On the Disabled List For a Second Time...

Step. “Ow.” Step. “Ow.”

That’s how my last run went last week. It was supposed to be a 16 miler, as I continue my quest for the New Jersey Marathon that takes place on May 6^th.

Step. “Ow.” Step. “Ow.”

Something is wrong with my right foot. Every time I hit the pavement, a shock of pain runs up my leg just behind my ankle. My calf muscle is screaming, and every time I lift up my foot, some muscle in my arch cramps up. When I step down, the cramp goes away, but the shot of pain goes up, so there is no way I can win. But, I have to keep training, MUST finish this run, so I continue.

Step. “Ow!” Step. “Ow!”

The logical side of my brain tells me that this is neither good nor normal, and I should stop. The other side, the side that constantly worries that I will get fat again, says that I must keep going until every last painful step of this run is finished.

My run has several loops to it, so I can make them shorter or longer by adding or subtracting loops. To accomplish 16 miles, I have one loop I must do 6 times, 3 on my way out, 3 on my way back. As I head home and work on the first of the 3 loops, I remember that I’m supposed to be listening to my body, so I stop the various thoughts in my head long enough to hear well:

Step. “OW!!” Step. “OW!!”

Hmm, that’s not what I wanted to hear. When I do my workouts, there are many times when I don’t want to finish. At those times, I ask myself one question: “Am I injured?” Most often the answer is “No, not injured, just hating this!”, so I continue on. This time though, I think that question, and the logical part of my brain silently mutters, “Yes. Big time.” So, I cut out two of the loops and take my shortest route home, in the end completing only 14 miles of my 16 mile run.

I get home and I can barely walk. I take my shoe and sock off, and look at the back of my right leg. All I notice is my ankle is so swollen that it looks like my foot grew straight out of my calf, and the back of my leg from my heel to just above my ankle is black and blue. I try to remember if I somehow managed to slam the back of my leg into something hard and I just have a bruise in an annoying spot, and I know that’s not the case. I know I’m injured, and I know this is going to take longer to heal than just a bruise would.

I make an appointment with my sports med doc (who should start giving me “frequent patient” bonus points), but can’t get in until next week. I call my physical therapist’s office and beg so pathetically that the man promises to get me in the next day if I just promise to never call him again. Deal.

When I see my physical therapist, I can tell by the grimace on her face that this isn’t good. After running me through a battery of tests (read: about 10 minutes of excruciating pain), she says, “Well, Alison, that is the WORST case of Achilles Tendonitis I have ever seen.” As my heart starts to sink, I tell her, “The competitor in me is actually quite proud, but the athlete in me is about to cry.”

Achilles Tendonitis is a bit of a death sentence to a long distance runner. The only real treatment is rest. And I don’t mean for a week. I’m talking months. Now anyone reading this with a sense of the Julian calendar and an idea of seasons realizes that for any runner and triathlete, we are just getting ready to start our race seasons. At least, those of us who are not injured are.

My PT tells me to wear a boot, which is basically a cast that you can take on and off to shower, sleep, etc. Fortunately I have one from my last foot injury before my last marathon (and hmm, I am sensing a pattern here), so at least I get a “buy one, get one” out of my Durable Medical Equipment. She says that is unusual treatment for Achilles Tendonitis, but the tendon is so swollen that she wants to immobilize my ankle to keep the tendon from swelling any further and just snapping in half. Fantastic. And obviously, no running. I could deep water run and swim without kicking (you put something that looks like a buoy between your legs and just use your arms. It’s a hell of a workout even if you’re not pissed about having to do it that way).

It’s been about 5 days since that first visit with my PT. At my second she said she was pleased that the swelling was coming down, but it wasn’t enough yet so I had to keep the boot on for a few more days. My next race is supposed to be the NYC Half Marathon on March 18^th. Her prediction is that I might be able to run it by then, but I will have to do all of my training “off-land” via that deep water running and legless swimming.

For the first time ever, I am listening to the health professionals. I’ve spent so much time in the pool that I’m about to grow gills and my silver rings have tarnished from the chlorine. I have already accepted that the NJ Marathon likely won’t happen. Even if I can run again in a month, I’ll probably be way too far behind in my training to catch up. And that’s OK. I’ve finally learned that one can still be an athlete even if injured. I know how to adjust my food so that I don’t gain weight, and I’d rather throw out the marathon and keep the rest of my season than kill myself in New Jersey and never run another step. Maybe I’m just in too much pain to fight it, or maybe I have finally matured into a true athlete. My sports med doc appointment is in a couple of days, and then I will get a full diagnosis and prognosis. And I’m ready for whatever it is he’s going to tell me. I got this.