Yesterday I bowed to the twin gods of running and rampant commercialism and got myself fitted for a new pair of road running shoes. The shoes I believed to be right for my gait were tearing strips off my arches whenever I ran more than a few kilometres, and I felt my stride was different to when it had last been analysed (a diagnosis of horrible overpronation, heelstrike and flat footedness was given) and if I wanted to start packing on the k's a better set of gear was needed. Interestingly, it looks like my gait has indeed changed. I'm still flat-footed but my gait is very neutral, I no longer overpronate and that's really good news for running distance and not injuring my knees. Historically I've had real issues with my kneecaps dislocating, causing intense pain and lots of dire warnings from doctors, including the memorable response to the question "How do I stop this happening when I exercise?" "Stop exercising". Cue years of feeling like I couldn't and shouldn't and rampant obesity and a total lack of faith in my body. Nice.
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| My running shoe family. Top left, the overpronate-correcting sole shredders. Bottom right, the most expensive shoes I have ever bought. I never in my life thought I'd have a trainer collection. |
New shoes in my possession, I decided that rest day and hot weather be damned. I was going for a run. The afternoon had that really nice, loose feel to it that made me think running 10k was a possibility. The longest I'd run since I started training was 5k (when I'd finished my intervals on the treadmill and decided to push on for the 5. Personal best yo) and as a wise man once said "If you can run 5 comfortably, you can run 10. Just run a bit slower" (thanks dad!). I planned a route out, one I'd never done before that took me to the waterfront then up a murderous hill but that came in just shy of the ten, and off I went.
It was great. My fancy GPS timing watch ran out of power about 3k in, so I sailed on without the carrot and stick that is the time. Having just got used to having a timer, it was strange going without. At one point I took a wrong turn which led to a dead end at the bottom of a ferocious incline but I was enjoying myself so much at that point I didn't care going all the way back up, it meant I was running for longer.
I pushed myself all the way up the hill (West End Road for you locals), and the final few k along a Saturday afternoon shopping street felt almost surreal. I was running in a little bubble of isolation, dodging past sleek-looking middle-aged women and pudgy kids. At one point, a small child ran alongside me for about three shop lengths, racing me to a bakery where a little dog was tied up. She pointed out as we ran that my cap was the same colour as her shoes. It was all I could do to grin and gesture, saving my energy for a final mad sprint down the hill towards my house.
On wobbly legs I wandered around the block to cool down, gulping back water and feeling a weird mixture of exhaustion and freshness. The marathon has never felt more close, more achievable than it did at that moment. From checking the time when I got in the house with when I started my watch, it turned out I did the lot in 1 hour 18 minutes, hardly an Olympic qualifying time but still better than I'd thought.
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| Route went past this. Then went up. A lot. |
I had enough time to inhale a couple of sandwiches and wash the salt off my face before it was in the car to go to team training. We were learning a couple of new tricks and tips and I was feeling pretty good physically until during a scrum start one of the skaters went down and landed hard on my left leg. It's almost 100% but still doesn't like being over-extended and this overextended it a LOT. I also twisted at the trapped knee from being taken down. The pain was intense. Hell, for a few seconds I felt like I'd broken it again. The pain shot up from ankle to knee but after the initial impact it mercifully lacked the gut-wrenching pain of a break. I got some ice, took my skate off, and limped off the track. Just a little bang-up, I told myself. Really, no biggie. It'd be fine. I cancelled a dive trip today and turned down the offer of a cycle ride just to make sure.
It's over 24 hours since the "little bang-up" and I am not feeling fine. My knee won't bend without a sharp pain and my ankle doesn't like having my full weight on it. I went for coffee with someone and did little other than be annoyed about it (sorry dude). I want to go to a night out tonight but if I'm honest I'm in pain and cranky and PISSED OFF and probably not the kind of company wanted at a party. I was planning on going for a trail run tomorrow before this weekend's XTERRA 12k race but I'm not sure if that'll happen now. I'm actually getting a little teary writing this at the idea of not being able to make my training commitments this week while it heals. I'm even googling for a physio open on a bank holiday so I can get it looked at tomorrow.
I'm trying to be rational about it, I'm hoping it's nothing but the pain is pretty bad. If I'm out for a week or so I'm going to be bloody furious. I'm really hitting my stride (literally and figuratively) and to be laid up now would be positively cruel.
So here's the thing. Running isn't hurting me, skating is. This is the second training in two weeks where I've left the track prematurely with an icepack and a grimace (a big hit at scrimmage the other week gave me whiplash-like neck pains for about a week. Total game time: 5 minutes) I had entertained the notion that the derby fates were done with me and I would stop getting hurt. It looks like I was wrong.
I don't get it. I'm certainly fitter than the average skater. I run four times a week. I take my offskates seriously. I eat well. I listen to the "We're all really unfit and that's why we get injured" rhetoric and think hell, that's not me. So what is it? Because I have a feeling there's a decision coming that I'm going to have to make, and if I do then the shoes will beat the skates. I am going to run this bloody marathon, and if derby won't share me with it then the sport will have to go.
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