It was all going so well. At long last, after making a slow
and steady comeback from my last injury in June, things were finally starting
to fall into place again. The patience was paying off; I was progressing. After
having good runs at the Stoke Stampede 10k and the South West Inter-Counties cross
country, I had another good run out at the Oh My Obelisk race in Dawlish. This
is a multi-terrain race measuring in at 11.5 miles and with 1800ft of climb. I
had good competition at this race in the form of an off-road specialist from
Axe Valley Runners, and so I had to work harder for the victory that I would have
perhaps liked, but I managed a time 3 minutes faster than last year, in
muddier, tougher conditions, and so I was pleased that I was on track for the
Grizzly later in the season.
And then, I tore my left calf muscle.
Again.
So
that’s torn any ideas I had for a good season; in fact, that’s written off the
season completely. Around about the same time it happened last year: it’s like
Ground Hog day.
At the 4 mile point of the 11.5 mile Oh My Obelisk multi-terrain race; my last race before tearing my calf again.
Finishing the Oh My Obelisk race: 1st lady, 3 minutes faster than last year.
The thing is, I really had been sensible this time. After
rushing back into running (and racing) too soon after my initial calf and
achilles injury last February, I realised I had to take a much more measured
approach and get things right this time. I increased the mileage very very
slowly. I listened to my body, even if that meant stopping a training run 1 mile from home and walking the rest. I sacked off all forms of speed work
and hills and I tried to keep off tarmac as much as possible. I limited my
racing to low-key, off road events, of 10k distance or less to start with, and I tempo
ran rather than raced them. Each month I increased my monthly mileage very very steadily and I was icing, stretching, foam rolling, massaging,
leg pressing and calf raising my lower left leg into oblivion. I had not raced
for 3 weeks when this latest injury happened and I had been taking things steady
in training sessions, doing longer, steadier reps, mixing in some cross training, and avoiding the track where possible to try
and limit the stresses on my left leg.
With my previous two injuries (Is it 2? I lose count. They
all tend to merge one into the other and the past 12 months have seemed like one endless injury battle), it was all very well for me to pout and moan that it
wasn’t fair, why me, I don't deserve this, it sucks, yadda yadda; but
really, I had done a lot wrong and a lot to deserve it. I found that burying my
head in the sand and bemoaning the perceived injustices of it all made it easier for me
to cope with. It also made it easier for me to ignore the root causes of it and
not make any real effort to deal with it. Sure, I saw physios and specialist
sports doctors; I had umpteen massages, acupuncture sessions and ESWT
treatment on it, but I didn’t do anything to actively address the problem myself. I just wanted a quick fix. I rested
it minimally, tried to take shorts cuts in the rehab process, and basically
carried on running throughout (the longest I went without running was 1 week).
So really, it’s not blinkin’ well surprising that I ended up reinjuring it: I
had never gotten to the bottom of what was causing it or allowed it to heal properly in the first place.
This time, I find it harder to accept that I am broken
again, as I really have tried to take things slowly and not over-do it. I felt
that this time I had every right to indulge myself in a private sulk and a ‘woe
is me’ session as it had all been going so well and then it seemingly fell
apart without warning. But then, if I am truly honest with myself, there were
warnings. Both my calves felt really tight after the inter-counties cross
country. I’m not used to running in spikes and they are notoriously unforgiving
on even the strongest of calves as they offer minimal cushioning and require
you to run more on your forefoot (you’d soon come to grief if you didn’t as
there are no spikes or grip on the back end!). I did have an easy few days after the cross country,
which was adequate to rest my stronger right leg and restore it to normal, but not
enough for the troublesome leftie, who still felt tight and a bit achey. But I
had goals, dammit, that I had to train for, and time – as it is always wont to
be – was of the essence. So I resumed training and refused to acknowledge the
persistent dull ache in my lower left leg that still lingered on a couple of
weeks later. The thing is, when you train and compete to a certain degree of
intensity, you are always going to experience niggles; it’s just par for the course.
If you are using your muscles beyond their day-to-day normal functioning level, then they are bound to give you the occasional reminder
that they are tired and would appreciate a rest. Tight hamstrings, aching quads, tight calves:
this is perfectly normal. If you backed off and rested every time something
just didn’t feel perfect, you’d never train, and you’d certainly never
progress. The trick is learning to recognise the point at which something goes
beyond reasonable aching and starts to become a more persistent niggle. This is
an area in which I seem to have an uncanny knack of turning a blind eye. I now need
to realise that if it’s anything involving my lower left leg, then alarm bells
should start sounding immediately and I should back the hell off. Leftie has
proved more than once that he just ain’t up for it!
So where do I go from here? How do I progress? For regular
followers of my biannual moaning sessions (which it seems is what this blog has
unwittingly turned into, apologies, that wasn't my initial intention), you will know that I have already spent a great deal
of money seeing a whole bunch of supposed experts to try and get to the bottom
of this problem. Well, last month I paid to see another, this time taking a
fresh approach and going for a comprehensive gait analysis. It may seem
strange, after 3 ½ years of running, that I have never had this done before. I
did book in for a gait analysis at a running shop once, but what actually happened when I got there was that I was told to run up and down the pavement
outside the shop whilst the owner looked on: not terribly scientific and not the best way to detect any less
obvious, minutiae subtleties in my running form and technique. So I booked in at
Ocean Physio for an appointment with Andy, the clinical director, of the
clinic. Although the appointment was only booked for 45 minutes, I eventually emerged from the clinic at closing time, 1 hour 20 minutes later, after having had a top to toe service and MOT! I would highly recommend them - great customer service.
He took baseline tests of my flexibility and mobility, balance
and control, and power and strength, in addition to taking lots of
measurements. Whilst I have had my leg length measured by physios I’ve seen in
the past, they have never measured the circumference of my calves, and the
findings were alarming. I have always known that my left calf is significantly
less developed than my right: I can visibly see it when I look down at them or
in the mirror. Back in the days when I had severe hang ups about my body size
and appearance, I used to hate my right calf. It was shorter, stubbier,
bulkier, manlier. My mother said I was just imagining it when I looked in the
mirror and baulked, ‘Look! Look! It’s way bigger than the other one. It’s
revolting. Why can’t I have two calves like the left one?’ Now, however, I’d
give anything to have two like the right one; leftie is all style and no
substance... quite literally: he measures in at over 1cm less in circumference
than the right.
The other alarming discovery was that whilst I passed the
flexibility tests with flying colours, I failed miserably in the balance, control and strength departments. I was told to perform a plank, but leaning against a gym ball instead of on a solid, motionless surface. Ever tried this? It's bloody hard. I got into position, everything quivered and shook and I collapsed in an ungainly heap on the floor very soon after. Andy candidly stated: 'Yes. The baseline for this is 2 minutes. You just did 5 seconds.' Embarrassing just doesn't cut it. I always used to laugh at the fact that I honestly cannot manage a single proper press-up: I can get down there, I just can't get back up again. I found it hilarious - who needs press-ups anyway unless you're a body-builder? - but now I find it worrying. I clearly have the core and upper body strength of a two year old... possibly less than that. No wonder those deceptively frail looking, 70+ year old ladies at the yoga class I used to attend could nail all the poses better than I could: all that wrinkly, weather-worn, slack skin beguiles ripped glues and abs of steel! So maybe my weediness ain't so darn funny after all - it's most likely the reason why I keep breaking down. It all makes logical sense really: if my larger, core muscles aren't up to the job, they transfer the workload onto the smaller muscles lower down (the calves) and they just cannot cope with the forces being placed upon them. The right one gives it his best shot, but leftie's more of a maverick and has decided he just ain't 'avin' it anymore.
So, there's my answer, and it's got nothing to do with dodgy bio-mechanics or inappropriate footwear; it's because my body's not physically strong enough to cope with what I've been asking of it. So I have two choices: ask less of it (i.e., scale back my ambitions, training and intensity of my running), or strengthen my weak muscles so my body is able to cope with the intensity I ask of it. Obviously, I opt for this latter, and so begins a long, slow and slightly tedious program of strengthening all of my wayward and dysfunctional limbs and body parts. In short, not quite the, 'You under pronate; this orthotic will instantly solve the problem' response and quick-fix solution that I was hoping for...
I am now 3 weeks into my prescribed regime and I feel battered, bruised and like I've been brutally attacked down some back alley and left there for dead. Each day I seem to find a new ache or pain as I try to extract life from muscles that have been lying dormant for years. I've been rolling about on a gym ball on the living room floor of my boyfriend, Matt's house, in a manner eerily reminiscent of a beached whale trying in vain to haul itself back into the ocean. That is when I am not losing my balance and falling off the ball, legs akimbo, crashing into the coffee table and sending all the table-top contents flying as I do so. Although, I think that secretly, Matt is rather sadistically enjoying having a front row sofa seat at these free slap-stick comedy performances. Glad one of us is.
Last week, I registered yet another DNS at the Bourton 10k. Well, no, not quite true; in actual fact I registered a rather impressive gun time of 36:05 and a chip time of 26 minutes something (a new female world record!). How so? Well, we decided to go to the Cotswolds anyway for a mini-break and we went along to watch the race, me with my race number and timing chip in my handbag, and I can only conclude that I must have inadvertently wandered a little too close to the chip timing mat and set the thing off. Whoops. This is doubtless the best chance I have of setting a new PB these days though anyway. (I hasten to add that I did immediately contact the race organiser to apologise and rectify the error.) It looks as though I won't make the start line of the Age UK Exeter 10k on March 23rd either. I fear that if I do, I won't be able to hold myself back as it's a fast downhill and flat course, and I may aggravate the injury again. I am getting to the stage where I daren't make any future race plans or pre-enter any events, as every time I set goals, I end up breaking down, being unable to run, and losing a lot of money on unused race entries in the process. I remember the days when I could take for granted the fact that if I entered a race I would be ON THAT START LINE! I used to find it incredulous that some races had a 20% no-show rate: why would you enter and pay for something and then not run it? Now I understand it only too well as I seem not to start more of the races I've entered than I do these days.
In Bourton-on-the-Water during February half term, watching the Bourton 10k instead of running it: not 'appy :-(
So I am adopting a new, more relaxed approach to recovery and injury comeback this time round. I am not targeting any major races as that focuses a date in your mind and makes you more inclined to rush through your rehab and ignore any warning signs that you still aren't fully recovered in order to be race-ready for that set date. My previous two injuries have shown that, even with cross-training like a demon, a drop in fitness level is inevitable. This time, I am going to embrace that and use it as a positive as it will prevent me from jumping straight back in with my training where I left off in January. I can allow my fitness level to build organically alongside building the strength in my left calf. I'm knocking speed work on the head for the foreseeable future: to be honest, my 10k PB has only improved by 20 seconds since doing any speedwork anyway, so I don't think it is always the panacea it is made out to be. I want to spend the summer just having fun, learning to enjoy running again and not constantly be running in fear or breaking again. It's like my coach, Gordon, says: for a long-distance runner, I am still young; I still have time on my hands. Ultimately, my performances will be so much better for biding my time and not rushing things. I know this goes against my impatient 'but I want it now; right now' personality, but that's just something I'm going to have to learn to embrace.... or at the least, tolerate. I suppose miracles can happen; here's hopin'!
