling like a little gremlin snuck into my bed to pinch my hip for an hour.  No matter how I moved, I couldn't get comfortable.  He visits several times a week.  This isn't okay.  I can't live like this.  I've had two physical therapists and two surgeons both tell me it was time to make a choice. 

"What do you want to do for the rest of your life?  Do you want to run, swim, bike, and chase after your kids without a second thought?  Or do you want to learn to take it easy and only engage in low impact activities from 30 years on?" 

When they put it that way, the answer seemed obvious.  I was letting fear make my decision.  I focused on the surgery and the recovery, not the long term benefits.  Trading a few weeks or months of discomfort for a full life seemed clear.  If I neglect the surgery and sit on the couch to avoid further damage, or have to rehabilitate my hip through physical therapy until I need a hip replacement, the burden will be insurmountable.


This morning I scheduled the procedure for August 28, my fingers shook as I dialed.  My physical therapist said very reassuringly that I made the right choice.

Instead of focusing on the present for a while, which still seems scary, I am going to look far ahead.  My first goal is Halloween.  I will help with my kids' class parties and trick or treat with them in the evening.  By Christmas, I hope to walk a couple miles at a time without pain or pause.  Better yet, next summer I hope to complete my first triathlon.  This injury brought me the gift of swimming and I want to honor that fully.  I'm going to take a more rounded approach to training this time.  Finally, I will be stronger, more competitive, and more patient after this experience.


~Roadburner

Some goodbyes are just not that easy

I eat healthy.  I take care of my body.  I avoid medications when possible.  I don't drink too much, I have never done drugs or smoked.  I run and exercise religiously.  I plan to not only see my great-grand kids run around my back yard, but I plan to run around with them.  I am made of tenacity, grit, and perseverance.  But my body is wearing down at age 30.  Or as my surgeon eloquently stated today, my "body is a tire and all of the tread has prematurely worn away."

Last Wednesday I had an Arthrogram MRI.  I walked into the imaging office thinking it would be like any other MRI.  They give you an IV which makes you feel warm inside, like you peed your pants, and send you through this tube for a few minutes which buzzes, clicks, and sends you on your way.  Easy.  When the technician sat down very solemnly next to me I was at a loss of words.  "Do you know what you are having done today?"

"Well, I did.  Until you got that look on your face..."

"Yeah, this isn't a normal MRI.  We can't just inject you with dye.  We have to inject the dye into the joint space of the affected area.  In order to do that we will have to inject you with a series of pain relievers and saline solution to separate the hip joint before applying the dye.  Once you're bone and joint are appropriately numbed, we can inject the imaging solution which we will use to enhance the MRI pictures."

"Okay, so you use a lot of needles in my groin area and it won't be pleasant."

"Yeah."

I revisited my surgeon today to go over the results of the pictures.  Here are his findings, "...a slightly elevated alpha angle of 57 is calculated and may be accompanied by a mild caliber broad-based 'bump'.  The majority of the anterosuperior quadrant segment of the acetabular labrum displays pathology, particularly along its inferior 2/3, suggesting prominent chondrolabral separation which may include a component of dissolution of the labral substance as the gap between these surfaces measures 3.5mm and exhibits degenerative signal and mild morphologic distortion..."

Let me translate: "Her hip hurts because the ball part of the hip socket (the femur) should be shaped like a sphere.  Hers is shaped like an egg.  We need to shave the bone down to make it the right shape.  Next, the nice slippery pillow of cartilage called the labrum that cushions the ball and socket joint are disintegrated.  Gone.  That is leaving a gap between the ball and socket that is about as wide as my cell phone.  This bone on bone rubbing is leaving a lot of gross debris.  She has significant osteoarthritis in the joint which will only get worse."

Here's the surgery in a non-graphic nutshell.  They will put my leg in a traction device that will separate my joints manually so that they can get their tools in there.  (AKA a torture devise used during the Spanish Inquisition.) Then the doctor inserts a camera through an incision so he can see my insides.  From there, they will cut more holes and take a piece of my IT band from my thigh and insert that as my new padding between my joints.  They will screw that into place in multiple areas and clean up their mess to make it look all nice and tidy.  The procedure takes about one hour to perform and 6 months to heal.

I won't be able to bear any weight on my right leg or drive for at least a month.  Four to six weeks after the procedure, I will have to learn how to walk again.  Stairs present an entirely different obstacle. 

I asked the doctor if this will allow me to resume running at my previous training routine and he said that was very doubtful.  Chances are my other hip socket is a ticking time bomb and the more impact I apply to the joint, the faster it will fail.  He said in 6 days of training, I could run maybe 1-2 days a week after a full recovery.  The other days will be spent weight lifting, swimming, biking, and using clumsy machines like the elliptical.

What if I say, "Screw it?  I don't want them to cut away my IT band and re-purpose it."  Simply walking in the near future will become very difficult.  I already have pain just driving my car and walking .25-.5 miles.  My hip clicks, catches, locks, aches, and stabs constantly.  At 30 years old, do I retire from an active life and give into the osteoarthritis that has already taken residence throughout my right hip?

I originally thought the surgery would be my opportunity to run another marathon.  Sadly, that ship has sailed.  The damage is much worse than I anticipated and the recovery much harder.   I'm crushed.  I have unfinished business.  Before the Colfax Marathon #2, before my hip joint gave up, I was in the best shape of my life.  I was so strong and getting faster every day.  I was ready to try to qualify for Boston.  At this point I will be lucky if I can run a quality 10k again.  I've spent the last 10 weeks really analyzing my priorities.  I didn't know how much running contributed to my happiness and sanity until it was taken away.

When I fall asleep for my surgery I want a positive image in my head, a tangible goal.  My doctors have all warned me the recovery will be difficult.  I need something to hold onto to get me through this.  I thought that image would be qualifying for the Boston Marathon.  Now, I don't know what it is.  Maybe I can train for a triathlon next summer.  Hopefully I can go sledding with my boys this winter.  The down time, rest, and rebuilding of my muscles will offer me a lot of time to priortize.

I think the worst part, the scariest thing that I struggle with the most is how much this will affect my kids.  Running isn't most important.  Walking my boys to school everyday is.  



~Roadburner

20 Days No Sugar Stronger

I like simple experiments.  If it can improve my body, healing capabilities, energy, or mood, I am all about giving it a try.  While working through the Orton, Cool Impossible training schedule I decided to take on his entire mindset for training.  Eric Orton is a firm believer that we eat too many processed sugars.  They are addictive, unhealthy, and hard for our bodies to process.  Instead of filling up on quality fruits, vegetables, and lean proteins, our guts are distracted trying to break down these over processed carbohydrates, which in turn blocks quality nutrients from reaching our muscle fibers. Perhaps eating a fresher, less sugary diet will help heal my injured groin muscles and make me a leaner runner.  If nothing else, eating 3 weeks of fresh food can't hurt.

Don't get me wrong, I don't like labeled diets.  I like to eat what sounds appealing and I could never subscribe to a diet that told me exactly what to eat on a daily basis.  Also, I already eat clean, choosing organic fruits and vegetables when available/affordable, and I only offer my family a balanced diet throughout the day with lots of fresh food and lean proteins.  We don't eat a lot of processed fats or snacks so I thought this would be an easy experiment.  Orton asks readers to try cutting out all processed sugars for 20 days.  That's it.  If I don't like or notice the changes in my body after 20 days I can return to my normal diet.  Twenty days is nothing.

Today is Day 1.  I blew it with breakfast as I ate a yogurt parfait with berries and granola.  Yogurt has a ton of sugar, even the vanilla stuff, and granola is saturated with sugar.  Oops.  So lesson learned.  I need to plan ahead, looking at labels closer.  The experiment officially started after breakfast.  (Tomorrow I'll stick with an egg on a corn tortilla and fresh salsa with a side of cantaloupe or orange slices.) 

Later I took my boys to the grocery store wanting more fruit and veggies for the week, along with some other snacks that would satiate.  We love granola bars around here - those are out of the question until July 28.  I was floored to find how much sugar is in beef jerkey!  It's dried meat for God's sake!  Basic bread is a refined sugar pit.  Crackers are a no go.  Cereal, even the "healthy stuff" on high shelves, taunted me.  Juices would serve a hummingbird appropriately.  Pastas and sauces won't work either.  Pretty much everything fun contained in the main isles are out of the option.  But corn tortillas, guacamole, and hummus are great, and nuts work too.  That might get old, so I will have to get creative.

Because I couldn't grab for my granola bar at snack time, I ate a ton of fruit and some carrots with hummus instead.  For lunch I had a whole grain flax and chia seed bread with smoked salmon and a large spinach salad with almonds and vinegar.  Not a bad start.


~Roadburner

Change is in the Glutes

The last nine weeks following the Colfax Marathon, I've spent healing my injured hip and groin muscles.  All of my momentum steered towards the REVEL Denver Marathon on August 17.  And while my hip and groin are slowly improving, I can't handle more than 5 miles each day.  Each week I hope I can build the miles but then that finicky pain sneaks its way back into my core and I remain humbled.  Today I decided to be realistic and I dropped out.  REVEL has the best refund policy I know and I only took a $10 hit in the end.  Honestly, I am disappointed and mad at my body but I need to move forward.

For over a month I've seen a physical therapist twice a week.  Simply put, I have a weak butt.  My core, leg, and arm muscles are quite strong, but my glutes haven't been holding their end of the weight.  Apparently, the gluteus medius should do most of the heavy lifting, staying activated throughout my stride.  Instead it sits there, a roadblock to an efficient gait.  My form suffered from this unbalanced muscle mass and injury resulted.  Everyday I do 30+ minutes of gluteal strength exercises, which leave my tush feeling weak and sore.  The strength is coming back, now I need to fix my form that fell apart over the last few years.

Through my physical therapist's guidance, I've sought the help of both the Chi Running method and Eric Orton's, Cool Impossible.  Essentially, when attacking a hill or when my body gets fatigued, I slump at the hips.  I don't bring my driving (bent) leg forward and up high enough to propel myself with adequate power.  Finally, I don't let my striking leg (the one making contact with the ground), straighten quite enough with each stride to gain full power.  I already run on my forefoot, which is good, but fixing these three major issues would give me a more upright posture, no matter the terrain, engage my gluteal muscles constantly which would enlist the aid of my core muscles, and would no longer ask my hip flexors to stabilize the stride which keeps resulting in pain and tightness. 

Now that I know what is wrong with me, I need to fix it.  I told my physical therapist, Kevin, on day one that I wanted to fix whatever problems I had from the ground up.  I don't want to end up back in his office again in a few months with new ailments.  Throughout my previous marathon training program, I suffered with major tendonitis in my right shin which always pointed to a problem, but I didn't take the time to correct because I feared starting over.

Here, I am.  I am starting over.  The first step is strength training.  Eric Orton has an amazing list of strength training exercises using a balance disk, slant board, and a fitness ball.  Each activity looks easy, but they are not.  A lot of my smaller muscles are weak, all the way down to my big toe.  Strengthening those pieces will stabilize my entire body, which is exactly what I need.  I've also taken on his training schedule transitioning to an upright running stance, complete with warm-ups every day.  I may look like a fool skipping down the street with very high knees, but these simple warm-ups are extremely effective at retraining my muscles how to run.

I don't run with music anymore.  I will once I retrain my body to run efficiently, but until then I need to be focused and I can't listen to my body when I am singing along to Foster the People.  Since I started this new regimen, I take constant body checks.  "Head up and straight ahead, hips in line with shoulders and knee, abs and glutes active, straighter leg pushing off ground, activate calves, drive forward and up with knee, land soft.  Strength is in control and power.  Strength is finesse."  Running up hills I maintain a higher posture and breathe easier.  Certain muscles fatigue faster now, especially my butt, which proves it is working.  I stop running before my body becomes overly tired and I loose form.  Usually this is about 4-5 miles a day.

Each week I feel slightly stronger, a little faster, and I worry about my hips less.  This injury slowed down my training.  For the first time ever, I dropped out of a race.  It's been emotionally taxing and more frustrating than I can describe.  However, it's forced me to stand back and examine my goals, both long and short term.  I've learned about my body's muscle systems and how to use them more efficiently.  I've started strength training daily and swimming multiple times a week, making me stronger, more patient, and most of all, I've proven to myself that I am brave enough to address my faults, even if that means taking a few steps backward.


~Roadburner