Injuries have happened as long as I’ve been running. Improving technique and regular stretching has rid me of painful shins and twanging muscles in the shoulder which haunted my first years as an proper runner. But the latest has been the worst, and the slow rehabilitation an opportunity to reassess.
Lacking much in the way of physiological education, I self diagnosed with a major case of butt muscle strain. How it happened, I’m not sure. I certainly shouldn’t have done the 2nd 10k in two days when my legs were telling me no. Something in the glute/hamstring region was in difficulty as I hobbled the last feet back indoors, but I’m not sure that the real damage wasn’t done the subsequent night when I thought a good yoga flow would stretch out the niggle.
Whichever way it occurred, it laid me up good and proper. Luckily coinciding with a holiday, day after day was spent stretched out, either on sofa or bed, moving as little as possible, reading as much as my concentration would take. Going from regular running under the blankets of the outdoors colours, the ever-changing blues, greens and greys, to a prostrate position with a tiny glimpse of window sky, was a hard adjustment.
I’ve been determined to ensure a proper recover. Small steps have ruled, muscle fibres (I imagine) given the time to re-knit. Full mobility has finally returned although I can feel the vulnerability remaining. There hasn’t been any running yet, but I’m back in my space, under sky and beneath the canopy.
Wandering, sauntering, strolling have replaced pounding road and trail. We’ve adventured off path into parts of the forest we’ve never seen before, taken a thermos of coffee only half way up a hill to watch the sun’s slow departure. Slowing the pace allows the head to rise, away from the potential trip hazards and ankle snappers, towards the play between water and light in the sky, seasons change clouds cast dramatically light and dark. Injuries are bound to happen and the only thing to do is to keep on looking up.