you're only as strong as your weakest femur
my view of the potomac on a recent morning jog
Seriously, what is this all for?
It’s a question that I've asked myself every day since January 1st. That was the day I fully resigned myself to the fact that there was something seriously wrong with my right leg; it's also the day that I committed myself to training on the elliptical machine until I was well enough to run again. Back then, I thought I was dealing with a short event— a weeklong blip that temporarily set back my buildup to the Houston marathon later that month. But one week turned into two, and I could still barely walk without a massive amount of pain (as much as I tried to convince myself and my loved ones otherwise). Two weeks turned into a month, which turned into an MRI, which turned into a diagnosis of a stress fracture in my femur and the revelation that I wouldn’t be able to jog until April (and that I wouldn’t be able to run at a “decent” pace for even longer). This sounds like a first-world problem, because, of course, it was. But, as someone who finds immense release in running, I was devastated.
I knew it was all of my own doing, of course— I undertook too many 70-80 mile weeks, with too quick of a pace, with a very low commitment to recovery. This made it even more bitter for me; not only was I at the mercy of a stress fracture, I was at the mercy of a stress fracture which I had inflicted upon myself. The frightening part of this injury remains: if I don’t seriously commit myself to reasonable paces and more thorough recovery practices, something similar is bound to happen again. So I swore that I would do exactly as the doctor ordered, and not make any attempt to run for the duration of my recovery.
I absolutely hate the elliptical machine. There's roughly seven main types, each of which I am now an expert in. Each type has its own unique god-awful defects. But the elliptical is the only way I had of doing cardio without creating the need for my femur to be replaced by an iron rod, so I had to make it work. 9-10 hours per week, 3 months, just me and the worst invention in cardiovascular history. It felt completely pointless; I had a heart rate monitor, but without distances or splits, I had no measurable increase in fitness. What’s more, any joy I find in running comes largely from the beauty of swift movement through nature. Besides the endorphin-high of long cardio, the elliptical machine shares none of the positive aspects of running. And so, with no clear understanding of when I would be able to run again, I found myself negotiating daily with a voice in my head constantly asking one very reasonable question: what’s the point?
There’s a quote about this predicament which I really like: “are you willing to sprint when the distance is unknown?” In a distance-runner context, no, I’m not. That’d be dumb. You’d run out of steam and have no kick. Also, in a training-intensity sense, that sort of “all or nothing” approach to my easy runs is probably what got me into this mess in the first place. But in terms of consistently working to prepare for a day that’s so far off and so detached from one’s present reality that it’s hard to even imagine? It’s a pretty great analogy. Every day spent on the elliptical was a day spent sprinting toward an unknown destination, and I hated it. Lord, I hated it. I’m probably a lot less ready to race now than when I started, and I am probably going to have a harsh return to running over the next months. But I did the thing, and that’s all I could do. Anyways, here are my injury takeaways for stress-fractured runners:
Do what you can.
Self- explanatory. You’re never going to be able to replicate a fantastic week of training on the elliptical machine, and if you are, you can’t do it consistently. It’s ok— your mind is going to get exhausted by the prospect of another minute of directionless self-propulsion eventually. When it does, take a deep breath, and do what you can; nothing more, nothing less.
You deserve to eat well and recover, regardless of your exercise.
For a lot of people that sounds obvious, but for some it's a hard concept to internalize. Everything will be alright.
Try to make it fun for yourself.
Switch up what activities you’re doing on the cross trainer of your choice. Heart rate zones are easy enough to track, if you’re into that sort of thing, but it’s not essential. I’m partial to the following threshold workouts: 2 minutes on, off 1 minute easy rest, for 60 minutes; 3x30 minutes of 2 minutes on, off 1 minute easy rest (5 mins btw sets); 4x 15 mins on, off 5 mins easy rest'; 4x 6.5 minutes at high threshold heart rate off 90 seconds standing rest, 10x 3:15 minutes at high threshold heart rate off 60 seconds standing rest, and a 1-2-3-4-5-6 ladder off ½ easy rest. None of these are super special, but alternating between them on workout days can really help to keep things reasonably interesting.
Faith is when you’re uncertain; otherwise it’s not faith.
Kierkegaard was a weird dude, but he killed it with that one.
Anyways, I hate my femur, and I hate limping. But:
I went for a jog this morning.
There was a bird on the Potomac.
I passed a squirrel sitting on a parked bicycle.
My legs pushed at the ground in a joyful resumption of the only ritual that’s ever shown me truth. Tomorrow, I’ll be on the elliptical again; Friday, I’ll go for another short jog. And one day, I’ll have the answer to my question, and I’ll see what it was for.