Week 9: "The knee bone's connected to the hip bone…" and thoughts on paranoia

Tuesday: 4 miles
Wednesday: 4 miles
Sunday: 18 miles

A visit with the PT - you're a runner now
During Week 8 I blew off some training and worried about my knees instead. This week, I fulfilled the training schedule (mostly) and I saw a physical therapist who gave me just the answer I was looking for: my knees aren't injured, I'm just out of shape. Or, more specifically, my legs aren't used to pounding out mile after mile all week long. So that's good news. I've just got to convince the tendons in my knees to relax and get with program - lots of stretching, heating pads, more stretching.

So when I set out yesterday for the 18 mile run, I felt reassured that I wasn't exactly doing damage to myself, and that the rickety, crippled feeling that would develop over the course of the run was "normal."

It's hip to be crooked
The new (and therefore, alarming) problem that developed during the run and continues now, the day after, is a dull ache in my left hip. I have heard runners and therapists speak in hushed whispers about dreaded "IT band" problems and the race-ending calamity that rains down on someone afflicted with them. I've also heard that a common symptom is pain in the hip. There's a muscle on your hip that attaches to a tendon that runs on the outside of your thigh and connects to the knee. That long tendon is called the iliotibial band, and the muscle at the top of it is bugging me.

My fantastic chiropractor and friend squeezed me into her schedule this morning to give me her review. "You're not injured yet." Good, so how I do I make this go away? "You should just be glad if it doesn't get worse." She reminded me that my spine isn't exactly straight, and my biomechanics leave something to be desired. A born runner, I'm not. But I can stretch and keep using the heating pad and use Arnica gel also. I told her that I've only used Arnica (in my previous rugby-playing life) to speed up the healing of bruises. "We'll, that's basically what this is – you're creating all kinds of micro-abrasions in the tissue and it needs to repair itself." That's a nice picture. Yuck.

Paranoia is the gift that keeps on giving
I spent about two weeks debating whether to see the physical therapist, during which I questioned what I was feeling in my knees: is this pain? Discomfort? Is there a difference? If there's no "pain" but it doesn't feel right, is that still bad? I mean, I ran 16 miles, I'm going to feel something. When I finally went to see him, I wondered if I waited too long. Like when you hear stories that end with someone shaking their head, "If only we caught it sooner…" But in my case, the therapist told me that I wasn't injured, I'm just not used to this level of activity and that I didn't need to set up a schedule of appointments. This is the best news you can get from a doctor whose business depends on your repeat visits.

It takes hours for me to run 18 miles. That's a lot of time for your mind to wander, regardless of what's playing on your iPod. When my hip started to feel sore I went through the same mental acrobatics as I did with my knee: what is this? Is this anything? You start to over-analyze the slightest twinge and wonder at the possibilities of injury that are hidden within it.

I'm definitely glad I saw my chiropractor this morning. I instantly felt looser and limped less on the way out the door than I did on my way in. Now that I've glimpsed the harbinger of injury it will be harder to keep judge what really going on in my bones, and what's actually just in my head.

PS:
The 18 mile run (no typo there, eighteen miles) went well enough. I took a long break halfway through and sat in the sun to stretch. The snow is melting away and revealing random detritus from the fall. The ice on the river is breaking into big chunks and getting jammed up in some places. That was one of the best distractions of this run: the screeching, scraping sounds of ice, and the bubbling, rushing waterfalls where the river found space to break free from the ice. I also saw my first caterpillar of the spring – a fuzzy brown and black little guy stuck in the mud tracks of the dirt road. I didn't mind using his welfare as an excuse to stop for a minute and enjoy the afternoon.