February 2013

If I didn’t already have a middle name, I think Dimity Challenge McDowell has a nice ring to it, don’t you?

So remember that post about my slipping and falling in Salt Lake City, and not breaking my foot?
I inadvertently lied.
I ran on it on Saturday and Sunday after the fall–short runs that were less than 30 minutes–and then I went out on it again on Tuesday (7 miles) and Thursday (6). When my left glute and hip lit up like Times Square with pain on Thursday—a condition that had been percolating for a few days—I knew I was seriously compensating for my foot and had to cry uncle.
“This is a very odd fracture,” said the podiatrist I saw today as he looked at a tiny bit of bone chipped off the inner part of my left big toe, “Very odd and very interesting. I have no idea how you did it.”
“I fell in a very odd and interesting way on it,” I replied, remembering my total splay-out in SLC, “That’s my best guess.”

Amen.

The chip fracture, I am thrilled to report, does not—repeat: does not—require any more time spent in the big black boot. According to Dr. P., it just needs three weeks of quiet time, no running, regular ice to minimize swelling, and some Vitamin Ibuprofen if the aching gets too bad. At its worst, it feels like a strong tetanus shot; at its best, I barely notice it.
I can bike in my stiff-soled shoes just fine, so I just need to load up on chamois cream to keep my most delicate parts chafe-free and save House of Cards for only when I’m riding. (I started watching that on Saturday morning…v. entertaining.) I will miss a 10-miler I have entered next weekend, as well as the 13.1 miles of the Disney Princess Half-Marathon, but rest assured: I’ll be the tallest cheerleader the Run Disney folks have ever seen.
I’ve also kind of been lying about another injured body part. Lying by omission, mostly because I just don’t want to give it any air time here; I’ve already given it days and days of mental air time, plus I’m betting you all have enough complaining in your lives already.
But since this is a coming-clean post, here it is: my left shoulder has been an aching, pinched mess ever since the Harvest Moon Aquabike. I haven’t swum since early December, and pedaling while I rest in the aerobars of Lyle, my trusty, speedy steed, is agony. There have been days when I couldn’t hold the steering wheel  of my car with my left hand, and I’ve made double the trips to bring in groceries into the house so I don’t stress the joint. It’s the kind of dull, yet relentless pain that causes people to grind their teeth; to not want to talk to their spouse, lest they start yelling or crying; to both unnecessarily yell at and cry in front of their children. (O.k., those “people” are me.)
The good news is that shoulder is slowly quieting down, and I’m working with a chiropractor to help find some space in there; our best guess is that I’ve got a pinched nerve with improper mechanics. (Trying to visualize and figure out how to move a shoulder properly is right up there with trigonometry for me. Complete brain fart for both.) I got in the pool today for the first time in over two months to give it a test spin. It wasn’t as angry as I thought it would be as I puttered along, and it only whispered at me after the pool session. I’ll chalk that puppy up in the win column.
So to recap: Over the course of a year, I learn to run so my lower body is mostly pain-free, then my shoulder gets all pissy. My shoulder starts to quiet down, and a bone in my toe gets chipped.

There will be magic in Idaho. I’m betting on it.

The oddest thing? I’m surprisingly (for me) calm about this whole thing. I haven’t cried about any body part in over a week. I had a super helpful call with my coach on Thursday, and she talked me off the ledge. You can sidestroke and still make the swim cutoff. You can ride your road bike and you only have to go 13 mph to meet the bike cutoff. You can walk the marathon and still get over the finish line in less than 17 hours. I don’t know if she was telling the truth or just petting my ego—likely a little of both—but when I hung up, I wasn’t in emotional turmoil, as I normally would be.
Don’t quote me on this, but I’m a little relieved this Ironman experience has come down to the basics. No time predictions, no can I go faster questions? I simply want to cross the finish line. The clock can read 16:59:59, and if I’m coming across the line, I’ll be doing my best can-you-believe dance.
The triathlon world can get so nerdy and nitpicky: How fast are you swimming those repeats? What’s the fastest wetsuit? How aero can you go on your bike? What are your splits? By having just one objective—one finish line crossed by one (mostly) healthy, capable body—I can ignore the noise of watts and beats per minute and thicknesses of wetsuits and transition area tactics. I can leave my ego at the starting line and not worry about looking the part, or having the speed or mental focus.
If need be, I will sidestroke, pedal my road bike and walk 26.2 miles. I will do what it takes to see that finish line.
So for now, I’ll pedal on, swim some, ice and ice some more, and rest my foot.  Nobody said this was going to be easy. And most days, I’m pretty sure it’s worth aching shoulders and chipped toes and the mental challenge to keep it all together.
Nobody likes a solo whiner; what body part(s) are bugging you these days?