On the comeback trail

 

    A lot of runners have experienced injuries and the trials therein. It’s a difficult time, especially for those like myself, who, when unable to run, become thoroughly depressed. I mean this in a fairly light manner, as I have friends who are actually, clinically, depressed––and that’s scary. My depression was a lesser kind, and left me quite more easily than others’ might.


    Being injured is never fun, and when it’s something as small and quite frankly as obnoxious as mine was (and sometimes still is), it can really drive a runner into some troubles.


    My injury started in mid-season of track and field and lasted until the middle of July. I got tendonitis in my left foot, along the first metatarsal. For about a month and a half I couldn’t walk without stepping on the very outside edge of my foot. I wore an aircast boot for about two weeks, hoping it would help, which I’m sure it did––I just hate that thing with a burning passion. After struggling with my inability to compete in three in-season meets, I found at least some relief.


    I attended all the meets that we competed in as a team. At the KVAC meet, I went to get my foot taped to see if it would allow me to run. I got some run-of-the-mill athletic tape and knew that it wasn’t enough. After sitting at the tent and moping a little, my teammate came over with hot pink Kinesio tape on her legs to help with her shinsplints. I had heard of the tape before, but had never used it. My coach brought me back over to the tent and got me all taped up.


    As soon as the tape went on, I could feel something change. It was practically imperceptible––a very slight lift of my skin. I stepped off the table.


    The first word I said was, “Wow.” I was so surprised. The pain was virtually gone, all because of some weird pink tape with two round-ended prongs around my big toe. I walked out about three feet, and felt just a little pain. I was disappointed, having been hoping that it would solve all of my problems, that it would have been a miracle drug, so to speak. However, as soon as I took the last step back to the end of the table I’d been sitting on, the little prick on the top of my toe-knuckle vanished.


    “It’s gone!” I said, marvelously confused.


    I walked around a bit and confirmed it: “Yeah, it’s completely gone. Wow. That’s––wow.”


    I was ecstatic, and immediately commenced warming up. I did some band-walks to activate my glutes (schmexy!), and went on to some high-knees––a mistake.


    I landed on the ball of my left foot, and pain exploded through my tendons, sending a tingling shockwave up my calf. Deflated, I limped back to the medical tent, where my coach was located while another teammate was getting his then grapefruit-sized knee covered in black Kinesio tape. With despondence in my voice and tears in my eyes, I told my coach that I couldn’t run after all. I was so heartbroken as I made my way back to the team. I felt like I was letting everyone down. As one of the top runners, I felt that it was my responsibility to be there to help score for the team, and their abounding sympathy and truly genuine get-well-soon wishes seemed at the time like proof of my failure.


    In PE, I couldn’t participate in almost any of the activities. I remember playing lots of frisbee, as well as spending almost an entire eighty minutes throwing a tennis ball against the wall, switching hands every few tosses for balance. I ended up getting a zero on the final, a 5k around the track, because I couldn’t run. I spent a lot of time crying and feeling sorry for myself. I thought and imagined things that scare me. I didn’t want to live without running.


    Luckily, I found an outlet in mountain biking, and with the help of my friend Cole, I managed to maintain at least some of my sanity (though I didn’t start out with much). I got back to running in mid-July. At first I felt embarrassed and slightly self-deprecating that I was so slow (in my mind at least). As I got more comfortable with myself, I began to dream a little bigger. I gradually increased from a measly two miles to a more reasonable five. I’m still a little self-conscious about races, though. I recently went to run the Lobster Festival road race, which I thought was a 5k, but turned out to be twice that (10k, for those of you who are not so great with numbers). I was too afraid, having not run that distance yet, and chose to simply volunteer as a flagger with my mum––a choice which I sorely regret. In fact, I would’ve had a good chance of placing rather well, and even being first woman. I know it sounds vain, but I didn’t want to enter a race in which I wouldn’t have done well. It’s stupid, but I didn’t want people to think, “Gee, what happened? She used to be so fast. I guess she’s burnt out.” They wouldn’t have even thought that, but I was still worried. Being injured is a major blow to my self-esteem. Occasionally the pain will start up again, a nagging little soreness, as if the tendons are whispering inimically, “We’re still not at one hundred percent, you know.”


    I was on MileSplit recently and saw an article in which was discussed Eastern Maine runners to watch out for in the upcoming season––one of them was myself. It gave me such determination to come back strong. I told myself that I would live up to their expectations, and even go beyond. I greatly appreciated that it mentioned my injury. It took some of the pressure off––people would know what happened, why I’ve started out slow. Don’t worry, though, I’ll be back––and stronger than ever.

 

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