Happy Feet

Thanksgiving Day 5K Turkey Trot 2011 -- Pre-Race With My #1 Fan

Some of my friends remember me from my pre-PF (plantar fasciitis) running days. The days when a 25 minute training 5K run while engaged in conversation was just a walk in the Onondaga Lake Park. When 40-plus points in the noontime running league I participate in was -- well -- a walk in the park. When I could be the only woman in a heat of an 800 and lead for the first three 200 meter laps -- until I psyched myself out -- I'm still mad at myself about that.

And then I turned 40, poised for master's running success -- still setting PR's in the longer distances, ready for my 40s to be my time. But my feet had other ideas. I managed a half marathon -- and a hike of Mt. Washington in New Hampshire -- on the blessed relief of a cortisone shot that actually worked. But once it wore off -- eight years of excruciating pain began. Four years in the left foot, followed by four years in my right foot.

I've also suffered from frozen shoulder syndrome, which is no picnic, but you don't walk on your shoulders. Plantar fasciitis pain stabs you in the foot with every step -- across the parking lot into work, through the grocery store, down the hall to the bathroom, across the office to the printer -- unrelenting, agonizing pain with every single step. In all my years of running, I can count on one hand the number of pain free days I've had, but I've clearly learned to run through the pain. This was not pain I could run through. This was pain I could barely hobble through to get through a normal day's activities.

My running slowed to a virtual crawl. Those who came to know me during my PF days just thought I was a slow runner. What could I say to convince them otherwise? It wasn't worth the bother. I wasn't the runner I used to be. I was a plodder, who limped for days after any run. Whose best hope was for one participation point per event in the noontime league, for a grand total of maybe 12 points for the season. Who'd tried orthotics, cortisone shots, massage, physical therapy, icing, and -- in desperation -- acupuncture -- all to no avail.

But then there was the fateful day I decided to tough it out through a 200 meter race. The gun went off, and I was out of the blocks like a shot. I was tired of gimping from the start line to the finish line. This was one lap and I was going to run it as fast as I could. I hit the 100 meter mark in 20 seconds flat and had the surprising thought that I actually had a chance to earn more than the one participation point -- I was on track for probably two or two-and-a-half points. My foot was hurting more and more, but I only had a half a lap to go.

I pressed on, determined to finish in 40 seconds. The pain in my foot was increasing, dramatically, but I was getting closer to the finish line. Surely I could hang on. And then, at 150 meters, "POP." I felt it and heard it. I'm not sure whether the sound or the feeling was more sickening. A torn plantar fascia -- the thick tendon that runs down the center of the foot. The type of injury that pulls runners off the track for an official DNF.

I hobbled several steps, considered pulling out, but then slowed to a gimp. I jogged into the finish, determined not to let the final 50 meters defeat me. Those who were congregated around the finish line cheered me on. "Great job, Karen!" they said, completely used to seeing me come in at that pace.

"Didn't you see me?!" I wanted to scream. "I was cruising! Aren't you surprised that I went from sprinting to plodding?" But my silent screams were unheard. It seemed that no one had noticed the sudden switch from flying Karen to hobble, hobble, hobble-step Karen on that last turn.

That sudden tearing of all the adhesions formed by the plantar fasciitis was, in retrospect, the best thing that could have happened to me. I spent a week on crutches, and a year without taking a single running step, to allow the tear to heal without any adhesions.

The recovery story is a story in and of itself. Let's just say it involved lots of swallowing of my pride once I was able to start back, and accepting that the best I could do was once around my .4 mile block, with a walking break on each short end. Being able to do that, without pain, was an incredible victory to someone who used to be in tears by the end of every grocery store expedition. When I worked up to twice around I was ready to high-five anyone in sight!

On Thursday, I ran a 5K race. To even my astonishment, I ran a sub-twelve minute per mile pace. I came close to breaking into the top 50 percent of my age group. I've become very accustomed to being 58th out of 59, on a good day. Heck, even my five-year-old usually beats me. I feel a tremendous sense of accomplishment for finally making it back into the 36:00 and change territory. It is, for the old me, incredibly slow. But for the new and much older me, it's a testament to coming back at all, albeit so slowly that I've had to stifle the embarrassment of being passed by walkers -- even people walking their dogs around my neighborhood.

The special thing about this race was its magical moment -- more magical than finally hitting my long-held goal of a 36-minute 5K. There was a moment, about one mile in to the race -- when I thought to myself, "I'm RUNNING. I'm running again." I wasn't plodding, I wasn't gimping, I wasn't slogging. I was actually RUNNING. And it felt great.

So on Thanksgiving Day, 2011, I was able to say a whisper of thanks for the return of the gift of running. I don't know how long it will last. It could be as fleeting as spring in this part of the country. But it was with me on that day. For that, I am grateful.


Official time (gun time; this race doesn't have chip times) 36:54.
Per mile pace: 11:53
Overall place: 1484/1798
Age group place: 37/63
Start line to finish line time (my watch): 36:28 (about an 11:45 pace)

 No actual photo of me running the Turkey Trot, so this photo from the 5K portion 

of my fall triathlon will have to do! Most of my race photos are of me with my game face on, so I made a concerted effort in this one to smile a lot. And I was happy. I couldn't believe how easy the run felt compared to the swim and the bike ride, even though it was last!