The Killer Achilles Tendon, and other stupid sports injuries

It all started with a walk. I walked about half a mile down the street with a friend from Japan who needed to experience a Wahoo’s burrito and American Starbucks. My left heel was on fire. Well, this is strange, I thought. I’d jogged maybe nine miles the day before, done a one-hour interval workout on my trainer and jogged a few miles down the beach that morning. Those are not weird workouts. But here I was, with my foot on fire, wondering what the hell went wrong.

Oh yeah, there was also the Birkie, a 54-kilometer (that’s 33.5 miles, Americanos!) cross-country ski race held annually in Wisconsin. I had written about it for Outside, and decided I couldn’t give up the opportunity to see real-life people who talk like Frances McDormand in Fargo. I had never ever cross-country skied before, nor had I worked out much in the last five months. A fitness-crushing bout with mono (diagnosed post-mono) made it almost impossible for me to move for more than 20 minutes without being overcome by sleepiness. And that’s when I could actually get out of bed.

Maybe two weeks before the Birkie, I started feeling better. I’d been running through the mono anyway, because I had no idea what was going on, only that I didn’t like it or agree with my body’s decision to play Sleeping Beauty. The week before the Birkie, I covered a nice hilly 2 hour 45 minute loop in the Santa Monica mountains. I declared myself good enough for America’s biggest XC ski race. I was an idiot.

Coachubby and I hoped the Birkie would take us 6 hours. After the first 5K, we realized we were off. We crossed the finish line of the hilly course, after several faceplants, in 7 hours and 20 minutes. (Story to come.)

Besides a mildly sprained wrist that I’ll attribute to faceplant #2, I seemed to make it out of the event unscathed. But the stress from 7.5 hours of cross country skiing on flat feet took its toll on my Achilles tendons, making them ticking time bombs ready to explode under any additional pressure. The bike interval/beach jog did them in.

Now it’s less than five weeks before the Boston Marathon, an event I qualified for at the Rock N Roll San Diego marathon last June. I’d hoped I could best my qualifying time of 3:33 by at least a minute. (I’d have hoped for more, but the mono made me scale back expectations long ago.) Now I just hope I can run by then.

After an entirely injury free build up to Ultraman Canada last year (story still to come. Sorry!), and a subsequently injury-free race (the only thing that got injured, apparently, was my immune system), it’s a frustrating place to be. After more than a decade of competing in sports, I look back and realize that very often, I am still an idiot. I like to go long and hard, and have a difficult time telling when my body is telling me not to because it’s literally going to break, or when it’s telling me not to because it’s being a wuss. 

So if you see me spinning slowly down LA’s flat Strand, please don’t challenge me to a race, because my mind will tear my Achilles’ apart to hang onto your wheel. Especially if we’re on a Strava segment.

Outside's Guide to Triathlon

Why triathlon is booming, why you should do it, and how to get started. Outside Magazine's comprehensive guide, complete with celebrity endorsements, training plans, and a triathlon in Aspen. (Written by yours truly!) Find it in the February issue, on newsstands now. Look for the incredibly hot hurdler Lolo Jones on the cover. Also online here:

TRANSITION TIME

Photo of me on the Ultraman Canada 2011 run. Courtesy of Rick Kent.

Strange encounters of the Ironman kind: IMAZ 2011

It’s somewhere around 5 p.m. on Nov. 20. The sun is low and it’s getting chilly in the shadow of a tall condo complex where coachubby and I stand. We’re next to the elevated dirt road that serves as miles four-ish, 13-ish, and 22-ish on the Ironman Arizona course, and we’re on the lookout for green calf sleeves, a blue tank top, a pink shirt, and a hot couple.

The blue tank top, covering a buff 27-year old blonde, should be approaching. Instead, a dude in his 50s wearing a baggy grey shirt runs straight at me. His face is contorted in either pain or anger or both, and although he’s surely tired, he looks like he still has enough energy to rip my face off.

He stops an inch from my nose, raises his left eyebrow, and stares into my brain with his big, sweaty, creepy left eye.

“Is there a bug in my eye?” he says. I can’t tell if there’s a right answer—he might punch me either way.

“No? I don’t see one?”

He blinks and rolls his eye around.

“There’s nothing there?”

A tiny black dot reveals itself when he looks up. “Oh yeah, there’s a speck. I see it.” 

“Get it out!” he demands.

Get it out? I’m supposed to shove my finger into this angry stranger's eye? No way. “You get it, Jimmy!” I pass him on.

The guy blinks a few times in the trade to coachubby.

“Look up,” coachubby says.

The guy rolls his eyes up as the vein in his forehead bulges.

“Mmm nope, don’t see it anymore,” coachubby says. I can’t tell if it’s true or if coachubby is saving his finger a trip into the guy’s eyeball.

The guy grunts then runs away.

Cue Twilight Zone music. 

This has been a presentation of strange encounters of the Ironman kind.

Triathlon Swim Safety Reviewed and a Killer 10K Training Plan

My latest for Outside Magazine online:
THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE WATER

IMAZ '09

Last August, two athletes died during the swim leg of the New York City 
Triathlon. Since then, articles on event safety have piled up—and two 
more athletes have lost their lives. Is it time for USA Triathlon to 
rethink its rules?

OFFICE CRUSH

Want to make next year memorable? Start training now and destroy 

your office mates in a New Year’s Day 10K.

A Totally Tri Reading List

Hi Trilovers! Because you like things in threes, here's a trio of new triathlon stories to read, written by yours truly:

1. Pro Dede Griesbauer gave up a lucrative career on Wall Street to race the Ironman circuit. Could you do that?
2. I raced Ultraman Canada at the end of July. WTF is UMC? Here's what you need to know.

Photo by Rachel Eads. I = Purple hat on left.

3. Pick up the latest issue of Triathlete Magazine (October) for a fun story on Kona hopeful and Biggest Loser graduate, Tara Costa, whose first Ironman was foiled by a fat suit.

Happy Tuesday!
-Erin