The Back Streets 1995

First published 1995

Last night was not a good night. It was raining when I got home from work, so our babysitter asked me if I was going to run. “Yep, on the treadmill,” as I headed upstairs to change. She’s accustomed to my crazy running habits, so this came as no surprise to her.

I settled into my “5 MPH so I won’t hurt my hip shuffle.” After a few minutes, my hip warmed up and felt okay, so I was satisfied that my rehabilitation was still progressing in the right direction. At about 10 minutes my 3-year old daughter came in and offered me one of her peanut butter crackers. I thanked her but politely refused. Strange aid stations on this course...

Around 19 minutes I heard an awful noise underneath my feet. I looked down expecting some ugly treadmill troll to be grabbing at my feet. No troll, but something was bad wrong. I instinctively jumped off and the belt took off at about 90 MPH, so I quickly cut it off. My 4-year old son came running in to save me and excitedly asked what happened.

“It broke,” was my simple and blunt answer. Of course one simple answer never satisfies my son, who wants to know all the details. “It just broke, okay? It’s broken,” I shot back at him after he had climbed all over it and asked four more rapid-fire questions.

My demeanor carried over to dinner where I fussed at my children for not eating their dinner and I just about lost it when my son accidently knocked his plate off the dinner table. As I was cleaning up the mess I noticed we had ants again, all over the kitchen counter.

Last night was not a good night.

I’ve learned a lot of things during my latest injury period. For one, I know for a fact that injured runners are not pleasant people. All the positive things that running does for you, like stress reduction and mental relaxation, probably work in reverse when you’re sitting on your couch watching others run by the window.

Most runners are somewhat limited in their social skills. We can’t join in the office discussion on the latest John Grisham novel because our idea of good reading is a race report on some obscure race in Georgia. We just smile and listen when the rest of “the guys” in the office talk about the latest technology in golf drivers. An occasional polite question in my direction about running usually results in blank stares and polite nods of the head.

Injured runners are even less aware of their environmental surroundings. We are tunneled into one thing... THE INJURY. I can now tell you all about hip injuries. I know the proper way to stretch it, I can give myself an ultrasound treatment, and I can tell you about itophoresis treatment. The diagnosis from my expert physical therapists is hip bursitis, but I think they’re being kind. I just call it old age.

By sheer coincidence, David Atkinson and I had exactly the same injury at exactly the same time. I was Crip #1 and David was Crip #2. Since we had each other as an audience, we took advantage of the situation and called each other daily to talk about our hips. “I think it’s a little better today,” I lied. But there was alway hope. We kidded each other about our 10-minute mile pace, about my course that extended about two blocks from my house, and about his course which constituted back and forth laps on the Greenbelt. David was a little more diligent in his rehab program so he has recovered more quickly than I. But he cheated. He confessed to sneaking off to the restroom at work for ice treatments.

I learned, through trial and lots of error, that some slow jogging, mixed with walking, was the right workout recipe for me during my rehabilitation period. I hate to walk, especially during the middle of a run, but I swallowed my gazelle pride, and conceded the need for several minutes of walking threaded in with my slow running.

The other day I was on my daily shuffle when I passed one of the neighborhood joggers going the other way. I was actually into my walking segment when we passed and he shouted across the road, “It sure makes me feel good to see you walk, I’ve NEVER seen you walk before.” All these years of running, racing, awards, and I bring inspiration by walking in the middle of a run. Go figure...

Even though the past three injured months have not been fun, I have learned some valuable insights into my running. I finally learned why I run. It’s easy to take an activity that we do everyday for granted, but when you can’t do it; when you can’t run, or when you can’t run at the level that you’re accustomed, you start asking yourself some tough questions.

Over the past several years, my running has evolved from the tough, regimented workouts driven by competition, to a more low-key approach (with an occasional road race here and there), driven by the demands of my growing family. I’ve also stayed involved in the sport administratively through race directing and consulting.

So, when my hip decided to throw me even further into the sidelines of this sport, I had to ask myself if I really wanted to continue running. The answer was never in doubt. I’m running, if you can call it that, and I may never be as competitive as I once was, but I want to recover more than ever. I want to get back out on the roads and gulp down gallons of sports drink as soon as I walk in the back door from my run. I want to wave to neighbors mowing their yards as I glide on past their grassy masterpieces. I want to see impromptu sand-lot baseball games and couples holding hands on the Greenbelt. I want to stay in shape. That’s why I run.

See you on the backstreets.