That word, interrupted, is how I remember the first few years of my running career. I ran too fast, too far, and didn’t rest. I got away with it long enough to race some fast 5Ks, but then, injury struck. I’m not even talking about run-of-the-mill running injuries (I got/get those, too, but typically run through them). I’m talking big, fat ones that stop you in your tracks. First it was bilateral compartment syndrome, which required surgery. After recovering from that, I sustained a groin injury that took many months to heal. Then I got pregnant, had my son, and developed an abdominal injury in my post-partum running that also required surgery. Then, it was atypical piriformis syndrome that presented as compartment syndrome. It didn’t require surgery, just injections.
Those are to name a few that occurred from 2008-2011. In 2012, I decided to go ultra. And I found that I could run a lot, just very slowly (at low heart rate), and not sustain these major injuries. As a distance/ultra runner, I’m ALWAYS managing some kind of pain/slight injury. Most of us are. I haven’t met one who isn’t. I (we?) rarely run completely pain free. But you become accustomed to managing small pains. They do not go away, but you manage them.
I never run a race completely healthy. And I mean never. I can tell you some of the best ultras I’ve ever run, and I can tell you what I was dealing with at the time. My first ultra–LBL 60K–it was runner’s knee in both knees. First 50 miler–Ice Age–it was hip bursitis. Second 50–JFK–foot pain secondary to a fibroma on my right foot (this later required surgery). None of them kept me from racing, and I raced well. I chose to have the fibroma surgery in January of 2014, and it was a great decision…no more foot pain.
Disaster struck for the first time since I switched to ultras in July of 2014. I had been rebuilding my mileage from my fibroma surgery recovery, and was about to start training for JFK (in November) again. Then, an inexplicable pain in my right groin, and down my leg. I couldn’t jump. It was excruciating. Nothing made it better. No one could figure it out. I was misdiagnosed with a femoral stress fracture. I spent three weeks on crutches, only to learn it wasn’t actually fractured. I couldn’t run or cross train. I could hardly walk. Months later, I was finally diagnosed with the rare condition of obturator nerve entrapment. I had surgery in November of 2014 to release the nerve, which had become trapped under a fascial band. Yes, that’s two surgeries 10 months apart. I was told the nerve entrapment was very much a freak thing. I took that to mean it wasn’t related to my training (of course it was to some degree). I ran 8 days after the surgery, and have been pain free in that regard ever since.
In January of this year, I set my eyes on completing my first 100 mile race. I chose Kettle, in June. I ran a lot of miles. A LOT. I dealt with the typical aches and pains–my herniated disc, my knees, all my typical stuff. But things went well. In March, I first noticed some pain on the inside of my right ankle–where the posterior tibial tendon attaches. I was familiar with it. I’ve had tendonitis there several times. I remember where I was when I noticed it–Paynetown, doing a loop with my dad. I remember thinking the unevenness of the trail was probably to blame. I hadn’t been on a trail since my fibroma surgery. I didn’t feel it again after that until around February, finishing a 10 miler. It was a bit sharp this time, and almost felt like my old fibroma pain. It was not typical post tib. I switched to Hokas and it all but went away.
Then, in April, it came back again, and was worse this time. When I say worse, I mean it was more nagging. The pain wasn’t worse. It was annoying, sure, but nothing that would make me think I was doing damage. I ran the IT100 50 miler on it the next weekend (as a training run), where it was muddy and slippery. And it DID hurt. That’s the most it ever hurt, but it was still quite runnable. I even ran the day after, with little ankle pain.
I continued to run 90-110 mile weeks, adding the ankle to the list of my aches and pains. I could only run in certain shoes–those that came up above that spot on my ankle. If the shoe hit lower, there wasn’t support, and I had pain. I did hip strengthening, and it improved. And I ran 100 miles, not really noticing it.
After the 100, it came back, and I decided I might need to get an orthotic for it. It seemed natural to assume that it was occurring as a result of the fibroma surgery. Something had changed with that foot’s structure. I wanted to see my foot surgeon to have him evaluate my arch, etc. I couldn’t get in until August 24. I kept training, aiming for Tunnel Hill 50 in November. The day of my appointment, I ran with Jo, and told her “Oh, yeah, I’m going to see Dr. Porter today. This ankle is just becoming chronic and I want an orthotic.” Never, ever did I think that would be my last run for months.
Turns out, it was. Dr. Porter found my arch to be completely normal, but he wanted an MRI. He told me he thought my tendon was torn, and needed surgical repair. All I could say was, “But I ran 100 miles on it and it didn’t hurt.” I had the MRI, anticipating that it would just show inflammation, but also knowing this had been hanging on a long time.
He was right. It was torn. The posterior tibial tendon in my right foot, just above the insertion, was torn. TORN. This one was definitely my fault. The fibroma and nerve thing–they were just strange, fascial restriction types of things. But how does a tendon tear? I had had no acute injury. It had to be from overuse. SHIT. He told me I had two options. 1. Have surgery now. 2. Continue training in a custom-made brace (that goes up to the knee) and have surgery within 3 months. Both included surgery. It wasn’t optional. It wasn’t going to heal. I was by myself and had to make this decision. Tim had not come with me, because, after all, I was only getting orthotics. The urge to keep running, even if in a brace, was strong. But I decided, with his urging, to scrap the fall race and have surgery now. I had it four days later.
Surgery revealed a near one inch tear in my tendon, and it was fraying like a rope. He repaired the tendon by transferring another, more robust tendon to replace it. It’s the FDL tendon. The surgery was completely successful, my arch is intact, and he told me I should be able to run as much as I want; this tendon is here for the long haul. He also told me that having surgery right away was absolutely the right decision. He also said he could not believe I’d been running on that. In my post anesthesia stupor, I again told him “It didn’t hurt much.” BECAUSE IT DIDN’T.
So, I’ll be able to run again. “As much as I want.” But first, I have to let this 5-inch incision heal, let the tendon transfer take (which takes about 12 weeks), and then begin running again a half mile at a time. I’m in a boot, on crutches for two weeks. Then I’m in the boot for 6 more. I cannot even elliptical for 6 weeks. Meanwhile, I continue to be surrounded by all things running. My husband is training for several races, my daughter is running cross country, my best friend is training for what will no doubt be a PR marathon for her, and I continue to coach runners. I am depressed. I am angry. I am lost.
Obviously, people have way worse problems than this one. I don’t want to be misinterpreted as thinking that dealing with this is worse than people dealing with many other, much more awful things. But if you’ve been an injured runner, had that rug swept out from under you without warning, I know you get it. Every runner in my life is understanding. Non-runners, not as much, but that’s to be expected. And I keep reminding myself that this is part of running. There are ups, there are downs. I try to stay positive. I try to frame it as a time of rest, recovery, blah, blah. But the truth is that I’m getting really fucking tired of this.
Why doesn’t this happen to other people? Why don’t they have 3 surgeries in 19 months? Why does Tim get to run big miles, and never get hurt? Why does Wes get to do the same? Why are other people mentally okay with not running for a while? Why do people post on FB about how it’s so hard to get up early and run, or about how hot it is outside? Why do people judge me for what I do, when so many other people do it? Why does this always happen when my running partner is healthy? Why do I have such a deep, innate need to run? Why can’t I string together more than 8 months of training? Why do people tell me this is my fault? Why do people laugh and say they’d love to not have to exercise for three months? Why am I so good at something that is then suddenly taken away from me so many times?
To be honest, I don’t know how much more of this I can take. While I should be focused on recovering and getting back out there, all I can think of is what will be next, and when. I’m terrified to sign up for any race. I’ve lost a large part of my identity, as well as my ability to cope with daily life. Everything in my life suffers when I cannot run: my job, my relationships, my ability to do anything. I know that my running is compulsive, and it’s partly the result of an addiction to it, but I honestly don’t care. I want it BACK. I want to stomp my feet (the good one, anyway), throw my fists, and sob like a toddler. I cannot bear to look at pictures of myself running. I came upon one yesterday, and I almost threw up. It’s like looking at a different person. A fit, balanced woman who is talented and who can compete. She can run for hours. It scares me to see how good I was.
I’m not at the point of giving up running (that will never happen). But I am thinking of giving up racing. Here, in this moment, in this boot, with this throb in my ankle, which is smashed into a compression sock, I am inclined to say that I’ll never race again. I’ll just run as much as I want, without the pressure of a race hanging over me. I need the running; the racing is an excuse to do it.
But a shred of me knows that’s not actually true. I DO want to race. So badly. I want to race a flat 50, which I think is probably my best distance/terrain. I am 100% certain I can break 8 hours for 50 miles. I WANT TO DO IT. I want to run 100 in under 24 hours. I must do that before I die. But the love/hate running has for me is so exhausting. I hate that something I love so much is so fickle. On a dime, I can be thrust out of my world of twice-daily runs. And yet, I don’t hesitate to allow myself to be cut open in hopes of continuing to run.
Again, I realize that my situation is not unique. There are TONS of injured runners who are frustrated. I’m not asking for sympathy, or even empathy. I realize I have a job, a family, a house, friends, and insurance to pay for my surgeries. I realize that I will run again one day. But I wanted to put down in writing the deep, dark place into which I (and other runners, I’m sure) retreat when seriously injured. And how, when I emerge, I am in constant fear of what’s next. When you ask me how I’m doing, which I DO appreciate, please know that the real answer is: terribly. I’m lost and angry and scared. I cannot bear to drive on the roads I usually run. That’s how I’m doing. If you’re a runner, you’re saying, “YES!” If you’re not, maybe this post will help elucidate why we are such different people when our running is stolen away so abruptly.
I had planned this post to be a brief synopsis of my injury, and then more about my goals/changes going forward. To talk about the coach I’ve hired, and how I will be doing strength work to prevent this from happening again, and all the things I’m supposed to say. But, right now, I’m really pissed off, and I don’t want to talk about those things. I want it back.
Ultra Musings 