Why is it so damn hard for us to admit when we’re injured? And why do we put off seeing someone who might actually know what’s wrong?
I’ll happily admit to a niggle. Something feels tight, or there’s soreness that wasn’t there before. I’ll reduce my mileage, back off the intensity, maybe do some extra mobility work. In extreme circumstances, I might even take a day or two off.
But making an appointment? Apparently, that’s where I draw the line.
It started with a Strava crown
Throughout October, I participated in the Javelina Jallucinations virtual challenge. Along with logging miles, we could complete daily challenges called Misfit Games to earn Rattle Bucks, which could be converted into raffle tickets for prizes.
One of the games was called “Steal a Crown.” Find a Strava segment and take the course record.
There are quite a few runners in my neighborhood, including one particularly fast runner who seems to own just about every segment around here. I went looking for one I thought I could take.
The segment I picked was only 0.08 miles long, with an average grade of 7.2%. The record was 27 seconds. Less than half a minute of running. How much trouble could I get into?
The hill was a couple of streets from my house. I figured the run over would be enough of a warmup.
At the bottom, I turned around and started uphill. My Garmin beeped to tell me the segment had started. I opened up my stride, pushed harder, and looked up.
Garbage collection day.
There were still trash cans along the sidewalk, directly in my path. I spent part of my all-out sprint weaving around my neighbors’ garbage cans.
At the top, I checked my watch. Twenty-nine seconds. Two seconds too slow.
I’d picked out a backup segment and started heading toward it, but those garbage cans bothered me. I knew I could run that hill faster, and I wanted that particular crown.
So I turned around.
Walking back down, I looked at where the cans were. This time I’d move off the sidewalk and run in the street.
I started again. The Garmin beeped. I stepped off the curb and gave it everything I had.
Twenty-five seconds. My watch showed a 4:55-per-mile pace.
I’d taken the crown by two seconds.
I was ridiculously excited. A middle-aged ultrarunner celebrating a 25-second sprint up a neighborhood hill. I still think it was worth celebrating.
I also noticed a slight pulling sensation near the top of my left hamstring. At the time, I was more interested in the crown.
I finished the rest of the run at an easy pace, becoming more aware of discomfort around my hamstring and glute as I went. At home, I checked for swelling and bruising. Nothing.
Probably just sore from sprinting uphill twice.
That was about three weeks ago.
It’s really not that bad
Amie has suggested several times that I should have it looked at. I keep telling her it’s not that bad, or it seems to be getting better. I’ll give it a couple more days.
I’ve been doing something similar with my left calf for the better part of two years. It settles down when I back off training or take time away from racing. Then I build my mileage again, and eventually it starts complaining.
I’ve called that managing it. I’m less sure that’s an accurate description when I write out how long it’s been happening.
With the hamstring, I’ve been searching the internet. One possibility that keeps coming up is proximal hamstring tendinopathy, or PHT.
I don’t know whether that’s what I have. It could be a muscle strain or something else. I’m a guy with a sore hamstring and access to Google.
Still, I’ve read enough to convince myself I can probably manage it.
Last week, I took the entire week off running. I went for a few lunchtime walks. On Halloween, after handing out candy, Amie and I walked several miles around the neighborhood looking at the displays. But I didn’t run.
Yesterday, I decided to try some easy miles with her.
For the first mile, I kept checking the hamstring. Was it tight? Did anything feel different? A little over a mile in, I walked about 100 meters on a slight uphill. I’m still not sure whether I felt something or was worried I might.
After about two miles, I stopped thinking about it and enjoyed being out with Amie.
When we got home, we sat on the front stoop to look through our Garmin and Strava metrics, as we usually do. Before getting into the numbers, I checked how my hamstring and glute felt.
Nothing seemed worse.
I took that as permission to keep doing easy runs. But all I really knew was how I felt during and immediately after that run. I didn’t know what was wrong, or whether running again would interfere with it getting better.
I was willing to make that decision myself. I still wasn’t making an appointment.
What am I avoiding?
Cost is part of it. I have health insurance, but I’d still expect to pay something, and one appointment could become several.
That’s harder for me to justify when the problem barely affects the rest of my day. I can walk normally and work without thinking much about my hamstring. There’s nothing visibly wrong. If I weren’t a runner, I might barely notice it.
Of course, I’m not trying to get back to walking around the house. I’m trying to train for races. I keep using ordinary daily activities as my test anyway.
I’m also a little embarrassed by another concern: would the person I saw understand ultrarunning?
Would they account for the training I want to return to, or hear “hamstring pain when running” and tell me to stop?
I haven’t given anyone the opportunity to answer that. I think I’d feel more comfortable seeing a PT who regularly works with distance runners. Finding one would be a reasonable thing to do. So far, I’ve spent more time thinking about whether they’d understand me.
And I keep imagining being told I need six weeks without running.
There’s a half marathon coming up, the local Santa 5K, and possibly a Turkey Trot. I’d be disappointed to miss them. Losing some fitness would bother me too, although I’ve built fitness before.
What worries me most is going without the running itself.
I can leave the house with a million things bouncing around in my head, and somewhere during a run, things quiet down. I haven’t found another activity that consistently does that for me. Six weeks without it sounds like a long time.
Nobody has told me I need six weeks off. I haven’t even made an appointment. I came up with that number myself and have been worrying about it as though someone handed me a treatment plan.
For all I know, the recommendation would leave room for some running.
Then I imagine a different version of the appointment. The PT examines me and recommends changes that sound similar to what I’ve already been trying.
I can practically hear myself: I could have figured that out myself.
So if I hear something familiar, I might question why I paid for the appointment. If I hear something I don’t like, I might question whether they understand ultrarunning.
That doesn’t leave the person much room, and they haven’t even met me.
I know there’s a difference between reading about symptoms online and having someone examine me. I’d like to know what’s wrong. But I seem to want the answer to come with reassurance that I can keep doing what I want to do.
I still haven’t made the call
If I couldn’t walk normally or had significant swelling and bruising, I wouldn’t spend weeks debating an appointment.
This has been easier to put off. It bothers me, then settles down enough that I think it’s improving. I try a run. Nothing feels much worse. I give it more time.
I don’t know exactly when I’d decide I’d waited long enough. The calf has been doing some version of this for nearly two years, which doesn’t give me much confidence in my ability to set a deadline.
Amie has suggested getting the hamstring checked more than once. I’ve told her I’ll give it a little longer. I still haven’t scheduled anything.
I’ve spent more time searching for possible injuries and thinking about why I don’t want to see a PT than it would take to call one. Now I’ve written an entire blog post about it.
If you’ve done something similar, I’d like to hear about it. What were you putting off, and what finally got you to make the appointment? Or are you still giving it a couple more days?
My hamstring is still a little tight.
I still have that Strava crown, though. For now, anyway.