Listening to Your Body

With multiple races scheduled for the next few months, I have recently upped the intensity of workouts, working to add both pace and mileage in an effort to convert a successful season of training for track (while I coached it) into a race season worth remembering. Yet the introduction of a stressor has a dark side. As an athlete, you want to improve, so you introduce stress into your regime, forcing your body to adapt and thus improving your performance. But each new agent of change can attack and destroy your body, leaving you injured and on the sideline. If you add too much, too soon, you can break down. If you induce additional change before your body has adapted to the previous change, you can fall apart. Thus you walk a fine line between achievement and facing the dark side of increased training loads.

In terms of my increased training load, I found injury, something that for the most part has eluded me. I woke up on a Friday with pain on the top of my foot, extending down to my toes, pain that grew worse with toe flexion and the application of any shoe. It abated as the day went on, and I snuck out for a quick five miles, feeling little to no pain during a speed workout. The injury was not gait changing, and thus I felt I could run through it and did. I should have listened to my body or even the advice of one of my Skora Teammates.

Saturday offered a different feeling. During a morning run, the foot refused to loosen up, it offered no give, instead aching, forcing my foot to slide a little. My gait felt off—things were not right. This was a problem. I was actually forced to limp throughout the day and entered into an icing regimen. I should have slept in on Saturday, rested my foot, and put myself on the path to healing, instead I exacerbated the problem.

So I was forced to ask myself a question: go on the 15 mile run scheduled for Sunday or take the day off? Hit the road on Monday or do the same? I listened to my body and skipped Sunday, taking it easy, icing frequently, and working to massage the kinks out of my legs. I want to run the race schedule I have planned. I want to have success. Pushing myself now, could result in further, worse injury, thus I need to be focused and pay attention.

I did the same Monday, skipping my run, and waited until rather late in the day on Tuesday before endeavoring out, keeping my movements mostly to soft surfaces and off of the roads. As the two days passed, the foot felt better, my walking became more normal, and I became antsy. Should I have run on Tuesday? Probably not, but the injury ceased to be gait changing and form was my focus, landing patterns had to feel normal or I would stop at any time. In the end, the goal is achieve, but now I must alter my plan. My body has spoken, something did not work, thus I need to listen to it, examine my stressors, my sleep patterns (I had a horrible few nights leading into the injury), my hangnails, and the other indicators that my body is breaking down. In the end, a training plan matters, but listening to your body matters more in order to achieve success.

Understanding and Dealing with Pain

Photo Via Speedy Banana during Guana Park 50K 

This post has also been published on Skora Running's blog.

Towards the end of a recent track workout, one of my athletes inquired if I had ever dealt with a serious injury due to running. The answer he received was somewhat convoluted. Outside of stepping in a hole and spraining my ankle, I’ve never had what I classify as a running induced injury. I’ve had tweak here, a pain there—lately my left IT-band has been tender, perhaps I should foam roll it or use my e-stim on it a couple times, perhaps a bit extra area specific stretching might help me, or maybe an extra day off, taking it easy, all of the things discussed here. Yet I don’t consider this pain to be an injury. Once upon a time I did, once a sore calf muscle meant a day or more off, IT-band pain a trip to the doctor, an excuse, an upset to my training plan, and thus a missed week, month, and race.

So I answered him in an odd way. I’m always hurt, so I’m never hurt. I understand my body, I’ve trained at millage both high and low, fast and slow. This is not to say I am an amazing runner, but that I am a runner, one who aims to run four or more marathons a year. Such a goal has pushed me out onto the road with tired legs, with knots in my calf, and a litany of other, somewhat minor but inconvenient ailments. Some people stop with this pain. I used to stop. I used to treat everything as something bigger. The IT-band problem would have been morphed into a knee issue because I feel the tightness down into the knee. Instead it is a form issue (video shows I’m bringing that leg a bit past center) and a strength issue (my hips need work to ensure that they work more efficiently). If I correct my biomechanics the pain will subside, I will return to normal. The process will not occur overnight, thus I will log my runs, take notes, and pay attention to the problem. If it grows, I will become concerned, if it lingers and/or mitigates, I will not.

Pain, I told him, is part of running. If you focus on how much it hurts, you quit your workout early, sacrificing valuable training time. If you do less you won’t hit your goals. Want to break the five minute barrier in the mile? Then run your 400 meter repeats in 75 seconds or less and do at least 12. So what if it is hot, cold, or pouring rain: endure. Build strength, understand the pain, and go from there. The goal makes the pain worth it, the race makes it fun and when you are done you will plaster it all over Facebook, Twitter, and the like because, well, that is what we now do. So I am always hurt. I have goals, my goals require effort and pain, and thus chinks in the armor arise. I must diagnose them, treat them, and deal with them. Knowing that I will deal with pain allows said pain to be forgotten. Thus I am never hurt.

In the end, we all want everything to look easy, to feel easy, but we need to understand that running, like many athletic pursuits, is a painful enterprise. The reason we run marathons (over 177,000 people finished one in the USA in 2012 according to Runner’s World) is not for the pain, but for the accomplishment that the pain gives us. The reason my athlete runs is to beat his friends and achieve personal goals. He is going to have to endure to get there. He will hurt, he knows it. He closed our conversation, the length of a 200 meter jog with a smile and the reply, I am not hurt anymore. Then he ran another 200 meter sprint when he didn’t plan on it. Pain ceased to be the motive to quitting.