“This hurt worse than the Ironman,” I said to Carole as she and I waited in line for a free massage just moments after finishing the Boston Marathon.
Ironman veterans had said the same to me before I finished my first Ironman: A marathon hurts worse than an Ironman.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Carole replied incredulously, much the same way I did when someone first said the same to me. “How could that be true?”
I don’t know how it could be true, but it is. Ironman Lake Placid did not hurt as much–during or after–as running the Boston Marathon. In fact, nothing I’ve ever done before hurt as much as running the Boston Marathon. As I texted my friend Courtney just moments after the finish, “It was great! Fastest one yet. Hurts like a bitch, tho. This one is gonna leave a mark.”
And, leave a mark it did. For much of the past 6 days, I’ve been doing my own rendition of the “after the marathon” video. While the aftermath may not be pretty, it is a reminder of an honest, hard effort. Here’s just a sampling of the dark side of the post-marathon glow:
- For the remainder of Monday, I had to walk straight-legged because of the pain in my quads and groin. I figured this gave my knees a break from all the unnecessary bending. It also gave me a much needed opportunity to work on my Frankenstein impression.
- The next day, I was so sore I needed to grab on to anything available in order to sit down or get up from a sitting position. I appreciated the extra challenge this provided for using the public rest rooms during our stops on the 6-hour drive home. Hovering has never been so exciting.
- Until yesterday, I wasn’t able to walk up and down stairs without taking them one step at a time, and sticking my a$$ way out to avoid putting too much strain on my quadriceps. This is a great way to make a classy entrance.
- I will likely lose at least two toenails in the next two weeks or so. This is good, because that means I’ll have an equal amount of toes with and without full toenails. I am very excited about all of the money I will save by not needing pedicures this summer.
The worst of the aftermath, however, came yesterday when I set out to do my first run since the marathon.
I had been a good little in-recovery girl all week. I had been stretching and icing. I had a recovery/active stretching massage on Friday.
Saturday was the day to test out the legs. So, after my easy long-ish bike ride (about 2 hours), I set out for an easy recovery run. From the first step, my legs lit up in pain from the soreness. My quads burned. My hips crunched. My calves screamed. I could have handled these pains, but what happened next sent shockwaves of fear through my body and brain.
About 4 minutes into the run, I started to feel a pain similar to what I felt with my last two boughts of hamstring tendonitis, which stems from the low end of my very cranky bicep femoris. Not good. This is not quite the aftermath I had anticipated. Pain, yes. Injury, no.
At first, I figured I would see how the pain progressed. On a scale of 1 to 10, the pain initially was only about a 2. Eh, that’s nothin’.
By the time I got to 10 minutes of running, the pain was about a 4, heading toward a 5, so I called it quits and walked home. A very miserable, getting more miserable walk home–and it had nothing to do with the howling wind and pouring rain that hit our area yesterday.
To put it mildly, I was freaking out. If this pain was from hamstring tendonitis, I would need about 6 or 7 weeks to recover. So, my first thought was: Sh!t. I have my first tri in 2 weeks.
Those concerns about the immediate future very quickly gave way to fears about my future in endurdance sports.
Waaaaaah! I just wanna run….
Will I be able to do the VT50 and the JFK50 this year?
How can I keep doing these distance events if my leg gives out after every big race?
Will I have to hang it up when I’m just getting started?
I suck. I can’t believe my career is over just as I was getting the hang of it.
As you can read, my mind is an incredibly slippery slope; In fact, it’s kind of like a gushing mudslide.
I try not to let my thoughts go negative, and for the most part they don’t. I’m tend to be an annoying optimist most of the time. But, when a running injury is involved, I get a little crazy. And, by “a little” I mean A LOT.
The only thing I could do was to distract myself from myself.
With packs of ice bandaged up and down my entire leg, I started organizing my closet. I took out every single piece of clothing, every pair of shoes, every bag, and organized them by color and type. I made decisions about what should go to Goodwill. I separated my winter clothes from my spring and summer clothes.
I rolled. I stretched. I iced.
When that was done, I set to work on the office. I organized the files, the books, the pictures, the pens–you get the picture. I threw out several bags of trash. In my frenzied state, I can only hope that the items I selected for trash or Goodwill were really ready for those destinations.
I stretched. I rolled. I iced.
By the time John got home from his workout, I was in a supreme frenzy of activity.
“Something wrong with your leg?” John asked. Here is how I had it bandaged:
Um, ya think?
“You knew this might happen if you did Boston,” John said.
“Yes, but, I’m more concerned about the bigger picture here. How can I keep going if this happens after every big race, after every hard effort?” I wailed, and I whined.
That question weighed on my mind for the rest of the day. Done. Washed up. Over.
By the time I went to bed, I was in a pathetic (yet comical) state of despair, convinced that I would have to hang this season up. I was done for. Oh woe is me!
Despite the agony of the previous day, I woke up this morning determined not to let it weigh me down for another day. (I told you – I am an annoying optimist.)
The sun was shining, it was almost 70-degrees, and there was just the barest of breezes. It was a great day for a bike ride.
During my ride, I felt great, better than I had on the previous day. I prayed for my leg to heal, for it to be okay, for the ability to keep going. I imagined it rebuilding and regenerating. By the time I finished the ride, I had convinced myself that my leg was okay. Yesterday was just a fluke.
Moments after racking my bike, I took Bella for a walk, and broke into a run for a few minutes. Miraculously: No pain. No problem.
Bella, a 12-year-old labrador wasn’t up for much more than a few minutes of running, especially since today was the first day of 80-degree weather. So, we continued the rest of route walking. After I got her home, I decided I would give it another shot.
I reminded myself that I ran a marathon as hard as I could just 6 days ago.
Take it easy. This is about recovery, not racing.
5 minutes in: No pain. No problem.
15 minutes in: Nothing. Not a pinch.
30 minutes in: Not a niggle. Not a tickle.
I ran a glorious 30 minutes, in the heat of the noon day sun at an embarassingly slow pace. But, who cares? I was OKAY. I could run.
The aftermath of such of an effort was bound to make my legs feel weak, vulnerable. I just had a momentary lapse of judgment. But with some prayer, faith, and hope, I was reminded that all is right with the world.
And, hey, at least my closet and office is reorganized. Now, what will I do about the kitchen…?
