Fracture 5k
By Linda Lopata
If Only.
If only I hadn't read Chris Hoople's e-mail on March 12th. If only Chris, Helene and Greg had declined to start earlier for me, leaving open the option of running safely on the roads from home. If only I had slept in on the last bitterly cold morning of this winter instead of running the trails at Ganandagan in Victor. Instead I chose to do what we, as runners, do 9 times out of 10: I went and ran with friends.
About an hour and a half into the run I slipped on an icy plank, tearing the ligament in my ankle (a sound that I will hear in my head for the rest of my life), causing my ankle and lower leg to break from the dislocation. Immediately I knew that something was drastically wrong as I instinctively reached down to wrench my ankle back in place. Thank goodness I was with friends who literally carried me out, through mucky swamps and up hills for at least a mile (it felt like ten) to safety. I will never forget how calm I felt, even though I was experiencing shocking pain, because Chris, Helene, and Greg were there to help me. I remember thinking, "at least I got six or seven miles in."
After a trip to the Emergency Room and on the following Monday to the orthopedic surgeon it became clear that when medical people, while looking at your x-rays, keep saying, "This is unacceptable." What they really mean is, "Honey. You need surgery."
Getting Prepared
Although I don't recommend trying it, surgery can be seen as a similar challenge to running a race. First you have the pre-surgery jitters. You can't eat anything and have to go to the bathroom all the time. You check out the competition, thinking, "Look at that poor slob. I'm sure that my vitals will be better than his in post-op. I wonder what age group she's in? Nice socks on that one." Of course out loud you say "Good Luck!" and really mean it. Everyone just wants to finish this one.
The staggered start isn't much fun. When a race says it's going to begin at 9:00 am I expect, at the latest, a 9:10 start. A 3-1/2-hour wait is psychological torture. Especially in those unflattering gowns they make you wear.
What a relief to begin the surgery. A great support team is paramount. It is a good thing when the nurse that is getting you ready says she too has been operated on by this Doc and is still living and walking. It is also good to have a companion who when bored with your anxiety can keep the nurses and doctors amused. Thanks Jeff!
Surgery
Have you ever, in a race, been so in the zone that you felt like you ran without any effort and that everyone else was just pulling you along? Yeah, me neither. However, this is what a local anesthesia and some morphine will do for you. I was able to carry on a cordial, and at times silly conversation (much like an Oven Door run) with my operative team even as I heard the hardware going in. By the end we had all agreed that I had gotten ripped off on my brake job. I left with the name of a good mechanic, which for some reason I can't remember. We also agreed that running at Ganandagan, should be left to the Seneca people.
Post-op
The final stretch is the worst, as it is in most races. Post-op is fraught with pain (although this has gotten much better), an unending awareness that there is something heavy on my leg ALWAYS and the fear that this may never end. In order to get through I have begun imagining that I am an ultra-runner looking for the next aid station just taking one-step at a time. First I'll wean myself of the pain pills. Next I'll get the swelling down, and then I'll get the stitches out and have a reprieve of ten minutes w/o a cast before they put on another. I figure that having the 2nd surgery, six weeks from now, to remove the screws from my ankle will be a lot like hitting the wall as I gear myself up to recover again from going under the knife. But by then the final stretch will be in sight. I will still need to be put in a cast but can at least start physical therapy. Of course the Doc didn't specifically say this but what does he know? He's not a runner.
This will make me a stronger person, blah, blah, blah... Obviously the physical journey is much different from a race. Loss of muscle and cardiovascular fitness, in general becoming the Pillsbury Dough Girl, is not your typical training strategy. But I feel mentally that this will be tougher than anything I have had to do so far in my life, mostly because I didn't choose to do it. Did someone think I needed a greater challenge in my life than traipsing around with Chris and Greg (AKA Lewis & Clark) every Saturday? And what about living with Caz, my son, who reminds me daily, "Mommy, look what I can do. You can't even walk."
Oh well, I suppose this is making me a stronger person, which is fine... as long as I can still whine about it.
Thank you to everyone, who has e-mailed, called, made meals for my family and offered to help. The running community is an awesome lot. And also to those of you thinking, "Poor Linda, my overuse, self-inflicted injury doesn't seem so bad now." I'm glad I could help.
Don't forget about me. I'll be out of commission for a while, but just like that nagging injury, I will be back,
Happy trails?
Linda
Copyright © 2004 Linda Lopata