Where Was I When the Wind Stopped?

I had been waiting for awhile to write this.  Maybe it's because I was in denial; maybe it's because I was simply tired of thinking about it.  Or perhaps I was clinging to a thread of hope.  A couple of Fridays ago, I went to UPMC with my friend Sarah to get a third and final opinion on the FAI in my right hip.  The doctor and I had a look at the MRI and discussed the chronology of all that had transpired.  Then, the doctor bluntly explained to me that 6 more weeks of high-intensity training in conjunction with an all-out race effort at Boston (much less Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc in August) could basically destroy the joint.  Major surgery in an effort to remediate the FAI would yield only a relatively small chance of success with the specter of a long, painful recovery.  Given all the facts and the opinions of five different doctors, I made the decision to stop running and shut it down.  Done.  Now.  Today.  No Boston.  No more bargaining with doctors, physical therapists, and myself.

If there is any saving grace to this, I can rest easy knowing I exhausted all options and left no stone unturned.  I have no regrets and would not change a thing.  My job now, with gratitude, humility and respect, is to step to the side, pay it forward and to do everything I can to help my other friends in their athletic pursuits, as well as embark on new adventures in my life.  I had my turn and it was magnificent.  It bears repeating ... no regrets.  Over the next few blog posts, I will examine the past, the present, and the future through my runner's eyes.  I can only hope there is a nugget or two of information someone will find useful.        

As for my mental disposition, there have been good days and not-so-good days.  I'm able to keep my mind occupied most of the time with work and other forms of exercise like swimming and cycling.  However, I readily confess there have been some sleepless nights where I have felt a painful grief washing over me.  A few nights ago, lying in bed, it occurred to me how strange a feeling it was trying to recall the last mile I had run.  And why would I want to remember the experience?  Is it because if I never forget that last mile and am able to memorize it in excruciating detail, I will always be able to, in some sense, hold onto running?  Perhaps ...

Wednesday, March 7, 2012.  It was a 9-mile VO2 max workout on the Mon River Trail south of the Little Falls Road trailhead.  The weather was unusually warm for mid-March.  I had just completed the 5th and final interval of the workout and was cooling down.  I trotted along and admired the rocky cliffs to my right.  During a good rain, small streams in the pour-offs would turn into waterfalls cascading down onto the face.  If the temperature was cold enough, the waterfalls would form these exquisite crystalline ice flows I'd always pause to admire.  I loved this trail because there was rarely a soul ever on it.  How many of life's problems and pleasures I had experienced on this trail.  How many statistical proofs I had worked through and solved on this trail.  How much nothingness I had embraced on this trail.  

More often than not, I'd flush a flock of turkey making their way to roost in the tall oaks and hickories on the river bluffs for the night or I'd watch a doe with her fawn browsing in the grass berm off to the side in the mist of the morning.  On this day, there were daffodils and trillium popping up out of the ground, heralding the coming of an early spring.  A couple of wood ducks sprang from the water's edge, squealing as they departed out over the main channel of the river.  Just south of the trailhead, the river made a bend towards the northwest.  There was a series of about 10 old rusty piers used for some long forgotten purpose lining the eastern bank.  Whenever those piers came into view on my run, I knew I was only minutes from the car.  Like a horse smelling oats in the barn, I'd always pick up the pace just a little in anticipation of a post-run snack!              

The compressed wind was blowing down the river channel with enough force that it was slowing my progress but I did not care.  I viewed the wind as a friend, not a foe.  The wind in my face made me feel alive and so damn lucky to be running, particularly in light of all the events over the past few months.  I closed my eyes and drank it in.  Sarah was waiting in town to go out with me so I had better hurry as I was close to being late.  But I could not help myself to dally just a bit, to feel the wind a little longer at some at some anticipatory and subconscious level.  And as I slowly walked to the car, after a seemingly innocuous mile jog, the wind just stopped.            

Last Saturday, Sarah and I went on a long randonneur bike ride north of Pittsburgh with several other people from a local bike club.  As the hours passed, we cycled through the classic mosaic of western Pennsylvania.  Cornfields and small woodlots rolled by.  We passed through small towns with their churches proclaiming fish fries on Friday nights, old taverns with Steelers banners hanging above the front doors, and gray houses built in the 30s and 40s lining the streets like soldiers in a procession.  There amidst the conversations among the riders, out there with my new bike learning just the right time to shift, I felt it.  The wind ... it is blowing again ... I felt it on my face ... the caress of the sweet, sweet wind.      

Several More Seconds

Last Friday afternoon, I pointed ye old Honda Fit to the west and headed over to Cincinnati to run in the Food on the Run 10K.  I was concerned about how wise it would be to do the race.  On Tuesday of last week, I ran an intense 8-mile VO2 max workout.  Then, following my Pfitzinger training plan to the letter, I ran a brisk 10-mile workout the next day.  To tell you the truth, I didn't want to do it because my hip was cranky and there was a freezing, driving rain outside.  Nonetheless, off I went and like any stubborn ultra runner, I was determined to pound my way through the workout and the pain.  While I completed the mission, so to speak, I paid dearly for it as I was crippled up the next two days as my physical therapist Rob Acciavatti noted.  Lesson learned?  I won't be running back-to-back days anymore.  It's either adapt to the cards I've been dealt or stop running entirely; I have to take what the body will give me.

In any case, off on my road trip I went.  Road trips have provided me a whole lot of pleasure over the past few years.  There's something about cruising off to some distant place, near or far, with some music playing, munching on my Subway 12" Veggie Delight, talking with my friends on the phone, that just trips my trigger.

Along the way, I took a quick spin through Athens, Ohio to see my alma mater, Ohio University.  It had been many, many years since I drove through Athens and all sorts of memories came flooding back as I drove through a town that seemed comfortably frozen in time and recalled favorite watering holes and war stories.

Just east of Cincy, I drove straight into the jaws of a massive thunderstorm, a storm that I would later discover spawned several killer tornados.  There was a constant flicker of lightning.  Strong downdrafts pushed my car all over the road and the sheets of rain greatly limited my visibility.  As I was driving along at about 30 mph, all of a sudden I noticed a fairly good-sized tree (4-5" dbh?) had fallen across the road.  With no reaction time at all, I centered and jumped the sucker and proceeded on my merry way!  Had I been going 60 + mph, the outcome likely would have been much more negative.      

I stayed at the Hilton downtown and was pleasantly surprised.  What a cool place!  I could imagine Cincy would be a nice weekend trip -- wandering around Over-the-Rhine sightseeing, hitting a Thai restaurant, checking out a Reds game, followed by a stroll along the Ohio River.  What do you think?

View of downtown Cincinnati looking towards the Ohio River.

Saturday morning was windy and chilly.  The run started down at Yeatman's Cove in a park along the Ohio River.  I was surprised by the number of people in attendance; there might have been upwards of 1,000 runners just for the 10K (there was also a 5K).  The gun went off at 9 AM and the first mile + went up a climbing grade (1 or 2%?).  Almost from the onset, my hip hurt and I felt stiff from standing around in the cold for an hour prior to the race.  With the grade my pace fell well below my target.  After two miles, I felt demoralized to tell you the truth.  However, then the course descended back into the park and I was able to pick some time back up in the next two miles.  As the course entered the park it swung out along the Ohio River and I caught up with the eventual overall woman's winner.  Her and I were in lockstep with every stride fighting through a fierce headwind but I felt like she was running a nice race and so I used her as a de facto pacer.  Finally, the course turned around near the Reds' stadium and it was a straight shot back to the park.  I managed a 40:33 which was a PR for me by 1.5 minutes and won my age group.

What made the day perfect was a visit from Steve Wendall and Stacy Gelhaus of Pittsburgh when I arrived back in Morgantown late yesterday afternoon.  We had a beautiful evening stroll along the rail trail followed by a very nice dinner.  Knowing people like Steve and Stacy makes my life full and rich and puts things in focused perspective.  Thanks, you two!

What has been interesting the past few weeks has been the mental component to my physical health.  There have been some lower than low lows where I am filled with a despair imagining my life without running and I plop down in the middle of the rail trail during a run for a good cry.  But then there comes a beam of light like yesterday where for a glorious moment I am running wild and free again, wrapping my arms around the world, refusing to feel sorry for myself, refusing to go quietly into the abyss and the darkness of the night.

I do not know how much running I have left ... a 1/16th of a tank of gas?  I've taken drastic steps to hang on to Boston like grim death.  I've slashed my miles down to 40 high-quality miles across 3-4 days.  Gone are the minimalist shoes and flats.  Gone are the so-called recovery runs.  Gone are any Zone 2-type workouts; they have all been replaced with increased strength training, spinning, and ... swimming.  Yes, the very swimming I learned a year and a half ago and quit a thousand times ... the irony of it all.  I wear compression shorts that are as stiff as chain mail and the Hoka Bondi B shoes I now run in have almost singularly salvaged my 2012 running (thanks, Dave Frazier for the recommendation).  They are wonderful and I would encourage anyone who is having running-related joint problems to momentarily put down their copy of "Born to Run" and at least consider Hokas.  A friend of mine who is of a similar age, Bill Gentry, has an interesting "run-walk" strategy I have been thinking that I really need to pick his brain about.  Bill has a remarkable consecutive day run streak he has amassed over the past few years.  Way to go, Bill!                      

As far as the FAI itself, the pain right now is manageable when I run (a 3/10?).  An Aleve from time-to-time helps.  Stretching after all workouts helps.  The physical therapy has helped.  All the aforementioned have helped.  However, this is not the sort of injury I will bounce back from, where if I just put in a million hours of rehab, then I will one day be completely recovered.  I was going to see an expert in FAI over in Nashville but then thought better of it for several reasons.  Instead, I will be seeing Dr. Stone up in Pittsburgh at UPMC next Friday for another opinion, the last opinion before making any further decisions.

Finally, I want to say "hat's off" to friends Tad Davis and Maria Dalzot for their great race performances at the Ugly Mudder trail race recently in Reading, Pennsylvania!  Wohoo!  Maria won the woman's race and Tad is shaping up to be one of the finest male master's runners I know if he keeps this up :-)

Now ... if I could find a way to just shave off several more seconds each mile in the next 10K, could I break 40?  Hmmm ... just several more seconds.  I figure if my other hip starts having problems and as I turn another year older very soon, then I'll have my next 10K just where I want it!  (That's meant to be some dark comedic relief.)

Just several more seconds ...