“I just felt like running... I ran across the whole state of Alabama...then I reached a sea. So I turned around and kept going. Then I reached another. So I thought there’s nothing else to do except keep running...I had been running for two years, 14 days and 16 hours.”
Forrest Gump keeps running
Well, I hadn’t run for two weeks after the Two Oceans. And one Monday I decided to start again. I contemplated the short golf course route – 6km. And when I got to the turn-off, I figured I’d turn it into an 8k. And when I got to that turn-off, I figured I’d extend the route join Mike on the army base run. It got dark, and we kept going... 10km later I was feeling back in the game!
The excitement to be back on the road spilled over to the next day. I decided that now that I’ve achieved the distance, I should work on my speed. The challenge: better personal best time trial time of 20min 18sec. Turns out that the 1 second I spent squirming through a pool of mud was all the difference. My takkies made it through ok:
The result of fairy dancing through the mud
But I missed my PB by ONE SECOND and worked up a thorough injury that has kept me off the road for three weeks now. I don’t know what’s wrong. And despite many wise pieces of advice I haven’t been to the physio to find out. But there were other things to learn through this injury...
I learnt that mixed veg moulded better around my ankle and was less of a shock to the system than a pack of ice. I only gave it up for cooking if my digsmate promised to bring me the frozen peas in exchange. “What else can you do?” Mom asked after I said that my only form of exercise has ground to a solid halt. “Drink to forget,” I replied. [insert typical Mom reaction.]
And after moping around for a week, complaining everytime I went up or down the stairs, something else landed on my doorstep. Enter: spinning. Catherine, a very good friend and one of my classmates, is head of the spinning instructors at the Health Suite (Rhodes gym). With an enthusiastic smile she said “Yes come for a session! Tomorrow at 1pm.” I sneaked in at 12h45 with no authorising sticker to speak of. She adjusted my seat and handle bars, smiled sweetly and said “there you go. Is that ok?” But when Cath gets onto that bike, her alternate ego kicks in and her caring tone turns into a ROAR! She knew just when to shout “FOCUS ON YOUR BREATHING!” when I was drinking air, and “FLAT FEET LIGHT HANDS!” when I was leaning on my hands too much, and “LOOKING GOOOOOOD!” when I was just about to fall over and die for a minute.
About 10 minutes before the end of the class I found myself overwhelmed by emotion. Perhaps this is part of reaching that emotional outlet at the peak of an exercise session. A realisation high fived me in the face: I am in this studio because I can’t run. I am banned from the therapeutic hills of Grahamstown because my ankle cannot handle the impact on the road. But, as Cath roared once more, I converted the emotion into fuel for the last stretch of the simulated race. And, as all fairytales end, it was all more than worth it in the end. Spinning was upgraded from back-up plan to cross-training plan for when I’m back on the road.
I also dabbled in Yoga. 5h45am Tuesday morning Meg would arrive outside my door for my first Yoga session. Neither of us got any sleep the night before because we were too concerned about oversleeping. With 5kg cement bags under our eyes and bed hair roughly pulled back, we emerged in the doorway of Health Suite. Turns out, the ‘warrior’, the ‘fish’ and the ‘tree’ aren’t as trivial as they look. Nina’s voice was calming and reassuring as she guided us through a twelve step sequence. “Inhale hands together one. Exhale back two. Inhale down three. Right leg back four. Retain...” Later in the class, we were doing the ‘corpse’ – lying flat on the back, palms faced upwards, eyes closed. I felt like a corpse when I couldn’t run. And the emotion welled up again. This time, I converted it into determination to heal and get back on the road. My mentor has instilled little phrases in my mind as mechanisms with which to play the mind game in exercise. For example, “reduce pace, maintain effort” runs over and over in my head when hitting a hill. On the eve of the Two Oceans he messaged me: “Play the mind game. No drama.” And after the Yoga session, it dawned on me: I have to play the mind game with injury as well.
I’ve learnt the lesson that Mom has pointed out numerous times when runners’ knee pricked my ignorant ways: “Too much, too fast, too soon.” It seems that it took a more painful injury and many more Cataflams to bring me to the bottom line: the passion for running can not be exploited as a sole mode of exercise and main source of happiness. The body must be strengthened in various ways to enhance the running experience. Holistic nurturing of the body renders it fit to serve the passion. And if Passion is served, the rewards are priceless.
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