I have suspected for quite some time that I am addicted to running - whether it be the act of running, the endorphin kick during the run (or post-run if I'm lucky), or some ephemeral, yet-to-be-discovered reason ... I can't nail down any one thing about it that I like so much, and quite frankly, I don't want to either. The "why" doesn't matter so much within the context of this post - for now, let's just accept the fact that I'm an addict.
One component common to all addictions is the "need" factor ... choose whatever euphemism suits your fancy: jonesing, craving, hankering, yearning, longing - by now, I'm sure you get the point. Another commonality amongst addicts is what happens to their emotional state if they are denied their "fix". Many of us experience negative emotions, such as depression, anger, general bitchiness and the like. After my disastrous experience in this Fall's RVM, the last thing I was expecting to experience was a strong desire to go running. Quite frankly, as I indicated in my last post, running was the last thing on my mind. Nevertheless, as the week post-marathon stretched out, my mood (which wasn't great at the beginning of the week) got worse and worse. The blisters on my feet healed up very quickly - pretty much painless within just a couple of days. Mentally, though, I still felt that I shouldn't/couldn't go for a run. I tried swimming, but let's face it - I've never been a very strong swimmer, and after 30 minutes in the pool, I was exhausted, frustrated, and no closer to resolving my nasty state of mind. As the days passed, Michelle started asking me, "So, are you going out for a run today?" I think she asked once on Wednesday, and maybe twice on Thursday. By the time Saturday morning rolled around, she was asking once every 15 minutes or so! Fortunately, I have friends who are much smarter than I am - that means just about all of you - one or two of you suggested I should just go out for a "fun run". Leave the watch, the heart-rate monitor, the pacing foot-pod, all the technical crap at home and just go running. Period. No time, no pace, no plan. Those of you who know me as a runner, or perhaps, even just as a person can attest to the fact that I'm a numbers kinda guy. How fast am I running? What's my heart rate? Is it faster/slower than yesterday, or last week, or the last time I ran this route? What's my pace? How far have I run? yada yada yada ... the idea of running without all that data should have occurred to me ages ago, but like most of us, I tend to get too caught up in my own shit to think clearly. I finally took everyone's advice, and nervously laced up the Adistars on Saturday morning. I headed out with only the clothes on my back, so to speak, and hit the trail ... the result? WOW!! I had an awesome run. I'm guessing it was around 16 km (I have run the route before) and I think that it took about 70 minutes, but that's all I know from the numbers side of the fence. More importantly, that 70-ish minutes of running bliss did what no amount of splashing about in the pool could do - it banished my "running demons" and proved to me that, yes, I am an addict, and yes, I can still run. I may have crashed out during the marathon, but lo and behold, I can still run. I want to shout it from the rooftops - I CAN STILL RUN!!! At least, as long as I'm not injured...
...which leads to Tuesday of this week. I didn't run Sunday, or Monday - went back to the pool to keep trying. I played some badminton for a couple of hours on Monday night (another love of mine - haven't played in about a year - running took over) and thoroughly enjoyed myself. I got up early Tuesday morning to drop Michelle's car off at the repair shop, then ran home from the shop, covering just under 10km. It was a hilly course, and I felt that I worked hard on the hills, and got home feeling pleasantly tired. By late morning, I was starting to limp, and by about 1 o'clock, I could hardly put an weight on my right foot. I started to panic and called work to book off of Wednesday's shift. I tried to get in to see my GP for Wednesday morning - no joy - he's out of the country. I opted for a walk-in clinic ("hobble-in" might be more accurate!) instead, wanting to get a quick diagnosis just in case I couldn't work. Apparently, "quick" was not the order of the day - I waited almost 90 minutes to see the doctor. The actual visit was brief, but informative nonetheless. The doctor told me that I have "sesamoiditis" - inflammation of the sesamoids, which are two jelly-bean sized bones in the base of the forefoot, just behind the first metatarsal. Luckily, the treatment is very straightforward - rest and anti-inflammatory medication. The doctor tells me that I should be right as rain in just a few weeks. The downside? I'm back to not running - again. Let's hope that poor Michelle can put up with me long enough for my foot to heal. Anyone know where I can find a runner's detox centre?
No comments:
Post a Comment