When you
race, you have to go in to each one with a plan, or a goal. Those goals definitely change over time. When I did my first race in 2009 – a 4 miler –
my primary goal was to not throw up on anyone.
By last year, my goal was to beat the previous year’s time in a
marathon.
Most
athletes will tell you that sometimes you need to alter your plans
mid-stream. Last year I had a goal to
finish an Olympic distance triathlon in less than 4
hours. When race day came and it was
raining hard enough to make us question if we were witnessing the next Great
Flood, my goal changed to just finish the race. And when I hit an enormous downhill on the bike
portion and the roads were so wet they were slick as ice, my goal changed again
to just still be upright on my bike when I got to the bottom.
Goals change
for the better, too. I’ve started races
just hoping to finish, but the planets all just seem to line up that day, and
the next thing I know I’m trying to run an 8-1/2 minute mile, or to place in
the top half of my age group. Usually
when my goals get harder during a race, I enjoy the challenge I’ve given to
myself, while at the same time I can hear my brain thinking, “Really? That’s what we’re going to do? When is the last time you had me examined?”
Today I have
a pretty lofty goal in mind. No, I’m not
running a half marathon. I’m not burning my quads via some ridiculous hill on
my bicycle, or climbing out of a weedy lake after just swimming a mile in
it. My goal is planning itself in my
head while I’m waiting for a cab on Madison Avenue.
To my out of
town friends, don’t be alarmed; New York hasn’t gotten so competitive that
waiting for a cab is something that you need to train and plan for. I’m on my way to my orthopedist’s office for
my first check up since he diagnosed my stress fracture 4 weeks ago. I know that my foot is getting better, since
the sheets resting on my unbooted foot at night is no longer excruciating, but
I also know that it’s not fully healed.
If I land on the spot where it’s fractured and I don’t have my boot on
(I’m not going against doctor’s orders.
Ever try to shower with a medical boot on? Yeah, me neither), it still
catches my breath and I still swear out loud due to what seems to be pain
induced Tourette’s Syndrome. But I’m
still planning for the doctor to say that he’s never seen a bone heal that
fast, and then wish me good luck for the 10K race I’m registered for this
weekend.
In reality, I know that
racing this weekend is out of the question.
I’ve already scratched next week’s triathlon off my docket, and I’ve deferred
out of the one I was supposed to do the first weekend in June. I’ve declared the NYC Triathlon in July as my
comeback race, but I did have a 3rd triathlon scheduled for mid-June
that I’m shooting for. Now, I’m still on
crutches so I can’t hold an umbrella in the rain since I need to use my hands
to walk, but I’m still reconfiguring my goals to include getting in all 9 races
I need to qualify for next year’s marathon, run this year's, and complete a
triathlon 4 weeks from now.
Just when
the concept of a cab in Midtown after the morning rush seems impossible, one
pulls over right in front of me and lets out its passenger. As the man gets out of the cab, I tell him he’s
my new best friend and climb into the cab.
I take this stroke of luck as a good sign, and start rebuilding the rest
of my race schedule in my head.
When I get to
the doctor’s office, one of the physical therapy assistants, Steve, walks in to
the waiting area. He gives me a big
smile and then says, “You know, Alison, if you like seeing us so much, you
could just call us every couple of months and we could meet you at
Starbucks. You don’t have to keep
getting hurt.” He compliments my
crutches with the purple and white flower pads and cup holder, and then goes
back to work.
My doctor is
finally ready for me, and the secretary says, “Alison, room 2. Umm, you know that one, right?” Yes, I’ve been in all the rooms here. I’m half expecting them to give me a “Frequent
Patient” punch card, and to let me know that my 10th injury is free. I crutch my way down the hall while I start
thinking of time goals for that mid-June triathlon.
My doctor
comes in, and I’m waiting for an enormous smile, a slap on the back, or a look
of sheer awe as he tells me how far I’ve progressed and then asks me my secret
for healing so quickly. But, he doesn’t
smile. He doesn’t slap me on the back,
and he’s certainly not looking at me with sheer awe. He takes my foot, touches the bad spot, and
then gets a first-hand encounter of my pain induced Tourette’s Syndrome.
The doctor
shrugs his shoulders and says, “Well, the general rule is that any broken bone
takes at least 6 weeks to heal.” He
tells me that in 2 weeks he’ll send me for another MRI, and if it comes back
clean he’ll let me ride a spin bike with no resistance. If that goes well, then 2 more weeks after
that he’ll let me start “run/walking”.
That doesn’t mean to run so slowly that it looks like you’re walking; I
already do that. He’s talking about
running for about 2 minutes, walking for 1, etc. I sheepishly say, “I have a triathlon on June
15th…” His reply: “No, you
don’t.”
I quickly
change my plans in my head, and mention the NYC Triathlon, my comeback race in
mid-July. While he’s counting up the number of weeks until then, I tell him that that race is so competitive that I practically had
to sleep with someone to get a spot in it.
He laughs hard enough that I worry a little about the image in his head,
and he reconsiders. He says, “OK, maybe.”
His “maybe”
is unconvincing, and my heart sinks a little more. I say, “Do you have anything good to tell me?” He thinks and then says, “Well, starting
tomorrow you can transition off your crutches (which I interpret as “You can
take those crutches to the highest building and drop them out the window. Just don’t put any weight on that spot that
gives you the mouth of a truck driver”).
I swallow hard and ask about the marathon this year. His reply: “Can you run a full marathon in
November? Probably, as long as you train
smart and do not go for time.” Close
enough. I’ll take it.
After my 1st race, July 2009 |
So, my news
was good and bad. I’m off my
crutches. I’m still in my boot. I can’t run for at least another month. I can likely do this year’s marathon, but I
don’t know if there will be enough races left for me to qualify for next year’s. My goals have shifted, but at least I still
have them and like any athlete, I’ll have to keep redefining them as I go
along. This is tougher than any race I’ve
done, but the finish line on this one will be so much better than all the other
ones put together. At least that’s what I'm planning on :-).
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