Saturday, July 15, 2023
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
I'M BACK! In more ways than just posting again, which it seems I haven't done in a several weeks. I suppose that makes me a reluctant blogger, too.
I'm running again, with a surprising side effect: I like it. I'll say that again, because, especially for me, it bears repeating: I LIKE IT. Never did I think I'd utter those words. I've always hated running. I hated how out of breath I'd get. I hated how every muscle in my legs would scream for mercy a quarter of a mile into a run. I hated thinking "if I can just make it to that tree/sign/blue car, I'll stop for a little break." In short, I hated everything about it. So, what's changed? I'll tell you.
A few months ago, I posted on Facebook that I needed a recommendation for a good podiatrist to help with a problem I was having with my second toe and that, as someone who needed to run, I would prefer a doctor who has experience with injuries sustained by runners. I got several suggestions for doctors and one offer of training by a woman named Barbara who was getting her certification in ChiRunning. I had heard of ChiRunning and wanted to give it a go but a Google search for instructors in my area fielded nothing, so that Barbara replied with an offer of help was very fortuitous. After much schedule juggling and attempts to get together, I finally got a brief lesson from Barbara, in which I learned about form, posture, and how gravity can help, not hinder, the running process, but was soon thereafter told by my podiatrist that I needed to stay off my foot and was given my lovely orthopedic moon boot that ensured I was not only NOT able to run, but hardly able to walk, as well. I was in that thing for a total of eight weeks. By the end, I was able to maneuver in the monstrosity fairly well and a couple of things happened during that two months: 1. my foot did, indeed, get better and 2. I found that I wanted to run. Nothing like being told you can't do something to make you want to do it, no matter how much you didn't like doing that something in the first place. As it happened, Barbara was teaching a ChiRunning class the week after I was given the all clear to remove the boot. There were three of us taking instruction, all of whom were having similar issues. None of us could figure out how all of these people enjoyed running so much while we were struggling to understand just how badly anyone (meaning "we") could screw it up - I mean, it's just running, right? Everyone knows how to do it, RIGHT? Apparently not. As with everything, there is a correct form to running and mine was off. Not by much, mind you, but off, nonetheless. It was off just enough to hinder my breathing and cause my legs to cry "uncle". And to make me hate running.
Within an hour, I ran 3/4 mile without being winded, was able to carry on a conversation, and with no pain in my legs. Recovery time was 30 seconds, as opposed to two minutes. Barbara had alerted me to slight adjustments that were needed in order to open up my chest properly to allow for optimal breathing. She helped me realize that my strides were too long and were causing me to overuse my leg muscles, translating to fatigue and subsequent pain. She taught me that gravity is my friend and can help me speed up or slow down, depending on how much I lean forward or backward. She taught me about cadence. It all came together. light bulbs were going on all around my previously perplexed head. I had finally gotten it...and I was bitten by the bug. I wanted to run further and felt as though I definitely could but, as my doctor had told me to take it easy the first couple of weeks, I stopped. The next morning when I awakened, for the first time ever, I wanted to run. I tried to curtail the urge by getting involved in a project but by 10am, I couldn't do it any longer. I called a friend and convinced her to join me. As she's more of a run/walker, the pace would be more where I need to be at the moment. Again, I felt as though I could have gone much further than I did but I didn't. I'm pacing myself. I'll add a quarter mile each week until I'm at my goal of three miles every other day. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, that will be the end of September.
And I. Am. Sore. My calves are screaming every time I stand up. My quads are tender. My hamstrings want to know "Why?". My butt...well, it can shut the hell up because it needs to look good in a pair of jeans. I don't mind it, though. This is the kind of sore that comes from working properly, the kind that says muscles that haven't been used in a while are waking up again. Since I had no pain while running, this pain tells me I've done something right so I'll take it and step up the yoga a bit to stretch and lengthen my tender muscles.
In other news, though somewhat related, my hat is officially back in the ring for the police department. I received an email notification that recruit positions have been posted so I submitted my application again. Given the date I took my P.O.S.T. exam last year, it seems I may not have to take it again, at least according to the city's website. I'm prepared just in case I'm told that I do have to take it but at this point, I'm focusing on being in prime shape for the P.A.T. I know I can get over a six foot obstacle but will still be practicing. I know I can manage the balance beam. I know I can do the dummy drag. I know I can do pushups.
And I know I can run.
I'm running again, with a surprising side effect: I like it. I'll say that again, because, especially for me, it bears repeating: I LIKE IT. Never did I think I'd utter those words. I've always hated running. I hated how out of breath I'd get. I hated how every muscle in my legs would scream for mercy a quarter of a mile into a run. I hated thinking "if I can just make it to that tree/sign/blue car, I'll stop for a little break." In short, I hated everything about it. So, what's changed? I'll tell you.
A few months ago, I posted on Facebook that I needed a recommendation for a good podiatrist to help with a problem I was having with my second toe and that, as someone who needed to run, I would prefer a doctor who has experience with injuries sustained by runners. I got several suggestions for doctors and one offer of training by a woman named Barbara who was getting her certification in ChiRunning. I had heard of ChiRunning and wanted to give it a go but a Google search for instructors in my area fielded nothing, so that Barbara replied with an offer of help was very fortuitous. After much schedule juggling and attempts to get together, I finally got a brief lesson from Barbara, in which I learned about form, posture, and how gravity can help, not hinder, the running process, but was soon thereafter told by my podiatrist that I needed to stay off my foot and was given my lovely orthopedic moon boot that ensured I was not only NOT able to run, but hardly able to walk, as well. I was in that thing for a total of eight weeks. By the end, I was able to maneuver in the monstrosity fairly well and a couple of things happened during that two months: 1. my foot did, indeed, get better and 2. I found that I wanted to run. Nothing like being told you can't do something to make you want to do it, no matter how much you didn't like doing that something in the first place. As it happened, Barbara was teaching a ChiRunning class the week after I was given the all clear to remove the boot. There were three of us taking instruction, all of whom were having similar issues. None of us could figure out how all of these people enjoyed running so much while we were struggling to understand just how badly anyone (meaning "we") could screw it up - I mean, it's just running, right? Everyone knows how to do it, RIGHT? Apparently not. As with everything, there is a correct form to running and mine was off. Not by much, mind you, but off, nonetheless. It was off just enough to hinder my breathing and cause my legs to cry "uncle". And to make me hate running.
Within an hour, I ran 3/4 mile without being winded, was able to carry on a conversation, and with no pain in my legs. Recovery time was 30 seconds, as opposed to two minutes. Barbara had alerted me to slight adjustments that were needed in order to open up my chest properly to allow for optimal breathing. She helped me realize that my strides were too long and were causing me to overuse my leg muscles, translating to fatigue and subsequent pain. She taught me that gravity is my friend and can help me speed up or slow down, depending on how much I lean forward or backward. She taught me about cadence. It all came together. light bulbs were going on all around my previously perplexed head. I had finally gotten it...and I was bitten by the bug. I wanted to run further and felt as though I definitely could but, as my doctor had told me to take it easy the first couple of weeks, I stopped. The next morning when I awakened, for the first time ever, I wanted to run. I tried to curtail the urge by getting involved in a project but by 10am, I couldn't do it any longer. I called a friend and convinced her to join me. As she's more of a run/walker, the pace would be more where I need to be at the moment. Again, I felt as though I could have gone much further than I did but I didn't. I'm pacing myself. I'll add a quarter mile each week until I'm at my goal of three miles every other day. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, that will be the end of September.
And I. Am. Sore. My calves are screaming every time I stand up. My quads are tender. My hamstrings want to know "Why?". My butt...well, it can shut the hell up because it needs to look good in a pair of jeans. I don't mind it, though. This is the kind of sore that comes from working properly, the kind that says muscles that haven't been used in a while are waking up again. Since I had no pain while running, this pain tells me I've done something right so I'll take it and step up the yoga a bit to stretch and lengthen my tender muscles.
In other news, though somewhat related, my hat is officially back in the ring for the police department. I received an email notification that recruit positions have been posted so I submitted my application again. Given the date I took my P.O.S.T. exam last year, it seems I may not have to take it again, at least according to the city's website. I'm prepared just in case I'm told that I do have to take it but at this point, I'm focusing on being in prime shape for the P.A.T. I know I can get over a six foot obstacle but will still be practicing. I know I can manage the balance beam. I know I can do the dummy drag. I know I can do pushups.
And I know I can run.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Right, so I'm still not running because of the whole moon boot thing but I'm doing plenty of other things to keep me in shape...and a few that undo everything.
First, I got over this thing today:
That, my dear readers, is a six foot wall, the same kind that presented such a challenge when I was doing my P.A.T. for the police department. I got over it on the first try, despite my foot injury. How did I do it? I have no idea. I just did it. I didn't think about it. It was a slightly desperate situation and I managed to get myself over it. The gate belongs to one of my dog walking clients and it seems their front door latch had been damaged somehow. When I arrived today to walk the dogs (this adorable 200lbs of love and slobber Saint Bernard and destructo, Tasmanian Devil, beer keg of an English Bulldog - that's her handiwork on the armrest),
I was unable to open the front door. After ten minutes, I was finally able to realign the latch so the door would open. I thought I had fixed it but upon my return with the Saint, I found the door to again be stuck. Luckily, I was walking the dogs separately, given the foot situation and subsequent inability to handle a 200lb dog a the same time as an unruly bulldog puppy, and had left the back sliding glass door open for the bully. The problem was twofold: what do I do with a massive dog and how do I get over the dreaded gate? Solution: attach the leash of The Beast to the most stable water spigot I could find and get myself over that gate, go around to the sliding door, go inside, and open the front door. The gate. THE SIX FOOT GATE. I wasn't able to get over one for the P.A.T., how the hell was I going to get over it now? Don't even think about it. Just do it. I removed the moon boot, found footing, and swung my leg over.
I did it. I really, really did it! If only the police academy staff could see me now. I'll just focus that energy into my test for the Sheriff's Department because now, I know I can do it!
Feeling all warm and fuzzy over my accomplishment, I decided to go for a paddle around the bay after I walked my adorable pooches. I drove to the dock and dropped this bad boy
into the water. That's the tail end of a 12 foot paddleboard. And it was windy today. So windy that, at one point, I was paddling like mad but wasn't going anywhere. Being on a board makes one a high profile target and pushing through windy conditions is like trying to swim up a waterfall. A break in the wind came and I pushed past that point to get to a great little spot that's sheltered from the gale that popped up soon after I hit the water. I spent about an hour on the water and my arms, legs, and abs felt like Jello after all the work I'd just put them through but the workout was great. I got back to the dock just in time for the wind to pick up to 16 miles per hour, something no paddleboarder wants to deal with. Ideally, 5mph is the most I care to endure, as do most of my friends who enjoy this lovely activity. It was a good challenge, though, and I was happy to be out there on this beautiful afternoon.
A friend had planned to meet me for a night out but, unfortunately, had to reschedule. Another friend texted to let me know he was planning festivities for a holiday he deemed "Fuck It, It's Tuesday" and asked if I'd like to join him and his neighbor. There would be beer involved. Okay. I'm in. We ate oysters, drank beer and Mai Tais, and laughed about everything. We also got cotton candy when the server found out it was my birthday (it wasn't) my and my friend's anniversary (also not true), and the birthday of our 67 year old son (the neighbor and also really,REALLY not true). Hey, we got the cotton candy so that's all that matters. The added bonus of the evening is that my boys won (GO KINGS!!!) and are kept in the running for winning the Stanley Cup again.
GO KINGS! (Did I say that already?)
First, I got over this thing today:
That, my dear readers, is a six foot wall, the same kind that presented such a challenge when I was doing my P.A.T. for the police department. I got over it on the first try, despite my foot injury. How did I do it? I have no idea. I just did it. I didn't think about it. It was a slightly desperate situation and I managed to get myself over it. The gate belongs to one of my dog walking clients and it seems their front door latch had been damaged somehow. When I arrived today to walk the dogs (this adorable 200lbs of love and slobber Saint Bernard and destructo, Tasmanian Devil, beer keg of an English Bulldog - that's her handiwork on the armrest),
I was unable to open the front door. After ten minutes, I was finally able to realign the latch so the door would open. I thought I had fixed it but upon my return with the Saint, I found the door to again be stuck. Luckily, I was walking the dogs separately, given the foot situation and subsequent inability to handle a 200lb dog a the same time as an unruly bulldog puppy, and had left the back sliding glass door open for the bully. The problem was twofold: what do I do with a massive dog and how do I get over the dreaded gate? Solution: attach the leash of The Beast to the most stable water spigot I could find and get myself over that gate, go around to the sliding door, go inside, and open the front door. The gate. THE SIX FOOT GATE. I wasn't able to get over one for the P.A.T., how the hell was I going to get over it now? Don't even think about it. Just do it. I removed the moon boot, found footing, and swung my leg over.
I did it. I really, really did it! If only the police academy staff could see me now. I'll just focus that energy into my test for the Sheriff's Department because now, I know I can do it!
Feeling all warm and fuzzy over my accomplishment, I decided to go for a paddle around the bay after I walked my adorable pooches. I drove to the dock and dropped this bad boy
A friend had planned to meet me for a night out but, unfortunately, had to reschedule. Another friend texted to let me know he was planning festivities for a holiday he deemed "Fuck It, It's Tuesday" and asked if I'd like to join him and his neighbor. There would be beer involved. Okay. I'm in. We ate oysters, drank beer and Mai Tais, and laughed about everything. We also got cotton candy when the server found out it was my birthday (it wasn't) my and my friend's anniversary (also not true), and the birthday of our 67 year old son (the neighbor and also really,REALLY not true). Hey, we got the cotton candy so that's all that matters. The added bonus of the evening is that my boys won (GO KINGS!!!) and are kept in the running for winning the Stanley Cup again.
GO KINGS! (Did I say that already?)
Monday, June 3, 2013
It's been nearly a year since I began running. I used to joke that I only ran if someone was chasing me but that changed when I made a life changing decision to apply to the police department.
Running is something I only did if I was trying to catch a bus or chase a two year old to keep him from running to a busy street. (Said child is now 21 but still largely dismisses me as someone who doesn't have the slightest bit of knowledge to the ways of the world. He'll learn.) I have always wanted to be a police officer but my disdain for propelling myself forward at a fast pace hindered me from applying. I also came up with many excuses as to why the life of a cop might not be for me: "I have a young son", "I don't like getting yelled at" (thinking about the six months in the academy) , "What if I got shot?", "I want to be a teacher", "I'm too busy with work", and the list goes on. I no longer have a young son. I get yelled at quite often by obnoxious customers. A bulletproof vest and proper training will lower my chances of being shot. I can teach in any area of my life. I'm still busy with work but I've become accustomed to budgeting my time well. I have no valid excuse.
In July 2012, I was on a ride along with a good friend of mine who is a member of my fair city's K9 unit, a detail for which I've always held an immense amount of interest. I had been on several ride alongs with him and, though some days were slow and not much happened, I had a keen interest in the job as a whole. I asked a lot of questions - "What's the difference between a 459 and a 211?" (459 is a burglary, while a 211 is a robbery, in case you were wondering. Even if you weren't, now you know.), "In what circumstance would you deploy the dog?", "What do you look for while you're driving around?" He knew that I had been interested in being an officer but was also aware of my reasons for never having applied. At the end of the ride along in July, he told me I needed to reconsider becoming a cop. He told me I had good instincts, was good with people, and that the department needed more females with the ability to show compassion, yet also be a hardass if the situation called for it. It seems women and children feel more comfortable speaking to a female officer in certain circumstances and some men are reluctant to give a female officer a difficult time when she shows strength. When I started to protest by saying, "Yeah, but it's just all the...", he interrupted with "Yeah, yeah, it's 'all the fucking running' ", something I had said many times in the past. He told me to get over it and that I would only need to do it for six months in the academy and never again if I chose to not do so. I went home and I thought about it. The next day I asked him what the chances were of a 42 year old female getting on with the department. His reply: "GOOD." I spoke with another friend who was a lieutenant with the Sheriff's Department and told him of my intent. His reply was "Finally!"
So, I started running. I ran a block. It hurt. I walked for three. I ran another block. It hurt more. I walked three more blocks. I ran two blocks. I was out of breath. I had considered myself to be in great shape. I cycled daily. I did yoga. I went paddleboarding or kayaking at least every other day. I rock climbed. I rollerbladed. I walked dogs for a living. I wrangled a 200lb Saint Bernard on a daily basis. So why was this running thing so tough? I decided to not let my experience that day deter me from my chosen career path. Two days later, I ran again. Upon the suggestion of a friend who also had trouble when she began running, I ran a block, then walked a block. I did that for a total of 14 blocks. Not fun, but I did it. And I did it again a few days later. UNTIL...the shin splints. Aside from childbirth, which ended after eight hours, I had never experienced a more excrutiating pain. Then came the swollen ankle. Two weeks later - and no running - both had settled so I got back into it, only to develop shin splints yet again. It boggled my mind to hear others tell stories of being a beginning runner and absolutely loving it. They didn't get shin splints. They didn't have ankle problems. What was I doing wrong? I began to wonder if I could beg the powers that be at the police academy to consider letting a 20 mile bike ride at full power be the equivalent of running 1.5 miles for the physical ability test (the P.A.T.). (They won't.)
Fast forward to November. I passed my written exam for the California Police Officer Standards Training with flying colors. I was invited to take the P.A.T., which consisted of running 300 feet to a 6ft wall, going over said wall, running along a 6ft balance beam, dummy drag of a 165lb dummy (all within two minutes), as many pushups (up to 40) as one could do, and a 1.5 mile run. The run, preferably, needed to be completed within 12 minutes but no more than 17. That's an eight minute pace and I had managed to get myself down to a nine. If I had just been required to do the run, I might have done well, but with aforementioned activities just prior to the run, I was tired. Unfortunately, I didn't make it over the wall and had some trouble on the dummy drag but was given the opportunity to go back in three days to retest - more on that in a moment. I did the run in 15.2 minutes. Not great but at least I wasn't DFL (Dead Fucking Last). As for the wall, I just couldn't plant on that sweet spot that enabled me to swing my leg high enough to pull myself over. By the time I got the the dummy, my mind was still back at the wall trying to figure out where I'd gone wrong so I lost focus. I scheduled my retest and practiced for the next few days. I got the dummy drag down. My preferred technique became to grab him by the feet and pull him, rather than attempt to grab him around the torso and lift. Hey, whatever works. The wall still gave me a tough time. I was overthinking it and kept failing. Friends tried to help me but their techniques didn't work when I applied them. My last practice attempt found me with a searing pain in my left quad so my friend suggested we stop, ice it, and rest for my retest the following day. I hardly slept because my nerves were on edge. I went to the academy the next morning and began my 300ft run toward the wall. Three strides in and not only did my quad pain from the night before resurface, but the right leg decided to join in the fun. BOTH legs were on fire but I pushed on, do or die. I foot planted on the wall...and the pain hit like a ton of brick. Someone might as well been carving away at my quads with a knife that was in need of a good sharpening, thus taking longer and hurting more. I had over-trained and hadn't gotten enough rest. I didn't make it over for the second time and was disqualified. Diagnosis: Grade 2 quad tears in both legs. I was out of not only running for four to six weeks but cycling, as well.
Not discouraged, I decided to apply for the Sheriff's Department. My chances of becoming a K9 handler - my goal - are greater with SO than with PD so, while disappointed I didn't make it into the city's police academy, things might work out better for me in the end. After sufficient healing, I was back to running. I started working with Chi Running instructor and discovered what I was doing wrong. The techniques are so incredibly simple but not many people really think of them. I was one of those people. Everything was going quite well until I woke up one day and the ball of my left foot was hurting. The ball of my foot was incredibly sore and it felt like I had a marble taped to it when I walked. The top of my foot was swollen at the second toe joint. Strangely, it didn't hurt when I ran - I plant with my forefoot, just above the area that was hurting. My ankle also began to swell and putting weight on my heel was almost unbearable.This went on for about three weeks when I decided enough was enough and made an appointment with a podiatrist. An MRI showed I had capsulitis of the second metatarsal and subsequent fluid buildup INSIDE the heel bone from heel striking too hard in order to keep pressure off the forefoot, putting it at risk of expansion and a possible resulting break. I didn't even know that was possible. Upon doing some Google research, I discovered that folks with a longer second toe like I have are prone to capsulitis. Check it out: somewhat boring, yet informative medical speak
So now, I'm rockin' this baby:
Running is something I only did if I was trying to catch a bus or chase a two year old to keep him from running to a busy street. (Said child is now 21 but still largely dismisses me as someone who doesn't have the slightest bit of knowledge to the ways of the world. He'll learn.) I have always wanted to be a police officer but my disdain for propelling myself forward at a fast pace hindered me from applying. I also came up with many excuses as to why the life of a cop might not be for me: "I have a young son", "I don't like getting yelled at" (thinking about the six months in the academy) , "What if I got shot?", "I want to be a teacher", "I'm too busy with work", and the list goes on. I no longer have a young son. I get yelled at quite often by obnoxious customers. A bulletproof vest and proper training will lower my chances of being shot. I can teach in any area of my life. I'm still busy with work but I've become accustomed to budgeting my time well. I have no valid excuse.
In July 2012, I was on a ride along with a good friend of mine who is a member of my fair city's K9 unit, a detail for which I've always held an immense amount of interest. I had been on several ride alongs with him and, though some days were slow and not much happened, I had a keen interest in the job as a whole. I asked a lot of questions - "What's the difference between a 459 and a 211?" (459 is a burglary, while a 211 is a robbery, in case you were wondering. Even if you weren't, now you know.), "In what circumstance would you deploy the dog?", "What do you look for while you're driving around?" He knew that I had been interested in being an officer but was also aware of my reasons for never having applied. At the end of the ride along in July, he told me I needed to reconsider becoming a cop. He told me I had good instincts, was good with people, and that the department needed more females with the ability to show compassion, yet also be a hardass if the situation called for it. It seems women and children feel more comfortable speaking to a female officer in certain circumstances and some men are reluctant to give a female officer a difficult time when she shows strength. When I started to protest by saying, "Yeah, but it's just all the...", he interrupted with "Yeah, yeah, it's 'all the fucking running' ", something I had said many times in the past. He told me to get over it and that I would only need to do it for six months in the academy and never again if I chose to not do so. I went home and I thought about it. The next day I asked him what the chances were of a 42 year old female getting on with the department. His reply: "GOOD." I spoke with another friend who was a lieutenant with the Sheriff's Department and told him of my intent. His reply was "Finally!"
So, I started running. I ran a block. It hurt. I walked for three. I ran another block. It hurt more. I walked three more blocks. I ran two blocks. I was out of breath. I had considered myself to be in great shape. I cycled daily. I did yoga. I went paddleboarding or kayaking at least every other day. I rock climbed. I rollerbladed. I walked dogs for a living. I wrangled a 200lb Saint Bernard on a daily basis. So why was this running thing so tough? I decided to not let my experience that day deter me from my chosen career path. Two days later, I ran again. Upon the suggestion of a friend who also had trouble when she began running, I ran a block, then walked a block. I did that for a total of 14 blocks. Not fun, but I did it. And I did it again a few days later. UNTIL...the shin splints. Aside from childbirth, which ended after eight hours, I had never experienced a more excrutiating pain. Then came the swollen ankle. Two weeks later - and no running - both had settled so I got back into it, only to develop shin splints yet again. It boggled my mind to hear others tell stories of being a beginning runner and absolutely loving it. They didn't get shin splints. They didn't have ankle problems. What was I doing wrong? I began to wonder if I could beg the powers that be at the police academy to consider letting a 20 mile bike ride at full power be the equivalent of running 1.5 miles for the physical ability test (the P.A.T.). (They won't.)
Fast forward to November. I passed my written exam for the California Police Officer Standards Training with flying colors. I was invited to take the P.A.T., which consisted of running 300 feet to a 6ft wall, going over said wall, running along a 6ft balance beam, dummy drag of a 165lb dummy (all within two minutes), as many pushups (up to 40) as one could do, and a 1.5 mile run. The run, preferably, needed to be completed within 12 minutes but no more than 17. That's an eight minute pace and I had managed to get myself down to a nine. If I had just been required to do the run, I might have done well, but with aforementioned activities just prior to the run, I was tired. Unfortunately, I didn't make it over the wall and had some trouble on the dummy drag but was given the opportunity to go back in three days to retest - more on that in a moment. I did the run in 15.2 minutes. Not great but at least I wasn't DFL (Dead Fucking Last). As for the wall, I just couldn't plant on that sweet spot that enabled me to swing my leg high enough to pull myself over. By the time I got the the dummy, my mind was still back at the wall trying to figure out where I'd gone wrong so I lost focus. I scheduled my retest and practiced for the next few days. I got the dummy drag down. My preferred technique became to grab him by the feet and pull him, rather than attempt to grab him around the torso and lift. Hey, whatever works. The wall still gave me a tough time. I was overthinking it and kept failing. Friends tried to help me but their techniques didn't work when I applied them. My last practice attempt found me with a searing pain in my left quad so my friend suggested we stop, ice it, and rest for my retest the following day. I hardly slept because my nerves were on edge. I went to the academy the next morning and began my 300ft run toward the wall. Three strides in and not only did my quad pain from the night before resurface, but the right leg decided to join in the fun. BOTH legs were on fire but I pushed on, do or die. I foot planted on the wall...and the pain hit like a ton of brick. Someone might as well been carving away at my quads with a knife that was in need of a good sharpening, thus taking longer and hurting more. I had over-trained and hadn't gotten enough rest. I didn't make it over for the second time and was disqualified. Diagnosis: Grade 2 quad tears in both legs. I was out of not only running for four to six weeks but cycling, as well.
Not discouraged, I decided to apply for the Sheriff's Department. My chances of becoming a K9 handler - my goal - are greater with SO than with PD so, while disappointed I didn't make it into the city's police academy, things might work out better for me in the end. After sufficient healing, I was back to running. I started working with Chi Running instructor and discovered what I was doing wrong. The techniques are so incredibly simple but not many people really think of them. I was one of those people. Everything was going quite well until I woke up one day and the ball of my left foot was hurting. The ball of my foot was incredibly sore and it felt like I had a marble taped to it when I walked. The top of my foot was swollen at the second toe joint. Strangely, it didn't hurt when I ran - I plant with my forefoot, just above the area that was hurting. My ankle also began to swell and putting weight on my heel was almost unbearable.This went on for about three weeks when I decided enough was enough and made an appointment with a podiatrist. An MRI showed I had capsulitis of the second metatarsal and subsequent fluid buildup INSIDE the heel bone from heel striking too hard in order to keep pressure off the forefoot, putting it at risk of expansion and a possible resulting break. I didn't even know that was possible. Upon doing some Google research, I discovered that folks with a longer second toe like I have are prone to capsulitis. Check it out: somewhat boring, yet informative medical speak
So now, I'm rockin' this baby:
Sexy, isn't it? I was hoping it would get me to the front of the line at Doheny Blues Fest a couple of weeks ago but no dice. I'm now hoping I'll get an all clear from the doc in the next week or two so I can lace up the Newtons and get back to what will no doubt be a bit of a snail's pace but at least I'll be running again.
That's a good thing, right? RIGHT?!?!?
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