"A deep chronic sense or state of insecurity and dissatisfaction arising from unresolved problems or unfulfilled needs"
Thankyou Dictionary.com, I couldn't have said it better myself. Well, perhaps I would have used stronger words than "insecurity" or "dissatisfaction"... Maybe something along the lines of "A deep and chronic desire to scream incoherently, tear one's hair out and lay waste to whatever people and/or objects are within the immediate vicinity, arising from unresolved problems or unfulfilled needs". Yes, that sums it up nicely. I would be jumping up and down with said frustration if it didn't hurt my knee so much. Even five minutes on the physio's exercise bike was enough to flare it up badly a week or two ago. But, it is getting much better now, so I should probably stop whining and complaining and get on to the good news.
About a week and a half ago, I had a cortisone injection in my knee. It is certainly not an experience I wish to repeat in the near future. Or the distant future, come to think of it. Try and imagine the sensation of someone stabbing a knife into the nerve that runs down your leg, sending shooting pains from your knee right down to the bones in your toes. Sounds lovely doesn't it? Not that the doctor was sticking a needle into my nerve or anything, it just felt that way. Plus, I was one of the lucky 10% the doctor warned me about that will have a period of 24-48hrs where the pain gets worse before it gets better. Anyone that has experienced the joys of a "steroid flare" will know exactly what I'm talking about. Hooray! I spent that night with the very bones of my leg aching and my knee protesting every movement. Oh wait, more whining... I was supposed to be getting on to the good news wasn't I?
Well, I spoke to my phsyio today, and he's letting me off the leash for two 1-hour walks over the weekend. Well, the second walk is going to be dependent on how my knee feels after the first one, but I'm going to do the mental equivalent of sticking my fingers in my ears and singing "La la la" and pretend that its going to feel fantastic. No chance whatsoever that it might be sore, its going to be strong and pain-free. Positive thinking and all that. Of course, I'd much rather be running, but as someone that hasn't been able to do any exercise for the past four weeks the idea of even walking has me in throes of joyous rapture. Yes, before anyone suggests it I know I could have been swimming, but have you felt the temperature out there lately? Snowflake's chance in hell of me getting into a pool!
Anyway, hopefully my next entry will be much less depressing and may even have a report of me jumping up and down with the joy of feeling good after my walk. Fingers crossed everyone!
Friday, July 27, 2007
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Excuse me, fat sloth coming through!
Which is basically how I feel at the moment. Its amazing how much you appreciate something once you can't do it anymore! While at one time I would have enjoyed the break from running, its become apparent just how much I'd started to enjoy it in the past six months or so. Running used to be a chore, something I did to keep my weight under control and my fitness up, but now its a staple part of my life. A staple part that has been forcibly removed, leaving me feeling like someone has chopped my legs out from under me (no pun intended). The physio did mention the possibility of running next week, so I shall wait for that moment with bated breath.
Speaking of the physio, he's been great. Aside from the whole "elbow in the glute" thing anyway. In fact, I'm really not a fan of any of the rather painful releases he does on various protesting muscles in my legs, but it feels better afterwards and that's what's important. He cracks me up actually, because he's not like my last physio that would apologise gently yet profusely with a worried expression on his face whenever he did something painful. Oh no, this physio laughs. Digging his thumb into my ITB and seeing me wince, he's most likely to laugh out loud and say "Ooh, that one hurts doesn't it?". Yes, damnit! But strangely enough, the laughter isn't offensive but is actually quite comforting.
My ITB is still inflamed but at least I have movement in my knee again, even though I'm still walking like a complete gumby. Ice, Voltaren tablets, and more ice is about all I can do until the inflammation settles down, and then we can get to work on figuring out exactly what causes the problem. An out-and-back course on cambered roads was one of the biggest issues apparently, which I can definitely understand as 95% of my training is on flat pathways rather than roads. I think its going to come down to poor lateral stability and bad running mechanics as well. Oh well, that bridge will be crossed when we get to it. In the meantime I need to find some exercise I can do that doesn't involve my legs. Either that, or I'm going to have to stop eating! I've gained a kg or two already, yeesh.
A massive thankyou to everyone for their well-wishes and positive comments after the race. I have to admit to being rather depressed about the whole situation, and you all really helped to brighten my outlook and put everything in perspective. Thanks again :)
Speaking of the physio, he's been great. Aside from the whole "elbow in the glute" thing anyway. In fact, I'm really not a fan of any of the rather painful releases he does on various protesting muscles in my legs, but it feels better afterwards and that's what's important. He cracks me up actually, because he's not like my last physio that would apologise gently yet profusely with a worried expression on his face whenever he did something painful. Oh no, this physio laughs. Digging his thumb into my ITB and seeing me wince, he's most likely to laugh out loud and say "Ooh, that one hurts doesn't it?". Yes, damnit! But strangely enough, the laughter isn't offensive but is actually quite comforting.
My ITB is still inflamed but at least I have movement in my knee again, even though I'm still walking like a complete gumby. Ice, Voltaren tablets, and more ice is about all I can do until the inflammation settles down, and then we can get to work on figuring out exactly what causes the problem. An out-and-back course on cambered roads was one of the biggest issues apparently, which I can definitely understand as 95% of my training is on flat pathways rather than roads. I think its going to come down to poor lateral stability and bad running mechanics as well. Oh well, that bridge will be crossed when we get to it. In the meantime I need to find some exercise I can do that doesn't involve my legs. Either that, or I'm going to have to stop eating! I've gained a kg or two already, yeesh.
A massive thankyou to everyone for their well-wishes and positive comments after the race. I have to admit to being rather depressed about the whole situation, and you all really helped to brighten my outlook and put everything in perspective. Thanks again :)
Monday, July 2, 2007
Race Report - Gold Coast Half-Marathon
21.1km - 2:03:05
I had two cohorts for this race, Lawrie and Philby, and we all headed down the coast lunchtime on Saturday to make the most of a relaxing pre-race day, have a good dinner, and hit our hotel beds early for a 4:30am wake-up.
There is much to be said about carbo-loading before a race, and I think I went slightly overboard. We went to Sak's at Marina Mirage, a restaurant that I was overjoyed to find as having a gluten-free menu complete with bread and more options than you could poke a stick at. A far cry from most other places that offer gluten-free as something of an afterthought, and don't exactly put much effort into it. The dinner was amazing, I stuffed myself with enough bread and pasta to fuel myself through at least three half-marathons. Then it was back to the hotel for what should have been an early night.
The night before the race was spent, like my fellow room-occupant Philby, tossing and turning and trying to curse my brain into shut-down mode. It wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention, so both of us ended up ready to run a half-marathon on about 2 hours sleep. Oh joy. A coffee in the room, followed by a caramel double-shot long black at the race precinct was enough to drive the last shreds of tiredness from me though, and excitement really started to set in. A bit of a debacle at the toilet queue (people, if you're not running in the race, don't hold up the queue in front of half-marathoners that have only five minutes until their start time!) had us dashing to the start line with only a few minutes to spare.
I had planned to run with the 2hour pace group, so was frantically scanning the crowd for the black balloons that would signify their position. Not a chance. By that time, everyone was so packed in to the start area that we were lucky to squeeze in at all. Turns out we were actually far ahead of the 2hour pacers in the pack, and it was probably the best thing that could have happened.
The gun went off, the crowd began to move, and we started the usual start-line shuffle until there was enough space to break into a run. I saw the 1:40 pacer balloons ahead of me, and realised at that point the 2:00 pacer must be behind. I didn't exactly fancy standing and waiting for them to catch me, so I figured I would just run my own pace and if they caught up to me, just continue running with them.
By the 3km marker they hadn't caught me, and my GPS told me I was averaging 5:30/km. The wrist-band I had gotten for the 2hour pace group said I needed to average 5:41/km to hit the 2:00 goal, so I was definitely ahead of them. The wrist-band also had the 5km, 10km and 15km split times I should be aiming for, and when I hit the 5km marker I saw I was still about a minute ahead of schedule. And I felt good!
In fact, I was cruising. Don't get me wrong, it was hard. But I felt like I could keep it up, and that was the important point. The 6km, 7km and 8km markers breezed by, I was concentrating on just keeping a good pace and not getting caught up with the runners that were passing me. From the 9km marker I was excited to realise I was going to do my fastest 10km time ever, and I was still ahead of the 2:00 pacer.
Not long before the turnaround point I heard Philby call my name and gave her a wave. She had taken off like a shot at the beginning and was now on the return part of the race, and running fantastically well. From the turnaround point myself I was still feeling great, especially knowing that I was more than halfway through. From the turnaround I was watching for Lawrie, and gave him a yell and a wave when I saw him looking like he was struggling along somewhat. I started to tire a little from about 13km, and I was getting really quite worried that I had gone out too hard and wasn't going to be able to keep my pace up for the last section. I was still maintaining 5:30-5:40/km, but it was getting harder. I needn't have worried, it wasn't going to be tiredness that was going to stop me in my tracks.
Just before the 16km marker, my right knee stopped working. No pain at first, it just refused to bend. Perturbed, I stopped, gave it a bit of a stretch, and tried to take off again. I got three steps before the pain forced me to stop again. The outside of my right knee was in complete agony any time I tried to run. It faded as I walked a few steps, so I took off again, and this time just gritted my teeth and ran through the pain. It dulled a little within a hundred metres, and I figured out that stopping and starting was a lot more painful than just continuing, so that's what I did. My pace slowed to 6:00/km and I was hobbling along, but I was still moving. I seriously considered talking to a race marshall and just giving up, but my stubborn side reasserted itself. i had trained too long and hard for this to stop now.
The 2:00 pace group caught me up at about the 17km mark. I managed to hobble along with them for about a kilometre, but they were just going too fast for me at that point, and as I watched the black balloons fade away into the distance ahead of me I couldn't help the tears that started sneaking out. I have never been in so much pain in my life, and I still had a bit over 3km to go.
The graph shows my pace for each kilometre along the run. Can you spot the point where my knee gave up? And then were I tried to keep up with the 2:00 pacer? Technology is a wonderful thing.
My breathing was pretty ragged that last couple of kilometres, not because my fitness wasn't up to it, but because its hard to sob and run at the same time. I kept waiting for the 2:10 pace group to overtake me as well, but thankfully I wasn't going quite that slow. Reaching the CoolRunner cheersquad felt like the highlight of my life at that point, especially when SarahV took off and ran along the sidelines with me for the last section. It was the boost I needed to get me through to the finish line, which I staggered over with a net time of 2:03:05.
I should be happy with my time. After all, my original goal time was 2:15:00, and I absolutely smashed that. But I'm not happy. Not now that I know I could have done under 2:00 if it weren't for my knee giving up on me. At the finish line, the tears were as much from disappointment as from the pain.
A lovely race marshall lady saw me bawling like a baby coming out of the finish chute, gave me a hug and escorted me to the physio tent. Their diagnosis? Acute ITB (iliotibial band) inflammation, brought on by the repetitive friction of the band over bone. Its going to be incredibly painful for a couple of days, then it should be okay as long as I get some physio and sort out whatever biomechanical problem brought it on in the first place. Wonderful.
After they released me from the tent I caught up with Philby (1:50!) and Lawrie (2:30), gave Sarah a cheer in her 10k, dashed back to the hotel slightly late for our check-out, and headed off to find some food. A coffee and a cooked breakfast later I was feeling much better, despite walking like a complete gumby and having to let Philby drive my car back to Brisbane. I had people texting me, asking how I went, and I just didn't have the heart or the energy to have to tell my story. I just wanted to get home, curl up and have a bit of a cry. They could wait until morning.
The morning after my whole body feels a bit like someone has taken to it with a baseball bat and my knee still screams in protest when I bend it, but hey, I'm still alive. As for the half-marathon, well... There's always next year :).
I had two cohorts for this race, Lawrie and Philby, and we all headed down the coast lunchtime on Saturday to make the most of a relaxing pre-race day, have a good dinner, and hit our hotel beds early for a 4:30am wake-up.
There is much to be said about carbo-loading before a race, and I think I went slightly overboard. We went to Sak's at Marina Mirage, a restaurant that I was overjoyed to find as having a gluten-free menu complete with bread and more options than you could poke a stick at. A far cry from most other places that offer gluten-free as something of an afterthought, and don't exactly put much effort into it. The dinner was amazing, I stuffed myself with enough bread and pasta to fuel myself through at least three half-marathons. Then it was back to the hotel for what should have been an early night.
The night before the race was spent, like my fellow room-occupant Philby, tossing and turning and trying to curse my brain into shut-down mode. It wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention, so both of us ended up ready to run a half-marathon on about 2 hours sleep. Oh joy. A coffee in the room, followed by a caramel double-shot long black at the race precinct was enough to drive the last shreds of tiredness from me though, and excitement really started to set in. A bit of a debacle at the toilet queue (people, if you're not running in the race, don't hold up the queue in front of half-marathoners that have only five minutes until their start time!) had us dashing to the start line with only a few minutes to spare.
I had planned to run with the 2hour pace group, so was frantically scanning the crowd for the black balloons that would signify their position. Not a chance. By that time, everyone was so packed in to the start area that we were lucky to squeeze in at all. Turns out we were actually far ahead of the 2hour pacers in the pack, and it was probably the best thing that could have happened.
The gun went off, the crowd began to move, and we started the usual start-line shuffle until there was enough space to break into a run. I saw the 1:40 pacer balloons ahead of me, and realised at that point the 2:00 pacer must be behind. I didn't exactly fancy standing and waiting for them to catch me, so I figured I would just run my own pace and if they caught up to me, just continue running with them.
By the 3km marker they hadn't caught me, and my GPS told me I was averaging 5:30/km. The wrist-band I had gotten for the 2hour pace group said I needed to average 5:41/km to hit the 2:00 goal, so I was definitely ahead of them. The wrist-band also had the 5km, 10km and 15km split times I should be aiming for, and when I hit the 5km marker I saw I was still about a minute ahead of schedule. And I felt good!
In fact, I was cruising. Don't get me wrong, it was hard. But I felt like I could keep it up, and that was the important point. The 6km, 7km and 8km markers breezed by, I was concentrating on just keeping a good pace and not getting caught up with the runners that were passing me. From the 9km marker I was excited to realise I was going to do my fastest 10km time ever, and I was still ahead of the 2:00 pacer.
Not long before the turnaround point I heard Philby call my name and gave her a wave. She had taken off like a shot at the beginning and was now on the return part of the race, and running fantastically well. From the turnaround point myself I was still feeling great, especially knowing that I was more than halfway through. From the turnaround I was watching for Lawrie, and gave him a yell and a wave when I saw him looking like he was struggling along somewhat. I started to tire a little from about 13km, and I was getting really quite worried that I had gone out too hard and wasn't going to be able to keep my pace up for the last section. I was still maintaining 5:30-5:40/km, but it was getting harder. I needn't have worried, it wasn't going to be tiredness that was going to stop me in my tracks.
Just before the 16km marker, my right knee stopped working. No pain at first, it just refused to bend. Perturbed, I stopped, gave it a bit of a stretch, and tried to take off again. I got three steps before the pain forced me to stop again. The outside of my right knee was in complete agony any time I tried to run. It faded as I walked a few steps, so I took off again, and this time just gritted my teeth and ran through the pain. It dulled a little within a hundred metres, and I figured out that stopping and starting was a lot more painful than just continuing, so that's what I did. My pace slowed to 6:00/km and I was hobbling along, but I was still moving. I seriously considered talking to a race marshall and just giving up, but my stubborn side reasserted itself. i had trained too long and hard for this to stop now.
The 2:00 pace group caught me up at about the 17km mark. I managed to hobble along with them for about a kilometre, but they were just going too fast for me at that point, and as I watched the black balloons fade away into the distance ahead of me I couldn't help the tears that started sneaking out. I have never been in so much pain in my life, and I still had a bit over 3km to go.
The graph shows my pace for each kilometre along the run. Can you spot the point where my knee gave up? And then were I tried to keep up with the 2:00 pacer? Technology is a wonderful thing.My breathing was pretty ragged that last couple of kilometres, not because my fitness wasn't up to it, but because its hard to sob and run at the same time. I kept waiting for the 2:10 pace group to overtake me as well, but thankfully I wasn't going quite that slow. Reaching the CoolRunner cheersquad felt like the highlight of my life at that point, especially when SarahV took off and ran along the sidelines with me for the last section. It was the boost I needed to get me through to the finish line, which I staggered over with a net time of 2:03:05.
I should be happy with my time. After all, my original goal time was 2:15:00, and I absolutely smashed that. But I'm not happy. Not now that I know I could have done under 2:00 if it weren't for my knee giving up on me. At the finish line, the tears were as much from disappointment as from the pain.
A lovely race marshall lady saw me bawling like a baby coming out of the finish chute, gave me a hug and escorted me to the physio tent. Their diagnosis? Acute ITB (iliotibial band) inflammation, brought on by the repetitive friction of the band over bone. Its going to be incredibly painful for a couple of days, then it should be okay as long as I get some physio and sort out whatever biomechanical problem brought it on in the first place. Wonderful.
After they released me from the tent I caught up with Philby (1:50!) and Lawrie (2:30), gave Sarah a cheer in her 10k, dashed back to the hotel slightly late for our check-out, and headed off to find some food. A coffee and a cooked breakfast later I was feeling much better, despite walking like a complete gumby and having to let Philby drive my car back to Brisbane. I had people texting me, asking how I went, and I just didn't have the heart or the energy to have to tell my story. I just wanted to get home, curl up and have a bit of a cry. They could wait until morning.
The morning after my whole body feels a bit like someone has taken to it with a baseball bat and my knee still screams in protest when I bend it, but hey, I'm still alive. As for the half-marathon, well... There's always next year :).
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