Starting Over, Again
It’s been exactly a year since I seriously injured my achilles tendon and my running (once again) went off the rails. Four months of rehab and relapses were followed by five more months of debilitating headaches and failed PT drills. It took the blunt words of a neurologist in late May to force me to accept limits I’d long ignored.
So this morning I took a big step towards re-engaging with the greater San Diego running community by returning to my past point of failure.
The good news is I accomplished my longest run in a year. The bad: I sucked.
The run, though, was terrific because of my companion, the blogworld’s very own Momo. She’s been vacationing in Coronado, and we finally were able to meet up before her family takes off next week. She’s still transitioning between recovering from Ironman Couer d’Alene and training in earnest for Ironman Arizona, and I, despite logging 5 miles at most, figured I could stretch it to 6 for this special occasion. That’s how we ended up in this morning’s registration line for the Balboa 8 Mile race. This happens to be the oldest continuous race in San Diego, a cross-country course that’s a bit brutal. But it’s well organized by the race director and well supported by the San Diego Track Club.
It was humid, but a thick marine layer kept us from really roasting. I started out too fast for the huge hills and rolling course ahead, and by the time we hit the first downhill, I’d “lost my legs.” You know, that wobbly feeling that sometimes hits the quads on a hard downhill? Only it stayed with me through the next few miles, regardless of pace or topography or whether I walked. Great conversation served as the perfect distraction, but when we hit Mile 4, I stopped to help an undermanned aid station and told Momo I’d catch her on her way back. So it was I poured electrolytes into paper cups while she soldiered on for another two miles. I felt better when we reunited, but soon as we headed down the next big hill, the wobbles returned. Then with about a mile to go, I got a (short-lived) side stitch and urged her to go ahead. I would have finished about a minute behind her had I not bypassed the finish chute for an obvious reason: I hadn’t done the entire course.
But Momo did, and in a decent pace-per-mile for someone used to training on flatland. Hooray!
I continued to feel weird for several hours after I returned home. My legs felt like they were trembling as I wended my way through the usual Saturday chores and errands. Looks like I’ll have to do some research – to determine the cause of the shakes and to determine my next race!
So this morning I took a big step towards re-engaging with the greater San Diego running community by returning to my past point of failure.
The good news is I accomplished my longest run in a year. The bad: I sucked.
The run, though, was terrific because of my companion, the blogworld’s very own Momo. She’s been vacationing in Coronado, and we finally were able to meet up before her family takes off next week. She’s still transitioning between recovering from Ironman Couer d’Alene and training in earnest for Ironman Arizona, and I, despite logging 5 miles at most, figured I could stretch it to 6 for this special occasion. That’s how we ended up in this morning’s registration line for the Balboa 8 Mile race. This happens to be the oldest continuous race in San Diego, a cross-country course that’s a bit brutal. But it’s well organized by the race director and well supported by the San Diego Track Club.
It was humid, but a thick marine layer kept us from really roasting. I started out too fast for the huge hills and rolling course ahead, and by the time we hit the first downhill, I’d “lost my legs.” You know, that wobbly feeling that sometimes hits the quads on a hard downhill? Only it stayed with me through the next few miles, regardless of pace or topography or whether I walked. Great conversation served as the perfect distraction, but when we hit Mile 4, I stopped to help an undermanned aid station and told Momo I’d catch her on her way back. So it was I poured electrolytes into paper cups while she soldiered on for another two miles. I felt better when we reunited, but soon as we headed down the next big hill, the wobbles returned. Then with about a mile to go, I got a (short-lived) side stitch and urged her to go ahead. I would have finished about a minute behind her had I not bypassed the finish chute for an obvious reason: I hadn’t done the entire course.
But Momo did, and in a decent pace-per-mile for someone used to training on flatland. Hooray!
I continued to feel weird for several hours after I returned home. My legs felt like they were trembling as I wended my way through the usual Saturday chores and errands. Looks like I’ll have to do some research – to determine the cause of the shakes and to determine my next race!
