How many injuries can a man take?

That is the question. It is beginning to be a dull topic I know. Last monday, I returned to ultimate frisbee after tearing a tendon in my heel in my first game. I took seven weeks off the heel, no running, only cycling. I could at least paddle. So I unwisely returned to frisbee, after repeated warnings, e-mailed horoscopes and ouija board signs all pointed to further problems.

During my return game, I got beat by only a few feet by a much younger player again. I dove to try and smack the disk down. I got my hand on it, but the other player caught it. I fell, and he landed on the upper right hand quadrant of my torso. It really knocked the wind out of me, but I got up and was able to continue playing. Adrenaline as we know can take care of quite a bit.

This is where the story gets sad and depressing. Tuesday I felt fine, I biked in to work as usual and took care of business. I loaded up my van to leave for Grand Marais on Wednesday morning for the Great Lakes Sea Kayak Symposium where I was going to camp, instruct, and lead a trip. I got up Wednesday morning, feeling fine and then drove six hours to Grand Marais. As the day wore on, my chest and side began to develop a splitting pain as if I’d been rammed. I knew what it was from. The 24 year old kid who landed on me on Monday. In the back of my head I knew I might not get off so easy, I was praying and praying it would just be a bit of soreness. It was not. When I got out of the car to set up camp I couldn’t take a step without a searing bolt of agony rippling up my side.

I thought ok, I will eat dinner, go to bed, take a bunch of ibuprofen and a painkiller and see how I feel in the morning.

The next morning seemed ok, it wasn’t as bad as the day before. I went down to the beach to unload my kayaks and go for a paddle with Doug Van Doren and Derrick Mayoleth. When I was finally ready, I couldn’t even get my sprayskirt on. I was in agony twice as bad as the day before. I almost wept. I knew I would not be able to lead a trip on Friday morning, and I also knew if I had to paddle any distance I would be in agony. Performing rescues or towing was straight out. I knew I was done and there was no point in hanging around to depress my friends and drink beer. I packed up and drove six hours back to Kalamazoo.

My brother (older by two years) when he was fifteen had a year like this. He broke both arms, (not at the same time), took a broken bottle in the chest which almost killed him, and then broke his leg skiing. All in the same year. I think this is my Kris Wikle bad mojo year.

I am done with ultimate frisbee for the summer. It will take me at least three weeks to heal. And even then it may be sore. As I intend to teach in Wawa at the end of summer. I would like to not risk further cancellations for obligations I’ve made. I will be lucky to be fit for that event.

I think my problem is not solely age (34) as some of my friends have pointed out, but a complete black hole of predictive causality in contact sports. One has to risk injury to be competitive. And I am competitive by nature. We all rely on instinct to win, one reacts without thinking to out maneuver the other guy. Granted the other guy in Ultimate Frisbee is on average ten years younger, however I am determined and aggressive which sometimes works. Where it doesn’t work is in the aftermath. The twenty four year old gets up and walks away. And I am forced to deal with a body that doesn’t want to bounce back up anymore. I think if I am to continue playing ultimate frisbee, my aggressive competitiveness may have to be sublimated somewhat, because my body can’t keep up with the spirit.

I have essentially lost a summer to a hernia repair, a torn tendon, and a frisbee collision. All of which have contributed to an overall decline in fitness. I am going to have to work hard over fall to regain my cardio fitness, and my strength. It unfortunately is really depressing for someone with my level of manic physical energy to be in this state. But perhaps it is a lesson in humility. It was certainly a lesson in misery to watch Doug and Derrick paddle off onto Lake Superior from Grand Marais without me.

First Four Mile Run after hernia repair

I tore my tendon 5 weeks after my hernia repair surgery at my first Ultimate Frisbee game of the season. I was able to keep cycling even with the torn tendon. The doctor said the flexion and extension would bother it. The stabilizing needs of running however were painful and out of the question anyway. I began to feel some imaginary weight and some real weight dragging me down each day I wasn’t running.

Cycling, though I love it, is not the same as running. Cycling is a different type of awareness and fitness. I love them both. I’m not sure I could live without either. But I know I would be in the looney bin without running. I suited up after work, feeling confident that I would take it easy and turn around if the tendon hurt. I followed my normal after work route across the north end of Kalamazoo. I was literally weeping with happiness by the time I hit mile one out of four. It’s safe tp say I place way too much value on this activity. But it’s my life.

Running is not like cycling, or kayaking, it is a safety net, a place to vent, it is the padded room where all my anxiety and fear are pounded out with no intermediary. A place where schemes are hatched, plans made, thoughts held dear, memories rebounded, grief reconciled, love and redemption found, and it is entirely independent of weather, equipment, or external forces. I can run in a rainstorm, a whiteout, 10 degree weather with 3 feet of snow, or ninety nine degree heat. I do not need a running partner, or encouragement, I do not need praise or reward, it is not to impress or show off for anyone, it is entirely between me and the road.

At times I feel like my body has failed me, but in my heart I know it has not. Sometimes things are taken away to teach compassion. Now that perhaps I can continue for some time, I don’t know how long, I will be more thankful for each mile, for each step my body gives back.

I have to offer thanks also to Laura for enduring my confinement. Certainly it must feel like she lives with a lunatic in the tower when I am not running.

As additional food for thought, check out the copy from this new Pearl Izumi ad campaign. I’ve been reading online how most people hate it. Personally I identify with it. I guess if they wanted to sway people over who are not runners, maybe this wasn’t the way to do it. But if they were trying to create a brand impression for the runners that are already out there, they got my attention. I think the copy is genius.

Sometimes you can’t get a break, and then you do

On my very first ultimate frisbee game of the year, I was playing what I considered to be easy. Unfortunately, when I see a disc within reach, those labrador instincts take over, and I start running with my tongue hanging out. I made some great catches and some good throws in my first game. I was feeling optimistic about the season. My hernia repair felt solid, and I felt like I was in the groove. And then of course the other shoe dropped. A low flying disc thrown to an opponent was within reach. I could tell this really fast college kid was going to dive and possibly catch it. So with me in full instinctive mode, I did a flying leap kick at the disc. I got the disc, but then with my knee locked, I hit the ground full force on my right heel. I was sure I broke something when I landed.

I hobbled off the pitch and the game continued. I went to the ER. 2 hours later the doctor viewed the X-ray films and relayed the information that I had damaged only soft tissue. Yeehaw! I thought. The doctor said to give it two weeks to heal. Two weeks later I am still hobbling. I can cycle with no pain, but even walking is still painful. So I went back to my family doctor this week. He played with my foot a bit and deduced that I had a torn: inferior peroneal retinaculum tendon. He says it usually takes six to eight weeks to heal from this injury. My brain immediately says, F#@k!!!! Can I just get back to my life already. But then I remembered that my broken foot allowed me to heal my ilio tibial tendon friction back a few years ago, and this is probably something similar for my inguinal hernia. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I have to take it easy.

I feel like a vat of jet fuel, I just want someone to either throw me in the tank and make me fly, or throw a match on me where I sit.

Four weeks after my initial physician visit, I went in for another consulation with my family doctor. My family doctor, another runner, performed a hernia examination. His immediate conclusion was to see a surgeon about an Inguenal Hernia. While this may sound like bad news to most people. To me it is the solution to a complex anatomical algebraic equation with the variable x.

The prognosis seems to be see the surgeon, get surgery, have a teflon belt inserted in the abdominal wall, heal for two-three weeks, back on the road.

At the beginning of February my marathon training program was going really well. My miles had been creeping up steadily and I hadn’t been injured. My hamstrings were taught as a kettle drum, but I thought this was something I could manage. My long runs were getting longer and my right knee wasn’t bothering me. Then a number of convergent coincidences all transpired simultaneously. I started having lower back pain about 2 weeks after we switched to a new mattress. This was also the same week that I began upping my miles past 8 on my long runs. I also had a couple of goofy falls some on my bike, some on alpine skis, and one in my own driveway on ice. All of this basically led up to me going to the chiropractor and into physical therapy. I didn’t hurt my back from my falls, but I think from hamstring inflexibility.

My marathon plan for Bayshore is on hold already!

But I am undaunted. After my last injury, I am more familiar with the time frame for the healing process. It will most likely be a few months before I am well enough to run at the level I was at before my injury.

Part of this is also keeping a positive attitude.

The addiction of long distance running is probably the best kept secret in the world. Otherwise we would see way too many people taking it up. I got hooked over the last three years. I took up running about 3 years ago to combat post marital bulging. I got started with a great group of guys from work. None of them have continued with the knight-templarish zeal that I do.

3 years later I found myself out on a 19 mile run around the vineyard encrusted hills of van buren county. There is a point of pride and pleasure in knowing you can cross the county on foot in under four hours. It separates you from the crowd. It gave me a sense of confidence, a bit of swagger to my step that perhaps had been lacking before. More than anything I think it decreased my need for alcohol to release stress, it increased my indepence, and allowed me to deal with a number of events that before would probably have driven me over the edge. Being unemployed for 6 months was one of those events. Looking back I’m not sure I could have handled what happened to us without running. Nothing else could give me a sense of satisfaction or achievement during that time period. Nothing else could give such a buzz of contentment and accomplishment during a time in my life when everything else made me feel like I had failed.

My worth became wrapped up in running, and in some ways it still is, every day I don’t run is a day in jail.

Ever since Dec 26th 04, I’ve had the proverbial electronic tether tied to my leg. My Ilio tibial tract is very tight, and I’ve been through two boughts of physical therapy to deal with it. During this process I discovered a lot more about my body. I ‘m a mutant. One leg is shorter than the other by 1/8th of an inch. My gait is very dorky. I run duck footed because of 20 years of dribbling a soccer ball. This causes me to land with feet splayed wide. I also land on my forefoot, instead of my heel. So I am retraining myself on the treadmill to run heel-toe in a more neutral position. The new orthotics should help some too, I hope.

So now I have a series of stretches and excercises to do daily.
It’s tough going sometimes, but every time I get out for even thirty minutes, I feel like heroin is running through my blood. See velvet underground and nico song…