The groove, and getting back into it.

I just fired my physical therapist this morning. Granted, I only had one session left, but it's still nice to feel like I made the decision to end things of my own accord.

I saw a new doctor last week, thanks to brunettechicagogal's recommendation, and the fact that he was covered by my insurance, at Sports Medicine at Chelsea Piers (SMCP). He actually listened to me more attentively than the previous two doctors did, and allowed me more opportunity to voice my questions and concerns. I never at all felt rushed or pressed for time, which is a big contrast to the other doctors, who seemed to want me in and out as quickly as possible. More so, I expected to be rushed because I was his last appointment on a Friday, but it just wasn't the case.
Going off on a little bit of a tangent here, I have noticed that the high-paced doctor's office seems very common in America, or at least the NY-NJ area. I never felt rushed by medical practitioners in Canada. Not sure if this is just due to the typically high pace of the NYC region, or it's somehow a byproduct of the private healthcare system in the U.S. Could somebody please launch a study about this and get back to me with the results? Thanks.

Anyway, the good doctor admitted that he didn't know why I was still having problems when the inflammation seemed to have cleared out already. I told him that I had been still feeling some pain down the front of my upper leg, and that I've recently noticed that my right hip "cracks" audibly when I'm moving around. He said it sounded like my IT band was snapping (ew!) and we could explore a few things to resolve it, through continuing physical therapy with his therapist, who "lives for this kind of stuff". He still didn't think it would take more than a few sessions of PT to get me fixed up. Both of these things are just what I wanted to hear. SMCP has it's own in-house physical therapists, so of course that's where the doctor wants me to go. And with the lack of success I've been having with the other PT, this wasn't a big concession to make.

I say lack of success, not referring to the progress I've made, because I have made a lot of progress, but moreover to the poor communication and my state of confusion I've been in. With therapy up to now, I've walked in, had her do things with me with little communication between us and then I leave. Oh, if only other areas of my life could be that simple. However, in PT I want to know why I'm doing what I'm doing and what it's supposed to accomplish. She never told me any of that. When I told her that I'd been researching bursitis on my own, she said "Stop reading stuff on the internet", but wouldn't tell me what the points I was apparently mistaken on were.

I saw the new PT for the first time yesterday. A good looking, well built, young guy. He had a really confident, cool, laid back air about him, as if he'd just come back from hunting and had bagged a nice big deer. I'll call him Buck. He was definitely a pretty-boy, but a little too young and, well, male for me. Buck systematically went through all the usual questions, and did many of the same tests on me that had been done in the past.

Interesting here to note that, even for a runner, apparently I have immense tightness in my legs, particularly in my ITB and hamstrings. The doctors and PTs always comment, and in more than one case, show me to someone else, as if I were some kind of weird bug that they caught in a jar. When I went to therapy in Jersey a few years back, the PT called the intern over and said something like "Take a look at this one. This is how bad it can get in runners." Yesterday, Buck called over the other PT and asked his opinion as to whether such extreme tightness was cause for particular concern, but the other PT (who was older and I'm guessing more experienced) didn't think so. After Buck finished with checking me out and questioning me, he explained that he was going to give me a series of pre- and post-run exercises to do and estimated that it would just take two to four weeks to rid me of any leftover pain that I'd been feeling if I kept up the exercises. We then went through the movements and he explained what each one did for me, and what muscle or tendons it was working/stretching. At the end of the session, he wrote out the exercises and drew little diagrams for me to remember them with, and then explained what we were going to do next time: "We'll beat you up some." Oh goody!

If this all seems like common sense, as in: 'Well, isn't all that what you're supposed to do in phsyical therapy?', well then, you're probably right, but during my last twelve weeks, I haven't done much of it. Although my previous PT really seemed to know what she was doing, she didn't let me in on any of it. To top it off, I've been icing when apparently I should be using a heating pad, which seems just bizarre.

Buck also said I could continue running, but added that if I felt pain I should stop. So I rejoined the Flyers last night for the second week in a row, and I ended up running long, if you can call six and a half miles long, that is. I had actually only planned to run about five and a quarter, but when I broke off from my fellow teamates at 96th and Central Park W., I discovered that I once again forgot my metrocard, and being the cheapo that I am, I refused to spend the $4 on a one-trip card just to go a mile and a quarter and jogged back home to Harlem. I did all my exercises and stretches, and my hip feels good today, no stiffness. I'll need to cut back on my later runs this week to balance out the mileage (remember, only 10% increase per week!).

I felt great running last night, despite the humidity, and everyone else's cursing me out for saying how great it was to be running despite the humidity. Neither my hip nor leg bothered me before, during, or after the run. There are so very few things that I enjoy doing more than running, and it's unfortunate how much I have taken it for granted this past winter, setting PR after PR, without consideration for taking care of my body, ignoring the means for the end. Hopefully this time out I can be smarter. Every step is indeed a joy, and I need to remember that.

Drafting

I actually write a lot more posts than is apparent on this blog. I just don't finish them all -- at least not to enough of a degree to want to publish them. In fact, the number of drafts I have is looking more and more like it's going to outnumber the published posts in the not-too-distant future.

So this being a busy week, I haven't had much time to write anything new. I did however publish a new, er... well, old post, from Aug.5th, if anyone wants to read some mindless drivel. Hope to have a new post up in the next couple of days, but we'll see.

Clueless

The physiotherapist wants me to keep running.

I really have no idea what to do anymore.

Life on the Brighter Side

Trying to look at the better, albeit somewhat trivial, things that happened over the past week. Work is ultra, ultra slack this week, as if you can't tell. I may take tomorrow off.

I got a new kick ass phone. It's a "smart phone", which is pretty good, because I'm pretty dumb. Anyway, here's my old phone:

A Nokia, it was pretty primitive. Actually, the Motorola phone I had before that one was more advanced - it had voice dialing, which I thought was pretty cool. The Nokia was a really basic device, bulky, and generally lame. I thought I was going to move up to a flip phone, but somehow made the leap right to the do-everything gizmo. I already carried a Palm TungstenE, so there was a great appeal in getting the phone and planner rolled into one, and Amazon had a deal that I couldn't pass up: a smart phone with just a one-year commitment for $99. Verizon sells the same phone for $299, and their New-every-two deal would knock only a hundred bucks off of that. The downside is that I had to get myself a new phone number, but this was so minor -- it just involved sending a few e-mails out. Anyway, I now have myself a Motorola Q:


The device is about as bulky as the previous phone, but it's so slim that it's actually easier to carry around, plus I ditched the Palm device. I might try to get a few bucks for it on eBay.

I haven't had a lot of time to figure out all the functions yet. Today I came across a text message from the weekend that I didn't know I had. It's windows-based, which neither me nor my Mac at home like, but it seems to function reasonably. I'll see how it goes.

The Flyers' Summer Social on Thursday was a good time, although the venue wasn't necessarily somewhere I would normally hang out, and Lionel Richie isn't exactly my musician of choice either. It was the usual suspects and the regular number of people I had never seen before. I did drink a bit more than I normally would have in two hours, but it was open bar and I did pay my twenty bucks. And I tipped responsibly, which is all the bartender cared about, I'm sure. Saw some people I hadn't seen in awhile, and found out some others even have read my blog (hi!). Good fun.

Friday night I hit the Frying Pan at Chelsea Piers at happy hour for a friend's b-day, and later went with another friend friend to see a musician, named Jeremy Enigk, with his band at Bowery. I didn't know his stuff that well, but my friend loves him and it was good to hang out with her that night. He put on a great show, though, and we had some good laughs.

I also got my apartment finally in order. The first week I spent getting boxes unpacked, the second, making and assembling shelves and furniture, and as of this past weekend, I finished stocking the books and the rest of my crap away. There are still odds and ends to take care of, mainly just hanging my photos, but it finally feels like home.

Also on the home front, there's been progress with building security. In my building, as in many apartments, there are two doors to unlock as you enter the building. The week before last, upon returning from a run, I was walking in the first door, and this tall, skinny, toothless guy followed me into the vestibule. Not really knowing whether to protest or not, I stalled for some time in fumbling with my keys to unlock the second door. He enlightened me by demonstrating that I didn't, in fact, need keys for the door, and just by pushing it hard enough, it unlatched and opened. It was apparent to me that the door never actually locked, and people were coming and going as they pleased, most of them to Crackwhore-across-the-hall's apartment. As he followed me into the building, the junkie continued to chat with me, telling me through his toothless, I've-gotten-the-shit-beaten-out-of-me-many-times grin that he hoped for my sake that I wasn't going to end up having a stroke after running so much. I was touched that he cared so much.

I called the management company the next day to alert them to the door issue, and they sent someone out last monday and repaired the lock. Trouble is that, after the lock was repaired, the cobweb of cracks appearing in the glass steadily increased, and for the last week, the door has been tied open. Luckily, I caught Dex, the building super, outside this weekend and asked him about it. He said there's a new door coming this week to fix the whole problem. "Don't worry, buddy, I'm on it!" he said.

And this morning I returned my previous apartment keys to my old landlord. He's been pestering me for days to get them back, but I didn't want to do so until the 15th, at least halfway through the month, purely for the sake of principle. He did tell me last night that the apartment was very clean and in good condition and that I'd get my full security deposit back next week, and as long as he's as good as his word, that's all I care about.

I also spent much of the weekend looking at gyms to join and places to take swimming lessons since I can't run anymore. There's something slightly "serendipitous" about this, but I haven't quite figured out what. Anyway, I figure I have to do something, right? I came up with a couple options, and hope to join some place next weekend after I check them out.

And top all that off with: My optometrist in NJ called me this weekend. She had no interest in how my eyes were. She wanted to set me up on a date. This would be the second date that she's set me up on.

I have the best optometrist in the world.

A year. A whole freakin' year.

From a Coolrunning.com forum post, Aug. 8th/'06:

"I had stress fractures and hip bursitis and didn't listen to the doctor initially either because I really love to run. The best advice I can give is to rest as completely as possible and to listen to your doctors. I luckily didn't have to have surgery but they told me I wouldn't be able to run anymore if I didn't rest so eventually I listened. It was a very, very long recovery process, probably because I didn't rest like I was supposed to in the beginning. I was on crutches and then was only allowed to walk short distances. Physical therapy did wonders and I still do the exercises I learned today. It took about 6 months until I no longer felt pain and a full year until I could run 20 miles a week with no pain or without starting to get reinjured. When I couldn't run, I walked and swam. I just kept taking it easy if something hurt and eventually I recovered completely. I don't do much sprint work anymore but I'm just happy to be running again. I just ran my first marathon since I was injured about 2 years after the initial injury and am running regularly since. I really understand wanting to do the marathon and you need to do what is best for you, but your hip flexors will probably appreciate it if you rested and ran a different marathon after you were completely healed."

Luckily, things can't get any worse. Oh, no. . .

One thing that’s really gotten to me about this whole injury thing is that while all my research has told me that hip bursitis is a common running injury, I still haven’t met any runners that have had it. This has been frustrating, because I really wanted to find someone who could relate their experience to me, and ask some questions: How long before the pain subsided? How long before you could run long or do speedwork again? Did it flare up again or become chronic?

I know way too many runners that have had Plantar Fasciatis, stress fractures, and a multitude of other injuries. There’s no shortage of them to ask details of their experiences. But my lack of finding anyone with bursitis (and specifically Trochanteric Bursitis) has lead me to one of two conclusions:

a) Everything I’ve read has been wrong, and bursitis simply is not a common running injury, or
b) Bursitis is an injury such that people who get it are no longer able to continue running, which would explain why I haven't met any runners who have had bursitis.

But today, I finally found a runner who did have bursitis. It was in his foot, but bursitis nonetheless. He’s a guy in my office, who was training for his first marathon and got injured as he hit about 14-15 miles in his long runs. I was excited that maybe I could finally get some answers from someone with real-life experience from the injury. After politely chatting about his history with running and how he got the injury and orthotics and running styles, I finally cut to the chase and asked him how long before he started running again. He told me that it was last year in July when he was training for the 2005 marathon that he got injured, and he was just getting back into running now, “with a little trepidation,” he added, as he also explained that he was still concerned about aggravating the injury.

“Excuse me?” I couldn't have heard that right.

“Yeah, so about 12 or 14 months.”

I nearly fell over. That’s not the right answer!!! Not the right answer at all! You're supposed to say "Oh, I took a couple of months off running, and then I gradually eased back into it. I'm running the '06 marathon this year."

Why couldn’t I have just jumped from the roof of my walk-up or got hit by a car, so that I could have just broken both legs or something simple like that?!

A year. A whole freaking year?

Oh crap. Crappity crap crap CRAP!!!

Out of the Running.

My running goals have suddenly changed dramatically. I just sent an e-mail withdrawing from our team's Reach the Beach Relay lineup in mid-September. There will be no Half-marathon for me in October. I also won't be racing in the five miler next weekend as I had hoped, and I won't even be doing my first 5-mile group run with the Flyers on Monday as I had intended. In fact, I won't be doing any running for awhile. And I've decided that "awhile" will be at least three months.

I embarked on a 5.25 miler this morning at around 11 am. I ran a half mile to Morningside Park, where I stopped, did some light stretching like a good runner should, and continued on my way south to Central Park. I ran along 8th Ave. most of the way down the perimeter of Central Park.

At about 2 miles into the run I felt a small twinge of pain in my hip. It was sudden and caught me somewhat off guard. I stumbled a bit but kept running. I mentally wrote it off as a minor anomaly in my recovery, and continued down to 72nd Street, where I turned around and headed north up the West Drive, still running at a fairly easy, but steady pace. I felt fine, at least until I got back up to 81st Street, at about three and a half miles. Then things went awry.

The jolt of pain that shot through my hip and upper leg was tremendous. My right side buckled and I nearly fell over. I immediately stopped running, stepped out of the recreation lane, and collected myself. My disbelief was followed by feelings of denial and, as I took stock of myself, acceptance. My run was over. I walked over to 8th Ave, and it occured to me that I had neither my Metrocard on me nor the money to buy one. I normally carry at least one of these with me, but since I apparently forgot them today, I simply walked the forty two blocks home.

This is big. I really don't think I've been pushing myself that hard when I run. I've been following the 10% increase rule fairly strictly, and have done my icing, stretching, and massaging religiously. But the fact that I felt this much pain is a major setback. I need to stop running completely for a good chunk of time and heal.

It's so hard to do, though. Running is such an outlet for me, mentally as well as physically. It was difficult not running for so long after Vermont, and to have my hopes of recovery dashed like this is so frustrating, and so disheartening. To top it off, a chunk of my social life is now tied to the running club, and I feel like if I'm not running that I somehow don't belong there. Yeah, not running just so much harder to do than running.

And this just caps off what has been, with a couple of exceptions, nothing but a big week of let-downs for me. Things lately have really, really sucked.

Lead Paint, Dead Bolts, and Beer Gardens

I ran this morning and caught part of the Long Training Run in Central Park. I saw lots of Flyers, but I don't think many saw me. In fact one almost spit on me, so I'd really like to think she didn't see me. It's a weird thing - being injured, I'm tending to wear grey a lot and try to not be noticed.

I'd have loved to have been able to stick around and cheer on the runners, but I had to get back to the apartment. Today our building is having a lead paint inspection between 9 and 5 PM. I'm not sure why this is necessary. . . doees anyone use lead paint anymore? Supposedly, this is a one time thing, and the inspectors need access to the suites.

That being the case, Medley's been put in solitary confinement. I smuggled her out of the building and back to my old apartment, which is sitting empty for the month. I feel a little guilty about this, but being an illegal alien in the building, she can deal with being alone in an empty room for a day. It's not like I'm making her sleep in her own feces or anything. I did put her litter box out with her food. She didn't like the subway ride, though, which is why I feel a tad guilty about carting her back to the old place.

Returning from my aforementioned run, I met Crazy-lady-down-the-hall again. She was friendly this time, asked me how I liked the building, and told me that it was a good building except for the drug dealer that lived across from me. She told me to make sure I complain to the management company about her, but I'm really not sure how to do that ("Hi, the chick across the hall sells drugs and I'd like to complain that she charges too much."). Crazy then was nice enough to reintroduce herself to me, and asked my name again. I told her and she responded with a smile: "Oh, just like my brother." This is a sharp contrast to her calling me "white-boy" the other day and telling me I don't belong there, but then, in her defence, she's crazy.

While Lead-paint-guy was usng his geiger-counter-like device to check my apartment, I installed a new deadbolt on my door. Ted, who lived in the apartment before, had one on the door but the management company removed it when he moved out. I guessed that they must not have had a key to that lock, and removed it accordingly. The lock I bought was similar to the previous one, but apparently a slightly different model or make. I was able to use some of the same holes in the door and the jamb, but had to drill others. Both Lead-paint-guy and Crazy-lady-down-the-hall, who came out while I was drilling through my door, were in awe, and couldn't believe that I was attempting to install this monumental security device in my apartment. Seeing that I was all for security devices, Crazy actually said "It's so good to have you here." Then she just kept asking me questions about what I did ("Are you a locksmith?") and how I learned to do what I was doing with locks. She just gave me the creeps, so while I was putting the guard plate on, I pretended that I needed to go back inside to check the other side of the lock, and shut the door with her still standing there. Lead-paint-guy was just as amazed by the whole locksmithing process, but I found his comments far less irritating, probably because I was also asking him about lead paint and the "gun" he was figuratively shooting at my walls.

Last night I had a little backyard bbq and drinks with a running club friend of mine whom I hadn't seen in a while. He's the only guy I know in Manhattan with a real backyard. We talked work, (his) grad school, running (or lack thereof for both of us), (my) frustrations with the dating scene, and general gossip and guy-stuff.

The previous evening I went to one of my favourite NYC venues, Bohemian Hall, with my coworkers. Had a great time, as usual. As far as being a landscape architect and, well, a lover of beer goes, there's no place more fitting then a beer garden. One of my coworkers invited a friend that she wanted to set me up with. Upon the woman's arrival, it became duly apparent that my coworker really has no clue what my preferences are as far as women are concerned, and will thus be relinquished of her setting-up priveleges. That is, unless her future descriptions of possible women to set me up with come with adjectives like "amazing", "fabulous", or "sexiest woman on earth". Because then we'd probably make a good couple, no? Hee.

The Neighbours

So I share the floor of my new apartment building with 3 other units. First, there's Crackwhore-across-the-hall, whom I referred to in an earlier post. Next, there's Loud-Momma-nextdoor. The only interaction I've had with her is when I was moving in, she came over and introduced herself to me: "Hi, my name is ****. I have a three-year-old and I'm very loud." My buddy Ted, who moved out of the apartment, said that she's quite a hypocrite. Apparently, she does play her music loud, and uses the kid as an excuse to get others to turn their music down when she wants it quiet. I haven't seen her since we met.

A few days ago, however, I had the pleasure of meeting Crazy-lady-down-the-hall. She knocked on the door and asked me what I was doing there. When I told her I was the new tenant, she proceeded to tell me that I was not the new tenant. She said she knew that I was a friend of Ted's (she saw me helping Ted move out), and that I couldn't be the new tenant. I explained that Ted moved out, and I put an application in for the apartment and was accepted. She responded by first repeating what I said in the form of a question("You just put an application in for the apartment and was accepted?" She kept doing this throughout our conversation: "You're the new tenant?" "You signed a new lease?" I thought she was practicing for Jeopardy). When I finally made the facts clear to her that I was living there, she told me that she was a member of the building association, and that was not how the rental process was supposed to work. I told her she'd have to talk to the management company about it, to which she responded, "You better believe I'm gonna talk to the management company about it!" When I finally got out of the conversation and shut the door, she was raving in the hall to Crackwhore about how "They just want our black asses outta here," and "What they doin' lettin' a white boy like that in here?!" I called Ted afterwards, and he said as far as he knows there's no building association, and she's just crazy. He did affirm that she'd be Medley's biggest enemy, and would be first to complain about a cat living in the building. Damn.

So it seems I have a very colourful floor as far as neighbours go. And I do mean colourful in the most non-race-related way.