My Badge of Honor and My Curse

My father has an odd sense of humor. But then, I supposed I do, too. After any surgery or procedure he's endured, he's guaranteed to offer any takers a memorable opportunity. "Wanna see my scar?" he asks. Few have taken him up on his offer.  I have a variety of scars all over my body.  I'm yet to offer people the opportunity to gawk, however.  I have a prominent scar on my lower left abdomen. When any doctor has seen it I am instantly questioned about its origin. I also respond, with a straight face, that I had my appendix removed. Inevitably, the doctor looks at me, a little disturbed, and says, "Wrong side..." This is the point at which I always cave and confess that I crashed in a bike race when I was 16 and that it's merely my battle scar. A year ago, almost exactly, I competed in the Ramble Around Prattsburgh, a mostly off-road bike race. This was my second race on a mountain bike ever and also #2 of 3 within just an 8-day period, so I opted for the 15-mile course instead of the 30-miler, though it turned out to be closer to 17.

 Can you spot me in the orange helmet at the beginning of the race, looking cold and wet?

In the first couple miles of the race, the course took the entire field down a long, rough, rocky jeep road.  I found myself caught behind a few riders who were even more timid than I, and after following for a few moments, I decided to make my move and pass.  I was on the right dirt track of the jeep road and my plan was to cross the grassy center and pass to the left.  Only problem was, the lip was higher than I realized and I didn't manage to lift my front wheel nearly enough.  At better than 30 miles per hour, I washed out.  I managed to get back on my horse quickly and before long I was flying down the road once again.

At the bottom of the descent the two courses split.  The 30-miler turned to the right, and the 15-miler to the left.  To the left I went and I hammered away on my pedals, wondering, incessantly, how far back in the field I was.  After 5 miles or so of seeing no other riders, I thought there was a chance that I was somewhere near the front, but figured that, having gone down, at least a couple riders must have gotten away from me. 

For the remainder of the race I rode hard, hoping to catch whomever was evading me; and I rode scared, afraid I'd be caught from behind.  When I made it to the finish line, I saw just one other rider who crossed the line ahead of me, so I assumed that I finished second.  I was pleased.  I couldn't stick around long, as I had an evening commitment, so I informed the race director I wouldn't be present for the awards ceremony.  I discovered later that the kid who finished ahead of me had actually just finished and won the 8-miler, so it turned out that I won after all, and by 14 minutes to boot.  Not bad for a day's work.

After I crossed the finish line and the adrenaline faded away, I noticed a pain in my left calf.  Looking down I discovered a long, deep gash along the inside my calf which was swollen to twice it's natural size.  In the heat of battle, I never noticed my injury- neither when I fell nor in the miles that followed.  Over the coming weeks I recovered and my new scar became my badge of honor- a symbol of triumph over adversity.  I finally had a scar worthy of bragging rights.

Wanna see my scar?

Fast-forward to a couple weeks ago and I start developing a pain in the back of my lower left leg- the calf, the Achilles, the ankle.  I've heard horror stories about Achilles injuries and I wasn't going to take my chances by ignoring this one so close to racing season.  It turns out, those with the expertise and experience to judge, believe that my badge of honor on the back of my left leg is likely the culprit for my latest injury.  Scar tissue accumulated below the surface, and muscle adhesions developed throughout the area.  I took about 10 days off of running and have started to return slowly and cautiously, hopeful that I've made some real progress with the help of a fantastic chiropractor and a masochist of a medical massage therapist.  Coach Dan suggest this particular massage therapist.  I don't know what your experience with massage may be, but I assume, if you've gone back for a second massage, it was nothing like this.  Let's just say I got the crap beaten out of me.  Several times now.  The first was indeed the worst, when my leg was the most delicate.  If I wasn't so damn tired I probably would have cried myself unconscious. 

Alas, I think we're getting to a point of recovery.

So it goes that my badge of pride becomes my burden.  Four months and one day from Ironman Wisconsin and I hope for no more setbacks so I can begin to focus on increasing the volume of my training to help get me to the starting line in Madison.  The finish line?  Well that's a whole separate adventure.

In the meantime, I stick to my mantra: I will not allow my emotions to negatively impact the physical health of my body!