My bike set-up: Garmin (for heart rate monitor); fan (for climate control); ironing board (for entertainment center); computer (for my Netflix date with Coach Taylor from Friday Night Lights); foam roller (after the ride, for sure).

So in my race report from the Rock ‘n’ Roll Denver Half Marathon, I left out one minor detail: something sprung in my right side area between Mile 11 and 12. Something that felt like a virtual dagger plunged into that high hamstring/low glute area when I was bounding up a hill, and it took my breath away. But because I was running pretty well and because I had finally, finally executed a smart race plan–and because the last mile was downhill–I did my best to shove it out of my head.
Two weeks later, and I’ve hardly run a step since then. I went out for an easy 30-minute recovery run on Tuesday morning after the race, and took about seven steps, and Ms. Right Glute immediately told me she was not interested in playing this game. I thought about going around my block to see if I could coax her, but I know better.
Even if if a little blood flow would’ve shut ‘er up, it’s not a like a 30 minute run was going to make the situation better. More likely, it would’ve pounded another nail into the coffin–or dagger into my hammy. As I wrote in Run Like a Mother, a really intelligent running doc told me anything above a pain level of 3 on a scale of 1-10 means you stop, drop, and roll. Or at least complete the first part of that directive. And this clocked it at a sound 7.
So I turned around, and walked the 100 yards home. I rested, I iced, I heated, and I tried not to sit too much. Sitting is agony. (Sitting in a window seat, in a true “economy”–read: mouse-sized–seat, on an airplane is hell. But you get enough whining from your kids, so I’ll be quiet now.)
Mostly, I tried not to freak. The tweak/strain/twinge/sprain/whatever you want to call it happened almost a year after I got my boot off from my stress fracture. I had one sobfest as I slobbered and complained to Grant–this is my “healthy” right side; I feel stronger than I have in years; I haven’t been trying to run too fast or too far; I really wanted to cap off this great year with a rip-it-up race at the Strip at Night in Las Vegas–but mostly, I’ve tried to keep it in perspective. So I don’t go down to sea level and run like a rock star? If I’m smart about this, I’ll still be able to run it. Or, as they say on twitter, #firstworldproblems.
I’ve embraced my bike again and am on speaking terms with the elliptical machine. I really hate the elliptical, though: at least with the bike, there’s the promise of going somewhere. But the elliptical? Last I checked, making ovals with your bottom half as you slice and dice with your upper half doesn’t get you anywhere except on the express lane to crazy.
Still, neither pedaling or ellipticalling hurt my hamstring, and we all know how much I need to sweat. I also need to foam roll daily to unkink my right side, which apparently is more taut than the shortest string on a harp, which is why the uphill plucked it a little too aggressively. I’ve had directives to foam roll daily, but I just couldn’t seem to find the oomph to lie down among the dog hairs and roll on a regular basis. That oomph now originates in my right butt cheek and, coincidentally, seems to have a magnetic relationship with the roller…funny how an injury can do that to you.
I’m not sure when I’ll get to run again; hopefully in about two weeks. Until then, I’m just going to take it pedal by pedal, oval by oval, foam roll by foam roll, and believe that there’s some healing going on down under.
You dealing with any injuries–minor, major, somewhere in between–lately? How’s your mental perspective? Your physical body?