How I fell in love...

Being injured for this long (17 months) has given me a load of time be away from running. I guess absence makes the heart grow fonder, and my love of running is more intense than ever. I miss the activity I came to love.

I can remember the day that I fell in love with running. I was twelve years old, and I had just run my first marathon, and I was celebrating with a brunch with my family. It was the only sporting "success" I had ever had, and I was hooked.

When I was a kid, I was one of the shortest kids in my grade. I was dwarfed by the others, and they reminded me of it on a frequent basis. When it came to sports, I was hopeless. I was one of the last picked on teams, and was, on a very good day, pathetically uncoordinated. When we played softball in gym class, I ran for the outfield where no one could possibly hit the ball. It was safe there...far from the embarrassment of dropping the ball and losing the game.

I spoke funny. I had years of speech therapy so that I could learn to pronouce "r" and "l" and not sound like Elmer Fudd (Witto Wed Widing Hood). I was a December baby, so I was developmentally behind my class. This led me to feel rather stupid. All in all, I was not bursting with self confidence.

I remember watching the film footage of the 1976 Olympic Games and thinking that there had to be a sport where little uncoordinated kids could beat the big kids. I prayed "God, if you find me a sport where I can win, then I will work really hard at it." I honestly believe that God answered that prayer, because within a year I discovered running.

I went to a summer camp in Ontario when I was eleven, and met a counselor named Rob Reid (now the owner of Frontrunners). Fresh from a few marathons, he was evangelical in his zeal for running. He soon had a camp full of kids in his "30 Mile Club". Lured by the prospect of earning a t-shirt, kids would run 30 miles over the span of the 3 weeks they were at camp. I signed up, but it probably wouldn't have gone anywhere if I were not intrigued by the marathon thing. Whenever the other counselors spoke of Rob's running, they expressed obvious respect for his marathon running. Not having a clue what a marathon was, but wanting to find out, I asked him if we could go for a run. I figured that if I could get him running, then I would pepper him with questions about marathons...like what on earth a marathon was. He kindly explained that he was training and that the shortest run he did was 5 miles.

To this day, I don't know why I said I could run 5 miles. I mean, the furthest I had run to date was across the school yard while being chased by another kid in a game of tag. It was as close to a lie as I could get, and now I would have to prove it. I took to the half mile loop around the camp, figuring that if I stopped it wouldn't count and Rob wouldn't run with me. It was somewhere around the 8th or 9th lap that the thought occured to me that most of the big kids couldn't run 5 miles. Maybe, this was the sport I longed for.

When I returned home 3 weeks later (wearing a 30 Mile Club t-shirt...fuzzy iron-on letters and all), I was determined to keep running. I went out for school cross country, which involved showing up before school and running around the school yard. There was really no coaching to speak of, but I figured that the longer I ran the better it would be. I soon was running 5-10 miles a few mornings a week. If I won a few races or had some coaching, I probably wouldn't have even thought of running marathon, but my first races had me finishing towards the back. I became convinced that I was a long distance runner and needed to move up to the marathon. Besides, Rob was a marathoner and he was now my hero (incidentally, Rob was no hack...2:22).

When winter came, running became more challenging. I eventually was teamed up with a friend of a family friend who told me how to dress to run in the cold (cordoroy pants!). He eventually helped me run my first marathon in the spring. I was given a very rudimentary schedule of 3 miles, 5 miles, Long Run, day off, 3 miles, 5 miles, Long Run. I would add a "mile" to the long run every week. I say "mile" because my concept of a mile was more like a kilometre. I eventually worked up to a 20 mile run before the 1978 National Capital Marathon. I finished the run in 3:30 and, because I was so young and small, got a fair bit of attention. It was attention that I so badly craved. It was something athletic that I could do that bigger kids couldn't.

Later that day...I fell in love with running. I suppose that it was young love. I would say that I had a big crush on running, not unlike the school kid who kisses the girl in his grade 8 class and "falls in love." I fell for what running could give me...a bit of attention and the chance to be good at a sport.

Now my love has matured. My running is not a crush based on how it can take me to other countries, win me medals or prizes. Now I love running in a more sincere and honest way. I love running for the motion, the wind against my face, the feeling of working hard...the sensation of pushing to the crest of a hill...the taste in my mouth after I finish a hard interval...the satisfaction of finishing a run in really nasty weather, the smell of the forest on a cold crisp morning run. I love the rhythm and sound of my own footsteps. It is now no longer a crush...it is a lifelong love affair. It is like the elderly couple that you see holding hands at the local Denny's...you know that they have been through a lot and yet have emerged with a deeper love.

I miss running.

The Joy of Pool Running

I won't lie...I honestly believe that if someone where to write a book entitled "The Joy of Pool Running" it would be short and would quickly go out of print...very unlike "The Joy of Sex" which is volumous and available at most bookstores years after publication.

As I recover from my surgery, I am in the pool and beginning to log longer pool runs. It did feel pretty good to complete a couple of hour runs with some gentle quality thrown in, but that was not because I enjoyed the activity. It was because I love the feeling of working hard. It felt good to feel physically tired. I have spent so many weeks with my foot elevated and my bum on a couch, that it feels great to be active.

Trying to be positive, here are my "Top 10 Best Things About Pool Running".

10) I am never chased by dogs

9) No black bear encounters (I live in Coquitlam where bears are a nuissance)

8) The pool isn't 2C and it never rains inside

7) My running shoes last forever

6) I develop my "sharing" skills when the pool is crowded

5) Develops agility dodging people diving off the boards

4) No angry drivers

3) The strange kinship you develop with little old ladies in bathing caps doing water aerobics

2) A steady diet of 70s music

1) It's not for good...real running is only a couple of months away

I guess that I am glad I can run in the pool. It is better than nothing. Nevertheless, it does feel a bit like...

The Long Road...back

The beginning of the long road back!

Since I started running at age 11, I have been quite blessed to be injury free. One might say, I have dodged the bullet more times than I care to think. But this time, the bullet had my name on it.

In late 2005, I started to get some pain next to my Achilles tendon on my right foot. By the end of January 2006, I couldn't run and spent the next few months recovering from what was eventually diagnosed as neo-vascularization. No one really knows why the tiny vessels start to develop around the tendon, but there are plenty of theories. We dealt with the symptom and I had a series of injections (prorotherapy) to resolve the issue.

I was back in time to race as a masters athlete in 2007. I had a few successful marathons...1st master at Grandma's in 24C heat, 1st master at NYC Marathon, and then second master at Boston. My current problems developed shortly after Boston 2008...my last race.

By September 2008, I just couldn't run. I underwent months of treatment. I had about 10 more injections of dextrose into the tendon, and a couple of cortisone shots into the retrocalcaneal bursa. I dropped my heel of more stairs than I would like to talk about. Nothing helped. In fact, things kept getting worse. Through it all, Dr. Jack Taunton (CMO for VANOC) was patiently guiding me along. We exhausted all of our options and finally looked at surgery.

Finally, I had X-Rays and it showed that I had a Haglund's Deformity. For those not familiar with this, it is a bone deformity on the heel bone (calcaneous). Within a couple of weeks, I went under the knife to have it removed. That was December 10th...a bit more than six weeks ago.

The operation itself was no big thing. I was given a nerve block and some sedation. I spent the 50 minutes listening to CCR and dozing. I was sent home in a plaster splint, on crutches and with a prescription for T3s. All of these would hold their own adventures.

The splint made showering a challenge. Rosemary was a star though and wrapped my leg in garbage bags and duct tape everytime I needed a shower. Never having used crutches, I was in for lots of close calls. It took me a day to get the hang of the basic movements...okay, I am a slow learner, but I was drugged. However the night time trips to the loo were really exciting. I am not the greatest when I get up at night. I think that my lack of balance is partially due to having pretty low blood pressure and getting up quick. Add the crutches to this and I can tell you that I had some very close calls. All I needed was a crutches injury. When I was given 60 T3s, I kind of chuckled to myself. I mean really, why would I ever need 60 of these...I am afterall of tough marathon runner stock. That attitude lasted about 10 hours. When the nerve block came out...oooohh wow did that sucker hurt. I was counting the minutes until I could take another T3s.

I was good, kept my foot elevated and coated the scar in Vitamin E and the foot in Traumeel. I was glad to move to an airboot a couple of days before Christmas. This picture is how I spent my Christmas.

It was six weeks on crutches and no exercise other than sit ups, crutching around and Wii. I am a mean Wii golfer and you don't want to meet me in a dark Wii alley when I am wearing my Wii boxing gloves. The scar started to heal up after about 2 or 3 weeks. There was some bruising, but it was not that bad.

Fast forward a few weeks and I am now working my way off crutches. I can drive again (yeah!!) and I am starting to run in the pool. I have NEVER been as glad to go for a run in the pool as I was the other night. The surgeon instructed me to return to cycling first, but the thought of pushing down on the pedals did not seem appealing. I consulted with Jack and others that had similar operations (Rob Lonergan, Richard Lee, and Kevin Sullivan) and opted to return via the pool.

All was well until tonight when I was unloading the dishwasher. I caught it on the underside corner of the cupboard door. You might have heard me scream.

The long road begins...