The Corticosteroid Injection Haiku And Other Signs Of Lunacy

Delusional hope
or reasonable dream? Please
help me run again.

I can't decide, is this a sign a true injured athlete's craze or a spirited sense of runner's humor?

No, I can answer my own question: I AM GOING NUTS.

I've not really run in 3 months. My foot has hurt for 7 months. I've been to 3 doctors, 1 chiropractor, and 1 massage therapist. I have tried every single non-invasive method of plantar fasciitis treatment, both in the office of a medical professional and at home. All this, and my foot still hurts.

I watch and listen to everyone and their mothers go on the runs of their lives in amazing places, holding down the proverbial disabled fort while they're gone. I attend runners' weekends and races as a sidelined pedestrian, trying as hard as I can to recall what it feels like to do what those runners are doing. All this, and my heart is killing me.

Today I resorted to a steroid shot. The medical community tells me that 65-85% of people with plantar fasciitis are healed via steroid injections. Pleasepleaseplease think good thoughts for my healing heel in the next 2 weeks, and that I fall into that positively affected group. I don't know what my body or mind will do if I don't.

And, yes, I'm aware that the world will go on. It just doesn't seem like it right now.

Good For The Soul

Time in beautiful places and with even more beautiful people are both so good for the soul. And, if you can't run much, you might as well enjoy the company of others who are running. Please enjoy a mini-photo tour of last weekend's play in Yosemite's high country.


Bryon begins a 14+ mile, about 4000 foot elevation gain road run from Mono Lake to the summit of Tioga Pass, with June the Border Collie and I as his "non-support support." In case you're wondering what that phrase means, it's basically shorthand for "watch in amazement from the safety of the truck with cappuccino in one hand and camera in the other."


He just ran higher....


And higher...


Until he arrived to the 9545 foot Tioga Pass, waiting for a warm car to get inside and a cold Coca Cola. That was some sweet Leadville 100 training!


The next day we did a short rike (run-hike) to the top of Lembert Dome in Tuolumne Meadows. While I still can't run far or fast, boy did it every feel good to just let my body run.


The high country of Yosemite is so fresh, young, crisp, spring-like. Just lovely!

Do As I Say, Not As I Do

You may be able to discern from my blogging absence the fact that I've had ample time to ponder the title of this blog entry. I came up with a few post titles, and here are the ones that didn't make the headline cut:
"War Waged By The Body On The Brain"
"The Agony Of De-feet"
and
"Injury Sucks, But Stubbornness And Stupidity Suck More"

Perhaps you now understand that I remain in the throes of injury recovery, where I've been doldrum-stalled for the last 10 weeks. I have one of those common runner's injuries, an inflammation of the plantar fascia in my right foot. I acquired it shortly after beginning my pack training for MdS, somewhere last December or early January, I believe. I continued to train on my aching foot, and then I even raced on it. I suppose I naively believed that a month or so of rest after MdS would be enough time to heal some inflamed and scarred soft tissue. As you can tell, it wasn't.

In the meantime of cross-training, I've become acquaintances with the rowing machine, close friends with the elliptical, and best friends with my road bike. I've had some spectacular road rides through the never-flat roads of the Sierra Nevada foothills that have helped me to maintain a little bit of physical fitness, deplete the large reservoir of unspent rocket-fuel energy, and prevent me from taking the injured runner's large leap off of one of Yosemite's cliffs (It's a figure of speech!).

I'm sure all runners (Because, admit it, we've all been injured. I read a study about injury in distance runners, and almost 50% of surveyed distance runners reported a training/racing affecting injury within the previous 12 months. There's a lot of injury out there!) can empathize with the challenge of being the injured dead among the non-injured living. No matter how happy you are that your loved ones and friends are gallivanting through hill and dale, there is still piece of you that wants to cry because you can't. I find further challenge in the fact that a thousand or so miles of trails in ridiculous Yosemite National Park and nearby terrain surround me every moment of every day, and I can only look at them in that intangible, I suppose it's pretty out there way.

I think that the always perceptive Banff Leslie (Well, more like, we're long lost twins and she can read my mind because of this.) knew I was suffering the non-running runner's malaise, so she sent her cycling husband Keith to California to entertain me by bicycle. Last weekend, Keith pushed me and my little pink bike all over the Sierra Nevada foothills, kindly listened to my childish wailing, and made me spin gears until a smile had sewn its way across my face. I can't thank this lovely couple enough for their respective efforts in taking the proverbial long-handled broom and swiping the cobwebs of injury depression from my itty bitty, singularly-focused brain and remind me that the rest of life is real, real good.

This post may come across as a bit abrasive and cynical, and it's supposed to, for the entertainment factor. However, I've gotten past most of these nonsense feelings and my current attitude towards myself and/or my injury is much more peaceful. I've mostly accepted the dumb things I did to acquire and keep my injury, of the injury itself, and of doing the things it takes to get better. Mostly, I hope that someone will read this and be inspired to not make the stupid mistakes I did, including letting a trivial injury make you feel bad about the rest of life. Life is fabulous, indeed!

MdS Photos: A Race Tour

This is the long-awaited MdS photo post! Please enjoy this photo tour through the 2009 Marathon des Sables (And please take heart in knowing that this is, finally, my last MdS post.). Once again, I want to thank you all for your commentary and support before, during, and after MdS!


The Hassan II Mosque in Casablanca, which I believe is the world’s second largest worship building.


This building is, indeed, massive, but more impressive than that is the detail that went into its design. We visited this mosque on our first day in Morocco.


Bryon and I made quick friends with an awesome group of 4 Canadians. Pictured from left to right are Dan, Darren, Leo, and Bryon. Andy was the 4th Canadian, and he apparently escaped being photographed here. We’re wandering around a square in Ouarzazate.


My dream ride is the “Super Moto.”


One of the things I liked most about Morocco was that fine detail was of importance in art, architecture, and pretty much everything in that culture. This is a random front door in Ouarzazate.


Then the rains began, and our caravan to the MdS Bivouac was stopped. The whole desert was coursing with water, in a very cool but eerie way. Eventually this flood receded enough for our caravan to continue.


Holed up in a hotel in Erfoud, unable to get to the MdS Bivouac, we watched the unceasing storm’s slow passage.


Miraculously, after 2 days, it stopped raining. Dan, Bryon, and I went on a running exploration of Erfoud. Note that the little boys are obsessed with the comings and goings of the 1000 or so white people in their little town. I’m carrying a roll of plastic that we bought from Erfoud’s open market to fashion into “rain gear” for a bunch of people because none of us had brought anything even water resistant to the Sahara Desert.


We waited with hundreds of runners at the belated race check-in at a hotel in Erfoud.


This was taken on race morning, as we waited for buses to take us to the starting line. I look nervous, don't I (from Bryon Powell)?


Atop a typical jebel with another in the distance, hundreds of MdS runners string out across the desert (from George Velasco).


Morocco’s famous Erg Chebbi, a vast dune field, which we crossed during Stage 1. Here, the route is moving south on the west side of the dune field. The route curved southeast over the tallest dunes in the left of this photo and out of the dune field on its east side over the course about 10 kilometers (from George Velasco).


We ran through a few villages and ruins of old villages, the only signs of population in this wild place (from George Velasco).


A good example of a reg. Notably, this is the last reg of the race, and you can see the finish line spread in the photo’s background (from George Velasco).


Typical Sahara Desert dunes, we saw a lot of dunes like these out there (from George Velasco).


George snapped this photo as I passed him during the long stage. Even though I look fairly ridiculous, this photo makes a good study of my MdS gear. You can see Moeben arm sleeves on my wrists, a Buff around my neck, and those silly looking Raidlight gaiters; the arm sleeves, Buff, and gaiters all provided protection from sun, sand, and heat. Other notable pieces of equipment include my beloved Inov-8 Race Pro 22 backpack and the shoulder strap Raidlight water bottles with straws; if it’s possible to love inanimate objects, then I loved these two pieces of gear (from George Velasco).


And, passing Tess a little while later (from Tess Geddes).


Tent 100, in all our dirty glory. Back row from left, George Velasco, Ted Archer, Michael Wardian, Bill Henderson, and Bryon Powell. Front row from left, myself and Tess Geddes (from George Velasco).


The studly 3rd placing men’s team, Dreamchasers (from left) Bryon Powell, Ted Archer, and Michael Wardian pose while I take their picture (from George Velasco).


At the award ceremony, the top 3 women pose for pictures. From left to right, Luz from Spain, Didi from Morocco, and I (from Bryon Powell).


All races have sweepers, and I suppose its fitting to end this blog post with a picture of the MdS sweeper. The sweeper was composed of 2 camels and a few Berber men (from George Velasco).

MdS Stage 4: The Desert Changes You

While I felt comfortable with my 22-minute cushion, I expected Luz to go for it on this 4th and final stage. I went to bed the night before ready to run a strategy Bryon suggested: find Luz at the starting line, then sit on her for this 42.2 kilometer marathon distance stage. I never found Luz at Friday’s crazy, bustling starting line, so I adopted a Plan B, to just keep doing what I’d been doing.

The race started with a gentle climb towards a small jebel about 5 kilometers away. This was fun because the easy grade provided sweet views of the unending chain of runners and the sea of color they imposed on the desert’s neutral palette. On this climb, I encountered familiar faces, Luxembourg Simone and Great Brittan Jennifer. An easy climb up and over the jebel yielded another flat expanse and a view of the first checkpoint, still several miles away.

The first checkpoint came and went at the base of another small jebel (Or two?). Then we ran on another gentle uphill grade across a long series of dunettes. These dunettes were a ton of fun to play on, and they eventually yielded to a wide, sandy wadi and then the second checkpoint.

After the second checkpoint, I suddenly felt tired, and, for the first time all week, navigating the desert’s complex landscape was real work. I have little recollection of the final 15 or so kilometers of this stage, because I just put my head down and ran. I do remember cresting a jebel to see the MdS finish line about 3 kilometers away, across a flat reg. I recall trying to run hard during that last distance, and feeling like I was going nowhere. My MdS finish felt like one of those dreams wherein you try to run but you are mired in mud or wearing very heavy shoes, and no matter what you do, you run in slow motion.

People have talked about the experience of crossing the Marathon des Sables finish line, of feeling spiritual, of feeling changed. I watched hundreds of people cross the finish line that day, and I saw infinite expressions of evolution out there (Congratulations to everyone who endured this journey. We all should be so proud!). My finish was with little ado, mostly an epic feeling of relief for finally getting across that last rocky expanse. I collected my medal and looked around, not knowing quite what to do next. Luz saved me when she approached and congratulated me, saying that, while she had beat me today, it wasn’t by enough to change the overall race rankings. We hugged and I thanked her for her tremendous competition, especially during the long stage. I meandered without purpose until Bryon collected me into Tent 100.

I didn’t discover it until later, how MdS changed me. I had changed during the last 12 kilometers of the long stage, in the middle of the empty Sahara Desert night. Out there, I learned that a boundary is only such because it’s arbitrarily established by the human brain, and I broke my own pre-established barrier when I exceeded what I thought were the limitations of my own running ability. We athlete folk can probably count on less than one hand the sporting moments about which we are most proud. Stage 3 of the 2009 Marathon des Sables, with special attention to the stage’s final 12k, was for me one of those moments.

MdS Stage 3: Sun, Wind, Sand, And The Thoughful Appearance Of Sean Meissner In The Desert

In the waning light of Tuesday’s dusk, a race official visited Tent 100 with news that Wednesday’s long stage would be 91 kilometers, 56 or so miles. It’s a part of Marathon des Sables tradition to have a long stage, and this one would be a bit longer than usual.

Tradition also dictates that, during the long stage, the fastest men and women start 3 hours after the main pack of runners. Some say that delaying the zippiest folks gives race organizers more time to assemble the finish line and bivouac. Others say it toughens the stage for the top runners. Either way, the idea of being in the late starting group inspired in me feelings of trepidation and, well, just plain terror. As such, at 9am on Wednesday morning, MdS’s third stage began, and I watched in moderate horror from the sidelines, wishing I were one of those 800 or so people beginning a long journey through the Sahara Desert.

At high noon, MdS’s 50 fastest men and 5 fastest women stood shoulder-to-shoulder in a single line across a dusty stretch of desert. The starting line, bivouac, and gaggles of people were long, long gone. The day was windy, and small walls of sand and dust blowing across the desert hit us in warm waves as we stood on our imaginary starting line. With the sun near the sky’s apex, the terrain appeared overexposed and bleached. Absolute Sahara Desert wilderness enveloped us, pressing into our small group from every direction. As I stood there, I experienced a remarkable transition: true fear and intimidation evolved into, “Hell yeah, let’s run.” I was suddenly so ready to run that the race director’s simple countdown from 10 in French seemed to extend millennia. Alas, it ended, and our race began.

From the start, Morocco Didi took the women’s lead, and Spain Luz was shortly behind her. I started at an easy pace, what felt like an infant’s crawl in this group of very fast people, and vowed to keep it for the whole day. I knew that I should be able to run all of those 56 miles at this pace or better, and that I would later make my way through the field of runners. It was disheartening, though, to see all the runners disappearing into the distance; Belgium Sarah, Great Britain Jennifer, and I were the slowest 3 runners of those 55 late starters for many miles.

Sarah, Jennifer, and I ran in a mini-peloton, working together against a fierce headwind. This headwind was strong, and it would continue to be for over 30 miles. Throughout this unceasing turbulence, I channeled memories of running so many miles through Montana’s ever-windy Paradise Valley, and the mental toughness I surely derived from it. Our mini-peloton broke apart by about mile 15 when first Sarah and then Jennifer fell off the back (I would later learn when I saw her hobbling through the bivouac on crutches that Sarah DNF’ed the stage and race due to severe blisters. So sad!).

About this same time, I began to overtake the 9am starters and I was quickly amongst throngs of happy, cheering, awesome MdS runners (Thank you to the hundreds of you who cheered for me during this day!). One of my favorite greetings was my red-hot reception into the second checkpoint by my new Canadian friends, Dan, Darren, Leo, and Andy. They hooted, hollered, and made the desert a rocking place to be!

Just after the second checkpoint, I spotted Spain Luz ahead, coming back to me. An unchecked adrenaline surge led me straight to her, and my arrival initiated an amusing cat-and-mouse game that would occupy our time for the next 10 miles. Together, Luz and I eased into the fourth checkpoint, the 50-kilometer mark, at about 6:20pm. Shadows were long; the wind was beginning to abate; and sunset was on the literal horizon. I noticed that Luz was pausing at the checkpoint to eat some solid food and to do a little nighttime gear preparation. In an effort to put some distance between us, I took my gear preps to the road and powerhiked while I changed glasses, added arm sleeves, put on my headlamp, and attached the required glow stick to my pack.

Once I was running again, I felt amazing. I glided over dunes, navigated a rocky reg smoothly, and moved at a far increased pace. I had decided to acknowledge how good I was feeling by running strong until dark, covering as much ground in daylight as possible. This decision proved wise because it allowed me to cross the stage’s hardest terrain, a 500-ish foot tall jebel, before night’s witching hour. I was feeling so strong that ran up the trail-less gully to the jebel’s crest, receiving many encouraging cheers along the way.

As I bounded down through the sand at the bottom of the jebel, I suddenly felt a wave of nausea followed by an immediate vomiting bout, Sean Meissner-style. I continued to run amidst the heaving, fairly scaring a man I passed right then, and feeling confused about why I was sick (I can’t say for certain why I threw up, but I suspect that my body needed a system reset after ingesting too much salt.). My race suffered some during the next 20 kilometers or so, from the base of the jebel, through the fifth checkpoint, and into the sixth checkpoint. I wasn’t nauseous anymore, but I couldn’t yet eat anything. Also, my headlamp was too dim; I had scrimped on light brightness to carry the smallest, most lightweight headlamp that exists, and, for me, this was a mistake. I still ran, but my pace was decreased.

I rolled into the sixth and final checkpoint at the 79-kilometer mark astonished that Luz hadn’t yet caught me, believing that it was inevitable. Just as I left the checkpoint, heading back into the dark night, I heard Luz announcing her arrival there. Luz’s nearby presence lit in me a brand-new and bright fire. In those moments, another evolution occurred: I switched from survival mode to fighting mode. I forced myself to eat a package of Clif Shot Bloks; I put my iPod away to focus hard; I picked up my pace until it felt uncomfortable, and willed myself to hold it. And, finally, I strategized a response to her possible passage: I would hang on her shoulder, fighting, to the finish. And, so, I ran damn hard.

Then, a funny thing happened about 5 kilometers from the finish. Luz didn’t pass me; in fact, she never did. Instead, I came upon a male Spanish runner, Luz’s country-mate. In an unlikely tag-team, we pushed each other, turning over what felt like a triplet of sub-8-minute miles (An 8-minute mile out there is speedy, please believe.). I crossed the finish line a few minutes after midnight, after just over 12 hours of racing.

The finish line was dark, quiet, and just plain eerie in the middle of the night. I immediately felt like crap, and began the overworked runner’s hobble to Tent 100. The long day, my vomiting and subsequent undernourishment, and my last 12-kilometer effort left me feeling terrible. I lay around in pain for a few hours, forcing in liquids and food. In retrospect, Tent 100 was a humorous place to be, as a bunch of us were whimpering and writhing in discomforts of various sorts. Finally, around 2 or 3am, my condition stabilized, and I was comfortable enough to fall into a deep sleep.

In the morning, I felt a million times better! I was stiff, tired, and I had developed a few toe blisters, but the low-level discomfort I felt seemed to fit in the realm of normal for what had just occurred. All systems were go for a day of recovery. This long stage had a 34-hour cutoff, which meant a day-ish of rest for those who finished within 24 or so hours. Boy was I excited about this day of recovery!

A tent mate brought outstanding news on Thursday late morning: I had finished 8 minutes behind Didi, and 12 minutes ahead of Luz. I remained second in the overall race rankings, 45 minutes behind Didi, and 22 minutes ahead of Luz. I placed 34th in Stage 3. All of those results were phenomenal, but what made me whoop and holler were those 12 minutes gained on Luz in the final 12 kilometers of the stage. I fought hard out there, and the numbers showed it.

MdS Intermission: Ode To Tent 100

During the Marathon des Sables, one’s home is a large tent that consists of a roof made of black burlap pieces sewn together and a floor of 2 rugs. This year’s MdS Bivouac (The MdS Bivouac is the moving camp that serves as a finish line for one stage, the starting line for the next, and the overnight camp for 850 runners and about 250 race officials and volunteers.) contained 112 of these precarious protection structures, and about 8 runners were assigned to eat, sleep, and otherwise exist in each of them.

The figurative “they” say that this tent style is similar to the nomadic dwellings used by local Berber people. While I never saw this style of tent outside each night’s MdS Bivouac, I do know that local Berber men and boys were hired to assemble, maintain, and disassemble the bivouac’s tents throughout the week. They are a fascinating and raucous group, able to take down each tent structure in about 1.2 seconds, and able to sing and dance at their camp within the MdS Bivouac into all hours of the night.

I was assigned to Tent 100, along with 6 other brave North American souls, all members of the Dreamchasers contingency. These are the people with whom I spent the majority of my time, and who supported me so much in my MdS journey. Thank you to all of my Tent 100 inhabitants!

Bill Henderson: Dude, where’s your shirt? Oh, you have it on! Dr. William Henderson, and his risqué, see-through Raidlight running shirt were both important parts of Tent 100. The “Doctor” before his name somehow gave all of us reason and permission to ask Bill question after ridiculous question like, “My toenail is floating in a blister. Now what?” One other thing I would be remiss without mentioning is Bill’s keen sandbagging ability. This man can run, but he’ll never tell you so! Bill, I know you were one finishing place off of your non-racing racing goal, but you should be proud of your race!

Bryon Powell: Micro, at your service. The Goat was renamed “Micro” at MdS for his innate ability to lighten his and everyone else’s backpack, by the pound, by the ounce, or even by the fraction of a gram. Just ask Michael Wardian, who I’m pretty sure was planning to run through the desert with a rolling suitcase before Micro attacked his pack. Congratulations are due to Bryon who ran a super-solid race in some stiff competition, and who was a member of the 3rd placing Dreamchasers men’s team.

George Velasco: I’m old, you guys, I’m old! George tried to pull the Old Man Card most days out there in the desert. I didn’t buy it, though, because I never saw this guy stop moving. He ran and powerhiked like a madman during the stages, and then he spent his evenings checking on all of the Dreamchasers. Put your Old Man Card away, George, you don’t need it! As a side note, George deserves a huge pat on the back because his response to an emergency situation on the course helped save someone’s life.

Michael Wardian: The fast man with the snack food. I still can’t make sense of it. Mike ran like hell out on the course every day, and then snacked like a bird back at the tent at night. I have so many questions for Mike about how he survived: Where did you get all the energy to run so fast out of just snack food? Did you ever eat a real meal during MdS? Did you finally finish the never-ending pile of PowerBars? Could you stop looking longingly at me while I eat my real food? In all seriousness, congratulations to 8th placing Michael Wardian, who was also a member of the 3rd place Dreamchasers team!

Ted Archer: “How To Run MdS In 3 Simple Steps,” by Ted Archer. So, I think Ted’s story goes something like this: 1. Ted goes for one run in 2007, discovers he’s pretty speedy, and decides to run MdS in 2008. 2. He runs the 2008 MdS really fast, so he decides to come back and do it again in 2009. 3. Ted runs really fast in 2009, too. I suppose there were probably a few other runs scattered in there, somewhere. My point is that, though Ted recently discovered running, he still runs like heck at MdS. Ted was the other member of the 3rd placing Dreamchasers team, congrats to you!

Tess Geddes: Strong and gorgeous. Tess, how do you look so good when you are working so hard? Tess looked so hawt at the MdS Bivouac that the British boys in the tent across the way would put down their girlie magazines (Yes, they brought them to the desert.) to check out her comings and goings. This tough lady has run races like MdS all over the world, and I’m sure she looked fabulous at each of them as well. Tess, you rock!