Slowly does it...

Last week’s proverbial testing of the water didn’t go as well as I had hoped. Accompanied by Garry (who was on his way to soccer), I cautiously navigated my way around a complex of grassy pitches for 20 minutes (in strict accordance with my physio’s guarded instructions). Sadly, my foot felt vulnerable from start to finish and I decided not to push it again for the week (retiring to the couch once again).

With my recovery in hiatus, daydreams of runs were once again forced to play a poor substitute role. Worse still, my mischievous lower limbs had rustled up a fresh affliction: plantar facilitis – an infamous and painful inflammatory of the tissue in front of the heel – has affected both feet; possible due to the recovery core exercises addressing my ligament problems! When I think back - this all could have been all avoided by going around 1 stone!

Anyway, a phone conversation with my physio anesthetised my latest foreboding – she calmly assured me that I was making progress; the bruising and ligament damage was approaching a clean bill of health, and the plantar facilitis could be addressed with more kneading of the area with my trusty – and multifaceted – golf ball. Explaining this peculiar need for mechanical movement of my legs under my work desk was an amusing distraction for many of my colleagues but my discipline appears to have paid off. A week on, I was ready to try again – last night, I tested the joints with a 30 minute run at about 7.5 minute/mile pace. It went reasonably well and despite my foot feeling a little tight, I’m very hopeful.

In theory, my plan for the next few days involves taking today off; jog for 40 minutes tomorrow; day off; 50 minutes jog; day off; 1 hour jog; day off, and then… hopefully… fingers crossed… touch wood… I’m recovered; ready to go back to my club, and start gearing towards Paris again.   

On an equally positive note, a friend of mine from hockey days in College is targeting Paris too. Unlike my good self, she is the veteran of 3 marathons, the latest being the ‘09 New York Marathon where she finished in 24^th place (2h52m21s). In a word, she’s fast. She also reads this blog (hi Jill) so I won’t wax too lyrically about her – suffice to say that it’ll be nice to have someone to bounce training programmes, experiences and everything else off. Not to take away from this cyber portal, absolutely not, it’s just… well… as the Boolean technologies go, it’s just a little too logical.  

172 days to Paris

Choo choo

Today’s a big day – I’m hoping to get back on the horse. Over the last few weeks, I’ve been chugging down arnica tables every two hours with mechanical precision, plastering my ankle and arch with generous heaps of ibuprofen gel, resorting to endless laps in the deep end of a local pool while aqua jogging, and just for good measure, several hours of being screamed at to spin harder in satanic spinning classes. I’m exaggerating slightly (about the satanic bit), but I have been trying my best to stay fit and nurse my way back to the roads.

It hasn’t been entirely dull; I was helping out with minding Rebecca’s Mum’s golden retriever for a few days (Leo). This entailed several extended walks during the exceedingly early hours for my four pawed friend. Although I wasn’t technically meant to be out walking this early in my rehabilitation, I enjoyed it, especially when the sun came up. The down side was embarking into the pitch black and wandering down an old railway line that is enclosed on all sides by eerily still trees and solemn looking stone bridges. My protection for these walks was a pooch that has all the ferocity of a… well.. tongue hanging, slobber soaked, tail wagging golden retriever! The only time he perked up for a ‘kill’ was when a mouse scampered out in front of us… that’s how intimidating Leo is, a mouse fancied his chances. At all other times, he busied himself sniffing and peeing. Thankfully, the robbers, thieves, pimps, drug pushers, murders, and aliens I anticipated under each bridge and behind most shrubberies didn’t materialise – Leo’s somewhat suspect protective instincts remain unchallenged. As for my rehabilitation, although my ankle and arch tightened during these walks, it felt OK. Several days on, I’m only vaguely aware of any trouble.

In the absence of actual running, I did the next best thing – I read about other people doing it. The good news: a raft of various running novels, runner’s world magazines, and Internet ramblings has continued to wet my appetite. Although the magnitude of the task is beginning to dawn on me, I still feel good about it. Now – hopefully – with all the rehabilitation at an end, I’m ready to start ratcheting up my body for training (which should kick off in December). Today, I’m starting off with an easily paced 20 minute jog on the grass with Garry after work. I’ll take stock afterwards and take it from there.

                           

Baby steps.
180 days to go

Trainspotting

At the risk of sounding dramatic or flogging an analogy, I feel like I spend my days train spotting at the moment. The trains represent days of the week – they’re just passing me by, I’m stuck waiting on the platform absentmindedly wrestling nervously with my watch.

At the beginning of this week, I thought that I wasn’t far away from getting back out on the roads. I secretly held out hope that I’d awake in the morning with all of the bruising and pain a thing of the past. Unfortunately, when the morning arrived, and as soon as I swung my feet out to the ground, I could feel that all too familiar dull discomfort. So there I was, sitting on the edge of my bed cheering my spirits with a new mantra – ‘tomorrow… it’ll be fine tomorrow’.

My hope wasn’t blind – it was based on effort I was putting into recovery. I had been doing my best to look after all three issues: I rolled around a golf ball under my foot for about an hour every day in an attempt to break down the scar tissue at the base of the arch, as well as the bruising from that devil-stone from three weeks back (up by my toes). I could feel a dull pain from this routine but nothing too dramatic – certainly nothing worthy of tapping out. As for what I thought was a tendon issue by the ankle – I would dig around here as much as I could as it was the source major discomfort – a sharp piecing ache pleading with me to stop. I used to let Bec have a good dig around until her thumb gave out (it was excruciating).

So off I trundled to my physio on Wednesday morning in the hope that I could get back out by the beginning of next week – after all – apart from the ankle, everything felt good (the bruising on the base of my foot was now barely noticeable). Sadly, I had a bombshell awaiting me. That tendon I was digging at was actually the ligament that supports the arch. I was only the second person my physio had ever seen damage it in any way. Worse than that - Rule #1 with ligaments, you leave them alone. I had exacerbated the damage by insisting to knead out non-existent scar tissue. The needles you see below were just part of the recovery plan – it looks like I have several weeks of spinning and aqua jogging ahead while I let that ligament recover and work on my core muscles. I’m also back to normal shoes for a while as my arch has been weakened by my insistence to collapse in on them in order to diminish the pain of the bruised foot in the top corner. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such a snowball effect from running over one stone.

                                                                                                 

Obviously, the Cork to Cobh race is definitely not going to happen now – it’s in 3 days, it’s 15 miles long , I have lost the race fitness I was assembling, and oh, yeah, I’m crocked. It was especially disappointing to receive my race number in the post earlier this week – only to have to deposit it in the bin. Sad really, as I was really looking forward to running through Glounthaune (the half way point in the race and my home since I was a child). It’s not a huge setback for the training; the race was only ever meant to be a barometer of my progress. At the end of the day, the race isn’t going to happen and I have to get on with that. Poo.

Spinning classes, ah how I haven't missed spinning. In truth, I had forgotten how hard spinning actually is. As a general rule, spinning instructors tend to be Hitler-esque in their zeal but the last class’s Fräulein was particularly forceful in her directions. My thighs are killing me – so I’ll try some aqua jogging this afternoon instead - or maybe age is catching up with me and I'll give the thighs another day off.

In truth, it’s a long way to Paris. Time to get stop the train spotting for a while, get off the platform and come back in a few weeks.

192 days to Paris

Injured

Injured, and quite depressed about it.

At the risk of self-diagnosing, I’m going to shoot ahead and self-diagnose (in a long winded way synonymous with blog posting types and those that need a forum for their rants). I’ve pulled a muscle (please don’t let it be a tendon – although it does feel like one) that runs over your arch and along the foot. I think it all stems from the under-foot bruising I had after the stone I hit a few weeks ago. You may recall me waxing lyrical about my barefoot shoes and the advantages of the feedback from the road. Well, this feedback is great in healthy strong feet – your gait is forced into an efficient state that the human form can support with its web of muscles, tendons, and such that have evolved over the millennia. The problem is when you are carrying an injury. That injury pain may be more than the road feedback – so I think my gait morphed into a stride that minimised a mixture of (1) road feedback and (2) injury pain. So now I was running with a form that strained muscles unused to the stresses of road running and un-cushioned from the repetitive impacts from the road.

Looking back, I think I pretended my bruising wasn’t sore – I was desperate to continue training for a number of reasons (I was excited about Paris; the Cork to Cobh race was coming up; and I had just joined a running club in which I was eager to impress).  By forcing the running on the morning after I hit that stone, I strained that lateral tendon on the bruised foot, and 2 weeks on, while trying to minimise impact on (1) my bruising and (2) my ankle (both of which are on the outside of my foot), I’ve managed to strain a muscle on the inside of my foot over the arch. It feels stupid now, I should have rested, but I was desperate to go out running and I felt it was worth the risk.

My foot swelled up something ridiculous after a run last Monday night. I’ve been icing it and resting it the best I can but I’ll just have to wait for the swelling to go down and haul my ass back into the physio. Time will tell as to the extent of time I’ll be out – I think best case scenario is 2 weeks.

I want to stay positive, but I’m ridiculously disappointed that I’ll miss the Cork to Cobh 15 mile race. I can ill afford the monetary punishment associated with injuries. But, more importantly (for me at least), there is also the physiological side – running is a major source of enjoyment now. It’s an outlet I feel I can control and my gut tells me I could be good at it. My work life is in the doldrums at the moment so it’s great to have this positive outlet in there.

Things aren’t all bad mind, myself and girlfriend have moved out into a cosy little house down a quiet avenue in Blackrock which we love. Amusingly, it’s all of 50 metres from the old railway line that I run around Mahon. Coincidence, I can assure you. The other positive – the Sunday market ; this was always going to fit nicely with a foodie.

So I’ll keep the spirits up, and if I’m out for long, I’ll take up yoga as a means of increasing flexibility. My flexibility has always been poor (comparable to an iron rod) and that can’t help with the staving off of the auld injuries.

Stay positive (a note to myself but you can do it too)

199 days to go

Paris, here we come!

I’m booked in – Paris here we come! Race no. 12360 awaits my chest and, unsurprisingly, I’m very excited. I’ve strategically chosen Paris. I’ve been trawling through a mountain of literature on the subject – heavily researching some of the more fundamental preparations – and Paris in April appears to make a lot of sense. An April effort should allow me to squeeze two attempts into 2011. Oh and another solid reason for running the Paris marathon is it’s in Paris – why not!

Training for marathons is tough – they typically require around four months of specific and targeted training. I say training, it’s basically rigid body conditioning. From what I understand, these training months will require me to steadily increase more miles every week as I push my muscles, joints and tendons to breaking point with endless slaps of the asphalt and countless gasps for air. Depending on the programme – and my body’s limits- I’ll be aiming to run around 60 miles during peak weeks and perhaps as much as 750 miles over the whole of the four month programme (maybe more). Needless to say, that not the exciting part… that’s the necessary evil that will get me to the starting line at 8am at the Arc de Triomphe on the 10th of April along with 39,999 co-runners (that’s the exciting part).

From what I’ve garnered from this terrifying research project I’ve set myself, I shouldn’t really be targeting a finish time too rigidly at this very early stage. It being my first marathon – I’ve a hell of lot to learn about my body, my stamina and my mentality. I do have a window in on each of these from my two 10 mile races where everything, and I mean everything, begged me to stop around the 8 mile mark in both races… Jesus, what’s it going to be like after 18 miles of a marathon. Or 25 for that matter! Stop panicking Elmer, it’s a bit early for that.

Sorry. Ok, its news to no one that I want to run in ‘two hours and something’, but my training programme won’t involve ‘As many miles on Monday morning at 6.5 mins/mile, 5 miles on Tuesday at same pace, etc’. Instead, it’s all about pushing my pace into a comfortable zone that will allow me to clock more miles. “Run hard but get those miles, miles, miles”… it’ll be all about the miles. Did someone say miles? They will make or break my marathon. Forget the time, just get over the line… then look at the time.

That’s it… it’s to be that simple (or at least it is with the training programme I’ve chosen to adopt). No heart rate monitors, no carbon dioxide counts, just miles. I will have some variety in the programme (tempo runs, hill runs, and so on), but when March comes round (in 6 months time), I’ll have enough feedback from my body to know my pace for Paris. Hopefully I’ll listen to it and ignore the bet. Don’t get me wrong, it may be the necessary pace for ‘2 hour and something’ (it would be great if it was). But it also may not be.

It’s nearing the end of September now, so that leaves me October and November to start preparations. I’ve joined Leevale AC which puts me in some good company (Ireland’s Silver medal winner from the Europeans aside), I’m training with the winner Marathons, Irelands No. 2 in the woman’s 5k, the World No. 6 in sprint triathlons and many more souls I have yet to meet. That’s exciting. The coach also seems really good too – old school, which I like (he represented Ireland in the Berlin Olympics in the marathon).

So that’s it. There are probably easier means of sightseeing the French capital, the infamous Paris open top bus for instance, but I’ve decided I want to see as much of it as I can from the streets (squeezed into 2 hours and something minutes).

On your marks, get set… go!

202 days to go.

Sleep Running

I'm slightly concerned that I'm becoming obsessed with running. Let's look at the evidence: I talk about running to the point of nausea (for my friends at least); I have several "running friends" (ala The Inbetweeners); I'm joining a club (I'll let ye know how that goes); I try to get 5 runs in a week (so that I don't get annoyed); and I do get annoyed with elements of my life that may be adversely affecting my running. Oh, and I'm slowly building up a library of running books. Hell, I scour the Internet looking for running articles, and I follow several running blogs (they really are a portal into the very essence of the sport). My girlfriend has rightly pointed out that I go through phases that require me to become obsessed. Most people - when they decide to take up running - go out and run, I have to research the topic, buy books, watch DVD's, attend clinics, and experiment with barefoot shoes that may make my gait more efficient and my body less prone to injury! I couldn't just go out for a few miles in asics like normal people.

Speaking of injury, I'm dealing reasonably well with my slight ankle sprain. I called into Sinéad (my physio) on Friday for a 30 minute torture session on my sprain. During this half hour misery session awash with excruciating agony and piercing aches, she revealed she used to run barefoot during her early years and never suffered any adverse affects. This is good news for my little experiment. With that, I drove down to Mahon this morning with a very hungover Garry, and we went for a very tentative 5 mile loop - I nursed my foot while he nursed his throbbing brain. My ankle felt ok, the sprain is definitely better, but I am worried about the bruising under my foot from hitting that stone. That still aches - I suppose time will tell.

I am probably more concerned, worried even, about being off the road for any sustained period again in the future. This rising apprehension has to do with my state of mind. Last week, I actually went sleep running! I kid you not: in the bed, tucked up, under the sheets... my legs were going ninety! How do we know this for sure, my ever suffering girlfriend was kicked by a torrent of heels at around 3:15am. When she managed to turn me the other way, she got a fist full of scrawling toes at around 3:17am

Bec: "Elmer, what's wrong with you?"
Elmer (sleepily): "ammmm, I think I was running"
Bec: "Of course you were... lie on your back please"



Are these the actions of a man who would deal well with being off the road for an extensive period. Absolutely not, and that is why this runner is obsessed with avoiding injury.. .if only for the preservation of my mind, and Bec's lower limbs.

Run clockwise you fool

Last week’s 5km personal best didn’t come from nowhere; I had ramped up my training significantly by doing some interval work, increased distance, and some hill running (not a difficult task when your postal address is “The Highlands”). I was out on the roads 5 times a week and clocked up around 80 miles over the last 3 weeks. I had been using a training programme pilfered from the internet geared towards half marathons (as I’m registered for the Cork to Cobh 15 mile race on the 3rd of Oct).

This newfound professionalism – having commenced all of three weeks ago – was also timed with a transfer of footware in order to develop and sustain a more efficient running gait. Anyone who’s seen me run over the last few months probably noticed I pranced more than I ran - I used to bounce down the road, unwittingly putting as much effort into going up… as I did to going forward. With this in mind, I started off my pursuit of an efficient, injury free running form by adopting the ChiRunning programme; I bought the book, the DVD and attended one of Catherina McKiernan’s running clinics. The programme is a great fit for the basics, but I feel that it falls short when pursing competition running. In addition, it’s very easy to slip out of good form when you’re tired… and I was getting tired a lot!

So I started researching and the more I’ve read on the topic, the more intrigued I was by the school of thought that advocates minimalist footware. A friend of mine swears by his barefoot five finger shoes - I know, I know... they look weird... you should see them on! But back to my story (drama), he managed to sell me a pair that were the wrong size for him but perfect for me (which reminds me Garry, I owe you money – presuming you’re reading this which you may not be… you’re not even a blog follower! I’ve put a reminder in my phone).

The objective of the shoes is to help the runner to stop heel striking, bounding and/or any other adverse habits picked up over time. These habits are either inefficient or harmful to the ankles, shins, knees and hips (runners' hotspots for injury). When running in them, your body begins to intuitively adopt a gait that minimises foot impact as a sort of ‘self preservation’ because you get 100% feedback from your foot strike. Normal runners are a bit like driving a crap rental car (say... Opel Corsa) with no feedback from the steering wheel – you just don’t know what the car is doing and you’ve no idea how you’re getting on when cornering hard (for those of you who corner hard in rental cars).

Sorry, I diggressed (you may need to get used to that), so I started training and racing in Vibram 5 finger shoes and haven’t looked back since. Unfortunately, whilst not looking back, I also forgot to look ahead… and last Friday, I hit a large stone/boulder while out on the road. As you can imagine, you only get marginal protection from lacerations/thorns/pebbles/etc from these shoes and little or no protection from large stones. The impact left me with some pretty severe bruising under my right foot (which I tried to make nothing of at the time... but it hurt). So when I woke up for Saturday’s early morning interval run with Phil on the Glanmire GAA pitches, I probably "nursed" that foot a little in a shoe that offers zero protection and zero support. I ran anticlockwise for over 7 miles at a fast pace (as I was doing interval training) which meant 56 right angle bends off my bruised foot. When I awoke on Sunday, the tendon below the ankle (the one you use for lateral movements) ached . I phoned the physio for confirmation of my suspected problem two days later and she confirmed; I’m out for a while (a week at least until she examines it). Sod it, it’s 3 weeks until Cork to Cobh!



So in conclusion, my tendon hurts, the bruising under my foot hurts and my ego hurts – mainly down to the stupidity of it… why did I go out that day… and if I had to, why did I run anticlockwise!


Run clockwise you fool, CLOCKWISE!