The shift from No to Yes really started on Feb 1st, 2007. I remember exactly because I had to have an in-home session. Our refrigerator died and I had one of those irritating delivery windows that keep you chained to your house. During the workout, I said "I have been working out faithfully. I could stay on the elliptical for 2 hours if I had time. But why can't I run half a mile without stopping?"
"You're running too fast" came the reply.
Now, there are many flaws in my running, but you have to believe that "too fast" was one I had never suspected! "That can't be right" I thought (and probably said too). I am pathetically slow. Shouldn't I be able to run a lot faster than I walk? (Granted, from the MRIs and XRays I really wasn't supposed to be running at all). But sometimes a good song comes on and I just want to. And, I wasn't stopping from joint pain or muscle pain--at least not yet. Every time I ran for more than a minute or two I was gasping for air even though I was working out every day.
Why? Well, there was a really good technical answer that Greg gave me about the physics of running vs walking or pedaling. And, I wish I could explain it all. But, it wouldn't change the advice he gave me:
"Run as slow as you can and still be jogging."
As soon as I tried this it worked. I ran a mile. It was barely faster than I could walk a mile and I was drenched. But on that one piece of advice I went from NO I can't run a mile to YES I can. And no amount of conventional wisdom could hold a candle to that. But, I still worried about that grinding in my knee (a patellar tracking problem), my nine Advil-a-day days and all those specialists and their restrictions. You can't just ignore these things.
In fact, we did the opposite. My all but forsaken quads were now the major focus of every week. The idea being that the only way to take the pressure off my knees was to build up my quads and hamstrings. (You have to remember that for at least 18 months I had stopped all this and nothing about my condition had improved. ) In order to do this without pain or injury, all the usual exercises like lunges and squats had to be altered just for me.
It worked. I was probably running 2 miles straight when he sprung it on me.
"You should run the fall 5k."
I seriously thought at first that someone had walked into the room when I wasn't looking. But, no, this suggestion was in fact, meant for me. A stream of objections rushed through my mind:
NO...
I am not competitive;
I don't think my joints can handle the pavement;
Where will I put my water bottle;
I will be the last one if I finish at all,
There will be other people...right?
The loud negative chorus in my head halted on one thought alone... whatever I believe about myself, if I sign up for this Greg will get me to do it...my inner demons are struck dumb by this (temporarily).
I agree with a simple "Ok." I have roughly five months to train-- or at least that's what we thought.
By mid-summer I am running three miles a few times a week at the gym. But outdoors it is another story all together. The changing terrain and the elements (temperature, wind, humidity) are all new challenges for me. On the treadmill, I just dialed in the pace, now I have to pace myself. John buys me the Nike plus for my iPod to help me keep track. But, I do best during my session when Greg runs outside with me. Running is intense, but has an amazing side effect...it is suppressing my appetite. Another...if only I had known... that training has uncovered.
In July we leave for North Carolina where 17 members of my family have rented an enormous oceanfront house. I decide this is the perfect time to work on running outside: no traffic, no hard surfaces, no real schedule to contend with, just miles and miles of beautiful beach and cool mist off the Atlantic. I never think to mention this to Greg. Big Mistake.
For the first couple days in NC, the plan is working perfectly. I am up first and back before my kids are out of their pajamas. But, on day 3 or 4 I am so focused on the horizon I miss the halfway mark--by a lot. The rows and rows of mansions peaking out over the dunes all look the same. I have to run up to the street to figure out where I am. I come home that way. Each step gets slower and heavier. I have nothing left when I get to the house. My iPod says the distance is 6.18 miles. My legs are jiggly and throughout the day my right thigh sets a signal fire to prove to me how much I overdid it. The next day I am not surprised that I am too sore to workout. But, later in the day we try to go for a leisurely bike ride. I can't manage a pedalling motion. This is the first time it occurs to me that something is really wrong.
I am trying to assess myself. There is a twisting pain at the top of my right leg that travels diagonally toward that knee. No amount of Advil will touch it. I wonder if I have tendonitis. Greg calls John later that day, forgetting momentarily that we are away. I describe my predicament hoping for an answer and recommendations. Instead I get:
"I really wish you would have told me this (the beach running plan) before you went." He points out how uneven even the wave-packed sand is, creating a million invisible inclines and declines for your body to adjust to all at once. He tells me not to run. But it is a moot point. I am barely ambulatory.
When we return home I go to the doctor. They order Xrays which reveal nothing. There are a lot of theories from arthritis to labral tear to sciatica. I am frustrated beyond my capacity to adapt. Greg wisely puts me in front of a punching bag and has me striving to do real "guy" pullups. There is an unspoken plea for him to bring all the kings horses and all the kings men to work with him every day. Months of referrals and insurance battles ensue. It is September before we can get approval for an MRI of my right leg. When the films come back my doctor does not know what to make of them. She sends me to the best specialist in the area. It takes him 30 seconds to tell me that my right leg has been fractured for the past 10 weeks. Even though my pain has subsided a lot he says in no uncertain terms that the Oct. race is out.
Now, this goal which started out as just short of preposterous, has become epic in my eyes. All of that work. I was so close. I am stung by the cruelty of not believing than believing and being robbed of this now. I cannot even watch the race or volunteer for the worthy charity it represents. I am sure my running "career "is over for good. A ghost within maliciously drives home the point that my years of gluttony and sloth are surely to blame. A rational voice interrupts this assault:
"There is always a 5K somewhere, Tricia."
And the training resumes. In February, the same specialist who diagnosed me clears me to run again. I build up to the distances faster than the first time around. When the May race comes I enter despite my doubts because:
Am I healed...Yes
Can I run 3.2 miles...Yes
outside...Yes
without a water bottle...Yes
Well...let's go then.