Lyme disease sucks. One of the most frustrating things about Lyme disease in general, and perhaps more so for runners, is the conflicting advice offered by everyone from MDs to herbalists to bloggers. If you’re running with Lyme disease, get ready for an onslaught of “STOP IT RIGHT NOW” from the peanut gallery, combined with other, softer voices that tell you to continue to do what you love. I’ve only been diagnosed with Lyme disease for a couple months, and I’ve already heard more advice (welcome and unwelcome) than I can manage.
All I can speak of is my personal experience. One of my worst, strongest symptoms of Lyme disease is cognitive deficiency. On days when I was able (as in, not exhausted or in too much pain), running literally saved my life. Running became my only outlet for relief. The increased circulation, the endorphins, the outdoor air– I’m sure all these things and more contributed to my improved ability to think on the days I ran. Unfortunately, like many people running with Lyme disease, I hit a point where my physical symptoms became too severe to allow me to run. Reduced mileage wasn’t enough.
Taking a Break from Running
I’m currently in the midst of a break from running. It sucks. A lot. But the muscle spasms in my legs– and I mean every damn muscle from ankle to hip– became so severe that I would wake up in the middle of the night unable to stand up. The pain was incredible. Because the lateral thigh muscles spasmed the hardest, my kneecaps began to track laterally and grind against my femurs. I’m not exaggerating when I say the leg pain became some of the worst, possibly the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life. There was no way I could run anymore when I couldn’t even walk.
As my legs got worse, I increased my chiropractic treatment frequency, my foam-rolling time, and my stretching routine. Nothing helped. Not magnesium supplements, not a super-clean diet, not topical creams, not ice, not heat. You name it, I tried it. My coworker is a highly experienced massage therapist and referred me to an acupuncturist. I was doubtful, not of acupuncture in general, but of anything helping me. Lyme disease also dishes out a hearty dose of depression and anxiety along with cognitive disfunction, so my cynicism was at an all-time high. I made an acupuncture appointment with little hope for anything more than another pile of confusing advice.
During the initial evaluation, the acupuncturist told me she wasn’t going to target Lyme disease, but rather would target other problems to help with overall health. Her approach made sense to me, and she immediately noted a major deficit in my circulation. I had no doubt she was right, since I’d been spasming so much and my hands and feet are always ice-cold. She told me that, at least for a while, running with Lyme disease should not be on my agenda. I’m not a crier, but I came close to sobbing in front of her. Running was my last grasp on sanity, or at least it felt that way at the time.
I made a deal with her to stop running for a week (not that hard, in some ways, since my leg spasms were so severe). She wanted more time, but I only agreed to stop for a week. She explained that acupuncture, like most natural medicine that works with the body, takes time. I was essentially undoing her work if I kept depleting myself by running while in such poor health. I protested a bit more but eventually agreed to work with her twice per week. There was nothing to lose besides a little time and a lot of money. (The money is for a different post, but as anyone with chronic pain or chronic disease knows, it ain’t cheap to survive, let alone thrive.)
Fast forward to three acupuncture treatments later, and I’m doing better. It’s not just acupuncture– I take more supplements than most people will in a lifetime, wear compression garments, and use epsom salts– but I really feel a difference. It’s not fast, definitely not immediate, but something good is happening. My hands aren’t so cold, and my feet are a little less cold. My spasms decreased to the point that last night, for the first time in weeks, I didn’t wake up in agony or use compression garments in the middle of the night.
Of course my goals are to get extremely healthy, feel great, and beat Lyme disease. At this point, though, I want to get back to running. The reality is, I have to stop for a while so I can start again one day soon. I was well enough yesterday to slowly hike for a couple hours at the national seashore near my house, and that’s a major victory. I want so badly to run again, but I’ve had so many setbacks over the past decade that I’m trying to look at this as just one more temporary speed bump.
My next appointment with the acupuncturist is tomorrow and I actually look forward to it. It’s working, and that’s what matters. Anyway, if you’d like more info on herbal aids for the fight with Lyme, I’ve gotten a ton of help from Stephen Buhner’s book, and his website is archived at this link: Buhner Healing Lyme.
I’m sure I’ll run again, and probably sooner than later. Lyme disease is rarely completely curable unless caught immediately, so “running with Lyme disease” is pretty much my new reality. Running with herniated discs, running with dystonia, and running with fibromyalgia have all been my reality, so here’s another one for the list. I’ll get back out there, just not tomorrow. In the meantime, I’m going to walk, hike, and do as much as I can to stay strong and relatively healthy. It’s pretty cool to say I have a good acupuncturist on my side now. I’m cautiously hopeful and wildly dreaming of running again.
It’s not quite Thursday yet, but here’s my TBT to some awesome hiking and trail running this summer. I can’t wait until my iron deficiency clears up and I can hit the trails again! My new Altra Lone Peaks were barely broken in before my ferritin level dropped so low that I couldn’t run, and every time I see them in the closet, they look sad and ready to go. I can definitely relate!
It’s finally cooling down a little here in FL, which means prime trail running weather is almost here. The Florida Trail, which essentially runs from Pensacola Beach to the Everglades, is a great, diverse trail system. My favorite sections to run are through Blackwater State Forest and through the Gulf Islands National Seashore/Ft. Pickens property. I hope I’m well enough to run before November, but if I have to wait, so be it. My Lone Peaks and I will grit our teeth and wait. I’ve been through a lot this year, but I’ve never lost sight of my goals, hopes, and dreams. Onward, friends.
I felt bad for months without answers and had no idea that low ferritin could be the culprit. The first sign or symptom, I think, was when my feet suddenly hurt so bad that I couldn’t walk. I went from comfortably running 12+ miles at a time to being unable to take a single step. The pain in my feet was incredible. A five-week saga involved complete rest, new shoes, custom arch supports, and tons of medical treatments that didn’t work. Then a young chiropractor finally got to what seemed to be the root of the problem.
Near the knee, the sciatic nerve splits into two and becomes the common peroneal nerve and the tibial nerve. Extremely tight calf muscles were compressing the nerves, which in turn sent agony to my feet. The chiropractor used e-stim, heat, and RockBlades on my calves, then adjusted the bones in my ankles. The difference was immediate and shocking and wonderful. I went from no life to an almost normal one, or so it seemed.
But as time passed, my calves stayed tight no matter what, so my feet still hurt almost all day and night. I drank extra water, used a foam roller, a stick roller, and had my colleagues RockBlade my legs, but the pain and tightness always came back quickly. I knew something still wasn’t right, but I was so damn tired of going to doctors and spending time and money that I just decided I might have to manage my calf issues indefinitely without a real answer.
Decreased Exercise Tolerance
That was late spring. As I made my comeback to running and strength training, I never felt right. I was sweating profusely after even short, early-morning runs, my endurance stopped progressing, and I began to feel dead tired after any exercise at all. After so many years of chronic health problems, I wondered if what was happening was a natural progression of the disease process. I also started noticing that I had increasing trouble concentrating, felt exhausted most days, and my usual insomnia was worse than ever.
Things really took a turn for the worse when I drove through eight states to get to Baltimore for a few days of work. What should’ve been a fun, exciting solo trip that involved camping, a super nice hotel, old friends, new friends, and tons of adventure was downright terrifying. The four nights I was in the hotel in Baltimore, I honestly thought I was going to die. I couldn’t sleep at all despite being beyond exhausted. The mental fog was incredible and like nothing I’d ever felt. When I laid down at night, I was so tired and sick that I would tremble hard enough to lift my body off the mattress. I began living on extra coffee and energy drinks and strained to keep up professionally and socially. I had no idea what was happening but was very afraid.
Urgent Care and Primary Doc
I thought I’d start feeling better after I got home, although the justification for that thought was pretty weak and didn’t pan out to be true at all. I continued to get worse and despite HATING going to medical facilities, I went to urgent care one night when I was so lightheaded and wracked with tremors that I thought I might be dying.
My blood pressure was 82/58, then suddenly shot up to 140/92. An EKG showed that my heart was in atrial fibrillation (AFib), and I almost passed out a few times in the exam room. The urgent care doctor wanted me to go to the emergency room, but I refused. After years of dealing with our medical/industrial complex, the last place I want to go is a hospital. I went home and made an appointment with my primary care doctor and crossed my fingers that I’d live long enough to get to the appointment.
I developed all kinds of theories about what was going on, from reactions to supplements to simply, “I’m dying.” My doctor ordered a huge battery of blood tests and said he suspected iron deficiency. He told me to start taking iron pills just in case, and that if the bloodwork results showed I wasn’t anemic, it wouldn’t be a big deal to have been on the pills for a week. I hadn’t eaten red meat in a long, long time and had unpredictable, heavy periods, so his theory seemed plausible. I agreed to the blood draw— my first bloodwork in more than two years (I wasn’t kidding when I say I hate going to medical facilities).
I began taking iron pills every morning and begrudgingly ate beef. I didn’t feel better at all and was too exhausted to run more than a couple miles at a slow pace and with frequent breaks. Eventually, I couldn’t run and could barely even function during day-to-day tasks. My thinking, concentration, and mood got so bad that I felt like I’d had part of my brain removed. Since the doctor ordered such a massive volume of tests, the bloodwork took more than a week to come back. When it finally did, several truths were revealed. I had extremely high testosterone, which could partially account for my months of extreme sweating. My progesterone was rock-bottom, which further signaled major trouble with hormones. My white blood cell count was low as though I were fighting a bad virus, which was unexpected and never fully understood.
And, perhaps most telling for my symptoms, my ferritin level was in the basement. (For those who aren’t sure what a ferritin level is, here’s what Mayo Clinic says about it: “Ferritin is a blood cell protein that contains iron. A ferritin test helps your doctor understand how much iron your body is storing. If a ferritin test reveals that your blood ferritin level is lower than normal, it indicates your body’s iron stores are low and you have iron deficiency.”) So, my doctor’s suspicion about iron-deficiency was well-founded, but there were also other issues to address.
My next doctor’s appointment was a few days after the bloodwork came back, but I saw the results online in my patient portal before the appointment. I understood pretty well what was happening but still had tons of questions. I spent a solid hour making a list (yes, an hour for a list, which is indicative of how bad my cognition got) of questions to ask him during the appointment. Every aspect of my life was affected. I was depressed beyond measure, stupid beyond reason, and exhausted to the point of near death. I hesitate to say I’ve never felt worse, but I think it’s true.
Treatment Plan for Low Ferritin
Based on the bloodwork, my doctor quadrupled my iron pills, added liquid vitamin B to my supplement regimen, and sent me to a compounding pharmacy for a custom concoction of progesterone cream. He also prescribed Tamiflu to knock back any viral infection I might have, and ordered me to stay out of the heat and to not overexert myself at all. His reasons for why my ferritin level was so low were speculative but seemed reasonable— heavy/frequent periods, heavy sweating, long-distance running, and lack of dietary meat. He said heme-iron, the kind that comes from animal products, is the most readily absorbed by the human body, and that at least for a while, I’d need to eat meat again.
We discussed an intravenous iron infusion to raise my low ferritin level. He didn’t want to risk me going to the hospital for the infusion with my health history and low white cell count. I struggled to take a deep breath, struggled to walk to my truck, struggled to concentrate. I knew there could be nasty side effects to taking four iron pills per day, but I also knew I couldn’t keep going on a fake-it-til-you-make-it mentality. The way I felt was affecting every aspect of my life. I’d called in sick a few days at work for the first time in years. I don’t have benefits, so calling in sick means losing significant money, which is pretty much the last thing a person needs when caught up in our broken, profit-mongering medical system.
I asked for a timeline for improvement. My doctor said he hoped I’d start to feel better at the two-week mark, but that the 4x daily iron pills might still take six months to restore me to a healthy ferritin level. Six freakin’ months? I tried to focus on his two weeks comment. Two weeks is a long damn time, but six months sounded like something I couldn’t handle. Running and hiking are my major stress relievers. To not be able to do those things during such a hard time was even more crushing. But I’d gotten to the point of feeling so out of it— totally disconnected from life— that I almost didn’t care.
I’m now on day fourteen of taking iron four times a day. I have no way of knowing if my low ferritin level is rising a little, rising a lot, or staying the same, but I feel different. My next blood draw won’t be for another month unless I get worse. I hope it shows a huge rise by that time. I hope I feel so good by then that I’ll almost forget what I’m fighting. At this point, I do NOT feel good and haven’t noticed nearly as much progress as I thought would happen by now.
The side effects of big doses of iron aren’t hitting me super hard, but my period came early and heavy and it’s possibly undoing a lot of the progress that I’d started to make. Heavy blood loss is one of the worst things for iron deficiency. My coworkers, patients, and family say I look better, and that there’s more color in my face than there had been for months. I’m not quite as stupid or exhausted as I was. The hot flashes are coming a little less often. I’m able to do light strength-training indoors with the AC blasting.
I still have zero heat tolerance, am foggy-brained, and very tired, but everything is a little better. One of the biggest changes is the pain in my feet and legs– it’s almost gone! But do I feel good yet? Definitely not. It’s amazing how long this process takes. Hopefully in a couple days, when my period is gone and I’m at the two-week mark on iron pills, I’ll really start to notice a difference. I miss running and hiking. I miss thinking clearly and I miss being sort of smart, but at least I finally see a tiny pinhole of light at the end of the tunnel. Y’all, don’t be like me. Get your routine bloodwork done and don’t try to hide how bad you feel. It can really suck to get caught up in the medical system, but avoiding it when something’s wrong is dumb. Don’t be me. Don’t be dumb.
My second Headsweats ambassador box arrived yesterday and I was super excited to find it on my front porch. Along with some other great gear, I got my first-ever Headsweats visor. I’ve worn Headsweats hats for years and loved them, but never bought a visor because I wasn’t sure if that style would work for me. I’ve had visors in the past that didn’t fit right no matter what I tried. They were usually too tight to the point of giving me a headache or so loose that they slipped down and folded my ears outward. I love the Bigfoot line of products that Headsweats produces. After cyber-stalking the full moon Bigfoot visor for a few months, I decided to give it a try.
Unboxing the Visor
The first thing I noticed about the visor was the awesome graphic on the front. It’s printed well and clearly and looks like something an artist created. No pixelated junk! Sometimes online photos don’t represent reality, but the Bigfoot visor looks even better in person than it does in pictures. The next thing I noticed was the lack of adjustability of the headband. I wasn’t sure if that would be ok or create headache city, so I wore the visor around the house before taking it for a test run. I couldn’t believe how comfortable it felt! It was secure and snug but not at all tight. The elastic band is very thin, wide, and flat, and pretty much becomes unnoticeable once it’s on my head. No headache, no slippage, no ear-bending. My ears are small and sit very close to my head, so the ear-bending struggle is real with a lot of hats and visors and even headphones.
Wearing the Visor
We’re already in the mid 80s in the first week of May and the sun has seemed brighter than ever this spring. I decided to put the visor through a nearly literal trial by fire on its maiden voyage. It was already 82 degrees when I left the house in the morning. The humidity was between 85% and 99%, depending on which app I looked at. Hot as hell and wet as a swamp. The sun was intense and beginning to rise high enough above the trees that shade would soon become scarce. I started to sweat within five minutes out the door, but the visor stayed exactly where it was mean to be. No slippage at all.
I didn’t wear sunglasses, so the all-black underside of the visor was especially helpful. If you’ve ever worn a hat or visor with a light-colored underside, you probably know how ineffective they are at blocking glare. I had a hat once with a light gray underside and I swear it reflected more sun into my face than if I hadn’t worn it at all. All Headsweats hats and visors have a black underside to minimize glare, and I really appreciated that feature this morning.
I’m rehabbing from a major health setback, so I only ran 2.75 miles, but I kept the visor on for a metcon workout in the sun and a 1.5-mile walk home from the park. Running, jumping, pullups, pushups—nothing made the visor slip, shift, or otherwise do something unpleasant. I even banged the brim on a pullup bar by accident and it held firm on my head and only needed a minor adjustment. By the time I walked home, I was in love with my new Bigfoot visor.
As an athlete in Florida, sweat in the eyes is a major problem. It burns pretty bad on its own, but add sunscreen to the mix and it can be temporarily blinding and very uncomfortable. Never once did I even get one drop in my eyes today. The soft, wicking headband underneath the Bigfoot design did its job perfectly. Having the top of my head open to the breeze (unlike with a hat) helped cool me down. I went into Headsweats visor ownership feeling a little unsure, but now I’m hooked. If you’re not a fan of Bigfoot (or if you are), they have a ton of designs, from neutral to loud. I definitely recommend getting one and will probably get another visor for myself soon. Let me know if you have questions and I’ll do my best to answer.
I’m an ambassador for Headsweats, which means I get some of their gear at no charge. This review is my honest opinion, but I did not pay for the visor. If you want to get one for yourself, you can use VICTORIASTOPP25 at checkout for a 25% discount. Click here to see the collection.
My stellar run in new shoes turned out to be not so stellar at all. Despite feeling fine during the 6.25-mile run, and fine during a walk later in the day, I woke up the next day with sore feet. Those sore feet turned into agony and debilitation when I tried to to walk to the park near my house. Within a quarter mile, I had to stop. I couldn’t even get myself home and had to call for a ride. My feet felt like something was tearing off the bones in the space between my metatarsal heads and my toes.
I had no idea what was going on and had never felt such pain before. Perhaps scariest, the burning, tearing sensation was in both feet. I only felt it during push-off in the gait cycle, but of course that’s a major component of walking and running. I discovered that if I took off my shoes and socks and walked barefoot, I was pain-free. But as soon as I put on shoes– any shoes, regardless of model or style– the bilateral foot pain was so intense I couldn’t take a single step.
Transverse Arch Pain, Not Plantar Fasciitis
After extensive Googling that consistently turned up results for plantar fasciitis even though plantar fasciitis didn’t make sense with my symptoms, my fear and discouragement grew. I co-taught anatomy & kinesiology at our local community college for four years, but still couldn’t figure out what was going on with my feet. I pulled out the two textbooks I kept from my teaching days and still couldn’t quite make sense of what I was seeing. The internet definitely wanted to convince me that I had plantar fasciitis, but I knew that wasn’t right. I started wading through information on the structures of the foot and paid particular attention to the transverse arch. Bingo. The transverse arch essentially runs through the foot rather than along its length. I honestly didn’t even know the transverse arch existed until it caused me some of the worst pain of my life.
I’ll spare the details of a very intense eighteen days, but suffice it to say that the last couple weeks and days have been terrible. With the help of other practitioners, including an orthotist, we decided my hunch was right about the transverse arch in each foot. I tried everything, spent a ton of money on shoes (most of which I returned), used supportive insoles, and nothing helped. The insoles made me even more miserable because they were so rigid and high that my longitudinal arches and heels started to ache. The orthotist showed me metatarsal pads, which are essentially hard little pieces of foam that look like large guitar picks. If placed behind the metatarsal heads, the pads should support the transverse arch. I took the little pieces of foam home with renewed hope that I could at least walk from one room to another without agony.
In Search of Metatarsal Pads
The met pads (lingo, so I’ve discovered, for metatarsal pads) were a new kind of misery, but they had potential. Unlike the full-length insoles, the met pads targeted one problem area, the transverse arch, rather than trying to rework the entire shape and mechanics of my feet. I sanded down the hard foam to make them not so intrusive, but they still felt like smooth rocks under my feet.
A trip to Walgreens for something to support my transverse arches was a bust, but CVS provided a little more hope. I bought a package of thin, soft foam metatarsal pads. They were much larger than the met pads from the orthotist, but I cut them down with my old EMT scissors until they were the same shape and size as the hard foam ones. I put one in each shoe, and after a lot of misery and trial and error, was finally– after two weeks– able to walk semi-humanlike. The thin foam must’ve been just enough to support my transverse arches without feeling like I was walking on rocks.
After a day, though, the pain got worse again, even with my homemade met pads. I realized that the cheap foam must’ve compressed too much and not rebounded, even though I’d probably walked only a total of a quarter mile on the pads. I cut another set and doubled them on top of the originals and began moving somewhat humanlike again. Transverse arch pain is no joke! This is some of the worst pain and debilitation I’ve ever experienced, even beyond the years of back and neck issues I’ve suffered.
Followup with the Doc
As things stand now, I’m heading back to the doctor tomorrow for an updated plan. I haven’t run in almost three weeks and can still barely walk, but the left foot seems to be improving. The right foot is the worst, which is weird because it started out better than the left. I have all kinds of ideas for inexpensive ways to custom-build some met pads for myself and will likely take a trip to Home Depot and/or Michael’s tomorrow to buy industrial foam and craft foam. Medical supplies are marked up so high, but it’s easy to find workable materials other places that will stand in just as well as the so-called specialty medical crap.
I’m very worried about my feet, especially the right one, but worry and anxiety only contribute to pain, so I’m trying to chill. I have newfound knowledge about the transverse arch, but I wish I never had to know anything about it. Here’s hoping tomorrow’s doctor’s appointment is worthwhile and helpful. I’m going crazy without running, walking, and hiking.
To go from nearly crippled by injury to writing a book about it and now being an ambassador for a running-focused company is surreal, and I’m beyond grateful. Being chosen as an ambassador reminds me of how far I’ve come and gives me a larger platform to share encouragement with others. And I happen to love running in Headsweats gear, too. They make the only hats that don’t bother my ears (I have small ears that sit very close to my head and are quite sensitive). The underside of the brim is always black regardless of the hat color. In Florida, the sun stays bright all year long and that black underside really makes a difference in cutting glare.
If you’re interested in ordering any Headsweats gear, I have a code for 25% off: VICTORIASTOPP25. Feel free to share the code far and wide. I’m having a setback right now and am unable to run, but I hope to be much better soon. See y’all outside!
I’ve heard several credible rumors that the Altra Intuition is about to be discontinued, and I’m super bummed. I’ve been running in various versions of the Intuition since it was first born several years ago, and while I’ve tried other shoes, the Intuition always works best for me. The Intuition 3.5 is the latest model I’ve worn, which puts me two versions behind the newest, but I LOVE it. I can run a half marathon on mostly pavement without much foot pain, and that says everything. I needed a new pair and looked forward to trying the Intuition 4.5 (skipping Intuition 4 since it’s passe now), but when I went to our local running store, there were almost no sizes in stock. Online searches didn’t help much, either. It was almost impossible to find the Intuition in a (apparently popular?) size 9, especially with my first color choice.
I bought the Boston version of the Escalante Racer because I’ve been to the city three times and loved it. The walkability, the mass transit, the food, the parks, the history— such a cool place. I don’t care much about the looks of my running shoes as long as they perform well, but as soon as I opened the box, I was impressed by the appearance of the Escalante Racer. The Boston version is bright blue with yellow and black accents, including patterned yellow laces. Score one for aesthetics, but my main concern was how they’d feel on a run. I touched the upper and noticed a huge difference between the Racer and the regular Escalante. There didn’t seem to be any stretch at all in the Racer’s upper, and the toe box looked roomier. I put on my favorite socks and sat down to try on the Escalante Racer.
Running in the Escalante Racer
The first thing I noticed was how difficult it was to put the shoe on. I felt like one of Cindarella’s stepsisters. But once I pulled the laces extremely loose, I finally got the shoes on my feet. The difference between the Racer and the plain Escalante was massive and evident immediately. My feet didn’t feel constricted at all in the Racer, but they felt reasonably supported when I walked around a sharp corner in my house. Convinced they were a potentially awesome option, I took a chance immediately and went for a run.
The first run in my new Escalante Racers was 6 miles. With the Intuition, I could always take a new pair out of the box and run any distance in perfect comfort. The Racer’s sole felt a little stiff, which was surprising since the sole uses segmented rubber with significant gaps between each piece. I ran on hard dirt, weedy grass, asphalt, and concrete— pretty much every surface I ever run on except sand.
By the second mile, I noticed increased comfort. The cushioning was definitely less than the Intuition (it’s a different shoe, so that wasn’t shocking), but as my run progressed, the comfort of the Racer increased. The stiffness lessened or I got used to it, but either way, I was fine with the sole. The mesh upper was highly breathable, which is super important since I live in Florida. I can definitely see my socks through the shoe, so by breathable, I guess I mean full of holes. Most importantly though, my feet felt secure on corners, even at fairly high speeds.
As for basics, I have mostly great things to report. The laces stayed tied (super basic, I know, but I’ve definitely experienced lace problems with some shoes), the Racer was true to size, and the colorway was as advertised. The only surprise was how difficult it is to get the shoe on and off, but a little patience for extra lace-loosening isn’t a big deal.
I wish so, so much that Altra wouldn’t discontinue the Intuition. Since they are, though, I’ve found a solid backup plan in the Escalante Racer. I haven’t tried the Racer on anything longer than 6.5 miles yet, but so far, so good. As usual with Altra shoes, I love the zero drop, roominess, and comfort. I’m not sure anything will ever be as awesome as the Intuition, but I really like the Escalante Racer and feel hopeful that future versions will be even better. I’m a longtime Altra fan, and I can now add the Racer to my list of why I love Altra shoes. Foot-shaped, zero drop, Boston-themed– what’s not to love?
Before I talk about the race, I want to give testament to the power of friendship. Friends I don’t know well yet– people who literally flagged me down one weekend as I ran past their group– have added a tremendous, caring new dimension to my life. If not for those friends, I never would have signed up for the Double Bridge Run. More than that, my life was missing something that I didn’t even know was missing until they filled the void. I hope I can be a part of that magic for someone some day.
Double Bridge Run Recap
I signed up for the Double Bridge Run only a week and a half before the race. I hadn’t run a race in years, mostly because of my chronic back and neck pain. The last 5k I did was almost five years ago led to living a nightmare of back pain and insomnia. It’s hard to have an experience like that and get excited about trying again. The Double Bridge is a 15k— almost 10 miles— and as far as I know, it’s the only race of that distance in Pensacola.
The Double Bridge Run is exactly what it sounds like— a run over two bridges. I’ve drive those bridges (the 3-mile and the Bob Sikes) countless times over the years, but since they’re both unsafe for pedestrians, I’d never been on them except in a vehicle. I’ve always been curious what it would be like to run the bridges. Mostly I just wished the city would’ve planned protected pedestrian lanes. I never considered signing up for the race, largely because of chronic pain but partly because I don’t like crowds or early mornings. The Double Bridge definitely draws a large crowd, although its start time of 7 a.m. isn’t the worst. A few of my friends convinced me to sign up since it’s the last year this version of the 3-mile bridge will exist. Construction is well underway for a replacement bridge. Between friends’ encouragement and the ending of an era for the bridge, I signed up for the race and tried to get excited rather than fearful.
Running has been a wonderful gift in my life, but the past decade has been very, very challenging. Chronic pain— especially in my back and neck— have kept me from doing the things that make me feel alive, and running is definitely one of those things. After getting a fresh round of help in Atlanta last spring, I finally got some insight that was life-changing. I’ve not only been able to run again, but in the past several months, I’ve quickened my pace and lengthened my distance. The longest I’ve done lately is a half marathon, although it wasn’t an official race— just a circular route around the bayou done for no other reason than I wanted to celebrate my ability to run.
I knew the 15k distance wouldn’t be a problem, but I was still very nervous leading up to race day. I had no idea what to expect, and since a big part of my ability to live with relatlively low pain levels is routine, it’s hard to convince myself that it’s a good idea to break routine. Mornings usually look like this for me: sit up slowly, get out of bed carefully, drink 20 ounces of water, then make my way to the coffee pot and fill my cup. While the coffee cools a little, I gently move my back and hips around to get them ready for function. My SI joints are usually off after lying down all night, so I often use my foam roller before I finish my first cup of coffee. If my back and neck are agreeable, I eat a protein bar, then head out for a solo run. If my back and neck aren’t right, I keep foam rolling, dynamic stretching, and doing mobility work until I’m able to run. Extensive routines like that aren’t easy to fit in before a race that starts at 7 a.m.
I set my alarm for 4:45 a.m. to give myself the best shot at getting through my routine before the start of the Double Bridge Run. For the most part, it worked, and after picking up two of my friends, I found myself in pre-dawn traffic on the way to the starting line. It was surreal, and not just because there’s usually no traffic at all at that hour. I couldn’t believe I was on the way to a race after all those years of chronic pain and corresponding disappointments. Pain can be very isolating, so to be not only returning to racing but to do so with friends was a little overwhelming. Even good things can take a minute to process.
We had a few hangups with post-race bag-check, and there were woefully few portapotties at the park where the race started. Once those minor issues were handled, I found myself surrounded by friends and strangers waiting for the cannon to fire and signal our start. As our corral slowly made our way toward the line, I still wasn’t sure what to expect. I almost always run alone, and the crowd was a bit intimidating. My friends were awesome, though, and I smiled at their caring energy and positive vibes. Within a few seconds, the cannon blasted and we were off.
I didn’t have a pace goal or really any concrete idea of pace since so many variables were in play. A couple of friends and I decided to loosely stay together, which was easier said than done as the race wound through downtown Pensacola on the way to the 3-mile bridge. The police blocked traffic, but our running lane was still sometimes tight for as many people as were racing. We passed people, got passed by others, and mostly just moved like a giant unit along Bayfront Parkway. My friends talked about sticking to a 9:30-9:45 per mile pace, which was good with me, but even without looking at my watch, I could tell we were going faster than planned.
The 3-mile bridge section wasn’t as wonderful as I’d thought it would be. The bridge is concrete, and I underestimated how rough on my body it would be to run on concrete. As we pounded along the bridge, I realized I never train on concrete. Asphalt, grass, dirt, and trails. Never concrete. And yes, there’s a huge difference. Concrete is extremely unforgiving, which isn’t a good thing for someone with a bad back and neck. The sky was heavily overcast, so the view of the bay wasn’t spectacular, but that was ok. What surprised me most was the traffic. Only one lane was blocked for runners, and it was bumper-to-bumper cars right next to us for the entire three miles. I guess I’d incorrectly assumed that there wouldn’t be much traffic early on a Saturday morning.
As we neared the end of the bridge, my group of friends separated even more than we already were. I stayed with a friend and her husband, and what was an easy pace for them was quite difficult for me, but I reveled in the challenge. I can run pretty fast these days, but not for 9+ miles. As we hit the asphalt in Gulf Breeze, I noticed we passed people every few seconds and figured we must be gaining speed. My back started to hurt and a bit of radicular pain tingled in my left groin, so I concentrated on tightening my abs and shortening my stride. It worked well enough, and soon we were on the ramp to the Bob Sikes Bridge.
By then, I was in a hurt locker, although not so much from my chronic pain issues as from pushing the pace out of my comfort zone. The ramp out of Gulf Breeze is miserable. It’s steep, extremely slanted, and makes an almost hairpin turn. Luckily, it’s also short, and after only a bit of misery, we headed straight for the Bob Sikes. A cheering section gave me a little extra pep, but I was still at my max capacity. My friend asked if I wanted to catch a woman in purple who was well ahead of us. I told her to go, but that I couldn’t. She stayed with me instead, which I appreciated more than she’ll ever know.
Bob Sikes is a steep bridge both ways. The downhill, though rough on the knees, was a welcome reprieve after the uphill slog to the top. We could hear an energetic high school band near the toll booth. The yellow arch of the finish line looked deceptively close but the band gave us motivation. Nobody wants to give up in front of high school kids– especially high school kids who got up early to play their drums for a bunch of adults.
The last half mile or so was pretty brutal, despite a wonderful cheering section. As we neared the end, a group of people on spin bikes encouraged us to sprint while they did spinning sprints. I didn’t have a real sprint in me unless I wanted to puke, but I did pick up the pace just a little until we crossed the rugs that signaled our chips had registered their last time. When all was said and done, I averaged an 8:57 per mile pace. No records broken, but for the hell I’ve been through with chronic pain for so long, I was very happy. I got a great finisher’s medal and celebrated with friends at the race’s after-party.
I don’t know if I’ll ever sign up for a road race again, but I’m glad I did the Double Bridge Run. The day after the race was brutal. My left knee, which is arthritic from an old surgery, was very inflamed. My back was so badly beaten that I had trouble walking. But, as the day wore on, I used my foam roller, Sacro Wedgy, Denner Roll, and every other tool in my arsenal, and I started to feel better. The next day, I did an upper body and core workout and walked 3 miles. Today— two days after the race— I was able to run 5 miles on trails without much issue.
When I look at where I’ve been and where I am now, things still don’t feel entirely real. To go from not running at all because of my back and neck to running a relatively fast 15k in a few months— I don’t even have the words. I’d love to do an ultramarathon one day, but only if it’s on trails. My days of concrete running are definitely over. But my days of running are hopefully only just beginning.
I’m going to talk about something a lot of people may not want to admit to, but I suspect it impacts more of us than we like to acknowledge— running and chafing. And by chafing, I mean inner thigh, right up by the crotch. I have large thighs compared to my overall body size, but they didn’t cause much problem until I started running 8+ miles at a time. I don’t know what’s magically awful about 8+. Whether it’s accumulation of sweat (although I don’t think so, because shorter runs in the Florida summer are much sweatier), wearing down of the fabric of my shorts, or just skin rubbing together that eventually says “enough,” it sucks. I don’t feel like my skin’s rubbing when I run, but maybe it is. Something is definitely going on. When I got home from a 9.25-mile run yesterday, I took off my shorts and used a mirror to investigate what was causing the increasingly miserable burning sensation. Angry red skin and raised pink bumps told the story: chafing.
Since I’m not sure what’s causing it, I’m not sure how to prevent it. Obviously, running longer distances has something to do with it, and something— whether skin-to-skin or skin-to-shorts contact— is blistering the skin. I’ve never used anything for chafing, probably because I’ve never consistently run this much. I’ve been looking at powders, creams, sticks, balms, and salves, and am still unsure of where to start. And maybe it’s the shorts? I run in slightly large-fitting, several-years-old running shorts. I HATE tight clothing and always opt for a looser fit when possible. Maybe I need to join the current trend and try some tight shorts? I’m literally cringing while thinking about that, but I’m also not looking forward to more bouts of what essentially looks like diaper rash.
I’m thinking about try Squirrel’s Nut Butter or BodyGlide for Her. Both are vegan-friendly and aren’t tested on animals, which are absolute requirements for me. I don’t have any idea how to use anti-chafing products, but I assume they’ll come with directions. I have a ten-miler planned a few days from now, with several shorter runs before then, so it’s imperative that I find something that works.
Ultra Marathon Time and a New Journal
In bigger news (well, bigger news to me), I decided to train for an ultra marathon. Ultras are arguably a crazy feat for anyone, and even crazier for someone with chronic health problems and spinal issues. But I LOVE running. It makes me feel free, capable, strong, and connected to the outdoors. It’s not as energizing as soccer, which will always be my first love, but when I come back from a good run, my anxiety is cut in half and my outlook is overall much more hopeful. I’m doing at least 1/4 of my mileage on trails and grass to lessen the impact on my body. But is running an ultra realistic for someone who has a bad neck, bad back, and chronic pain? I honestly don’t know, but I’m going to find out.
I bought a Believe Training Journal a couple weeks ago despite years of resisting using any kind of training log. My health problems have, for so long, crushed my hopes to reach my physical potential, and training logs always served as reminders of unmet goals and major setbacks. But this fall, after several months of using medical marijuana and a year of using physician-tailored supplements, I feel stronger than I have in a very long time. I’m sleeping more— sometimes almost eight hours per night!— and my back pain and radiculopathy is not as daunting. I sometimes go several hours without any major pain at all, which is huge. So, an ultra. And chafing. And a journal to keep track of it all.
I’m really enjoying the Believe journal. It’s already helping me stay organized and is keeping me honest with how much (or how little) I stretch, roll, and work on mobility. There’s nothing like old-fashioned pen-to-paper for accountability. Last night, I did 25 minutes of rolling and stretching, and at least part of my motivation for dedicating more time to recovery was because I knew the journal awaited my report, and I didn’t want to write something half-ass. My goal, as I increase my running mileage, is to get to 45 minutes of stretching, rolling, and mobility at least six days per week.
Back to running and chafing. If anyone’s had good luck with a certain method, or bad luck, or has any input at all, please leave a comment here. My thighs and I say thanks!
It’s been hot as hell in my part of the world this summer, but I’ve been able to gradually increase my running mileage despite the heat. My longest run this year is 8 miles, which makes me pretty happy considering I wasn’t able to start running again until March of this year after nearly a year off after a disastrous April of last year. I came home from a two weeks of travel and my legs were much tighter than usual and my back was stiff (although it’s always stiff, so that wasn’t new). I thought a run would help loosen me up, but it didn’t at all, and then an awkward bend to pick up my little beagle sent me into severe spasms. Fast forward to now, and with major core and posture work, medical marijuana (a whole other story that I need to write about), and personalized supplements, and 8 miles seems pretty awesome.
My speed isn’t where I want it to be, but I’m trying to stay calm and steady and trust that progress will happen. I’ve already sped up quite a bit in the last month, but I’m also being mindful to avoid common overuse injuries, like stress fractures, so I’m not letting myself do quite as much as I’d like to. I went from running 11-minutes-plus per mile upon my return a few months ago to running sub-10 this month. Both of those are very slow compared to my former self, but I’m still happy with the progress. I’ve done some very short stints in the 7-minutes-per-mile range, which felt great and a little scary. I’m always mindful of my back, which probably makes me tense up, so I’m trying to work on staying calm while speeding up my leg turnover.
My favorite run of 2018 so far was an 8-miler through the state forest. It was extremely hot and I went through all my water on my FuelBelt by the 2/3 mark, but the peace and scenery were totally worth it. Afterwards, I swam in a cold, clear lake while tiny fish bumped into my legs and I took in the enormity of what my body had accomplished. It was a great day, and I’m so glad to be able to run again.