Shalom, Aloha, Start your Engines for Plan B.

Last weekend, after spending six days without running once, I found myself responsible for leading a group of about 50 elementary school kids in a 3K community run. Of course, I had no intention of running, but a couple of the grade threes took off at a four minute pace and I had to keep up. This run was on city streets, that although controlloed by police, there was still traffic moving...so off I went. Running faster than I have for months. 

Later that day and throughout the evening the pain in my right heel that I had managed to mollify somewhat, returned with a vengeance. It was at that point that I started thinking about surrendering to the pain. 

Up until this point, and on the advice of the crackerjacks, I was still running. My mileage was way down, but I was still going out and logging a few kilometers. The new, intense pain made me think differently. If you have ever had a bladder infection, or an anal fissure or a bad case of asthma or strep throat, you will understand how I felt. Something as basic and fundamental and natural as peeing or shitting or breathing or swallowing suddenly becomes so painful, that you don't want to do it. You do everything you can to avoid it.  That's what walking had become. 

Running wasn't a problem. I run on my forefoot. It was the stopping, the starting and everything before and after any run. Running has become so natural to me. But I was afraid of doing it. 

An appointment with the physiotherapist the next day confirmed that I should not race my upcoming half ironman-distance race in early July, nor the Olympic (Standard) distance race the week later. And perhaps the Marathon planned for September was iffy. 

Instead, I should focus on running for one minute, barefoot on the treadmill, or grass or sand. And build up SLOWLY from there. Also, to correct the slight issues with my form, I was given a bunch of other exercises, including toe/leg raises on stairs and lunges and modified squats. I toyed with the idea of running barefoot and naked on the treadmill, but, like naked beach volleyball, certain laws of physics do not agree well with a lack of bodily compression...nuff said.

The idea of running barefoot is to allow the fascia in the foot/heel to gradually become re-accustomed to the stress I'm putting on them. Although my PT is not a forefoot running proponent, per se, looking at the wear pattern of my runners, she questioned why I even wear stability shoes...maybe neutral shoes or even something more minimal would be appropriate?

I haven't quite bought into that, but she helped me formalize me decision. I was preparing to be DFL, but now I was to be DNS. Contrary to a good friend's advice, I wasn't willing to just do a bit of the race and DNF. I  considered his advice, but I just couldn't justify the expense of traveling to a race (and spending over $600) for a race that I knew I would not be finishing. For some who have never completed a race, I can see the courage and the merit of that. I've had a personal best in this race, I've done an Ironman, or three. There would be no honor or pride. Although I will miss the exceptional organization and goodwill of this particular race.

So it is not an overstatement to say that once I made this decision I became somewhat melancholic. I have never DNS'd before. And my whole season was evaporating right in front of me. And no, I was not really heading the conclusion of my previous blog. 

But as the week progressed, I was forced to get to work by bike (my vehicle exhausted it's last cough). I also decided to swim a little and I swam a lot. I also just grabbed my bike and rode after dinner, something I don't do normally. 

Then I got to thinking about this checkered flag I was waving. Sure it heralds the end of the race. But was it really a white flag  (with black squares) or a black flag with white squares? A white flag means surrender, but a black flag is a symbol of anarchy! What I have been going through lately has been quite anarchistic.

I have to return to the beginning. This is a great chance to look at the fundamentals. To get stronger and maybe, hopefully,  to rise above these setbacks and comeback better, faster and wiser than before. 

In Hebrew, Shalom  means peace, completeness, and welfare. It can also mean goodbye and hello! Similarly, Aloha, in the Hawaiian language can mean love, peace, compassion, mercy, as well as goodbye and hello.

Aloha can also mean the breath of life.

Ultimately, the goal of any triathlete might be to say Aloha to Kona at the world championship. I might still make it there one day. 

For the time being though, I'm starting my engine and getting back on the right foot - if I can - and more closely heeding the recent advice of Chuckie V. and looking closely at Plan B.

Aloha...and Shalom.

Foot Shy

I've had problems with my heel. Sometimes it has felt like I had pins and needles in it. Other times it felt like I was walking on broken glass. I've written previously about the Plantar Fasciiotis self diagnosis. It has since been confirmed by a massage therapist, a podiatrist and a physiotherapist.

If you are asking why no GP or Osteo or other knife wielding MD...two words: refer all. Besides, my GP, who I really do respect was all about referring me to the professionals I sought out and found myself.

I have also undergone a number of treatments most of which were interesting and intriguing, none of which have done anything but make me feel like I'm doing something useful.

I may as well be warming blankets and boiling water. Or perhaps adding a few eyes of newt to my favourite morning beverage. It has been very discouraging. Further, it has reaffirmed my reluctance to seek professional help for something that is not broken, bleeding or requiring a biopsy.

Now don't misunderstand. I've had a lot of successes from RMTs - one person that I consider a good friend is an RMT. In fact, it was an RMT, who was also licensed as a chiropractor who got my neck working the day before my most recent Ironman Canada.

The physio pointed out some very cogent errors/inadequacies of my stride (which I'm working on by the way). The chiro pointed out how I need to relax my shoulders when I run - and told me how to do it.

The podiatrist showed me how to tape my foot and got me a good night splint to use.

All of these professionals are athletes themselves and understand what I have gone through. None of these professionals have really helped address my issue: the condition and the pain.

I have determined that this is stemming from my calf tightness - and partially because of how I run. (Thanks to the physio).

So I've tried a number of different remedies, some less orthodox than others. And although I feel somewhat disillusioned and mostly defeated, I remain eternally hopeful that one day I'll get out of bed and not hurt.

One unfortunate side effect of this constant heel pain has been the fact that I see to have become run shy. Much like trying to relax and "let go" in the company of others, I've found that I'm reluctant to create opportunities to go out and run. Every time a little obstacle presents itself - cold, wind, dirty laundry, making supper, re-run of Biggest Loser - I have used it as an excuse to not run. Further, I have also avoided running with others -- in fear of slowing them down.

This is completely new to me. Previously, I reveled in running in -30c. I bragged about pushing through a windy morning run, I hoarded newspapers that I could use to stuff into my soaked runners.

Now? Not so much.

Keep in mind that I hurt...but not when I run. The crackerjacks (borrowing a word for medical people from the Cranky Princess) have all suggested that I should run. My own empirical evidence (taking two weeks off from running) demonstrated no tangible difference to the exquisite quality and quantity of pain.

Being a forefoot runner, I have no pain when I run. When I walk however, I look like a constipated John Wayne swaggering up to the bar, Pilgrim.

Being run shy has spilled over, as it were, to my other athletic pursuits. It has now become easier to avoid swimming: I'm too busy at lunch. Or swimming the distance I need to swim: I only have 30 minutes.

I've also not done the biking that I should be doing: it is too wet/windy/wicked out there.

With a Half Ironman one calendar month away, it really is time to move it into gear. I've toyed with the idea of just abandoning that race...and the Regina Beach Olympic distance Triathlon that is one week later...but then what? Do I also let go of the Marathon I'm hoping to run in September...where does it end?

Will taking time off heal me, or will it just heel me like a dog on a leash?

No. It is time. I know I have said this before. Time to get my shit together and start behaving like I actually enjoy this activity.

I have to force myself out of the support van/sag wagon and try to make June the month that I figure where or not I'm doing this, or whether I have to step back and try another strategy...or find another sport.

One of the implications of being run shy is that I have also been reluctant to write and spend time thinking about mytriangle.

So not only have I not missed out of the benefits of my endurance training, I have also not had the outlet I normally have of musing and writing about what I see hear and feel. This too will change.

How can it not change? I'm growing tired of this path of restless false starts and the barren landscape of the DNS lifestyle.

Not waving, but running.

In my formative years, I spent a lot of time reading.

I spent a lot of time with words, mostly those written by what could be considered as part of the Western Civilization canon, but also some other writing with a less familiar, more esoteric (read eastern) nascence. And I did so in several languages - some of which I can no longer remember.

There are a lot of those words and turns of phrases and images swimming around in my head and every so often, one or six pop out of me. The result is not unlike the experiences of a teenager rubbing up against something not altogether unpleasant. The expression from others is similar too.

Sometime after I "grew up", however, and started getting paid to write corporatese, I lost that voracious appetite for reading, absorbing and, occasionally ejaculating, as it were, these great thoughts I had synthesized from others.

One phrase, however stuck. It was from a poem I only noticed because my lover was reading it as part of an assignment a few years ago.

Not waving, but drowning.  I won't go into any analysis or discussion, of this work, or Stevie Smith. But the image has stuck with me. I assimilated it as I was taking up this new sport of triathlon and trying to balance young family and jobs. Maybe that is why is resonated with me.

I pictured myself, at times, in the middle of a the sea,  not quite sure if I was waving back to those on the beach or trying to get their attention.

Well, I didn't drown.

I didn't get a DNS or a DNF (Did Not Start/Finish) but I did get a DND - Did Not Drown on my way to my Iron goals that I met thrice.

Still. I find myself in an unsure gesticulation.

Injured and annoyed by it, I have chronicled my attempt to get back on track (while avoiding the track and trying to spend time on the trail.)

Running beside from friends from Western Cycle in -7C on April 17, 2011.

 

This past Sunday, I entered and ran in the Regina Police Service Half Marathon. I ran this race many years ago as my first ever half. I still use it as a touchstone of where I am physically and mentally.

I have run it in more than 2:37 hours and less than 1:58.
Here is a link to my race report for a more technical, less introspective analysis.

I did try to run it at 1:45 last year, but a very bad flu the week before caught up with me halfway in the race and the wheels came off at 14k, even though I was very much on pace.

This year, injured, tired, and a little fed up, I ran this race just because. Just to see what I can do with very little training. I ran it in 2:07 and change. Not amazing. But I was expecting to take 2:20 something. It is interesting that this race was the day before a world record setting Boston Marathon, in which a number of friends competed very successfully.

Photo Credit Paul Cutting

What is amazing is that I ran completely with myself.

I listened to my body.

There were times I told it to HTFU or to STFU. Other times, I yielded and stopped to pee.

But I was at peace during this run. I was in control. The pain in my heel was there. The burning in my calf was manageable and predictable. The increase and decreases of pace came when I requested them.

I didn't stress when I was passed. And I didn't revel when I passed.

The little voices in my head kept me company and distracted me, rather than discouraging me, as they used to.


This was a good run.
This was a great race.  I became one with my body and made peace with my running demons. 

I won the only race that was important to me. 

It's time.

This morning, I scraped ice of my car's windscreen and marvelled at the gossamer-thin shavings of ice. So delicate that a single breath with melt them in mid air as they blew away. In my had, it felt like the must luxurious fabric that disappeared into tiny water drops the moment I blinked.

Then I wondered why I was driving still to work. Why was I not yet on my bike? A few short weeks ago I was living the life of a full time cyclist in St. George, Utah. Everything I did was centred around the bike ride. The eating, the lounging, the washing, the blogging and even the Facebooking. It was all about ride that day, or the one that would be the following day.

Then I returned home. the more than 600 km of riding the highways of southwest Utah became no more than a memory of red rock, smiling faces and Veyo Pies.

It was easy to fall back into the old ways - the ways that I've relearned during this easy year of making excuses and making allowances for my aching foot.

It has been easy. Possibly, it has been the worst winter I've ever experience in my almost two decades on the prairies. It is not that it has been colder than ever...it was just always cold and windy and just gross. Spring was shown itself to be no different. Second week of April and it is still just gross and cold and windy.

In previous years, with an Ironman as a motivator,  I had no problem fighting through this inertia. It was a case of train now or show up for the race and experience even more unnecessary pain.

Out the window right now,  the morning sun has gone into hiding behind thick cloud. and it is cold again. Mind you "April cold, not January cold", it is all relative.

But it is time.

It is time to break out the commuting bike. It is time to ramp up the mileage on the run. It is time to spend more time in the pool. It is time to get back on the highway with the Dirty Girl!

It is time to rip open this Jamaican coffee that I've been saving, because it, like me, isn't getting any better just sitting around in a burlap bag.

Why? Well, it isn't really because I have lots of "little" races coming quickly in this "easy" year of mine.

It is because I've seen this pattern of slippage before. In an earlier life, years went by before I even acknowledged the unstoppable slide into decrepitude, the slide into someone that I never want to be again.

That is not a place I want to even visit again. The pain in my foot, the crappy weather, the lame excuses. They really are nothing more than a way to avoid returning to the race. Not any particular race. The race that has no start or finish line. The race that has no competitors and no spectators and no volunteers.

This is a race that has no medals at the end, no technical shirt or other swag and no food along the way. This is a race that finds you in a corridor of doors and mirrors. It is full of choice. But when you sit down and ponder...you still have to look at yourself and where you are. I have to. I have to figure out where to put my focus lest I return to my previous state of cosmopsis.

I find it very interesting that at this date exactly last year I was musing the same thoughts, albeit with a much more positive outlook. Even the theme of that blog was the same "Is it time yet?"

Maybe it is a cyclical thing. Maybe I require a certain amount of natural lumens from the sun before I can kick myself into action. Time will tell. Time will come Time will pass.

It's time.

Choosing Wisely

This is the year that I was taking it easy. To me that means I will not be doing an Ironman. Instead, I have found myself registered for two half marathons within a week of each other, a sprint and an olympic triathlon, a half iron distance triathlon and a marathon.

Taking it easy indeed. There are several other off-road/Xterra-type races I'd like to tri and I was hoping this was the year that I would break out into Ultra running and significantly more trail running.

It is nearly the end of March, there is still snow and ice on the ground. It is still too cold to not run without gloves. And to add insult to injury, I'm still futzing around with Plantar Faciitis, although I've read the condition  might actually be called Faciotis. This is interesting in that I have a cousin Faciotis. The difference from what I can understand is that one is inflammation, and the other is more permanent buildup.

My Greek ancestry aside, I've now committed to seeing professionals. Plenty of appointments to RMTs and a crackerjack podiatrist and, soon, a top rung sports physio for a gait analysis and all the other poking and prodding that will be necessary. Prior to my first appointment with the foot guy, I was resigned to the fact that I would have to stop running...again. But as I did that previously and it had no effect, he agreed that a different course might be appropriate and to be selective with the quantity and quality of running I do.

I have just returned from St. George, Utah, where I biked more than 600 km and ran no more that 17k. My foot felt great while I ran and while I cycled and while I rested. It felt like I was walking on sharp rocks after the 23hr journey back into this wintry abyss.

I'm at a crossroads here about what I will do next. Much depends on the what the top rung sports physio will say. Will I run more? I can't run any less.

One thing is for certain. My trip down to Utah nourished me both spiritually (yes, I'm aware of the irony) and physically. I feel stronger and more confident than I have felt for a long time, especially on the bike.

The trip organizers put together the right mix of work, challenge and fun. I think I'm ready for anything during this "easy" year.

I just have to remind myself that my training transcends the race course and will help me walk past the sharp little rocks that are now underfoot. 

What strange world is this?

Photo: Sean Kukura

A few days ago, I was in a large, white Ford van hurtling across the highway is such whiteout conditions that we were all thinking a postponement or an extreme deviation in course. The driver too, with more experience behind the wheel than all the passengers combined, held that steering yoke tightly, as if, all we had to do is climb above the storm and we would be safe. 
The gamble paid off, as we turned south, towards where gambling is more a way of life.
The journey lasted roughly 23 hours. Through the night we flew, as the white granules gave way to grey skies and they too faded to an inky darkness that even the large trucks did not dare pierce.
Still, we forged ahead, leaving the blankets of snow, and finding in its place lone beacons in the dark that turned out to be lonely gas stations, Arby's, and the cleanest, most incredible highway toilets in which I've ever had the pleasure to share my journey. 

Then, out of the darkness, the hills rose to meet the sky, as if they helped put the sun in its place. These were not the same hills to which I've grown accustomed in Alberta and British Columbia.
They looked and smelled and felt different. Not as majestic, not as aweful, but so much more patient, as if they had seen generations of humanity grow and thrive and live and preach and fallout  and die in their caves, nooks and crevasses.

These hills also spoke to me of an Indian culture much maligned, marginalized and paved over, but just as loud and obvious as the Celtic echoes that I've heard in the rolling, misty hills a continent and an ocean away.

But I did not travel here to look at hills, rather I subjected myself to that long car ride, so that I could subject myself to many long bike rides through these very same hills. My hope, in this offseason, was to challenge my riding skills earlier in the year with steep climbs, chilling descents and no chilling weather. Four days into the trip, I have not been disappointed. There were six of us, three Ironmen, two newbies, but talented riders and one Cat 3 bike rider and seasoned cyclist.

We still have cheesy grins from the riding experiences that we have experienced. Climbs so steep that I questioned what I'm doing on a bike at all. The descents were so fast that I rethought my belief that I was any good at descending. And the countryside was so wide open that I challenged the whole concept of the prairie's great big skies. The canyons and mountains were not so much barriers to the view as they were red sanded switchbacks to heretofore unseen vistas.

I still have much more to muse about, but I am still absorbing and soaking in everything I have seen, felt and inspired. There is a different air here, a different wind. It is a strange world on which I cannot put my stamp.

One Day More

If I could bottle and sell the excitement and apprehension-flavoured energy felt the day before leaving home for a big race, I know I'd make a small fortune. I still feel this energy after three trips to the show...well, not the big show in Kona, but the other show in Penticton, that is close to Kelowna, which rhymes with Kona, ironically.

In previous seasons, as I would pack my race kit and plan for the trip either cross town or cross country, I would sing to myself: "One Day More!"

That musical, the only musical that I really liked and that was introduced to me by my First Wife, begins with the protagonist's stealing of bread and his struggles long after that single event...If you think about it, Jean Valjean in Victor Hugo's work is just trying to get some quality carbs. Is that so different from what the triathlete seeks?

One day more! Everything changes for that one day...before it changes back, as if it never happend.

This year, I haven't really felt this energy. It could be because I resigned myself to some shorter efforts and a few running races. I did have my first multisport race of the season last week -- an aquathlon, but before the race, I just didn't feel "it".

Don't get me wrong. I had a great time. I was surrounded by friends, especially a distinguished athlete from out of town and her husband. I was also happy my first wife was also in my corner counting laps and threatening that I'd better go faster - especially during the transition.  Nice.

Still struggling with Plantar fascists, as I call it, my running mileage has been way down. I entered into the race without any preconceived goals. I set a very conservative swim time, which I beat by 10 seconds, despite being headbutted within 20 strokes of the start by an errant idiot swimming the wrong way in the wrong lane.

I never pushed during the swim, I drafted for the most part and passed on the bulkheads whenever the opportunity afforded me, must have passed about eight people this way.  No stress. I was at peace for the whole 745 metres (5 metres were used up trying to figure out if I had a concussion).

Photo by First Wife

 

Photo by Paul Cutting

The run,  too,  started conservatively. As I proceeded through the 25 laps, I got stronger and more comfortable. JM caught me in the last kilometre. He and I used to run together. Those were some of the happiest training days I ever had. He too is coming off an extended injury-recovery period. But we had a fantastic sprint-like last kilometre. He really pushed me, like he used to and it was the best part of the race. I can't remember much other than him passing me, me passing back and everything on the periphary of the indoor track being a bit of a blurr - except lapcounting First Wife urging that I'd better move my ass!

But, still. One Day More.

Tomorrow I leave for Utah. I'm going on a road cycling trip on the St. George Ironman course. I'm traveling with friends who run a start-up adventure company called sportstogo.ca. It will be a 23-hour drive through the winter and into the spring as we travel to a different country, a different climate and ecosystem, and a different world. I'm just a little giddy.

This is the break that I think I need to re-energize me. I will drink deep from this experience as I bike OUTDOORS!!! and run and swim and hike through  Zion National Park.

Of course, when I return to work, to my family, to my life, nothing will really be different. But just as after my sojourns to the (other) big shows, I will be just a little changed and my perspective will have an entirely new landscape to consider. 

One more day before the storm...one day more! Let's see how much life is left in this old soul.