Thinking About Pain

Not thinking about pain in the abstract right now, thinking about pain in the lower left quadrant of my body. I just did 13 miles along the Ohlone Greenway, having wimped out yesterday and not done the scheduled 12 with the training group, which went to Walnut Creek. On my run today I was specifically thinking of pain and how I relate it to the wise words of running guru George Sheehan, who said more than once that we are all an experiment of one.

Well for a while today, I was a darned painful experiment. Around mile 2, my left knee hurt. By mile 4 the pain had migrated to my left quad. By mile 5 my left piriformis muscle was on fire. By mile 7 the pain had traveled across my glute and settled in the left bursa, the site of my original injury. By mile 8 I had decided to change my plan to run the Oakland Marathon into a plan to run the Oakland Half Marathon. As soon as I decided this--Yes! That's it! I'll do it!--as if on cue, all the pain left my body. The final 5 miles of the run found me tired, but pretty much pain-free.

This is the first of today's phone photos, which you'll find strategically placed throughout this post to break up the possibly (probably) boring text. They're also here because, hey, what else can I do with them?? It's my blog, anyway. Here, you see how the wildflower garden at the 5-mile mark has been lovin' the rain.

While running that home stretch, In my mind I reviewed versions of pain wisdom I have heard from various sources. Stretch more. Stretch less. Take ibuprofen. Stop all NSAIDs. Get a cortisone shot (this last from a pain book I respect a lot). Rest. Cross-train. Run through it. Take acetaminophen. Run slowly. Lift weights. Do yoga. Get acupuncture. See a massage therapist. A.R.T. is the only way to go.

Past mile 5 the trail goes into Richmond, still running alongside the BART tracks. This is no upscale neighborhood teeming with self-involved, Vibram-shod, Garmin-wearing recreational athletes--and yes, I mean people like me, even though I don't have a pair of Five Fingers--but still I did see a smiling runner or two.

Would it surprise you to hear that I have tried every single one of the above remedies in the course of my long (32 years) running life? Still, I have no fool-proof answer to my current bout with the big P. I'll do what I usually do, which isn't to follow a defined program as much as it's just to keep moving. It consists of running as much as I can, maybe slowly and even doing some running/walking. (Confession: Today I set my watch to beep every six minutes, and when it did, I walked for a count of 40 foot-falls, which took only 20 seconds. It seemed to help.)

I believe I am a typical runner in that I am willing to try almost anything except stopping running. Way back when, probably before you were born, you youngster, you, I felt a sharp pain in my left knee one day as I was running. The year was 1985. I was so discouraged that I decided I must be getting to old to run (I was 39), so I would just stop. I actually did stop, for almost a year. I took up swimming laps four times a week instead. One day, somewhere around the 11-month mark of my imposed aquatic regimen, I pulled myself out of the pool and, ripping off my goggles, screamed "I am so sick of being wet!" The next day I started running again. My left knee has continued to hurt off and on since that time some 25 years ago--heck, it hurt today. I ice it frequently, strengthen the muscles around it when I think of it, and keep on running.

After turning around at mile 6.5, my eye was caught by the cool lines of this bridge. I've confessed to loving the lure of a trail--bridges are also high on my hey-looka-there list.

I have not made a final decision about whether to run the full marathon or the half. I have about four weeks to decide, and at this point truly can't tell you what my decision will be. All I know is that, whatever course I choose to take, it won't involve quitting running. I'm not going to quit until I get old.

And this is where I ended up. Lying on my back on a picnic table at the tot lot near my house, doing a few crunches and gazing up at a robin's-egg sky through a lattice of branches and tender new leaves. When I got home, spring training baseball was on the radio. The A's ace had just given up four runs in the first inning and there was still only one out. I smiled anyway--spring is in the air.