As a tween I was a major wimp. My mom made me bike to school in junior high- a whole whopping 5 mile round trip every day. I know, cru-el! At that time of my life I was also kinda tubby. When puberty hits, we all either get ridiculously skinny or tubby. My genetics demonstrated the latter set of traits, much to my chagrin. We all know that "larger" females, in American teen culture, aren't accepted as much as the thin and trim ones.
Back to me being a wimp... I think it was the summer before 6th grade, maybe the one after, when we went on a horse pack camping trip in the Tetons. My late father is from the Teton Valley and such trips were a regular thing for him growing up. He wanted to give us that kind of experience. So, he and my Uncle Fritz (this uncle was a cowboy in every way), packed up a few horses with all our stuff and we all hiked to our destination. As it would be, I fell behind everyone, significantly. My sister and others were really irritated with me wishing I hiked faster. I seriously couldn't do it. My dad had to keep up with the horses and we lost sight of him. There wasn't really a trail (my father and uncle knew those mountains that well). Us losing my dad escalated the frustration of everyone I was trying to hike with. In the end, we found my dad, had a great time, life went on.
That experience was a turning point for me. I did not want to be the wimp. Ever again. Even with my tubbiness I began to exercise. One of my 5 sisters got me into jogging (I won't call it running, because it wasn't- yet). We lived 1 mile from the Mesa, Arizona LDS temple. We'd go on oober slow jogs around the temple block for a grand total of 2 miles. In fact, she'd run faster, and then keep doubling back to make sure I was doing OK. By 9th grade I wanted to give track a try.
In high school I did track 2 years and cross country for 1. At BYU I ran with a freshman roommate and later spent a lot of time with a "walk-on" to the men's cross country team. Hook, line, and sinker, I became a distance runner.
Since then, I've served an 18 month LDS mission in Brazil, got married, done close to 20 half marathons 7 full marathons, and countless 10k's and 5k's- while having 3 babies and working. Through all of it there have been few constants. Life is like that. Faith, family, a few close friends, and (you guessed it) running, have been my glue. Then, BOOM! I couldn't run like normal anymore.
When something that substantial is temporarily taken, some emotional upheaval is inevitable. Add to the fact that I'm female, and it's a recipe for lots of tears, frustration, and moodiness. Boo, hiss.
It all started on a 21+ mile run April 2016. I was training for marathon #8 down a local canyon. My left knee started hurting, on the front, on the inside. Weird. I stopped a few times to massage it, and it eventually went away. I finished my run and didn't think much of it. My inner hamstring on the same side also started acting up not much later. Lovely.
In the middle of that, I attempted that 8th marathon. Due to extreme weather conditions I dropped out at mile 15. I heard later that the race had a 40% drop out rate. Yep, the weather was *that* bad. Knowing what's happened since, it was probably an act of Heaven that stopped me.
I saw a physical therapist that specializes in runners who helped the hamstring. Months later when things weren't 100% better and they should've been, I returned to him and he discovered my hips were out of alignment. My hamstring was masking a much larger issue. Great (insert grimace). He referred me to a hip specialist.
Sometimes getting to the root of a problem is like peeling off the layers of an onion. Such has been the past several months. Injury is rarely a problem for me, thankfully. I'm regularly faithful with strength training, cross-training, my form is decent, etc. What the crap?! Stuff like this isn't supposed to happen to runners like me. Ugh. One day, before realizing the magnitude of my problem, and waiting for my appointment with the hip specialist, I was dealing with really painful aftermath from a 10 mile run. My husband wisely told me I'd probably have to start all over. My heart sank, but I knew he was right. And so began a long journey to recovery. Back and hip pain cannot be ignored. I dropped to 3 miles at a time and did my best to be grateful I could still run at all.
Lots of questions entered my mind. I could tell my dysfunctional relationship with patience was going to be tested. I was not eager for that dimension of injury. Oh well. Whad'ya do? Suck it up, cupcake.
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