|At least my Reebok RealFlex shoes are pretty 🙂|
Here’s what happened: the race started out well enough, but mile 2 is where all of the drama started. The beginning of the course was on an old, paved road around a lake, and the road was filled with some small-but-deep holes in the pavement. I was happily running along, enjoying my Anne of Avonlea audiobook, when the man in front of me fell in one of the holes and did a very graceful acrobatic manuever. I reached out to steady him (probably saving his life, I’m sure!), but in the process, I didn’t see a different hole and fell right into it. I didn’t fall down, but I knew right away that something wasn’t right in my left knee.
I kept cruising, and although I definitely felt a twinge of pain in my knee, I wrote it off as a minor niggle. You know, one of those owies that isn’t ideal but that will work itself out. I tried to continue with this mindset, but it became more difficult as the miles ticked passed. By the time I reached mile 5, my entire left knee was definitely hurting and my run had become a limp-run combo. I still considered the pain tolerable, so I continued on with the race (stupid, I know). However, by the time I reached mile 8 my knee literally felt like a fireball had replaced my knee joint. The pain was becoming so excruciating that I wasn’t able to run anymore, so I started doing this spectacular form of race walking. Truly, it was a sight to see!
Once I realized my race was shot and my knee was screaming, I decided to walk back and find my mom who I thought was walking the course. I figured I would at least enjoy some company while walking for eternity! I walked 1/3 mile back, sat on a rock for a few minutes, and when I didn’t see her, I decided to continue on my merry way. This was my huge mistake. I should have spoken to the volunteers at the aid station and asked them to transport me to the finish line via car. However, I’m an idiot and my stubbornness prevailed; I did no such thing. Instead, I kept run-walking for the next 5 miles. In fact, I insisted on sprinting to the finish just because I was so pissed about the entire situation. My dad knew something was wrong when I crossed the finish line, walked away from my friends and family, bent over with my hands on my knees, and started crying my face off.
Classy, Heather. Real classy.
Once I was done running, the pain exponentially increased. My cousin ran and got me some ice, but that didn’t do much good. As he tactfully pointed out to me, my injury had occurred 2+ hours prior to the ice. Not exactly a prompt remedy!
|The Little Bear in Evergreen. Great bar to hang out in and great live music!|
We all went to a restaurant/bar afterwards to celebrate Cindy and my mom’s successful first half marathons, but I have to admit that I wasn’t in the best of moods. Getting up and down the stairs was wicked painful and I resorted to using the toddler-style of walking where you only bend one knee and drag the other behind you. Not my finest moment.
As of today, here is where my knee stands:
- the pain is lesser than it was this weekend
- walking only garnishes a dull ache instead of a stabbing pain
- the swelling is almost gone
- going up and down stairs still takes my breath away because of the pain
- putting any type of pressure on my knee is no bueno (I’m talking running, jumping, stairs, squats, etc.)
- the outside is still a smidgen bruised