Put me in, Coach

I'm not going to lie. I'm a competitive person. I get a kick out of being the best, the fastest, the strongest. Part of what drew me to the theater in the first place was the little surge of joy I felt whenever getting cast in the lead. I'm the lead! I'm the best! Forget if it was simply because I was the only girl, or the one who looked like the role the most (think typecasting), or any other non-me reason. Spotlight = me = yay!

This tendency has ebbed and flowed since leaving the theater behind. For a while I thought I could be the best hunter rider, until I realized that working for the best hunter riders around did not make YOU the best hunter rider around, and that to become the best hunter rider around you had to forfeit a normal life. Running? Meh. I gave being the best calorie counter a shot, but that too had limited positive results and a lot of paranoia. (Oh no! An extra half and half container in my coffee! Horror!)

Then I started cycling, and discovered that I was good at it. May I go so far as to say somewhat talented in it. My body, long legs, short torso, had a knack for spinning my feet around in circles. Realizing this, my old be-the-best-beast returned with gusto. I set goals, and rode with the intention of completing those goals: Hang with an A group by the end of the season, complete all 3 local climbs on the same ride, and complete 2 centuries.

Then, of course, I crashed and burned.

While the injury was instigated by poor bike fit, I'm pretty sure (as are all my friends) that had I gone on I would have eventually blown something up. One day, a coworker looked at an icepack on my knee and said, "Why do you train so much?" He's a crusher, so for him to think that I trained "so much" probably meant that I was training TOO much.

Now, finally, I'm back on the bike (FINALLY). My goal ampage is turned down a bit from eleven. I want to return to my Tuesday night speedwork rides by the end of August. I want to do one more century. I want to work in weight training and cross training. I want to gear up for cyclocross season.

I do not want to hurt myself again.

I do not know how to reconcile the above statement with my list of goals.

Thus, I have decided to splurge: I am going to hire a coach.

Even writing that feels pretentious and silly. I mean, a coach? Really? Just who do I think I am? What about my outdated kitchen? What about my car sans hubcaps? What about charity, or buying carbon credits, or any other better uses for my money?

On the other hand, I don't have the best track record when it comes to taking care of ME. I ask my body to do things it probably can't, or shouldn't, and it tries its best until it can't try anymore. Right now, I'm seeing a coach as my body's advocate more than mine.

Hopefully it will thank me by healthfully reaching all of my goals.

In Praise of a Much Maligned Friend

I have to admit, there has been a friend, a good friend, a friend who has always been there for me through all my injuries and athletic endeavors, helping me along, who I have been extremely cruel to. I have called this friend boring, a chore, a pain in the ass, and have extolled about how thankful I was not to have to hang out with them anymore since finding the bike.

All the while, this friend sat, collecting dust, patiently waiting for the day when I would need to seek out their help once again. Like the giving tree. Though I hadn't yet stooped to the level of the selfish little boy who took the leaves, branches, and trunk for my own devices (really? the trunk too? that tree was somewhat of an enabler, no?).

I decided to take an entire week not only off the bike, but off EVERYTHING. Running, walking, swimming, nada. I felt serene and zen during this time period, knowing that my extreme measures would surely (surely!) pay off in the end.

Today, I tried to test out my knee on the bike for the first time since my injury onset on 6/30. On this glorious, easy ride on my completely dialed in (thanks Cullen and Jonathan!) new bike, I would reap my rewards with a pain free spin of 20 miles.

Or my moral would plummet after the pain was there right from the get go the second my right leg had to work to pedal. I immediately decided to just go for 10 miles, just to see if it would spin out. The pain, just like last time, was worse on the uphill than the downhill, but left as soon as I could easily spin the pedals. I returned home, popped some Vitamin I, put on my icepack, and started to cry.

WHAT WAS WRONG? I couldn't understand any of it. To go from zero pain on the bike to this, after one ride, was too much to wrap my head around. I called my mom, a doctor, and lost it. She patiently told me to go see the orthopedist.

Duh.

Fortunately, Greensboro has an AMAZING orthopedist safety net in SEOC. My doctor from my ankle wasn't available, but his PA Karen was. In one hour. Off I went.

In the office, after the Xrays, I lost it once again, and explained with some difficulty what had happened and conveyed my confusion about the injury. She took my left leg, my good leg, and manipulated it all around. Then she took my right leg and did the same, asking each time if it hurt.

Nope. Nope. No. Nope.

She had me stand on my right leg, bend it slightly, and twist from side to side. Pain? Nope.

She took my leg again and started fiddling around with my kneecap. Did it hurt? Here? Here?

Nope, Nope, n...AAHh! Yes!

AH HAH! Finally! After a bit more prodding and one more X-ray, she said that I, like many women, have a patella that sits a little off to the side. Somehow, during that one ride, whatever angle the improper saddle position put me in, misaligned the kneecap so that it no longer fit into the right groove, but banged repeatedly against my femur, resulting in a bone bruise. So, no fluid, no ligament or tendon inflammation, and my muscle tone was good. As soon as the bone bruise healed, I would be good to go.

She ordered one more week off of the bike, but that I could spin on the trainer or swim, and that as long as there wasn't any pain, it was fine.

Then I asked a question I haven't asked in a long time: Could I elliptical?

Yes, as long as it didn't hurt, that would be fine too.

O, Elliptical. O, friend of friends. O, machine of zero impact and comforting rhythmic hum. Where have you been these past months, as I've been zooming off, logging miles and miles of road? Where have you been as I casually glanced at you, commenting to friends, "I can't even remember the last time I was on that thing."

Today, Running Magazine in hand, I ellipticalled, pain free. My calves awakened. My hamstrings started to stir. My running muscles slowly wiped the sleep from their eyes and started to work again. In a completely safe, comfortable, sustainable way.

And thus, good people, I am publicly expressing my love for my elliptical machine. Not only will it keep me in shape for the next week, but will get my running muscles re-warmed up and ready to rock n' roll. It is another, now publicly, stated goal to have my base mileage up to 20 miles a week by the end of August.

Sing in praise of ellipticals everywhere, friends to injured runners, cyclists, and athletes of all credos.

The History of My Owies

Last Tuesday, after a few weeks of easier riding following my Hanging Rock Conquer, I acquired yet another Owie in my long list of owies. The culprit this time?

No, it wasn't me this time, though it has been many times before.

Improper bike fit.

Yes, ladies and gents, though I've been riding and riding and riding some more on Vincent with nary a scratch, but one ride on a(n amazing gorgeous can't-wait-to-ride-it-again) new bike I tried to fit myself brought me crashing to my knees.

Or crashed my right knee, to be more specific.

During my fit tonight (another blog entry), I started to ask my friend, a former pro racer and general bike all around knowledger, about when I should start riding again, what I should do, etc. Which led to a general discussion about my past injuries, etc.

And then the bomb dropped:

Friend: When you're very active for a very long time, like you and me, things start to accumulate, it starts to catch up with you. How old are you?

Me: 28

Friend: See, you're just starting to get to the point where you can't bounce back like you used to, when a horse kicked you and it was no big deal.

BOOM!

I'm 28. I'm not yet 30, but I have put myself through a ringer in these 28 years. I have spent a good part of my 20s riding 8-10 horses a day, not to mention the lifting, dragging, carrying, and banging around that your body naturally goes through when working in the horse industry.

Add that to several years of dancing everyday.

Add to that a few running injuries.

Not to mention all of the riding, running around, and crashing I took as a kid.

So to satisfy my own curiousity, here it is, in all its glory. A complete list of all the injuries I've sustained over the years serious enough to stick out in my mind:

3rd grade: Broken left collar bone and dislocated left shoulder - horses

5th grade: Took off most of the skin on my left arm and some on my right arm - horses

19: Stress fracture to my left hip - running and general idiocracy

20: Stress fracture in my middle back and bruised tailbone - horses

22: Concussion with minor memory loss - horses

22: Bruised left big toe - horses

26: Severely bruised swollen right leg; almost kicked in the knee but not quite - horses

26: Bone bruise inside right ankle - horses

27: Broken right baby toe - horses

27: Patellar Tendonitis in my right knee- running

27: Severely sprained left ankle - running

Not to mention all of the countless times I've fallen off (I fell off horses about 8 times in the winter of 2008-2009 alone, some of them VERY near misses in terms of injury), fallen down, fallen over doing various things, but NOT getting hurt enough to stick out in my mind.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not an old lady by any means, and I have a very high desire to excel at this sport and to get back into running come fall/winter. And my list probably can't compare to others. Still, it's nice to review and see where I've come from as I continue to move towards where I'm going.