Day 7, in captivity

Today marks one full week that I've worn Das Boot, the lovely Aircast meant to sheild my pissed off tendon from even minimal movement. It works, my tendon cannot and does not move. Tightly sequestered in the cast, my foot is cocooned in cushy foam, two side airbags and two harness-like straps. My foot looks like it belongs to a storm trooper child, boot size 6.

The boot, though effective, presents some curious challenges. The most vexing is the heel height of the other shoe. Every day I have to evaluate which shoe matches my outfit AND is just the right height so that I don't teeter precipitiously one direction or the other. My hips are tired. Not being able to flex my foot in a normal walking fashion causes me to throw my hip forward in a Frankenstein sort of way. Then there is the sheer ugliness of the thing. Das boot is just hideous in terms of fashion. And of course, it leads to an explanation as to what's wrong almost every day from someone new. SIGH. At least people care.

But am I better? That's the real question. Is the tendon better off now than it was a week ago? I think so but I can't really tell. The swelling has definitely gone down. My foot looks almost normal again. I can press on that little triangle area just below my ankle and it hurts a lot less than it did before, but it's still tender. My foot is stiff. I can't turn it in toward my body very easily and can only turn it so far before I feel that familar soreness. I can put weight on it without pain. I haven't tried to stand up on my toes or stretch the tendon in any significant way because I am afraid I'll set myself back in terms of healing. Such a precarious situation!

I have two weeks left in the boot before physical therapy begins. I am both excited and depressed. Today was a gorgeous day after what seems like weeks of rain. I saw runners everywhere on the way home from work (my commute is all of two miles) and felt sad. I knew I was going home to prop up my foot and eat a yogurt instead of donning my running gear and bounding out the door to watch the sun set over the Eastport Bridge as I surged the hill, rounded the corner and headed for the back part of my running loop. Again, the thought settled in on me. What if I won't ever again be one of those runners? I felt even more sad. WHY? Why is my tendon forsaking me? I don't have flat feet. I wear the most expensive running shoes my budget will allow. I get massages, I try to stretch though I know I could do a better job. Still, it seems so unfair. I guess all will be revealed in physical therapy. BIGGER SIGH.

That I have found a really, really good physical therapy practice makes me excited. If there is a chance for me to recover without surgery it's physical therapy. Fortunately or unfortunately, I have a friend whose husband has the same condition so she helped guide me toward this particular practice. They've helped him a lot and helped her rehabilitate her knee after a skiing accident. This practice is busy! The particular therapist my friend recommended has a three month wait list! I decided on a slightly less busy therapist who is good with "feet". A good sign to be sure. There is a big difference between rehabilitative therapy and therapy for someone with aches and pains.

My orthopedic surgeon called me mechanically deficient. NICE. I've been called a lot of things but so far this is the worst because for me it means that I must drop from the running ranks. I am on injured reserve. I am booted. Like a car for having too many parking tickets. I am sidelined from some of the best running of the season and it makes me feel depressed. Even with the glimmer of hope, it's hard not to focus on what I don't have: my outlet for keeping my sanity, my "me" time and my moving meditation.

Will I ever run again? I don't know. For now, I have hope because the power of the body to adapt and recover is incredible. The body wants health. It wants to maintain that state that best sustains it for longevity. It's amazing. So for now, even if it turns out my hope was false, I am holding on to it. I am going try stay focused on what I do have. An amazing partner, incredible friends, a good job that's exciting and fun, a short commute and a generally healthy body (save one particular tendon).

There are scant few accounts of others who have endured this same injury and run off into the sunset. I've seen scary "I can't get rid of it" posts on forums and happy post surgery posts. I have yet to see a post that covers even the partial journey of tendonitis in such a critical area. I hope that my journey can be that "post" and maybe help other runners (and just regular folks) who are sidelined by this same condition. And so the journey begins.

De Ja Boot

So here I sit a little over two years to the day staring down at a familiar sight. Das Boot. My nickname for the Aircast I will wear for the next 2-3 weeks to allow my very inflammed posterior tibial tendon to return to some semblance of its normal size. I feel depressed but oddly accepting for my Type A nature. There is nothing I can do, really but wait. Nevermind that the very best running weather of the year is here now; that my participation in the Championship Series (I was number 2 overall) is over and that I can't even remember my last long run. The fleeting thought that it may have been my last makes me feel like crying.

The orthopedist seemed concerned but not overly so and everything I've read online indicates that I am catching this in enough time to "fix" it. But didn't I "fix" it last time? Why is it back? "Good question", says my orthopedist, "My guess would be you have a mechanical deficiency. We can address that in physical therapy but first we have to get past the inflammation first." Understood. Sigh.

The posterior tibial tendon is an important one. My orthopedist told me that it supports the bones on the inside of the foot including the ankle and holds the foot's arch up. If it "fails" as she put it, the treatment options are extremely limited. Foot reconstruction is about the only treatment option left and even that generally involves some sort of joint "fusion". That would mean that not only could I not run, walking without gait issues would be a serious challenge.

The good news is I can bike and swim. Having recently returned from Jamaica, I have my swimming chops back so I could certainly slog it out in the swim center pool lap after lap like some sort of hamster on a liquid wheel. Not excited about the prospect of this to be sure but it's an option. Biking season is coming to a close. I am a whimp when it comes to biking in the cold wind and usually opt for the indoor trainer in the basement. I use those long, gray biking hours to catch up on back episodes of shows I've missed while biking beneath the summer skies. These basement spins are usually offset by the promise of a long run - scooting through the woods, wind in my hair, fresh air in my lungs and plenty of time to just be. Unfortunately, I am many, many weeks away from even a one mile run let alone a long one.

How did I get here, I wonder? Apparently I didn't do something mechanically correct that ended up landing me in the same place. I am sure I did not stretch enough. I hate yoga and all the pretense that goes with it but I suppose I could have used some of those techniques to loosen up my aging tendons. Louise Hay, a very well respected medical intuitive and author of many books on healing your body by healing your thoughts, suggests that problems with the feet indicate an unwillingness to be flexible. I ponder this. I could certainly see the literal and figurative truth in that statement when applied to me.

But in what domain? I can't be "inflexible" in every domain of my life, can I? One thing that did occur to me this morning as I woke up from a dream about work (anxiety about things I haven't finished) was that for the past several years, I have been training to catch up. Catch up to my old running speed, low body fat, ability to fit in the skinny jeans or come in first in my age group. All of my exercise has been about getting somewhere. Whether it's the next win, next race, next half mile per hour faster on the bike, I am always working toward something. Where is the joy? There is no being in the present when you are constantly striving. Could it be that this physical manifestation of inflexibility is simply a way for the Universe to say "If it ain't joyous, you ain't doing it."? I don't know. But the fact that I am oddly calm leads me to believe that I must see the lesson in this for me once and for all. Or I'm in denial or both.

I am prone to inflexibility. It's in my "j" ness as a friend of mine refers to my high Meyers-Briggs "judgment" score. "J"ness is what gets things done. It keeps things moving in a positive direction with goals and deadlines and details. But I suppose there is a dark side as there is with anything. The "j"ness can rob you of the joy of the moment because it doesn't allow you to savor the smaller victory sometimes. There are also some other things that all of the "chasing" has kept me from. Painting, repairing and putting my house on the market so I can move on with the next phase of my life; going back to school for the same reason and doing something more with my evenings than training. Maybe if I don't have any concrete training goals, I can focus on exercise as a release instead on another "have to". Who knows. But as I log my journey through triathlon, training and life, there is something to be learned from this injury to be sure.

I am sad but open. Depressed but hopeful. Willing and compliant - at least so far.

Ok, Universe, I am listening. Really, I promise this time.