The finish line has been packed away for a while. Many teams and team-mates have gone back to their regularly scheduled running agendas be that regularly or taking a break until next time. Veterans have long stashed their medals in a drawer or wherever their other multitudes ended up and even the newbies have stopped wearing theirs everywhere deemed halfway appropriate for bragging. The race is officially over and so it the finishing high. For some this time just marks the end of one training cycle and the beginning of another. For others it was a nice blip at the beginning of their summer racing schedule. But for some of us, it’s the big letdown- it was the race we were training for and now there’s nothing on the horizon or for a small (thank God) number of us, we are in need of recuperation from injury.
When my team lined up for the start of the 2011 Oregon Epic Relay, I was in the driver’s seat with no chance of pinning on a bib number. I had just ditched my crutches two weeks before. Two months before, a surgeon reattached by hamstring to my pelvis. The physical therapist was nervous I going with my team at all. I’m not exactly known for sitting on the sidelines, behaving myself, or listening to doctors’ instructions. It was tough, but with a great team supporting me, I managed to behave, follow instructions, and get back into running shape for the 2012 Oregon Epic Relay.
When YBNRML lined up for the 2012 Oregon Epic Relay, I was ready. I’d been strength training at Crossfit two days a week, skating with my Roller Derby team two days a week, and running three to four days a week. I’d crossed the finish line of Eugene Half Marathon, PR’d at the Newcastle-Under-Lyme 7 miler, and was running faster than I had a decade ago. This was gonna be my year! I was not going to be the slowest on the team; I was going to be one of the linchpins! I was excited-it was also my year to cross the finish line.
If you were part of the Oregon Epic Relay, you most likely saw or heard what happened at the 2nd mile marker of my first leg. I ran off the side of the road, twisting my left ankle and removing most of the skin off my right knee. Thanks to Team #22- Life in Training- for calling my team and helping me to stem the blood flow. After finishing the last 3.5 miles of that leg, my team insisted on taking me to the Silverton Emergency Room. My knee was still bleeding and the ankle was killing me. The ER insisted on taking X-rays. As the nurse scrubbed out my knee, I stoically sat and watched without a whimper. Then the doc came in with the bad news- the X-ray showed a bone chip, the ankle was broken. I was devastated. I broke down into tears startling the nurse who was still scrubbing my knee. “Did I hurt you?” she asked. “No, I can’t finish the race,” I wailed in response. The technician who put on my cast was very sympathetic, but reminded me several times not to put any weight on it. I left with crutches and a referral to see an orthopedist in the next week.
My team, the Epic organizers, and all the Epic teams we saw on the course expressed their remorse and condolences and were basically awesome to me. Almost every runner knows what it’s like to have a run or a race taken out of their control by injury or other circumstances.
I crossed the finish line on my crutches and received my medal with my team. I wasn’t happy as to how it happened but I was happy to have finished and am so proud of my team.
Now comes my personal post-race let down. It took nearly a week to get into the doctor. When I finally did, after a few minutes with the X-rays, he declared it wasn’t broken. The bone chip is from an old injury. (My brother was devastated to find out I had not run 3.5 miles on a “broken” ankle until he found out I’d been running on an ankle that had been broken and never fixed. I am still a “bad-ass” in his eyes.) I tendon had not been torn away from the ankle during the run and if I could stand the pain, it is likely that I could have run the rest of my legs. How could I tell my van-mates that they ran extra mileage for no reason? Will they hate me?
Even though the ankle wasn’t broken, I did sprain/strain it enough to not be able to train for at least two weeks. To be at the top of your game, forced to not finish, told you could have finished, and then told you can’t get back to life as usual? Who wouldn’t be a little disheartened? Is it any wonder I went into a little of a depressive tail-spin?
If you’ve even twisted your ankle, you know it swells and can stay swollen for a while and then will swell on and off for even longer. If you’ve ever had a joint immobilized, you understand how stiff and sore my ankle was after a week. The orthopedist had declared it not broken, but he also insisted on a heavy duty brace and physical therapy. For the first couple of days I was happy to have the cast off and moving my ankle. Then it swelled again and was sore. The first PT appointment showed me how weak it was. I began to doubt myself. A year before I was on crutches due to a stupid move that ripped my hamstring. A year later I was on crutches in the middle a race due to another stupid move.
Visualization is a great tool to get ready for a race or another big event. Unfortunately it can also be a huge detriment when all you see is the bad. I began seeing my ankle snapping and giving out every time I thought about running. I even stutter-stepped a few times going down stairs because I was afraid I would break it. My physical therapist had even inadvertently made me afraid of my bike by saying if I stepped down too quickly it may give.
I am not used to being afraid. I was always the dare-devil: hanging upside-down on the monkey bars when I was four, turning back-flips off the swings, rappelling headfirst down the cliff, etc. When I first started back to roller derby after having my hamstring re-attached, I was a little nervous and timid on my skates, but only for a few practices and it didn’t keep me from doing anything we were supposed to do in practice. The last few weeks I have been afraid to ride my bike, go to Crossfit, or even walk. Silly, I know, but all I could see and hear was my ankle snapping if I stepped off the curb wrong.
My husband and mother kept telling me to live my life that it’s too short to let a little sore ankle stop me. I just couldn’t get over it. Hearing it pop ruled my actions, created doubt, and made me believe I am getting too old for this stuff. My derby and running friends were sympathizing that my ankle was injured, but I was telling them it wasn’t as bad as originally thought. How would I explain my fear?
For two weeks I avoided most of my fit friends and caught up on my TV shows instead of skating or running. I ate ice-cream instead of home-made fruit smoothies and cookie instead of fruits and veggies. I drank alcohol instead of water. My fear ruled my life.
I don’t know why when I woke up this particular morning I felt like testing the ankle. Two weeks of a pity party and suddenly I’m wanting to try going for a run. Maybe I was tired of being scared, maybe I was tired of the popping ankle on replay in my brain, or maybe I was just really craving some work-out endorphins. Whatever the reason, when hubby said he was headed to the middle school track to do some intervals, I threw on my running clothes in record time to join him. I hate the track- running in circles bores me to tears, but I knew the flat and springy surface would appease my PT. And despite the fact that I hate the track, it was the most wonderful run of the year. My ankle never complained once- no popping, no snapping, no broken ankle in need of surgery. I even managed to cover the three miles at a decent clip- just a few seconds slower than my usual training pace.
I wish I could pass on to you how to get out of a fear funk, the secret to getting over it and moving on with your life. I wish I could give you the pep talk to top all pep talks so that if or when you need it you can bring it out and get back to your life quicker than I did. But I don’t. I don’t know how or why the recording finally stopped replaying in my head or if it will haunt me again. The only promise I can make you, the assurance I can give, is that the fear will come to an end and the recording will at least pause long enough for you to play another image. A better image. A happier image.
Enjoy the run my Epic friends!
Rikki, the (mostly), once again, fearless captain of Team YBNRML