I think I completed 4 half marathons before I finally started calling myself a “runner”, and it was somewhere after my third triathlon before I referred to myself as an “athlete” (and I still think I should be called “athlete*”, with an asterisk. I think I have what most athletes need: fitness, determination and discipline; there’s only one small thing I’m lacking that gives me the asterisk in my mind – skill). But this morning after having to stop a 5 mile run after completing fewer than 3 miles of it, I decided to identify myself with a new term: “injured”.
It’s finally happened; my ever increasing workouts intermingled with almost never taking a day off has finally caught up with my 42 year old, formerly fat body. My knee has been getting worse and worse, and then Thursday I woke up with such severe back pain I could barely get out of bed (yes, really, I managed to throw my back out sleeping. Now you’re beginning to understand why I used that asterisk when I called myself an athlete before, aren’t you?). Friday I went to a chiropractor who said, “Alison, no wonder why your back hurts. Your left pelvis is so far out it’s in South Dakota.” He popped it back in and I momentarily thought about jumping off his table and kissing him square on the lips, but three steps outside his office I felt it go out again.
Yesterday I had a 10K “race” in Central Park, my fourth race in four weeks. I put the word “race” in quotations, because although I finished, I certainly broke no speed records. I started in so much pain I couldn’t even do basic warm ups, and although I didn’t walk any part of the race, I think I’d be using some creative license if I described what I did as “running”. This morning I met my triathlon partner and good friend Jeff in Wyckoff, New Jersey. We’re doing a triathlon there next month, and our habit is to practice on the bike and run course before a race so we have some clue of what we’ve gotten ourselves into. Yesterday after that 10K “race”, I called Jeff and canceled our bike ride, knowing full well there would be no way I could hunch my body over my bicycle handles without wanting to die, but we decided to meet and do the 5 mile run.
Jeff is a great athlete, but running is his weakest leg of a triathlon. So, normally I love running with him, cracking jokes while he runs like, “Hey, when did you take up smoking?” or “Did you put lead weights in your pocket to slow yourself down?” Today I ran in silence since I couldn’t crack witty one-liners and hold back tears of pain at the same time. Jeff knew I was hurting and kept offering to stop. I finally agreed, and for the first time since I became “Fit Girl”, I quit mid-way through a workout.
I have to admit, the timing of going on the disabled list is actually pretty good; I have 3 weeks off from races before I have another 4 in a row (a 5K, then a 10K, then that triathlon in Wyckoff, and then a 5 mile race. Why do I keep doing this to myself? Anyone?). Besides, I’m meeting with Peter K next week and the man is brilliant at re-attaching my various broken body parts. My bigger concern is food.
I don’t think of meals as “breakfast”, “lunch” and “dinner” any more. To me, a meal is either for “carb loading”, “recovery”, or some other athletic term. My 1100 or so calories per day get parsed out into 9 mini meals, allowing me to either build up for my next workout or refuel after my previous one. But as I look into the future and see a week or so of “rest and recovery”, I have to figure out how to eat like a normal person again. Three meals, and maybe a snack or two for an entire day? Really? I haven’t eaten like that in over a year.
As I think about it, I picture how “Fat Girl” used to eat, where 1100 calories was a meal total rather than a daily one: chicken wings, pints of ice cream, multiple slices of pepperoni pizza. Even though I eat much healthier now, my favorite food is still “more”. My homemade banana bread could be sold at Whole Foods, it’s that healthy (and that good, made with whole wheat flour, wheat germ, bananas and cinnamon. Ask nicely and I’ll share my recipe :-), but I still don’t understand how it takes my family an entire week to eat it; to me, one loaf of banana bread is “single serve”.
To try to get a handle on my food this week, I think about my resources available to me. Peter has taught me enough about nutrition that I should be able to conquer this week, and my husband, Wil, isn’t scared to sacrifice his own safety for the sake of pulling a plate away from me if need be. I can also use Peter K’s tracker on his club’s website; it’s this cool Excel file that he invented and some genius of a Excel and Data Programmer designed and executed for him :-). It shows how many calories I should eat in my temporarily sedentary state, and allows me to track my food and count my calories to help keep me in check. It’s like having Peter K himself sitting right inside my computer.
I think about these tools available to me, and I’m not so scared about this week anymore. Yes, I am a “runner” and an “athlete*”. This week I am also “injured”, but with the right tools and some proactive planning, I can still end this week with another label: “success”.
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