It's Official...

Sorry that I didn’t post a blog last week.  I’d love to give some cool excuse, like I was summiting at Mount Everest or was busy wrestling a bear, but the truth is that I had nothing to write about. My runs weren’t particularly interesting; my diet was neither stellar nor tragic.  Basically, nothing happened last week that was blog-worthy.

But I’m back this week, ready to talk about my 10 mile long run.  I know, given my past history, a 10 mile run just isn’t that exciting.  But, it is.  You see, this was going to be my first run with double digit mileage since I broke my foot.  If I could get through this run injury free – and frankly, still alive – then I could definitely consider myself to officially be training for the NYC Marathon on November 3^rd.

So on Saturday morning I stood at the base of the stairs to my house.  I had my water belt, some nutrition gels, my iPod all cued up.  And I couldn’t move.  I was terrified to do this run.  No, I wasn’t going to have to wrestle a bear during it (though there is certainly some interesting wildlife on the bike path I was going to run on).  This run was going to be a little scary on a few levels.  Aside from the distance, I was changing my run/walking intervals.  So far I hadn’t made it past 4 minutes running/2 minutes walking without ending my run in pretty severe pain, so I had stagnated there for a few weeks (I told you that last week was boring.  I didn’t even change up my intervals).  I had tried decreasing the walking to one minute, but that seemed to be my Kryptonite, so this week I decided to keep the walking at 2 minutes, but increase the running to 5.  Also, I was kind of running in the dark.  Well, no, not really (because the last time I did that a truck almost hit me since it’s apparently hard to see a runner in highly reflective running vest while you're driving and texting).  I was running unsure if I was fully healed and if my foot was going to be able to handle it.

The problem is that I had opinions from 2 different doctors – sort of.  The physician who had been treating this injury (mostly with multiple MRIs and the phrase “4 more weeks”) was on my schedule one day last week.  Unfortunately, I wasn’t on his, as his Cracker Jack administrative staff somehow lost my appointment.  This mistake was in a long line of administrative errors including sending me to the wrong office, setting me up with the wrong physical therapist (get this: they mixed up the names “Alison” and “John”.  I understand; people mistakenly call me “John” all the time), sending a referral for the wrong foot (and on that one they had a 50% chance of getting it right based on simple probability), and having trouble counting to 4.  The doctor’s solution, rather than seeing me, was to send me for an MRI.  My fourth MRI.  For a stress fracture.

I responded by going to the MRI one day, and then visiting my brand new orthopedist the next.  I brought him a copy of the MRI.  He looked at it, pointed to something on the computer screen and said, “There’s your stress fracture, and it’s filled with all new bone.  You’re fully healed; enjoy your marathon.”  I was elated for a full 24 hours before the original doc emailed me the MRI results from the radiologist and I read the phrase, “an almost completely healed stress fracture.” 

After getting these 2 somewhat different answers to the same MRI, I decided that it was my choice, and I was going to go with “fully healed”, and the doctor's orders to “enjoy my marathon.”  But here I was standing there on a gorgeous late summer morning, all dressed up and going nowhere.  My brain and my legs had the following conversation:

Brain: OK, legs!  Let’s do this!

Legs: No.

Brain: Come on.  You’ve done this a bazillion times before.  Let’s go.

Legs: No.

Brain: Don’t be scared.  So, yes, you broke earlier.  You’re fixed now.  You’re going to do this.

Legs: No.

Brain: Don’t make me make you kick yourself in the ass.  Get going already!

I was about to turn around and head back up the steps into my house.  I knew my family would be there, looking at me funny.  I was going to tell them that I couldn’t do the marathon.  Not this year.  But then my brain and legs had another conversation:

Brain: OK, wuss.  Turn around, go upstairs, and quit.

Legs: No.

Brain: Do it.  Show your kids that the best time to quit is when you’re really scared, but before you even tried.  Teach them that it’s better to give up than to go down swinging, even though you might actually be just fine.

Legs: No.

Brain: Ugh!  Just make up your mind!  Oh…

That’s when it dawned on me.  My foot isn’t injured any more.  It might need a little TLC and may need me to pay attention to it, but it can do this run.  My problem was my head.  My confidence was gone, and I was worried I’d get hurt again.  But I could do this.  I knew I could.  I’ve run 10 miles before, and had run 9 just the week before.  I’ve been paying attention to my foot, listening to it during my runs and icing it afterwards.  I could do this.  Even if I didn’t finish, I at least needed to try.

Mile 24ish of the 2011 Marathon

I went on my run.  I did all 10 miles. I did it with my 5 minute run/2 minute walk intervals.  I didn’t wrestle and bears, though I did watch a rogue horse that had freed itself from a nearby stable run down the path in front of me.  I was slow, very slow.  But, I did it.

When I was done I walked up my stairs and through my front door.  When I walked in, my 5 year old son Ben looked at me and said, “Mommy, what were you doing outside?”  And I replied: “Training for the marathon.”