It's Been A While -- Blame A Full Hamstring Avulsion

I know; it’s been a while.  Over a year in fact.  I used to blog weekly, and then I just – stopped. 

There was no reason or message behind it.  I just felt like I was writing the same things over and over again; work hard, make good food choices, admit you’re not perfect, and pick yourself up when you fall down.  Been there, said that.

So, why am I back?  I’m not really sure.  It’s not like I’ve started mountain climbing or running ultra-marathons (and you read it here first; neither of those will ever happen).  Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m probably writing again because yesterday was the NYC Half Marathon.  No, I didn’t run it.  In fact, I haven’t run one step since the NYC Marathon on November 1^st, 2015.  

No, I haven’t given up.  If I did, I certainly wouldn’t blog about it.  Who’d want to read that?  No, the reason why I haven’t run in over 4 months is that I’m injured.  I mean, VERY injured. 

Now that I think about it, the injury started last year in the middle of the 2015 NYC Half Marathon.  No, that’s not true.  The injury started at about mile12.6 of the 2015 NYC Half Marathon.  But before I get into it, I need to give a quick run-down of the relationship I have with that race.  Frankly, it’s poisonous.

Like every reckless relationship, it started off great.  In 2010 I ran that race for the very first time, and got my half marathon PR (for you normal folks, that’s runner speak for “Personal Record”) of 2:11:11.  But things started to go south the following year when I missed that PR by a measly 8 seconds.  Then, during the NYC Half Marathon in 2013, at about mile 6 I thought “Wow, I’m rubbing a really bad blister.”  Well, that “blister” ended up being a stress fracture (and proof that I really don’t know how to read pain correctly), which landed me in a medical boot for 13 weeks.  In 2014, I had an OK race, not great, like when you’re still with this person but the relationship is over and you just don’t want to deal with the breakup.  Then last year was the final straw.

The NYC Half Marathon takes you on a tour of Central Park, then down 7^th Avenue to Times Square where you bang a right, run to the Hudson River, then turn south and just keep going until you cross the finish line.  Somewhere after mile 12, you run into the Battery Park tunnel, where it is dark and REALLY ANNOYING PEOPLE start shouting so that it echoes and cuts your brain in half.  Well, in that damned tunnel, I was busy cursing out the REALLY ANNOYING PEOPLE under my breath, and didn’t see the pothole before I stepped in it and pulled my hamstring (or so I thought).  I screamed out, but everyone probably thought I was joining the echo game, so people looked over and nobody stopped even though I had stopped and was holding the back of my right thigh.  I tried to run again, but basically just limped the last half mile or so, ending with my very worst half marathon time at that point of 2:30:35.

I spent the rest of the spring and much of the summer with back issues that also started at that race, and times that were about a minute slower than my usual slow pace.  My hamstring would talk at the end of long runs, but nothing I ever thought much about.  On August 1^st, my running partner, Rita, and I were going to do a 12 mile long run, training for the 2015 NYC Marathon.  Before we started, she asked me if I wanted to cut it to 9 miles and I said no, wanting to do the whole thing.  It was Hades hot out, so at about mile 4 or 5 when we saw a trail head and Rita asked me if I wanted to try trail running, I jumped at the idea.  And what a great idea it was.  It was a good 10 degrees cooler and all shade.  Ahhh.

Then it happened.  A second or two after my watch beeped the 9 mile mark, I suddenly went flying.  I’d love to say I caught my foot on a rock or something, but we all know that with me it’s possible I tripped over a big shadow, or an ant jumped into the path and threw me off.  Whatever it was, all I knew is that one minute I was vertical and the next I was testing gravity (which was working just fine).  I flew out like Superman minus the powers to fly, and slid a few feet down the dirt trail.

And, I didn’t get up.  I couldn’t.  Not at first.  Poor Rita had no idea what to do to help me, and the slew of swear words coming out of my mouth weren’t giving her any direction.  I knew I had done something to that same damn hamstring, but this time it was bad.

I didn’t want to scare Rita, so I forced myself to stand.  It took several minutes before I could put any weight on it at all, and finally I could limp enough to move in a forward direction.  We both knew our run was over for the day, and even laughed that Rita actually got the 9 mile run she had wanted instead of the 12.

Now, here’s the problem with injuring yourself at mile 9 of a 12 mile run: you’re three fucking miles from home, and your fucking leg feels like someone snapped it off your body and then tried to glue it back on.  Rita and I called our husbands, but neither was reachable, so off we trekked (well, Rita trekked;  I hobbled).  After about 2 miles, Rita reached her husband Phillipe, and he came to our rescue, picking us up and dropping me off at home.  It was late; that last 3 miles took longer than the first 9, and the last time I had been in that much pain I at least had a child to show for it afterwards.

For the next 3 months I did my weekday runs in the pool, which didn’t feel real great.  On the weekends I did my long “runs” but definitely earned those quotes I put in there.  I’d walk for one minute, and then “run” for two, and repeat.  Ad nauseum.  Usually I had to give that up after the first few miles and just walk.  My hamstring was killing me, and I always felt like I was going to fall.  I knew what that felt like, so I was slow (very slow) and kept myself upright.  I finished up the 9 races I needed to qualify for guaranteed entry in the 2016 NYC Marathon, going so slowly that I got swept off the race course twice and gained an even slower half marathon time of 3:24:57 for the Staten Island Half Marathon (and if you ever want to completely destroy a runner’s self-confidence, just drive up alongside of them and say “the race is over and we’re opening up the roads to traffic. If you want to keep going, you’re going to have to move to the sidewalk”.  Trust me, that’ll do it).

I actually did the marathon, against the opinion of every single person who felt like giving me one.  I had gone to some quack – I mean, doctor – a few days after the injury and he said I had a moderate hamstring pull and would be fine in a few weeks, so I figured I was fine though I knew that there was no way it could be.  I finished the marathon in 6:50:55, actually thrilled that I had done it in under 7 hours, and still with about 1,000 people behind me (and the NYC Police tried to sweep us off the course at about mile 20, but every single runner just ignored them and kept going.  That was by far my proudest moment as a New Yorker).

A few days later I went to a new doctor.  I actually went for my back (didn’t want to get into it all here, but throughout all of this I was having major back issues), but I casually mentioned my hamstring, and after asking me questions she said, “Umm, Alison, you do know that regular hamstring pulls don’t take 3 months to not heal, right?” She sent me for an MRI for my hamstring and a few days later called me with the news: I had what was called “complete hamstring avulsion”, with the tendons for all three hamstring muscles completely torn off the bone they were supposed to be attached to.  And not only that, but the hamstrings had retracted and were 5 cm away from where they were supposed to be.  Not good (though in hindsight, that 6:50:55 marathon time didn't look so bad considering I did the whole damned thing with no functional hamstrings in my right leg).

That phone call led to a date with a surgeon in mid-December, who had to pull those hamstrings up and sew them back into place (by attaching them to anchors she drilled into my hip bone, but I didn’t want to write that so that you didn’t get grossed out ).  Not only that, but since it had been months since the final injury (and many months since the start of it in the NYC Half Marathon), my hamstring and sciatic nerve had scar-tissued themselves together and she had to dissect them from each other. 

The brace

After one night in the hospital I was sent home in a brace that went from just under “the girls” all the way to my knee.  It wrapped around my waist and my thigh, holding my hip at a 10 degree angle.  I was allowed zero weight on it for 2 weeks, and then an increase of 25% body weight over the next four.  I slept on the couch for a month, took sponge baths via the kitchen sink, and was at the mercy of my husband and kids for food and clothing (and quick sidebar: my family rocks.  The three of them pitched in and did everything, from making my food to putting on my socks, feeding the cats and cleaning the litter boxes.  If I learned one thing through this, it was that I am one of the most blessed people on this planet).  The first time I left my house in 2016 was January 29^th, and that was just to go to the doctor.  For the first two months of the year, I think I wore shoes 4 times (and they were always tied by somebody else).  

I’m out of my brace and back at work, but I still can’t do anything.  I go to physical therapy twice per week (and since the physical therapist is not at all hard to look at, I don’t mind that part that much :-), but can’t really do much else.  One day I swam for 10 minutes and it set me back for a week.  When I come home from work I am exhausted and just lay on the couch like a lox.  It hurts to sit so I stand most of the day, and now my bad back is jealous of all the attention my leg is getting and it’s letting me know it.  And yes, I am the same person who has finished 6 marathons.

Now, I’m down, but I’m not out.  No, I will never run the NYC Half Marathon ever again.  Let’s call it like it is: that race makes me its bitch every year.  I hope to be running by June, and doing the NYC Marathon on November 6^th.  My PT is not as optimistic. Regardless, I will be back to running, whenever that is.  I am taking it slow this time, though, so that hopefully this will be the last injury I ever write about. Oh, stop laughing.  It could be true.

I don’t know when I’ll write another blog entry.  But when I do I hope I help you out, give you some encouragement, and make you laugh along the way.