Half, Full and Half Empty

Attending an injury-prevention clinic last night may have taught me a bit about biomechanics and training smarter, but at a high price. I left with my spirit injured and feeling half-empty. Not what I had hoped for by a long shot.

I went looking for help with my "dead foot" problem. I thought I'd get some insight from a doctor, and that info would supplement answers from my coaches. I should have known better. I described the symptoms and variables, which include lymphedema. I said I was concerned that I might not be able to get through training let alone a race on one or possibly two dead feet. Worse, could I do damage hitting the ground hard because I didn't have any sensation? Perhaps there was something I could do differently.

He told me I should wear knee high support stockings, announcing this as if he was handing me the holy grail. Yeah, I wear custom leotard stockings. I know all about it. Had I run before? Only in triathlons. Did I plan to do a full? Yes. Do a half, he said. Really? Are you sure? I asked twice.

That was not helpful. How will setting my sights on a half marathon help me now when this problem starts in the first mile? He didn't say anything about potential injuries or prevention. Just that I should do a half my first time. Unless something strange happens, I suspect San Diego and perhaps Alaska will be the beginning and ending of my career as a runner. There's not going to be a next time.

I assume his advice was the best he could give. Knowing very little about lymphedema made me resent the way conventional doctors dismiss this disease. His go-to response was to back off the goal. It was an easy answer. Maybe he's right. I just didn't want to hear it.

In fairness to him, he said quite explicitly in his presentation that new runners would have a better shot at injury-free training and successful races if they gradually ramped up their running over time, building from a 5K to 10K to a half and then a full. Yes, that would be ideal. But as he said, the TNT program is accelerated and most people want to do a full marathon, so he didn't press the point. Except with me.

I was surprised at how hard it hit me. I was stunned at first and then I wanted to cry. He could see the disappointment in my face and gave me a friendly pat on the arm as if to say it would be okay. Yeah, it will be okay. But I couldn't help feeling undermined by his assessment. I stood nearby waiting to speak with Michael and Ramon, and I found myself growing increasingly irritated by the questions everyone else was asking. It all sounded like "I've got a hangnail, Doc. Am I going to live? How, oh how am I going to get through this terrible, debilitating condition?" I can't minimize someone else's pain. Whatever happens in your body is serious because you're feeling it and you want it to stop. Still, I resented how much time he spent entertaining their concerns and how quickly he dismissed mine. Presumably he felt he could help them and knew he couldn't do anything for me.

Talking with Michael, who is a physical therapist and Ramon, who is a CWA (Coach With Attitude) was more helpful, thankfully. I'm going to follow up with the exercises they suggested and Ramon will take a look at my technique, such as it is, at the group practice on Wednesday.

Feeling half empty isn't going to get me to the gym today or the finishline in June. I'm going to take my sneakers to Ohio so that I don't lose a whole weekend. Getting out the vote can't get in the way of my training. I have to fill myself up again. And again and again, it seems.