|November 20, 2012||Posted by Emily under Uncategorized|
We interrupt this regularly scheduled relay recapping for an update.
In the last 7 days:
I’ve run a quarter of the mileage I normally log (IF that, it’s too emotionally scarring to actually tally it up).
I’ve taken more rest days in the last week than I care to take over the course of an entire year.
I’ve put my pilates membership on an indefinite hold and shed a few tears while sending the email requesting this change.
I’ve spent lots of time bonding with this:
And almost no time bonding with these:
I’ve tweeted exactly two things unrelated to my current lack of sweat. Which is approximately the same number of conversations I’ve had not on this same topic since last Monday.
I’ve spent countless hours with an ice pack glued to my side and a similar number of hours googling my symptoms.
And all for an absolutely dumb, non-running injury.
It all started last Monday during a lunchtime trip to the office gym for some weight lifting. At some point during my workout, I noticed that my left side was feeling slightly off. I dismissed it as an insignificant twinge and continued through my routine without any issues. But when I got to my shoulder exercises and it felt a little more off, I quit after a couple of repetitions.
After work, I went for a run and then joined a birthday celebration for one of my favorite redheads. Everything felt pretty normal. I laughed, I sneezed, I lifted drinks to my face, I walked home. No issues.
The next day, I went for a run at lunch with one of my coworkers. As we were chatting away the miles, I kept noticing a sharp pain in my side that nagged at me during very specific movements. It didn’t hurt that much but it, again, felt off. Still thinking it was just a small tweak, I went to pilates after work and requested to stay away from the oblique area. But every time I tried to engage my core at all, it felt like something was stabbing me in the side. I walked out after 10 minutes and proceeded to sulk home and pour myself a very stiff cocktail as I made the first of what would turn into several trips to my freezer to pull out the ice pack.
I sat in bed, drink in one hand, google in the other and self-diagnosed myself with an oblique muscle strain. An injury that the internets inform me is common in baseball players, tough to heal, and requires lots of rest. All things that don’t really go over well in the House of Sweat.
Since last Tuesday, it’s gotten worse.
Every time I move, every sneeze, every laugh, every step I take feels like someone is stabbing me in the side with a very sharp, very painful weapon. The annoying thing about this injury…scratch that, one of several annoying things about this injury, is that you use your core for EVERYTHING. This is the first time I’ve ever been hurt and felt like I could do absolutely nothing to stay active. Even while in a boot and on crutches, I was able to workout for 2-3 hours a day. But throw your oblique a little off and sweating is a long lost cause.
I have an appointment with my doctor this morning, but I will be shocked if she suggests it’s anything but a fairly strained oblique muscle. I am emotionally prepared for her to tell me the worst (which would obviously be to rest for a significant period of time) and I’m ready to accept that.
I know that I can’t achieve my goals for Carlsbad unless I’m 100 percent. I need my pilates, I need my weight lifting and I certainly need to make it through speed workouts, challenging long runs and every mile in between if I want to PR my next marathon. I have no interest in half-assing my way to the starting line and if that means resting and readjusting my timeline by a few months, then that’s what I’ll do.
I’ve had a ridiculously incredible year of running. While it obviously won’t make me happy to receive confirmation that I’m stuck with a really shitty injury, I’ve watched running friends endure a lot worse this year, and much closer to their goal races. A few months off for an injury that can and will heal is not the end of the world.
That said, don’t think there won’t be a few outbursts of anger/sadness/rage if I actually can’t run for the foreseeable future.
Stay tuned and send lots of healthy abdominal thoughts in the general direction of DC.