Sidelined

To whoever told me running was addicting before I started and I didn't believe you? I'm sorry. (You were right. I was wrong. Seriously.)

Running has become my release, my stress relief wonder-drug ever since I started C25K. If I've had a bad day, more than likely you'd find me in the middle of BFE, blazing my trail down the country road by foot.

Like any other running day, I got up early and went to the grocery first thing this past Saturday. This weekend you would've found me at two local race tracks, running around like a madwoman working media in a side gig. I knew I needed to get the grocery chore done or we wouldn't eat for the remainder of the week (I can't let my hubby starve). I also needed to run since I didn't feel up to it Friday night. The run would split my days of my typical run days (Friday/Sunday), but it would be done, as I wouldn't of been in any shape to run after a day full of stock cars. I knew that ahead of time and planned accordingly as best as I could've.

Jump back to Tuesday night this past week, I set out for a four-miler, if I could handle it. I've been working up to 12 miles a week, running 3 nights for 4 miles. I've been following the 10% increase rule pretty religiously, not increasing my distance over 10% from the week before's total, but still listening to my body and stretching really good after each run. Since I didn't really feel it after a long day Friday, I made no excuse not to run Saturday morning, as I knew I'd be enjoying a track's delish Pizzaburger later that night. I needed ALL of the calories I could get after you factor in adding Cheese Curds! ;)

I set out for another typical four-miler on Saturday after coming home from the grocery and downing some Gatorade, grabbing a small snack. (I don't run well after just rolling out of bed. I have to wait a while before I can run early in the morning. Actually, on second thought, I just don't function well period after rolling out of bed. I'm getting older, folks. It's total crap.) Things seemed totally normal until after turning around at the 2 mile mark, running up until about 2 1/2 miles with no problem. I hit 2.75 and wanted to die. Figuratively of course, but the pain coming from the top of my foot, and most importantly the outside of my left knee put me in tears. I called my husband in a panic to come pick my sweaty and gimpy butt up, because I couldn't walk the remaining mile or so back. I couldn't function.

Awesome. And I was due to leave for the track in 2 hours. Even more awesome, right?

I needed to make a last minute run to town to pick up some overnight mail I'd been eagerly anticipating, and while there I picked up a brace, some Aleve, and decided to suck it up.

After resting for some time, things seemed to feel ok. Got to the track, got my passes, got in, and set out for the infield to do my thing. To get to the infield, you have to go down stairs, through a tunnel, and back up into Turn 3. I took one step down to go through the tunnel and wimpered in pain. Stairs were more than just a chore. And I had no choice but to suck it up a push on.

I ran through the tunnel what seemed like 20 times that night, back and forth to the tower to get what I needed, then back to Turn 3 again, after trips under the tunnel. Each time the pain got worse, but I couldn't stop. Standing or pacing? I was fine. But sprinting and walking were an absolute killer. It actually felt somewhat good to just stay in one place, but I couldn't. Not for what I was doing.

After Saturday night, I learned my lesson for Sunday and headed to track number 2. I only made the trip across the track twice, looking a little worse for wear each time I came back up from the other side. I only needed to grab a few key shots for my recap, and thankfully a clean race made the wear and tear on my knee a little bit easier.

Enter today. I knew something was still wrong. I knew it wasn't just a muscle strain I could put off and work through, so I called my chiropractor to make an appointment. He also does sports medicine/physical therapy, and I knew I at least needed an opinion to see if I needed a referral. Luckily he was able to treat me in office, working with ultrasound to help get me on my way.

So here I sit, typing, with an icepack on my knee watching hockey. Aleve twice a day, icepack every night, and most importantly no running until I'm pain free.

(Insert audible obscenities here.)

No running. No stress relief. No feeding the healthy addiction I've developed until I'm pain free.

I know it's for the best, and I am still young. I don't want to permanently hurt myself for the remainder of my life, but I do feel like a total failure.

Let me first say I am in no way an athlete. They are on a whole different, higher level than I've ever been in my life. But when you hear an athlete say that doing something they love gets taken away by injury and they're sidelined, ordered to rest, unable to do what they love, that it messes with their psyche? It's completely true.

I know this isn't the end, and no I'm not on crutches, but I feel miserable. This is my first sports-related injury I've ever had, first injury that's put me on rest for some time since I broke my arm in fifth grade.

Quite frankly I'm frustrated. I'm ticked. Yes it's just tendonitis, and I'm being a total baby, or 'Anxiety Girl,' as one of my favorite coworkers puts it.

Yeah, that's me alright. Ugh.

I know this too shall pass, and until then I'll try to maintain as healthy of a diet as I can to help with the remaining 5 pounds I want off of me. But in the meantime, it's just me, an icepack, and no running; no 5K's, no fun runs, no running until I'm pain free.

Bull, if you ask me.