With all the attention I’ve been giving to cycling for the past few months, some of you may have started to wonder if I should change the name of my blog to cycling a life.
Hey, not so fast there, buddy.
Let’s get something clear: if it wasn’t for running, there would be no reason to do triathlon, to punish myself on a bike, to slog through yards of swimming despite the fact that I am clearly NOT a fish.
Running is, and always will be, my sport of choice. The swim and the bike are an elaborate warm up. Yet, to be fair, swimming and cycling have made me a better runner–no doubt. And, in times of injury, swimming and cycling are vital for maintaining fitness.
I should know, I’ve been struggling for months with a right leg hobbled by tendonitis and ITBS. So, swimming and cycling have been the mainstay of this year’s training for Ironman Lake Placid. I had almost forgotten–or perhaps chosen to ignore–how central running is to my life. It’s not just training to me.
It’s a way of living–a way of being. It’s a part of who I am. As Lady Gaga would say, Baby, I was born this way.
When I’m running–I mean really running with legs thrusting, arms jacking, lungs pumping–everything else in life is better, my senses are heightened, my emotions are raw and deep, my connection to the spiritual is firmly fixed.
But, when I can’t run for extended periods, all of that dims, which has made the past several months that much more challenging.
Last September, after the Vermont 50, my leg became inflamed (again). Rather than freak out, I decided to make lemonade out of lemons, and focus on my cycling. I told myself that “Operation: Become a Better Cyclist” was for the best since cycling is a major weakness. And, that type of weakness can pose a problem for an event that calls for a 112 mile bike ride.
Even after I was able to start running again, something just didn’t feel right. I’d have some good runs, but then I’d have days where my leg would be cranky.
Looking at my logs, I’m troubled by how many times I wrote “right leg is cranky today.” I’m surprised I was able to run Boston–and PR at that. But, I paid a heavy price for that effort by aggravating my leg (again). As you can see, I haven’t had a “normal” run for months.
About three weeks ago, I started ART (active release technique) and Gratson treatments and began correcting issues with my biomechanics, which I wrote about last week (click here to read about my experience). I was cautious at first, but with each run, my leg has felt stronger, and I’ve come to trust its strength and sturdiness more and more.
Yes, I lost some speed, but given the inconsistency in my run training, this is hardly surprising. Yet, my overall running fitness and endurance is still there, and with each run, it’s getting stronger and stronger.
Muscles truly do have memory!
Last week, I had the first set of runs that felt significantly better from the previous months of limping along.
Know what I did?
I wept like a baby. I don’t mean the weeping that I normally do. I mean full-on, tears-streaming, air-gasping sobbing.
I didn’t make much fuss of the first running-sob session. I figured it was just the release from several, successive 20+ hour weeks of hard training. I mean, I’ve been known to weep a time or fifty before.
Then, it happened again the next day. This time the tears came after my mid-week brick run, just a short 3.7 miler, nothing special. But this time, I was really crying–far from what anyone might describe as weeping. My chest was actually heaving, and I held on to the kitchen counter for support. My dog, Bella, came over and started licking me and nudging me to make sure I was okay.
Then, it happened again two days later during the brick run after my long ride. This time, I started crying before I even finished the run. It was becoming obvious that the tears were not the result of training stress. They were tears of relief.
Relief that I could run.
Relief that I might not have to walk the Ironman marathon after all.
Relief that my goals for Lake Placid are still in view, there for the reaching.
After months of anxiety about this leg, I was starting to believe–really believe–that it was not only getting better, it was better.
I let the tears flow as I finished my run, a glorious 7 mile romp, following a challenging 85 mile jaunt on the velo.
I was running —really running–again.
