Injury
As a runner I have a funny conception of pain. While a normal human being will understand it in a sane, rational way, e.g:
‘If I cut my hand with a knife it will hurt.
Because it hurts I will stop cutting my hand.
I will try not to cut my hand with a knife again.’
A runner welcomes it.
‘If I run really fast it will hurt.
I want to run really fast to get quicker.
I want to run so it hurts.’
Pain is there to be felt, it is the yardstick by which we judge our improvement, it is not something to be avoided, but overcome.
However, every so often there are come a point where we are reminded what pain is like for everyone else. It is when injury strikes.
The regular supply of endorphins mean that runners have a general feeling of invincibility about them, but ironically it is this that can make them weak. Run too much too quickly too hard, feel too invincible and the muscles will start to become as fragile as a new born baby’s skull. Run again and they will break.
‘Ow.’
‘Ow.’
‘Ow...shit, ow.’
And so begins the first stage of injury – denial.
‘What? What’s wrong with you? Come on, keep going, it will disappear in a minute. You’ll run it off.’
But it doesn’t, and the denial level must increase accordingly.
‘Come on! Jesus, you’re a wimp. Go, away! It’s all in the mind. Let it go, it’s all in the mind.’
But still it stays. Then it gets worse and worse, and worse.
‘I can’t. I can’t keep going. I’ve got to...I’ve got to stop.’
Then it hits you.
‘I’m injured. I’m actually bloody injured.’
And you feel very, very human again.
It is then that you reach the next stage of injury. Blame.
‘That crack in the pavement;
These bloody trainers;
A lack of glucose in my diet;
A change in the weather;
God, looking down and cursing me!’
How could it happen to you? How could you – decent, hard working, diligent runner – get injured? What did you do to deserve it?
You get angry because it is not your fault. This has been caused by something outside of your control and, unless you have been assaulted with a spanner, it is something that you are going to be unable to vindicate. You just have to resign yourself to it:
‘I’m injured and I’m pathetic. I’m pathetic and I cannot run.’
Then comes the third stage. Melodrama.
Most runners are very strict in themselves. They have a specific training scheme that they have to keep to no matter what, and the create reasons why this must be so:
‘If I don’t do at least ten miles on Wednesday, I will lose ten minutes on my time.’
‘I have worked so hard to get to this point. One week off and I will lose everything.’
‘If I stop running I will become depressed, fat and want to kill myself. I must keep training.’
But now you don’t have a choice, you cannot run. The nightmare has come true.
‘That’s it, my running career is over.’
‘I’ll never want to run again.’
‘I don’t want to eat, sleep or do anything. Life has no meaning anymore.’
One day into getting injured I started to compare myself to those who had moved on after sport – Kerouac, the footballer turned writer; Borg, the tennis layer turned underwear designer. So much had I put myself on a running pedestal I had convinced myself that I had fallen off for good.
This feeling eventually passes and the runner reaches the final stage – convalescence. After a day or two of welling in depression and anger, you come to a realisation. Injuries heal. Sitting and doing nothing helps. Your body can make itself better.
Like slicing your hand with a knife, this might seem an obvious outcome to the normal person, but to a runner this is quite the epiphany. For them the body is like a blank canvas, and the act of running the paintbrush.
‘I run. I make my body fitter. Then I run again.’
But without running, your body has improved. Your leg starts to feel stronger; it has returned and has returned as a better leg. This goes against everything you have convinced yourself to be true, but not-running has actually done it good. Rest works. Injuries heal. You can run again, sometimes you can run quicker, and once again you are invincible:
‘My leg is fine.
My body has healed itself.
I can beat injury.
I can beat any injury in the world!’
Then it begins to hurt again and you need another week to recover, but that’s okay now. You will get better, being injured is not the end, pain has been overcome.
‘If I cut my hand with a knife it will hurt.
Because it hurts I will stop cutting my hand.
I will try not to cut my hand with a knife again.’
A runner welcomes it.
‘If I run really fast it will hurt.
I want to run really fast to get quicker.
I want to run so it hurts.’
Pain is there to be felt, it is the yardstick by which we judge our improvement, it is not something to be avoided, but overcome.
However, every so often there are come a point where we are reminded what pain is like for everyone else. It is when injury strikes.
The regular supply of endorphins mean that runners have a general feeling of invincibility about them, but ironically it is this that can make them weak. Run too much too quickly too hard, feel too invincible and the muscles will start to become as fragile as a new born baby’s skull. Run again and they will break.
‘Ow.’
‘Ow.’
‘Ow...shit, ow.’
And so begins the first stage of injury – denial.
‘What? What’s wrong with you? Come on, keep going, it will disappear in a minute. You’ll run it off.’
But it doesn’t, and the denial level must increase accordingly.
‘Come on! Jesus, you’re a wimp. Go, away! It’s all in the mind. Let it go, it’s all in the mind.’
But still it stays. Then it gets worse and worse, and worse.
‘I can’t. I can’t keep going. I’ve got to...I’ve got to stop.’
Then it hits you.
‘I’m injured. I’m actually bloody injured.’
And you feel very, very human again.
It is then that you reach the next stage of injury. Blame.
‘That crack in the pavement;
These bloody trainers;
A lack of glucose in my diet;
A change in the weather;
God, looking down and cursing me!’
How could it happen to you? How could you – decent, hard working, diligent runner – get injured? What did you do to deserve it?
You get angry because it is not your fault. This has been caused by something outside of your control and, unless you have been assaulted with a spanner, it is something that you are going to be unable to vindicate. You just have to resign yourself to it:
‘I’m injured and I’m pathetic. I’m pathetic and I cannot run.’
Then comes the third stage. Melodrama.
Most runners are very strict in themselves. They have a specific training scheme that they have to keep to no matter what, and the create reasons why this must be so:
‘If I don’t do at least ten miles on Wednesday, I will lose ten minutes on my time.’
‘I have worked so hard to get to this point. One week off and I will lose everything.’
‘If I stop running I will become depressed, fat and want to kill myself. I must keep training.’
But now you don’t have a choice, you cannot run. The nightmare has come true.
‘That’s it, my running career is over.’
‘I’ll never want to run again.’
‘I don’t want to eat, sleep or do anything. Life has no meaning anymore.’
One day into getting injured I started to compare myself to those who had moved on after sport – Kerouac, the footballer turned writer; Borg, the tennis layer turned underwear designer. So much had I put myself on a running pedestal I had convinced myself that I had fallen off for good.
This feeling eventually passes and the runner reaches the final stage – convalescence. After a day or two of welling in depression and anger, you come to a realisation. Injuries heal. Sitting and doing nothing helps. Your body can make itself better.
Like slicing your hand with a knife, this might seem an obvious outcome to the normal person, but to a runner this is quite the epiphany. For them the body is like a blank canvas, and the act of running the paintbrush.
‘I run. I make my body fitter. Then I run again.’
But without running, your body has improved. Your leg starts to feel stronger; it has returned and has returned as a better leg. This goes against everything you have convinced yourself to be true, but not-running has actually done it good. Rest works. Injuries heal. You can run again, sometimes you can run quicker, and once again you are invincible:
‘My leg is fine.
My body has healed itself.
I can beat injury.
I can beat any injury in the world!’
Then it begins to hurt again and you need another week to recover, but that’s okay now. You will get better, being injured is not the end, pain has been overcome.
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