Apparently, David Ortiz of the Boston Red Sox has decided he's going to take the, "play through the pain" approach to his strained Achilles tendon, rather than having ultrasound therapy. While I'm not so sure I agree with his approach, I can certainly understand his reasoning (and it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact he has millions of dollars in an arbitration year riding on it). My sports therapist recommended ultrasound therapy for my "left peroneal tenosynovitis", which is the ultimate diagnosis we reached now that the stress reaction is healed. Coincidentally, my physical therapist pointed out that this is the same injury that caused Ortiz's teammate, Curt Schilling, to grace the world with his bloody sock.
I think what's bothering me the most is that by most accounts, this is the type of injury that usually takes 6-8 weeks to heal, even at its worst non-surgical diagnosis. Yet here I am, now 15 weeks out from my last long run, and after 4 minutes of slow interval running a week ago, I still routinely feel like the outside of my ankle and foot are on fire. I'm doing everything right. I've been dutifully forking over what has now amounted to a small fortune in copays, popping Aleve like it's candy, wearing only supportive footwear and the world's ugliest compression sleeve and turning every frozen vegetable in the house into an ice bag. I do my exercises diligently, I go to physical therapy and I check in with my sports therapist whenever she tells me to. I've had all the x-rays and an MRI. I have an appointment with a stellar podiatrist on Monday, and he's really my last resort. It’s basically a given that he's going to prescribe custom orthotics, to the tune of $500. I'm doing everything I'm supposed to do and it isn’t solving anything.
It doesn’t seem fair, but that’s life. In the words of my Gramma (and some wise sage well before her), “it is what it is.”
I know a lot of people think I'm crazy, that I should just throw my hands in the air and give it up already, just accept that I'm not cut out to be a runner. Believe me, that thought has crossed my mind more than a few times over the past year. The problem is that the damage is already done. I can't walk for long periods of time, get out of the saddle in spin class, use the elliptical or the stairmaster or wear flip flops without pain. My beloved Zumba classes are out of the question. More importantly, I can’t even stand for the amount of time it takes to do the dishes without paying for it later. And so I sit here, 11 pounds heavier in body and a thousand times more in spirit.
It has never been a secret, to me or anyone else, that I have a problem prioritizing my personal goals outside of work. I always have, and that's part of the reason why I bounced back pretty quickly from my disappointment in my BAA half training and results: sure, I hadn't run the time I trained for, but I was proud that I committed to something and, four months later, saw that commitment through. It was the first time that has happened in almost as long as I can remember. I dream big, but I'm usually afraid to act.
I know that it’s time to start figuring out what other goals I can pursue outside of running. Grad school, home decorating, travel, writing, weight loss – these are all goals that I’ve vowed, time and again, to really commit myself towards achieving. A lot of the problem lies in trying to take on too much at one time, leading to burnout and episodes of anxiety that aren’t any fun for me or anyone around me.
Maybe this injury is a sign to start focusing on something else, something that can both divert my attention and give me a sense of fulfillment. Dedicated GRE study time, expanding my craft corner, an actual writing class, a website tutorial … these are all activities that I plan to ponder over the next few weeks. I’m not sure where I’ll end up, but it’s a start.
As my Gramma was also fond of saying, “Ever Onward.”
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