Hold 'em or Fold 'em

I read a blog entry last week from a young female triathlete that was based on the Kenny Rodger’s song about knowing when to hold them and when to fold them. I wish I knew where I had read that entry as I would like to read it again having had my own hold/fold em experience.

Saturday past I ran in a 10 mile race, my longest in many years. I was particularly excited about the run because it was off the road. I prefer to run off road as it is easier on my knees, but I’ve not done a lot of trail runs. To me that meant an off road run and I didn’t give it much further thought. The temperature was in the mid 30’s, but I didn’t think much about that either. I wish now I had.

As a last minute decision, my wife came with me to the race. Then, as cold as it was, she decided to participate in the 5K run so she could stay warm. As I was finishing up my last minute rituals I overheard the announcer say that there had been 2.5 inches of rain two days before. The organizers had gone out and re-routed the course to avoid water, but there was still going to be 1.5 to 2 miles with ankle deep water. I thought he was exaggerating, my final mistake.

The race started and I was going great. I really felt good running, and was picking people up ahead of me that I was going to pass. It was going to be a good race! Then the route moved off of the dirt road onto a trail. Now I know what they mean by a trail: a narrow dirt path lined with tree roots, leaves, and some standing water. I didn’t want to trip, so I was carefully watching where I stepped, still working my way through the crowd. I remember again thinking about how well things were going. And then I fell. I don’t know how it happened, only that I twisted my knee and hit my opposite knee on the way down. Rolling over I grabbed my ankle and thought briefly about sitting there for a bit so it would stop hurting, until I saw the person I had just passed wasn’t going to stop. They were going to pass me back, something I wasn’t real interested. I jumped up and started moving. I limped for several steps, and thought if I could just get on some solid ground I could run it out. Unfortunately, solid ground was a luxury I wasn’t going to get.

From there the trail got progressively worse. The water got deeper, and as people tried to run around the puddles, the sides turned into mud. And they water got deeper and more frequent. I tried for a while to run around the water, but the borders got very muddy and narrow. The mud was so thick that it actually pulled off my shoe on three different occasions. The borders were also not very forgiving to my already sore ankle. There was a turn off for the 5K runners, somewhere between mile two and three. I thought about taking that turn and heading back to the finish line. My ankle was tender, but not too bad. This was my hold em/fold em moment. I could either head back to mark myself DNF, or use as a mental test. Surely there would come points in the future where things wouldn’t go my way and I would want to quit. If I quit now, it would just be easier to quit then. That was it then, I wasn’t going to quit!

I sucked it up, dropped the pace a bit, and picked my footsteps very carefully. I wasn’t perfect though, and every little misstep made my ankle hurt more. At mile seven I knew I had it licked. I could easily run 3 miles. Then I hit the worst of the bad terrain. I remember thinking it was stupid of us all to be running in these conditions! I lost my shoe again. This time as I was putting on my shoe, I caught a glance at my ankle and knew I’d made a mistake: I had a nice goose egg on the outside of my ankle. I think that helped me lose focus a bit, and I began to notice the pain. Every step made it worse. I dreaded each patch of mud as they were sure sources of more pain. By this time I had decided that it was better to run through the middle of the water. While I couldn’t see what was under the water and risked falling again, it seemed to be easier on my ankle than the mud. I hit the 8 mile marker still maintaining a nine minute/mile pace; I was super pleased! But oh the mud was bad. I stopped running several times to pick my way through the mud. Then the worst part, people started to pass me! I’ve run enough races to know that I don’t often get passed at the end of the race. I accelerate throughout the race whereas most people seem to fade.

Somehow, someway I made it to the finish. I was looking everywhere for my wife so she could help me, and there she was at the finish line snapping my picture. I tried to find the medical staff, but was informed they didn’t have one. Some guy with the bedside manners of Dr. House approached me, looked at my ankle, and asked me what I wanted him to do. I wanted to smack him! If I knew what I wanted him to do I would do it myself!

I did finally find the fire department, got my ankle wrapped and got a lift back to my car. The drive home included a stop by my favorite ER, where X-rays indicated no broken bones, only a sprain. After two days of rest, ice, compression, and elevation (RICE), I went to the orthopedic today where I was politely informed that I wouldn’t be racing again in two weeks, and six weeks was questionable. He put me in a removable boot/cast that I am to wear for two weeks until I come back for a follow up visit.

Here is what I learned this weekend. When things get tough, I have the mental toughness to keep going. If things get bad, I might not have the sense to quit! It is good for the long term to know this, but what a short term price I’m going to have to pay!