The plantar fasciitis continues, albeit with better days of remission. It's frustrating and difficult to fathom. Some days it's really bad for no apparent reason, and on other days it almost disappears, giving me false hope that it's nearly over, but invariably returning with vengeance the following morning. Stretching does help, whereas ice and massage seem only to make it worse: they kill the pain, yes, but it's merely temporary and when the numbing wears off, the pain returns with interest. So I've ceased ice and massage and am concentrating on the stretching.
I think overall I'm better now than a week ago, so here's hoping the worst is behind me and I'll be running again very soon. I'm really missing the running and desperately need to get back into some running form as soon as possible. After so blithely thinking that my work hassles were over, they quite suddenly intensified. Unfortunately one of my colleagues has developed several serious medical complaints, with the result that he can no longer work night shifts. This has meant much reorganising of our rosters, and a not insignificant requirement for overtime and cancelled days off. This, of course, places further stress on those of us making up the shortfall, which threatens to escalate the whole situation out of hand. I've a meeting in two weeks time with management to see what their intentions are, and what might be done to solve this dilemma should it become a permanent arrangement. And in a strange and unexpected turn of events, our managing director was unexpectedly sacked by the board just half way through her tenure. She then leaked some incriminating evidence about the chairman of the board who was forced to resign just two days later. This is turn threw the spotlight on the entire board who are now subject to both ministerial and senate inquiries. It's drama city and, indirectly at least, putting even more pressure on my own department, where additional burdens are about as welcome as bubonic plague.
Anyway, my point is that running is a very helpful antidote to these sorts of issues, and so it's essential I get back into some semblance of running fitness soon.
On a positive note, the weather is improving as spring takes hold, and with daylight saving time commencing next weekend, the mood is lifting as the days lengthen and the temperatures rise. So there's reason to be positive and I'm choosing to remain optimistic, even if I still can't quite get back to running just at the moment.
Commiserations, your application to run in the 2019 Virgin Money London Marathon has been unsuccessful. A record number of 414,168 hopefuls applied to take part in next year’s event and unfortunately you were unsuccessful.
Well, that takes the pressure off, then.... for the seventh year in row.
(09-10-2018, 12:13 PM)Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man Wrote: Late mail:
Dear Mr Midlife Crisis Marathon Man,
Commiserations, your application to run in the 2019 Virgin Money London Marathon has been unsuccessful. A record number of 414,168 hopefuls applied to take part in next year’s event and unfortunately you were unsuccessful.
Well, that takes the pressure off, then.... for the seventh year in row.
Why don't you come over anyway. We can run half a marathon over some beautiful hills, and then spend the rest of the equivalent marathon time doing something far more fulfilling in a pub somewhere?
(09-10-2018, 12:13 PM)Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man Wrote: Late mail:
Dear Mr Midlife Crisis Marathon Man,
Commiserations, your application to run in the 2019 Virgin Money London Marathon has been unsuccessful. A record number of 414,168 hopefuls applied to take part in next year’s event and unfortunately you were unsuccessful.
Well, that takes the pressure off, then.... for the seventh year in row.
Why don't you come over anyway. We can run half a marathon over some beautiful hills, and then spend the rest of the equivalent marathon time doing something far more fulfilling in a pub somewhere?
Well now, that's an excellent idea. Next year, then. We'll make it happen.
If it is actually possible to drift a 42-seater bus sideways around corners on busy suburban roads, I feel sure that our driver tonight for my ride into work would be more than capable. He is testing the limits of the bus with the calm assurance of a Scandinavian rally driver, which is a little odd as he appears to be Sudanese. Far from being thrown about the bus, the two dozen or so passengers (myself included) all appear to be quite happy that our African Tommi Makinen is making good time as he smoothly weaves in and out of the traffic, impressing us with his masterful and dexterous use of brake and accelerator. I'm especially pleased as an early arrival into town will mean a little extra time for some detours on my walk from the bus terminus to work. I'm on a mission to clock at least 15,000 steps per day to finally rid myself of the plantar fasciitis that has kept me from running for too many weeks now, and every little extra helps.
With nothing I've tried having really helped to ease the foot pain I recently resorted to taking an entire week off work and from all forms of exercise, to see if complete rest would finally knock it on head (so to speak), but it only made things worse, including seeing me stack on an extra kilo or two of weight and the mental equivalent in frustration. So this week I'm taking the opposite tack with as much walking and stretching as I can cram into my day in an effort to 'walk through' the pain and begin a proper recovery. Admittedly, this hasn't helped when I've tried it before, but something just seemed to suggest that this time it would work, and so far, after one full week of it, it does seem to be helping. The improvement is only slight, but it is getting a little better each day, and so I shall persist.
Persistence - now there's the thing. The day we give up persisting is the day we truly begin to die, I think. So that's a ways off yet. Onwards, then...
Hope you get better soon so that you can train again, MLCMM. Here Felipe and Santi have gone through plantar fascitis and it seems to be very hard. Santi had to go through an easy operation and seems to be better while Felipe without any operation is also getting better. Best of luck!
Thank you gentlemen for your comments and kind thoughts...
Today I did finally pay a return visit to my podiatrist who made two bomb-shell announcements that has rather taken me aback. And they are: (i) my plantar fasciitis has now developed into the rather more problematic plantar fasciosis; and (ii) a reminder that I am not 40 anymore.
This "You are not 40 anymore" was at least a variation of the more usual "You're not 21 anymore" that I get from most medicos, but on reflection it was rather more concerning. After all, I have always thought of 40 years of age as being a fairly recent phenomenon, but in fact it was nearly two whole decades ago when some thoughtful friends tricked me into attending what turned out to be not the extraordinary general meeting of the high-brow socialist-leaning branch of the Modbury League of Unionists that I had agreed to go to at short notice even on a Wednesday night when I'd rather be attending to more pragmatic matters (such as bottling the latest batch of home-brew), but which was in fact a delightfully booze-fueled surprise celebration of four decades of my time here on Earth ...
Anyway, I digress on matters of intense nostalgia for times now long past ... the point is, my podiatrist chap says the problem is now sadly well-developed and is going to require an intense and doubtless painful two-weeks of regular self-inflicted torture sessions throughout the day if I'm to make any real progress and actually overcome this beast and return to where I should be in the land of running. He threw in a few words such as "princess" and "prima donna" which I chose to ignore, which was actually quite easy to do given the intense agony I was in as he forced me through impossible contortions of foot and calf, while a student podiatrist demon sat by ignoring my screams and simply taking notes... as ever, these moments of surreal psycho-physiotherapy are usually quite painful and consist of little to no logic whatsoever.
However, as I hobbled away from the interrogation session, unsure about how I was to fulfill my commitment made under extreme sufferance to actually follow the self-annihilation therapy set for me, I returned again in my mind to those countless early-morning training sessions in the dark and the cold, amid the complaining cries of the local fruit bats and the croaking of unseen frogs, and how this kind of surrealism sets us runners apart from the mere mortals of this world. And I realised then, in that moment of clarity, that running is just a completely illogical, insane thing to do.
And maybe that's why I miss it so. I seriously cannot wait to get back into it. So, ignore my screams, and watch me run...
That's a bummer, after your last glimmer-of-hope post. Osis does sound more serious than itis. But it sounds like you have the determination to get back on the road. Overcoming these things is as challenging as running itself.
But it looks like you won't be able to get your aerobic fix from running for a while. Is it time to think about some cross-training, like sw**ming or c**ling?
It's a glorious spring Sydney Sunday evening with not a breathe of wind: even the very tops of the trees are as still as statues. On evenings such as this the frogs that inhabit the creeks around here surge to life, croaking for all they are worth as if such nights occur but once in a lifetime; the continuation of the species being dependent on them croaking til they drop. By contrast, the human inhabitants - even the wealthy and retired ones who don't have to work on Mondays - seem to spend Sunday evenings at home and so I have the streets to myself. Apart from the amphibian life, it's quiet out here this evening, with neither dog walker nor jogger to be seen. For every car that passes the croaking of a thousand frogs dominates the night air.
For the first time in weeks I'm walking without discomfort, at least for the first 45 minutes or so, and it's a welcome improvement. But soon enough the familiar pain returns. It's more annoying than truly painful, but after an hour and a half I return home, glad to stop, although there's the small matter of some serious stretching of the affected area to do before I can properly relax. It's becoming a familiar pattern: walk until the pain sets in, return home and stretch. I've been doing this for two weeks, ensuring I walk at least 15,000 steps (which equates to somewhere between 12 and 14 kilometres) each day. I've only missed once over the 14 days, and then not by much. How much it's helping heal the plantar fasciosis is impossible to say of course, there being no control clone of me who isn't walking each day to compare it with. I feel better for getting the exercise however, and so will continue. I hope also that it will make easier the transition back to running once this injury has finally gone.
There's room for optimism, yet. And if nothing else, it enabled me to fully enjoy the croaking of countless frogs on a perfect evening.
Overcometober
