Interesting week. Not quite the one I wanted. But I’m learning that I can’t control everything, and that can’t be a bad thing.
First side tangent about control: I was reading a book about adventure travel (Robert Young Pelton’s Guide to the World’s Most Dangerous Places) recently. There’s a chapter on adventure racing and it’s noted that marathon runners usually make lousy adventure racers. We’re control freaks, apparently (who knew?). In an adventure race, everything is constantly going wrong and you have to deal with it, adapt and change plans along the way. Compare not having the right flavor of gel to losing two of your kayaks on a four person team, or watching helplessly as all of your camping equipment slips into a deep ice crevasse, and you get the picture.
Second side tangent about control: I’ll preface this paragraph with the caveat that everything I’m about to say is completely speculative in nature; my personal observations and opinions only. This year’s NCAA Cross-Country Championships featured one of the most bizarre races I’ve ever seen. College phenom (and Olympian) Jenny Barringer, initially in the lead, but with Susan Kuijken right on her tail, not only faltered at several times in the race but actually appeared to pass out for a moment. She rallied, but with all those stops along the way ended up way back in the field.
I suspect she had a panic attack midrace (timely, given my recent post). Why? Besides the enormous pressure on her, as the favorite, to win, she just looked uncomfortable from the very start. Kuijken was right behind or alongside her for the start and you could see how aware of her Barringer was. Barringer’s facial expression and physical demeanor changed dramatically in the moment that Kuijken passed her (8:00) and things when rapidly downhill. You could see Barringer, looking distressed, talking to herself. Her form was shot and she didn’t look good. Then, a bit farther along, she wobbled, dropped to her knees, and collapsed (0:54, 1:42).
Where was her coach? Even if it wasn’t a panic attack, she clearly wasn’t in racing shape and belonged in the med tent. Even more disturbing than watching her struggle to her feet to finish the race was that she allowed herself to be interviewed right afterwards. On camera, she was clearly upset and shaken from the experience. I saw her doing everything other than taking care of herself. It struck me as profoundly sad, because she seemed so utterly alone.
Updated: Here’s an extended interview with Barringer after the race in which she discusses the incident and the confluence of pressures, transitions and expectations that may have contributed. I’ve also added links to the video above, along with where you can see the key meltdowns.
Anyway, back to my week. My big run on Sunday of Week 10, as I’d suspected it might, pushed my foot into a whole new world of pain. My ankle and foot also blew up overnight, resembling a Virginia ham. My sports doc couldn’t even determine which tendon was the source of the issue, so I spent the week taking NSAIDs (oral and topical) and the swelling and pain improved enough that I could run easy on the treadmill. My one run outside on Saturday caused the problem tendon to flare up, though, so I went back to my sports med guy yesterday, who (surprise!) gave me a cortisone shot.
Needless to say, I didn’t run my 4 mile race in Central Park on Sunday as that would have qualified as Doing Something Stupid. While I’m disappointed that I didn’t get to try for that first corral bib, I gotta keep my eyes on the prize, which is December 6 in Sacramento. Doc gave me the all clear to run and race as much as I like, starting today, with the warning that my race may hurt a little (and possibly a lot afterwards). But I won’t be doing any further damage to myself by running it.
Ankle and foot look and feel better this morning thanks this miracle drug. I had a planned 12 miler with 9 at just below marathon effort. I’m going to go attempt this on the track right now.
Filed under: central park, injury, training | Tagged: nsaids | 8 Comments »
Races Like a Girl 