Return to the Riverfront

The aftermath of the marathon involved about three days of total rest and another two weeks without intensive exercise.

I think it’s important to fully heal both mind and body after a taxing event such as a marathon. I’d rather not return to running until every joint feels fresh and limber. I’d rather err on the side of too much rest than not enough.

This week I returned to cycling on the Riverfront trail. It was my first time on a bicycle since I broke my collarbone last November, nearly two full seasons ago. There was some anxiety in getting back on the bicycle, as expected. My pace was much slower than it was last year, as expected. I made it though, and it was nice to trigger the endorphins through the act of pedaling.

Mid-ride along the Mississippi River I saw the same family of turkeys loitering about that I often encountered last year. Upon seeing me they dashed to the nearby underbrush to hide, as they always did before. The foliage around me was a lush green and I was hit a by harsh wind that pushed from the south. My bike crawled forward where it once zoomed.

I think it’d odd that in the time it took for nature to decay and be reborn, my collarbone broke and self-repaired.

Lately I’ve had recurring dreams of a return to competitive swimming. In each dream I’m my current age and attempting to swim with programs from my youth. In each dream, my return is something of an intrusion. The swimmers and coaches don’t want me. Worse yet, they’re confused as to why I’d want to return. Didn’t I do all of this already? Why repeat the past? In the dreams, I am oblivious to the signs around me that life moves on and I am no longer physiologically the same. Age brings new priorities. I shouldn’t be ignorant to what they are.

I think that I am well aware that a downward physical slope is inevitable, and probably near. I also have no interest in returning to swimming. Maybe the dream is a reminder not to get caught up in my own obsession with performance. Life is short, after all, and time devoted to competition is time wasted not enjoying oneself.

It’s also a reminder that I’m given the option to have fun. I can take the opportunity or make exercise something burdensome. Why not take advantage of that opportunity and smile?

Healing Bones

I had my followup visit to the Orthopedic this week. I’m in what I would consider the “later stages” of healing a broken collarbone.

I was told that the bone is about 80% healed. The x-rays still show some hairline fractures that need to close, but the actual break is callused and together. There is some pain, and still some range of motion to restore, but the trajectory is positive.

I’m continuing with another six weeks of physical therapy (two times per week, one hour per session). I’ll also continue with my at-home exercises. I anticipate feeling near 100% within a few weeks.

I’ve realized over the past two months one brutality of civilization: it doesn’t wait for a broken bone to heal. The work doesn’t stop, nor do the chores or daily obligations. The journey towards reclaiming your health can be a lonely one: no one fully understands your battle as you do.

I may participate in a group run, for example, but no one else would realize that a cold gust of wind can penetrate my bone and cause deep pain. Nor would they know that I spent the previous 8 weeks just trying to make my right arm operational.

It is the same with the little struggles I’ve had. It was more than a month before I could physically tie my own shoes, drive a car, and lift an object over my head. Putting on clothes was a struggle, as was showering. It’s amazing just how much you can lose when just one bone breaks.

That’s how it should be though. That’s life. We have things to shoulder and always will. If everyone and everything around me stopped because I was in pain, there would be no obstacle to overcome, and therefore no triumphant feeling when the journey out of pain is finally complete.

Sometimes the only option is to embrace the maelstrom.

Loss Aversion

We hate what we lose more than we love what we win.

This generalization of the human mind has been proven on a neurological level. Through evolution, our neurotransmitters have become wired so that the hatred of losing outweighs the love of winning. This was pivotal thousands of years ago in preserving our species. If dwelling in a cave, you must protect your very finite resources, which is far more important than risking limbs for another banana.

I find myself spending upwards of one hour each day rehabilitating my broken collarbone. I have physical therapy twice each week. Whatever exercises are assigned to me to complete at home are completed both in the morning and at night. I find myself obsessed with getting something back that I once had. The thought of losing complete mobility is unacceptable.

I do not think it’s the thought of winning anything that motivates me. I think it’s the fear of losing the complete mobility I once had in my right arm. I do feel confident that at some point, the mobility will return.

On my first day of physical therapy, my arm could not rise to a 90 degree angle. Currently it is comfortably rising to 145 degrees. So, it’s getting better. The difference isn’t tangible in days, but it is in weeks.

In truth, “100%” is a constantly changing target, which makes it difficult to gauge in the first place. Regardless of how well things heal, my 100% at age 37 will be different from my 100% at age 16. Biologically, I am different. My 100% at age 60 will likewise be different. It may not be better or worse: it will just yield different results.

A blizzard is creeping towards Saint Louis. With it, the temperature will be 0 F (-17 C). Winds will lash city concrete, brick, mortar, and metal at upwards of 30 mph (48 mph). With the windchill, it will be as cold as -25 F (-32 C).

My logical brain tells me to stay inside and avoid frostbite. My risk appetite makes me want to brave the streets and to take the risk, in order to prevent a loss of running fitness. The solution, maybe, is somewhere in the middle of two extremes.

Losing hurts, and I’ve lost many times in 37 years. I think of those losses still, though I don’t obsess over them. The past is already written after all, whereas the future is a blank page. For example, I almost won the NCAAs in 2008 in the 200 yard freestyle, but I was passed in the final yards. For many it was my defining race, something to cherish; after all, I was faster than American-record pace at the halfway mark. When my mind replays this race, though, it doesn’t think back on it as fondly: it searches for ways that I could have won. Loss aversion even affects memories. The blessing here is that I have always had a motivating memory to keep me moving.

I will continue to lose: it is a part of life. Losing is not dying though, as my continued existence has proven. Maybe it’s just a lesson to value what we still have and enjoy it. Maybe it’s a motivational tool to just keep going after a difficult loss. Losing often propels us forward.

If we don’t finish our first attempt at a marathon, for example, we’ll need something to get back up and reattempt the run. The hatred of having failed must be enough to make us want to try again.

And it’s always worthwhile to get back up.

Steps Forward

My first week of physical therapy for a broken collarbone is complete. I have about five weeks to go if I heal well.

The first week consisted of various up, down, sideways, and diagonal movements with the arm and shoulder. In some exercises I stood and in others I sat. In some exercises I could barely move the arm without pain, while others I completed with relative ease. Some exercises had me hold a towel, others a stick, and others a stretch band.

I do feel that my mobility is already increasing. I also like my physical therapist. My favorite part of physical therapy is actually not the exercises themselves, but rather the connection shared with a therapist. I have better recollection of a long conversation about pizza than I do the specific exercise repetitions I did.

I managed to run four days this week. I am beginning a “building” phase of a marathon training plan. This week only included slow-paced running, most of it done at a perceived effort of “4 out of 10.” The idea is to comfortably accumulate volume and adapt to it. I did not expect to begin training under these circumstances, but that’s life. We play the cards we’re dealt.

The bone aches a bit less with each run and the “bad arm” swings with a little more ease. I felt the bone for every second of the first run, but that aching feeling is already diminishing.

My running performance has frankly been terrible and that’s okay—my conditioning worsened severely over the last month spent in a sling—but I’m also improving a little each day. It’s only natural that the fall occurs much more quickly than the climb. I can tell by my heart rate and pace metrics that I’m adapting well though. The heart rate is steadily lowering while the pace is quickening, and that is just in one week.

After the first run, intense inflammation struck my right foot, the same foot that I sprained a year ago. With each day, though, this seems to ease a little, and subsequent runs haven’t worsened it.

That’s one difficult part about recovering from an injury: you emerge from a cast or sling with a weakened body that is more susceptible to injury. One has to tread carefully to prevent another setback.

I think of a Megadeth song, “Soldier On,” about the innate need to just keep going. Despite a few setbacks, I find myself striving to stand back up again.

Here’s to health in 2023.

Resuming Activity with Frozen Shoulder

I ran for the first time in over a month today. I’ve buried my sling somewhere in the dark recesses of my closet, hopefully never to be seen again. I’ve been cleared by an Orthopedic for running, but not weight lifting.

It was a frigid morning and a blustery wind amplified the chill. I rode a bike through previous winters and from the outdoor activity was better adapted to the cold than I am now.

I ran one hour, and it was a long hour. There was pain involved, but most of the pain was in my shoulder, not my collarbone. I have a condition called “frozen shoulder” from the month spent in a sling. It will take physical therapy to reverse this over the course of the next six week. My targeted completion date is January 13th.

On top of the frozen shoulder I felt on the run, I fatigued quickly. A month of inertia will do that. I lost much of the conditioning that I spent the better part of the year building. An hour run at a slow pace was my recovery run through the fall season. Today it was a challenge to finish. My hoarse breathing was more audible and my pace was especially slow.

Still, I made an hour run. It was a steady run at a slower pace than any run I’ve done in some time. The positive is that my collarbone remains mostly pain-free and my shoulder didn’t worsen.

Today was, in summary, “day 1” of my start to marathon training. It wasn’t the “day 1” I hoped for or visualized prior to my injury, but I see a silver lining.

The month of rest gave me fresh legs. Aside from the collarbone and attached shoulder, I feel no pain.

Much of endurance running is a balancing act between minimizing risk for injury and maximizing volume.

So, I am starting everything on a clean slate. I have a fresh bone and a fresh mind. I have my first physical therapy appointment on Tuesday and I’m feeling optimistic again.

Rehabbing a Collarbone Break - Part 1

Today I returned to an Orthopedic doctor to check on the progress of my collarbone break. It had been two weeks since my last visit. The break occurred four weeks ago and I’ve been in a sling ever since.

Obviously, I was hoping that the bone has healed enough to rid the sling and resume normal activity.

I had some initial x-rays done on the bone, and a long wait in a patient room followed. Finally, the doctor entered.

“You’ve healed really well. The bone has reattached successfully, and I see material bonding the break together,” the doctor said (I’m paraphrasing). I cannot recall if he used the word “froth” to describe the material that reattaches bone, but I’m fairly certain it was this word. “You can take off the sling for good.”

The sling is gone! He then had me stand while he inspected the collarbone.

“I don’t see a knob there anymore. That’s a good sign. It looks exactly the same as your left collarbone. That means it really healed well.”

The doctor led me through a series of mobility tests. It was my right collarbone that broke, and my right arm had a fraction of the mobility that my left arm did. I was unable to lift the arm over my head, for example. I felt pain in almost every movement.

“You’ve been wearing the sling well. That’s good,” the doctor said. “The bad news is you have frozen shoulder. All the pain you’re feeling now is from your shoulder, not your bone. It’s from wearing the sling for so long and not moving the arm.”

I agreed to six weeks of physical therapy to regain mobility in my right arm. After six weeks, I’ll have a follow-up appointment with x-rays to confirm that everything has healed perfectly.

“You can perform basic stretching and mobility work, but don’t lift weights. Don’t lift anything more than ten pounds. A can of soda is okay. A gallon of milk is not. The bone is still healing,” the doctor advised.

“How about light running?” I asked.

“Running is fine,” he said. “You’re good for that.” I was relieved to hear that.

“And cycling?” I asked.

“Just don’t fall,” the doctor said with a smile.

I won’t ride a bike for a few weeks regardless. A fall right now would be too catastrophic.

It feels great to be out of the sling. Six weeks of physical therapy hardly seems like the end of the world!

I had a Starbucks latte as a celebratory beverage. I am “active” again and will resume running tomorrow.

Obviously there is still a lot of rehabilitation ahead, but everything could have been worse. The glass is half-full. The bone could have displaced further. That would have required surgery. I could have also had a worse concussion. The mind is a terrible thing to waste. As it was, I regained my senses quickly.

Six weeks! That means my final date of rehabilitation is January 13th, 2023. This is the date that I will have my final appointment with the Orthopedic and final x-rays to confirm that I am healed. Oddly enough, I finished physical therapy in 2021 around the same date. I cannot recall whether the final day was January 13th, but it was very close.

Now here’s to hoping I don’t end 2023 in the same manner!

Winter Run

I embarked on a Saturday outdoor run just before noon as a snowstorm was subsiding. It wasn’t the storm that the forecasts expected and there was only an occasional thin patch of snow sticking to the ground. Interspersed with these thin and dusty white blankets were rain puddles and slush.

I turned left onto Chestnut Street toward the Arch. The first three minutes I felt a dull ache in the right foot but as the blood flowed to the feet the ache seemed to fade. “Just keep going,” I told myself. The heart beat fast at first, not used to the relatively more intense cardio. After a few minutes the heart, like the foot, adjusted, and I settled into a comfortable rhythm.

I planned to jog for about twenty minutes, which would be five minutes longer than my longest of the week. That’s not bad considering this is the first week I’ve been able to run since last August.

I crossed the Old Courthouse on the side of the Hyatt Hotel and kept going, determined to let my foot feel some natural turns and inclines. With the lugged soles of my Xero Aqua X shoes I had a pretty decent traction through the soft snow patches and puddles.

My foot is tender but I considered what my physical therapist told me: it’s time to push through some pain. I turned left at the arch and ran through the downtown park, then kept running down an outdoor stairwell that led to the Mississippi River and the Riverfront Trail.

I went north on the trail and crossed a homeless camp where a bonfire was blazing and a cluster of figures in soiled coats stood hovering over it for warmth. I kept jogging until a concrete wall blocked my path. Then I turned back.

The run totaled well over 20 minutes (I don’t time myself, but I have a good sense of time) and it was by far my longest run since my foot injury in August.

The foot is definitely aching now, but it doesn’t seem to be an injury setback. It’s the kind of pain you get from using a muscle for the first time after it has been trapped in a cast for a very long time. The foot is just learning to run again.

Next week is my final week of physical therapy, assuming I have no further setbacks. It was quite a journey to get to this point and now I have every intention of finding out how far my feet can actually take me.

A Return to Running

I was cleared by my physical therapist to attempt a short (five minute) jog during our Wednesday session. It was successful. The pain in my right foot remained relatively minor. I was told that the injured foot was healed enough to continue running so long as the pain remains below a “4/10”. The pain remained around a “2/10”, never more than a dull ache. I was also told that now it has enough strength to “push through some pain” (again so long as the pain remains below a “4/10” without much fear of a significant setback.

That was my first successful run since August, a gap of almost 5 months. The foot, though not 100% healed, is quickly approaching that mark. For all intents and purposes, the foot is “healed”.

The following day I jogged for a total of 7 minutes (on a treadmill to avoid slopes, slants, holes, and sidewalk crevices). The day after, I jogged for minutes. This morning I jogged for 14 minutes. The pain has never elevated above a “2/10”, though there is a damaged tendon that is easily inflamed.

What a journey! I was beginning to think that the foot would never heal. Five months is a long time to walk with pain and a very long time to feel that running is outside of your grasp. It takes a toll on one’s emotions.

Next week I’ll start some agility exercises to regain the ability to quickly shift direction with speed. I only have two weeks of physical therapy to go.

I imagine myself as the protagonist of the Stephen King novel Duma Key. Injured from a car accident and forsaken by his family, he rents a small house on an island in the Florida Keys, and lives there alone. Each day his task his simple: take one step more than the day before. It is both therapeutic and gainful for the character, who finds his lost self in the process of walking.

Now we’ll see where the ability to run and bike can take me.

Weekly Plunder: Week 16 - The Devil Rages On

I’ve had two vivid dreams this week that I can remember.

In the first dream I found myself competing again; the old athlete whom I thought had died years ago was seemingly resurrected. There is a genuine shock from the witnesses of my sudden comeback; physically, it doesn’t seem natural that a 36-year-old can still compete like a 22-year-old. It was a relatively triumphant dream.

The second dream was a night terror that I hope to forget.

What I’m watching: The Witcher season 2. Difficult for me to understand a lot of the dialogue and register the names of places and characters, but overall I enjoyed season 2 more than season 1. More fun, more kinetic, more brutal, and more narratively streamlined.

What I’m reading: The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry by John Ortberg. This has been useful in unhinging my reliance on satisfying people’s expectations (and society’s expectations). Expectations are the source of so much modern stress, and so many of these expectations are either unrealistic or downright asinine.

What I’m listening to: “The Devil Rages On” by Volbeat. Not a song that immediately draws the ear in, but I find myself listening to it a lot. I find it interesting both lyrically and melodically. Melodically it’s a catchy rockabilly song, whereas lyrically it’s a song about someone praising hell and Beelzebub as a savior. I enjoy dichotomy. Rockabilly songs often detail a lost lover or betrayal, and it’s during heartbreak or loss that hell and its inhabitants can seem more like saviors or harbingers of hope. The song is therefore sinister and uplifting at the same time.

What I’m thinking: I’ve enjoyed a few festive days. You can overwork, but you can’t oversmile.

My final thought: it’s said that the Diné Navajos have nothing and are spiritually the happiest inhabitants in North America. Their spiritual health, in fact, is directly proportional to how little they have.