You can see where this game was getting a little stupid. So I didn’t stop running, and twice a day I opened the little white bottle to keep me going. Visits to the ortho and an MRI showed that my meniscus damage from an ACL injury in 2009 had slightly worsened, and I was developing a little arthritis, but nothing that should stop me from running. Every time I cycled off the anti-inflammatory, the pain came back, and I couldn’t run (or squat) again. Oh, and daily doses of naproxen to keep my knee pain under control. Purposeful runs, gradual mileage buildups, injury prevention work, and no unnecessary volume.
Sobered by the experience, I vowed to make 2016 my year of running happy, and wrote a conservative training plan for the whole year. Of all people, I should know better, right? My wife (my first athlete and the most wonderful woman in the world) will tell you that I’d never let her do something like that.īut sometimes advice is easier to dispense than take, and so I found myself sidelined at the end of 2015 for the better part of 10 weeks. The race went great, and I was very happy with my time, but I went straight to the airport afterward for a flight to Utah for work.īy the time I disembarked in Salt Lake City, I could barely walk, the pain in my right knee had gotten so bad. Three weeks post-marathon, I thought I felt well enough, and raced a local 15k. When you finish a race healthy, that’s a fine plan, but that’s not where I was. I followed that with another stupid game, this one dubbed “come back way too fast after you destroy yourself.” I attempted a recovery run just three days after my marathon disaster, and got back to track work the week after that. The stupid prize I won was that I had a fantastic marathon for about 18 miles, then the wheels fell off in a big way, and I limped home the remaining eight. Undeterred, I hastily rewrote my training program to cram 24 weeks into 14, culminating in a single, ugly 18-miler, two weeks out from the race. The sad story begins as far back as the fall of 2015, when I played a stupid game called “run a marathon with inadequate base training.” I had shattered my collarbone in June, and the ensuing surgery and recovery set my training clock back to zero. But since my last race weekend in May, I’ve been saying it about myself. It’s something I say all the time, in reference to a news story, or a Darwin Award candidate.
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