What’s the price (cost) of 7.5 miles. So far nine days and counting. It’s not my first injury nor will it be my last; but it ranks among the most selfish, short-sighted and downright stupid. As happens so often I was running late; I’ll blame it on the 6:30a.m. start combined with the hour it takes to get to the start. Oh, and the dogs.
I was materially short on run miles heading into this type of run–eight grueling miles in 85 degree Monsoon season heat. With plenty of miles on the bike and one solid tempo day a week for a number of weeks I figured I’d be in pretty decent position. Suffering through six flats in the top-end, mid-day desert Monsoon heat this summer surely had me mentally strong enough to grind through my fourth iteration of this event. For the first time I also had motivation (pressure) to do well–I’m now entering the second race season after joining an organized group. Did I mention the ridiculously early 6:30am start?
As a result of our late arrival I was forced to park nearly a mile from the start. With the first mile of the run a gradual to brutal downhill a warmup isn’t really necessary. As such I quickly walked, vs. ran, to the insanely jammed starting area. With the hills and canyons serving as acoustics I could hear the starting line instructions the entire walk. By now I needed a final trip to the kybo, amazingly with mere seconds to the start of the first run (not mine) the lines were still 6-8 deep. Once inside I heard the dreaded sound of the starting gun. Not since an Outback Steakhouse run of several years ago have I found myself caught with my pants down at the starting gun. Scrambling out I tried to relax by reminding myself 1) it really doesn’t matter and 2) we’re chipped timed so relax! Neither stuck.
I opted for the right side of the road since the hard downhill curves to the right before heading uphill to the left. Weaving through the end-of-pack crowds I was steadily making up ground. The one-way only road through this park is more akin to an urban trail than a road. In fact it may not be more than two-three feet wider than modern urban asphalt trails. Hugging a narrow line between the rough desert and the right lip of the road I took an elbow from a bigger guy and that was the beginning of the end. Right foot into the desert, left foot trying to remain on the road–trying and failed. I felt the foot, ankle and what felt like my entire left side crumple to the ground.
Barely 1/2 mile in I made the (wrong) decision to push forward instead of pulling off and walking back to the start/finish. There is no shortcut back on this desert loop course. Cutting through the desert is not an option. One of my final streaks would remain intact: no DNFs.
Within 90 seconds I knew the sprain was severe; I found myself behind a familiar face and knew she’d carry a steady pace so opted to focus on dialing back my pace to match and simply grind through. I looked forward to the uphills which lessened the pounding and cursed the downhills. By the second mile I was calculating exactly when I’d finish; how much longer it’d be till ice and advil. By the fourth mile I was sweating more from the throbbing than the heat. By the fifth mile I was calculating how much longer it’d take me to walk than run to the finish.
Once finished I found the ambulance, grabbed a couple bags of ice, sat on the road and waited for Ames to make the long hike back to the car and pick me up. Saguaro Labor Day 2012 was a bust brought on by my own selfish stupidity. Nothing was gained and as I sit with my leg wrapped and elevated, anxious pup at my feet and brilliant sun shining through I’m faced with being content to have completed my first easy ride nine days after.
Barely able to walk pain-free, thoughts of something as innocent as a jog with Samantha will remain secondary to planning a few more easy rides to do something to knock out the seven lbs gained in the last several days. This might have been –the one– that’ll influence a lot of my activity moving forward. We’ll see how that works out.