Later, after the Manchester鈥檚 emergency clinic diagnosed me with a severe case of tendinitis, he said he鈥檇 call my mom and have her pick us up and drive us the remaining 45 miles to the finish line.聽
鈥淐hristina, you can鈥檛 ride. I won鈥檛 allow it.鈥
鈥淒ad, I鈥檒l do it, if I want to do it.鈥
鈥淣o, you won鈥檛.鈥
鈥淵es, I will.鈥
鈥淩eally? You really want to chance permanently injuring your knee just so you can finish the last day?
“Oh, shut up, it鈥檚 only 40 miles.鈥
鈥淵ou鈥檙e an idiot.鈥
Yes, I told my dad to shut up 鈥 sorry, Dad 鈥 but I鈥檝e never been the type of person who will willingly quit a race. He should understand that. My dad鈥檚 not a quitter, either. He ran his first marathon at 51 and he hobbled the last six miles to the finish line. We are both carriers of 鈥渢he too stubborn for your own damn good鈥 gene.
He relented and I hopped on my bike the next day. My knee hurt but I survived. We celebrated by cracking open two beers and dipping our front tires into the Mississippi River.
So, when I started experiencing severe knee pain in my other knee this past August, I shrugged it off, thinking, 鈥淚t was a long run. It鈥檒l be fine tomorrow.鈥
It wasn鈥檛.
The pain became so bad that two weeks ago I stopped being able to finish my training runs. Sixteen-mile runs were halved. I deemed eighteen-mile runs tortuous. Finally, one day, I pushed through a 20-mile run. I ran painfully slow. My once nine-minute splits transformed into eye watering 15-minute splits. I finished in a painstaking four hours and twenty-eight minutes.
Embarrassed, I finally called my brother-in-law, a nurse anesthetist student and former marathon runner, and sought medical advice. 鈥淕o to a doctor,鈥 he said. I refused, kept hobbling and whined to my mother. 鈥淲ill you just go to a doctor, already?鈥 she snapped. My older sister, Erin, called and bombarded me with questions on why I hadn鈥檛 bucked up the nerve to see a doctor.
鈥淚t鈥檚 probably nothing,鈥 I replied. 鈥淚鈥檓 sure it鈥檒l just go away. I just need to roll my IT band again.鈥
But she broke me down. Today, I went to see the doctors at the , an Olympic-caliber training center for Boulderites, where I was greeted by sobering news. My doctor poked and prodded my knee, took a look at my gait and then told me that I have severe biomechanical issues and, with a grim look, that he 鈥渇ears for my knee.鈥
He also told me that, if I run the as planned, I could potentially suffer from knee pain for years. Either way, I need physical therapy, stat. And, oh yeah, that even hiking right now may not be that great of an idea.
Every time I tell one of my friends that I hurt my knee, they say, 鈥淏ut you鈥檙e still going to run the marathon, right?鈥 It鈥檚 what I get for being predominately friends with ultra marathoners, rock climbers, triathletes and cyclists. No one seems to know when to quit. To many, pain is gain. And while I believe in that slogan, too, I don鈥檛 want to deal with chronic knee pain year after year because I couldn鈥檛 put my marathon dreams on hold to rehabilitate my knee.
Today, I have a decision to make: Do I suck it up and run the marathon? Do I walk it? Do I shoot for a half marathon? Or, do I stand, depressed and feeling like a quitter, on the sidelines while I enviously watch my dear friend and 国产吃瓜黑料 managing editor Alicia Carr Troxell glide across the pavement toward the finish line?
What do you think?
–Christina Erb