When it comes to being pigheaded, runners training for a
marathon win the prize.
How else to explain the way we balance pain (garden variety
or thin edge of horror-type) and the base fitness level necessary to run 26.2
miles at one time and not fall apart at Mile 16, or hit the wall at Mile 20.
From that first marathon when I was twenty-seven in 1983,
training with my pal JM from Brockville, and running too with my childhood
friend GD, we often mentioned that we had to get the miles in the bank. No
excuses.
So I sit on the subway writing this (Oct. 27) with not just
a sore heel – as described in this space last week – but with a diagnosis of
mild cases of both Achilles tendonitis and plantar fascia. My right foot doesn’t hurt flat
as they are on the floor of the subway. But when I get up and walk around, go
up subway stairs. Oweeee !
When it comes to running (and races) I favor doctors without
borders. My kind podiatrist has me with a PT program that rocks – and a pledge
to shoot these dogs with steroid painkillers in the event the condition doesn’t
settle down by race day (Nov. 15).
In the meantime, that means exercises as prescribed by my
doctor and my new physical therapist, and running when the pain subsides some.
Otherwise low-impact cross-training. At night, massage the bottom of my foot
with a tennis ball, treat the inflammation by step-and-roll on a frozen water
bottle.
All for the race. My hubris handicap? Maybe. But how do I
know? Being pigheaded has its advantages.
Next: Running for
Your Life: The Long, Hot Stretch
