Post 1 of 2 in which I wax poetic about... running.

Lately, I have been making an effort to go running outside more often.  It’s been going well, since it’s easy to do something more often than never.  Hey, I like to set achievable goals.

Back when I was a “real” runner, I firmly believed that running outside was the only way to run.  It was the way the gods of running intended things to be.  I ran on a treadmill once in a blue moon, if the weather was really bad and if I had access (ie, when I snuck into the YMCA using my friend’s ID card over winter breaks from college) (sneaking into gyms is nothing new here, my friends).  Every time, the experience was awful.  I felt like a hamster on a wheel, the run felt harder than it was, and I couldn’t stop staring at the seconds ticking by ever….so….slow….ly.  Or even worse, watching the little blip make its way around the agonizingly tiny circle. 

And then… I got hurt.  The getting hurt is a long, long story, but to sum it up: I somehow busted myself up real good.  No one is sure how, but the reigning theory of the day is that I broke my coccyx when I gracefully fell on my ass while drunk one night while I was studying abroad in Spain.  Of course, like any good runner, I just rain through it, figuring I’d get myself checked out by the trainers when I returned to school, do a few sessions in the cold whirlpool and be good as new in time for the Spring track season. I tried just about everything that semester, from tri-daily sessions in the cold whirlpool (my own personal version of hell, sitting submerged waist deep in an ice-filled tub for 20 minutes at a time), to ultrasound massage, stim (I don’t even know what “stim” technically is, but it feels like pins and needles and involves some sort of electric stimulation of your muscles – it’s very strange), acupuncture, physical therapy, all kinds of stretches and exercises, and finally cortisone injections.  In my butt.  NOT COOL.  I ended the season by dropping out of my last race in tears, spending the rest of the day with a bag of ice strapped to my ass.

Over the next five years, I went to at least 20 doctors in every specialty from chiropractic to orthopedics, with a slew of sports medicine docs and a rheumatologist thrown in for good measure.  For a long time, I couldn’t exercise at all, and having to give up running altogether truly broke my heart.  Not only did I love it, but I was addicted to it.  I thought I’d go insane when my coach told me to take a day off after that last race.  A day turned into a week, then two weeks, then I conceded that I’d just miss the first preseason Cross Country race in the fall.  Pretty soon I realized I was going to be out for the whole season, but I still held out hope for Winter Track, and certainly thought I’d be back for Outdoor Track.  Of course, neither happened.   Eventually I just started to focus on not being in pain every day.  Even that didn’t happen.

I graduated from college, started working, moved in with Joel, and just generally accepted my new status as a non-runner.  I went for walks when I felt burning need to get out and do something.  Sometimes we went hiking.  I got dreadfully out of shape, but there was nothing I could really do about it.

Then, about two years ago, the pain went from “daily presence, but tolerable” to making it so that I couldn’t sleep at night.   I decided to go for another soul-crushing round of doctor visits.  They sent me to physical therapy again, and this time instead of stretching out my leg and then slapping some ice on my ass, the PTs actually made some progress.  They asked the right questions and came to the conclusion that my coccyx was bent out of shape, and fixed it.  We’re not going to go into how they fixed it, because that is between me, the PT specializing in women’s health, and God.  It wasn’t a magic cure, but it helped a hell of a lot.  And all of a sudden, I could run again, at least a little bit. 

To be continued... when my wrist stops cramping up.   

(FADE TO BLACK)

Comments

[Audrey]

I know this is not the point of the post, but where in Spain did you study abroad? I spent the summer of 2004 studying abroad in Barcelona, and it was one of the best experiences of my life. (I did not get drunk and break my coccyx, although I certainly consumed a great deal of sangria.)

[elise]

Ewww, this sounds painful. I am interested in the conclusion :)

[Laurel]

This is my nightmare because:
(a) ouch
and
(b) I could totally ruin my own (less illustrious) running career by falling on my ass when drunk.

[angela]

You don't know how many times I have people telling me not to get my coccyx all bent out of shape.

[Erika]

HOW DID THEY FIX IT? HOW DID THEY FIX IT? (jumping up and down with hands clasped under chin)

[Justin]

Could you please STOP calling it a coccyx and instead call it a tailbone. This term you keep using to describe what you broke is just WAY too close to home! ;-)