Middle Aged Ligaments Suck!

So, I am out tonight intending to have a lovely 10 km. Let's talk about the weather first - temp is mild, there was some snow last night and this morning but the sidewalks, for the most part are clear. There are, however, hunks of ice, on the sidewalk, leftovers from the last plowing. You know what I mean, the kind that, somehow, regardless of where your foot is and regardless of wherever they are, they wind up under your soles like some podiatric intergalactic missile. Well, that's what happened tonight. One foot, one ice hunk, one twisted ankle. Dang! And only 7 or 800 metres into the run. So, with the help of my buddies I hobbled back to the car. Didn't feel that badly but I did not want to slow them down. I did have a secret thought that, perhaps, when I got back to my place I would test the strained ankle in my own neighbourhood after it had an opportunity to rest (on the drive home)!



Got in the car and wouldn't you know it...when I had accelerated (gas ankle = hurt ankle) it hurt like hell. I think the slight plantar extension required in depressing the gas pedal is the same plantar extension that is utilized in running. Hmmm...nix the Plan B run. Anyway, I got home and decided to give my daughter, the physiotherapy student, an opportunity to do a clinical assessment and write a plan of therapy. She said, "where does it hurt?" I said, "right across here". "Does it hurt when you do this?" "Yes." "How about when you do this?" "Yes". "Hmmm...I think you should put ice on it and rest it for a few days...oh, I would recommend that you not go to spin tomorrow." "Is that it? Is that all you're going to tell me?" "yeah, that's what we tell everybody!"... Bottom line is I have a 51 year old ankle. Came to that realization when I was sprawled on the Hampton Road. Gawd! I feel so betrayed - my ankle has failed.



So, what's an old gal to do? Those ligaments, tissues, muscles, bones and such become so vulnerable. Something I would have totally ignored not that long ago, an ache or a pain, is now a source of hand wringing for me. I must now think about bone density, degenerative changes consistent with age, that intense fear of infirmity. I hate it when I am reminded of the frailties of the human body. Gosh, if running did anything for me, it was to facilitate the complete suppression of that fact.



K, this has been my cathartic moment. Tomorrow I will skip my spin class and apply ice to my ankle 3 or 4 times daily. And I will be out with my running group Wednesday night. Or not...



The Middle Aged Runner

Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, Mea Maxima Culpa

I was raised in the Catholic Church. I was accustomed to the structure and the ritual, to the smell of the incense during feasts and celebrations and to the lyrical droning of the community reciting the Apostles’ Creed – never in unison. I dutifully received my sacraments – baptism, communion, confirmation, marriage – without any doubt that this was the way things were done – whether I liked it or not. I brought my children up in the Church, taught Catechism, was a lay reader and was generally quite involved. I was a good Catholic, always felt somewhat tainted about being human – generally lived with a good sense of guilt every day. Well, I don’t attend mass anymore – no longer meets my spiritual needs. Running now fills that void - I believe I have alluded to this in one of my earlier posts.

What’s my point? This is what is curious - over the weekend, on two successful beautiful days – Saturday and Sunday, I thought about running but decided that the need to do some Christmas shopping was more immediate. So, that’s what I did – I went Christmas shopping and did not run – didn’t even go to the gym. How did I feel about that? GUILTY! What is going on here? Evidently in the transfer from one spiritual vehicle to another – that old RC guilt came with it. Dang! So, did I flog myself mercilessly? No, but that constant pang – so comfortably settled in my gut for most of my life - remained. "Bless me Father, for I have sinned; it has been 5 days since my last run". Until tonight! I ran with my friend Brent . "I am only interested in 10 k", he said. "Me too", I replied as we walked out the door. Our 10 km turned out to be 14 and hilly as hell. The ice was trecherous in some areas so we took a few turns here and there. Let's go down here, less traffic, less ice. It was glorious. We parted at the school and as I drove home, listening to As it Happens talk about abandoned Chihuahuas in California, I felt a sense of relief - similar to the feeling I had during the penance I was given as a child. Tonight, as then, I felt purged of my transgressions. Only tonight it was combined with the endorphin high.

Sweet redemption. I can live with myself yet again.

As I read this entry I am reluctant to post it - it seems so intimate and kind of nutty too. But I think we all live with guilt in one form or another and I think many of us are motivated by the need to eliminate that guilt.

Any other guilty runners out there?

The Middle Aged Runner

ps - Thanks Brent...

The Love Hate Relationship..

I have run without my garmin since October. The tyranny of training is over until the New Year anyway. I have been able to run the entire month of November without checking my pace, suffering through 800 metre repeats, hills, tempo runs nor have I burst into tears on a long run. I have been running socially, enjoying the company of friends and rediscovering why I started running in the first place. So, why don't I just run for fitness and fun? Running has never been particularly competative for me - races have never been venues for me to compete against other runners. I competed against myself only. So why is it that when I train for full marathons I absolutely detest running by the time my race rolls around.

The training is tough - always tougher than the race itself. It's expensive, I sure don't need another Tshirt, sure isn't to see those horrid photographs at the finish line they publish online, I don't expect to qualify for Boston - I know I don't train hard enough for that anyway. Every full marathon I run is my absolute last! There is a definite positive correlation between mileage and hatred - the higher my mileage the higher the hate metre! So why do I race? What is the attraction? Perhaps it is the manifestation of a middle aged crisis - my corvette. Perhaps it is an attempt at preserving my own self esteem - to gain a sense of accomplishment when many of my careeer and family goals have been met.

While I continue to ponder these questions I will revel in my current love affair with running and enjoy until the training begins and the garmin makes its appearance again. I haven't decided yet but I suspect something will pique my interest in the Spring. This hate relationship is like your memory of childbirth - an exhilarating experience (which, just like training, is never consistent with my husband's memory).

Does anyone else have this contradictory relationship with running? Love to hear from you....

The Middle Aged Runner

Deterred by Rain?

Monday was a gray day, raining by the early evening. One of those days that enables you to easily say, "forget it, I am not going out in this mess!" Too wet, too cold, too dark, too dangerous, too wetcolddark&dangerous. However, I had told my running bud earlier in the day that I would be there - in my galoshes if I had to be. All I had to do was get to the door - a much more attainable goal than getting to the high school. I agonized about the attire - what jacket, what shoes, a ball cap (most definitely for rain), gloves (in November, for sure), drive home jacket - finally decided what would be most comfortable and in the car I went.

Met my friend and off we went. Not pouring rain but rain nonetheless. It was a little cold starting out but warmed up in a short period of time. As we moved along we picked up another runner and continued on. Off the beaten path, the swish of the passing vehicles is lessened and I hear the slap of running shoes on the wet pavement, the sound of the rain bouncing off my jacket and see individual drops of water trickling from the brim of my cap. As we run uphill conversation decreases and the steady sound of our breathing is in rhythm with our footsteps. As we make our way around the route we are back on a more traveled route. Vehicles roar by, one by one, creating seemingly tsunamic waves catapulting towards us on the shoulder. In reality, of course, we are splashed sporatically but even small amounts of water is magnified to biblical proportions when you're wet already.

15 km later we ended our run and parted. I took off my cap and gloves and changed my jacket and set out for my 10 minute drive home soaked down to my socks. Yet I felt a curious sense of well being as I always do when I run in the rain. It is not about braving the elements. It's like a cleansing process - ridding the mind and body of all the negativity that has been absorbed during the day - and becoming whole and healthy again ready to take on the next day.

The Middle Aged Runner