It happened on a crisp and clear September morning in Winter Park. We (Liz, my wife, and I) had the weekend all to ourselves. Maya and Dena were enjoying time at home in Denver with our third pillar of kid support, Jade.
We spent the first few hours of our morning run climbing towards the top of the Continental Divide. The snowcapped mountains loomed large in the distance and provided the incentive to reach the top. Two hours into non-stop vert, I started feeling pissed. Why the hell did we choose this route? Was this Liz’s idea - I think it was - why does she pick shit like this? Yes, I love the vert, but I was struggling on this particular morning. Possibly feeling the fatigue of life. I’d been grappling with the question of how my professional self aligns with my passion and purpose. I wasn’t satisfied with the way I was spending my time, knowing I wanted to be my best self as a mom and spouse, but leaving all my energy and passion at work. Blah. Liz was smiling and moving easily up the mountain.
When we finally hit the ridge-line, the views were epic. Vast open landscapes looking out at an alpine lake in the shadows of steep rock faces covered with snow and yellow orange fall colors peaking through. Deep breath of relief.
As we started the descent on our fall mountain morning run, I did my usual fearless hauling ass as Liz gingerly navigated each step. Our long run rule is to stop and regroup when we reach a turn or intersection. Aside from fatigue and my hip pinching (aka “niggles”), I was doing okay. Until … I stepped strangely a tiny rock and the next thing I new I was rolling on the ground yelling in pain. Okay, ankle hurts badly. Just hang on … AHHHHHH…what the hell is this?! My racing mind attempting to process this new feeling which included fear. Meanwhile, Liz hasn’t seen me injured badly ever and she’s wondering what in the world is happening. The intensity of my ankle pain eased and I hobbled my way into a slow and easy trot. Twenty minutes passed and we made it back to the car. Liz was so empathetic, asking what she can do and how I was feeling. Meanwhile, I naively pretended like it wasn’t a big deal and became very focused on breakfast.
In the months, yes shamefully months prior, I started having some weird and new running pains. I kept thinking they were “niggles” and I’m not letting that shit slow me down. One day my calf had a strange pop which forced me to walk home. I ran the next day determined not to let it be a thing…then I started feeling my hip pinch on the same side during every run. And of course my hamstring was getting tight but that was nothing. These are all just “niggles”...
I ran two days after my ankle injury happened. It didn’t feel good but it wasn’t awful so I assumed everything would get back to normal. Was my ankle black and blue and swollen? Yes. But it didn’t hurt that bad.
Two weeks later, no change in my normal running routine, I had to admit defeat. My ankle and hip were feeling far worse, the idea of trending towards health was no longer in sight. I swallowed my pride and made it into the Sports Med. doctor for help. An MRI and many x-rays later, I learned that I have hip impingement bone abnormality (FAI) and a full thickness tear in two ligaments in my ankle (atlf and cfl). And so begins the road to recovery……
I frequently think back to the many opportunities I had to listen to my body. It was screaming and I had in ear plugs. Even on the fateful day of our Continental Divide run, I wasn’t feeling right. How does one find that sweat spot where you know you are honoring your physical body while also staying true to the inherent nature of ultra running’s mental fortitude?