Monthly Archives: January 2011

Good news: I have a new ACL! I feel like I’m coming out on the other side of the post-surgery pain I was trapped beneath all weekend, and I’m hoping to start physical therapy after seeing Dr. P. for my first post-op appointment on Wednesday morning.

Know what this means? I get to actually take action to guide my recovery, rather than just sitting idly by and waiting for better to happen.

The first step in the process: Taking care of myself, which is no small task considering how bad I am about doing so (is anyone actually good at this?), and about how gifted I am in the art of denial.

Here’s what I mean about the denial: When I first hurt my knee Jan. 9, I told myself that while my ACL tear isn’t ideal, it’s also not, like, life-altering or anything. We’ve been dealing with heavier stuff than knee injuries, including friends and family members who are currently fighting cancer. This makes my silly little knee injury seem like a hangnail (if only all our medical ailments could be solved in a 45-minute surgery!).

I took the healthy sense of perspective a little too far, though, and spent weeks refusing to acknowledge that my knee is not, in fact, a hangnail; and that while it isn’t life-threatening, it certainly is life-altering, and requires some major retooling of my schedule and goals. Refusing to deal with it appropriately set me up for major heartache and disappointment my first post-injury day back at Whitetail.

My denial skills were at play again when I suggested—no, demanded—that Steve not skip our scheduled ski-patrol training on Saturday, the day after my surgery. He left at 5 a.m. and returned at 7 p.m., during which I could have called any number of friends to come provide adult supervision—but I didn’t. It actually didn’t occur to me until I was hobbling around the apartment in a Percocet haze, trying to clean up some piping-hot tea I’d just spilled all over the floor and myself, that adult supervision may have been helpful. Even once Steve was home yesterday, he had to constantly remind me that I was supposed to be resting, not doing the dishes/researching new story ideas/cooking complicated meals.

So this week, I’m motivated by the challenge to truly take care of myself. That’s my one and only goal, so I really have no excuse for not excelling at it. I’m going to do some work, since I can easily type and do phone interviews from the couch with my knee elevated, but I will take breaks and/or naps when I need to. I will put rest and rehab first, with all other life tasks—like dishes/researching new story ideas/cooking complicated meals—falling a distant second. I will continue to maintain a healthy perspective on my knee (because really, it WOULD be great if all of life’s problems could be solved with a 45-minute surgery!), but I’m also going to give it the attention it deserves.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a little break (admitting one’s faults is exhausting!).

My doctor is a magical ninja-wizard who can move mountains and part seas.

OK, the above description might be a slight exaggeration about Dr. Daniel Pereles, who will reconstruct my ACL on Friday morning. But to hear me and other patients talk about him, he’s not far removed from being a magical ninja-wizard, though he doesn’t deal in mountains and seas so much as ligaments and bones.

I’ll keep this gushing section post, as I’ve gushed at length in previous posts. Just a few facts about him ahead of my surgery on Friday: He’s a former college swimmer who’s finished multiple marathons and triathlons, is an expert skier, has been on the Runner’s World advisory board, and appears regularly in the Washingtonian’s list of top doctors in the area.

Like I said: He’s a magical ninja-wizard.

Some highlights in my two-year doctor-patient relationship with him:

• In early 2009, he helped me figure out that my ancient, packed-out ski boots were to blame for my persistent ankle problems. I remain the only person I know who’s been under doctor’s order to get new ski boots.
• Later that year, when I asked him if I could run the Marine Corps Marathon in three months despite a nagging hip injury, he asked if I had a time goal, cringing as he waited for an answer. I told him I hoped to run it in less than four hours. He waved his hand dismissively, saying, “Oh! I thought you were going to say you wanted a BQ. You’re fine.” Then, he laid out my training plan. I followed it, and finished the race.
• Multiple times, when I saw him for aches and pains that would have led other docs to issue one-size-fits-all recommendations of six weeks of rest, his final advice was: “Don’t stop running or anything.”

I just want to say that, if you have to have someone cut into a section of your leg, take something out, and put it back somewhere else to fix something that’s broken, you probably want it to be this dude.

I won’t be posting on Friday, as I’ll be in surgery. I’ll be updating my Twitter page once the surgery’s done. Wish me luck, and stay tuned for my return to action—first in physical therapy, then in training for the 4.4-mile Great Chesapeake Bay Bridge Swim on June 12.

I’m wiped. I’m emotionally exhausted. I won’t elaborate upon why, but will say only that by the time I got to Whitetail on Saturday for my first day of ski-patrol training since tearing my ACL a few weeks ago, I was a big, walking breakdown—think Natalie Portman’s Nina in Black Swan, wearing ski boots instead of ballet slippers.

Until I actually got to the resort Friday night, I was in really good spirits about the knee. I was keeping it in perspective, reminding myself that life would be easier if all our problems could be solved in a 45-minute outpatient procedure. I felt like I’d come to terms with the fact that my ski season was over, and felt OK about the fact that I will be finishing my ski-and-toboggan training over a few days at the start of next season rather than finishing it this year with Steve and my other classmates.

My ski-patrol candidate class, wearing the absurd blue jackets I'll be stuck in just a *little* bit longer than everyone else.

But when I got there, reality hit me, hard: Every Saturday, my candidate classmates will get to learn cool new stuff that will improve their skiing and bring them closer to bringing patients downhill in a sled. I will either let them pull me around in the sled or work in the clinic. And in March, once my candidate classmates pass their ski-and-toboggan test and get their red coats, I’ll still be wearing the silly blue windbreaker with “candidate” emblazoned on the front. They will be patrollers; I will not.

Once the self pity and envy descended, they hung over me the rest of the day like some horrible cloud of polluted sleet and ugly emotions. Here’s what I’m trying to keep in mind to stay above the cloud:

I will run my own race. I’ve been here before—not in terms of injury (see the wrist I broke on my first and last day snowboarding last year, and the surgery that followed), but in terms of being mentally tough through periods of disappointment. Longtime readers know that the 2009 Marine Corps Marathon was a traumatic race for me, as my reasonable goal time disappeared into a muck of gastrointestinal distress. I had to first accept that my goal time wasn’t going to happen, then pick up the pieces and try twice as hard as I expected to just to finish the race. My mantra became “run your own race,” because I had to abandon all comparison—to other runners, and to what I thought I deserved. And that’s just what I have to do now. Fair or not, I have to accept my new reality. And I have to conjure extra mental toughness just to finish my training. My classmates will finish their journey soon, which is cool for them; but it has nothing to do with me. I will continue on my own path, with my blue coat, which I will wear with pride.

I will laugh. OK, fine—pride isn’t exactly the right word. But I will wear my jacket with good humor. Candidates are affectionately called “Smurfs” because the jackets are so absurdly blue, and so obviously intended for hazing rather than warmth. One of my classmates decided we needed a mascot, and he brought in a stuffed Smurf. No matter how long it takes me to get back on skis, I won’t be the only one on the mountain in blue while I wait.

The Smurf bears our class motto, DYD (long story).

I will focus on what I *can* do. No skiing for five months post-surgery=big bummer. But I get to start physical therapy five days after surgery, and get to start swimming two weeks after. I’m going to turn my focus to training for the 4.4-mile Great Chesapeake Bay Bridge Swim on June 12.

I will take care of myself. On Saturday, I went directly from Whitetail to a party at a runner-friend’s house, where my other runner-friends consoled me and distracted me (it’s hard to feel too much self pity while lip-syncing to Madonna).

I will force the positive. I’m revisiting all my favorite motivational quotes, such as this one from Helen Keller: “Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved.”

I will look forward, not backwards. I can’t un-tear my ACL. I can, however, put all my energy and emotion toward my recovery. Surgery is scheduled for Friday morning. It can’t come fast enough!

Every winter, I turn into a psuedo-reptile. My skin, sensitive under the best of circumstances, changes in chameleon-like fashion from pink to bright red immediately after it’s exposed to cold air on ski trips and long runs. It stays that way until it peels off mid-week, revealing shiny, new skin just in time for the weekend, when I start the whole process again.

On the upside, my friend Jessica points out that “some women pay a lot of money for that,” referring to expensive chemical peels to slough old, dead skin cells. The downside: It hurts, and looks like crap throughout the week.

Though I won’t have to deal with this much again this winter, thanks to a season-ending ACL tear, I wanted to share what I learned about how to prevent wind burn.

Tip No. 1, which I already knew: Cover up. Make sure you have a neck gaiter, bandana or other face-covering before braving the elements.

Tip No. 2, which I knew but hadn’t put into practice: Slather on moisturizer, petroleum jelly, sunscreen—whatever. Just add an extra layer of protection between your skin and the wind. Some favorite products, cribbed from posts on The Ski Diva and a helpful SKI magazine story:

Kiehl’s All-Sport “Non-Freeze” Face Protector

Weleda Face Balm.

Dermatone, allegedly used on Everest?

Or, my personal favorite, which led to the first peel-free ski weekend a few weeks ago: Plain ol’ Neutrogena Sport Face SPF 70 sunscreen. It’s cheap, available almost everywhere, and required only one re-application for a dawn-to-dusk ski day. I’m looking forward to trying it on a long run, too.

What’s your best protection against wind burn?

Can you imagine how excited I was when the editors at Bethesda Magazine asked me to write a story about busy, important people who manage to stay in shape despite long hours and irregular schedules? I figured I’d get some great motivational tips and tricks, and I did. The surprise: Their tips and tricks weren’t revolutionary things I’d never thought of, but basic concepts familiar to anyone who’s ever picked up a fitness magazine.

Here’s what makes their tips so effective and mind-blowing: They find ways to apply them to their lives, and their situations, and adhere to those tips like super-glue.

These tips are especially poignant for me this week. I spent the first few days of the weeks at doctor appointments and on insurance phone calls to deal with my torn ACL (dealing with Tricare=far more painful than my actual injury. But I prevailed, and surgery is scheduled for Jan. 28!). Plus, we left Thursday night for a week-long trip to visit family in Colorado. Add the normal demands of deadlines and life and stuff, and I’ve barely been keeping my head above water.

Here are a few of my favorite fit-it-all-in tips, plus how I apply (or plan to apply) their advice to my own life:

• From documentary filmmaker Sean Fine: Just do something. “Maybe you got yourself psyched for that 70- or 80-mile bike ride, but you don’t have to skip it altogether if you only have 30 minutes. It’s about realizing that it’s better to do some push-ups and sit-ups in your hotel room than giving up and not doing anything at all.”

I do a few of my basic core-strengthening/ITB-saving exercises daily, even when I don’t manage a full workout.

• From Fox 5 weather forecaster Sue Palka: Put yourself first. Palka says she honors her workout time by telling colleagues and others that a lunch meeting won’t work with her schedule. “I just don’t tell them it’s because I exercise from noon to 1,” she says.

Ooh, am I ever bad about this! I promise to be better about honoring my workouts once I schedule them.

• From Bill Marriott (who’s 78!): Find a routine. “Develop a great workout plan that fits into your hectic schedule, and stick to it.”

Normally, I swim on Mondays, run Tuesdays and Thursdays, and swim again, lift or do other cross-training on Wednesdays and Fridays. Consistency breeds habit, which is always helpful when it comes to exercise. I plan to swim every other day until my ACL can handle other activity.

• From News 4 anchor Doreen Gentzler: Sign up for a big event. It “forces you to make time for your workouts,” she says.

True. I’ve got the 4.4-mile Great Chesapeake Bay Bridge Swim on June 12 lurking out there, so I know I’ve got to kick my butt into gear in the pool.

Check out the whole story here. What’s your most effective, tried-and-true workout tip?

No use in burying the lede: I tore my ACL on Saturday, and am out for the rest of the ski season.

Steve and I had just finished our first day of ski and toboggan training as Whitetail Ski Patrol candidates, and I was skiing the couple hundred feet between where we parted ways with our instructors and the lift. I was merrily skiing along, making slow, short-radius turns, when a snowboarder slammed into me from behind.

Steve and I told the kid who hit me to stay put while I assessed the extent of the injury (we may have said something along the lines of, “You better stay put, buddy!”).  We quickly realized the kid we reprimanded was not a punk, but the concerned, apologetic son of another Whitetail volunteer. I didn’t detect any swelling, didn’t feel any pain and didn’t hear the “pop” everyone associates with anterior cruciate ligament tears—my right leg was just kind of wobbly. I told Steve I’d be skiing down to the clinic, because everything was clearly fine. I will forever give him credit for expertly managing his first crazy, unreasonable patient (i.e., me), and convincing me to accept a ride down. I will also be forever grateful to the S&T instructor who brought a snowmobile rather than a sled, which made the trip to the clinic feel exciting rather than depressing.

I got most of my self-pitying behavior out of the way before I reached the clinic, after asking the instructor driving the snowmobile if he minded cursing. I grew up in New Jersey, and Steve would describe what happened next as me “going from zero to Jersey in no time flat.” I’m sorry to report that the kid who hit me learned some new and exciting language, too (to be clear, I was cursing around him, not *at* him. Still: oops).

After hanging out in the clinic and icing my knee for a while, I was still convinced it was fine, despite a creepy catch in my walk. I now identify that “catch” as “moment when my knee does not support my body weight.”

Fast-forward to Dr. Pereles’ office on Monday. I expected a sprain. But when Dr. P. cringed upon bobbling my injured knee in a way I just *knew* wasn’t right, I braced myself for the worst. In addition to being a former college swimmer and marathoner, Dr. P. is also an expert skier, and he knows just what it means to me to be out for the rest of the season. He handed me a tissue box when he told me it was my ACL—basically, a skier’s nightmare.

But there’s lots of good news here. Surgery to repair a torn ACL takes about 45 minutes, and is an outpatient procedure. Recovery is actually pretty quick—I’ll be walking and in physical therapy within days, swimming within two weeks and running shortly after that. I won’t be doing any skiing or other pivoting for five months, but I’ve already found ways to stay involved, training-wise, at Whitetail, from working in the clinic to having Steve haul my gimpy butt around the mountain in a sled for our training (gives new meaning to the whole “in sickness and in health” clause, eh?).

Let’s get a few questions out of the way. Do you get injured a lot? Yeah, apparently. Let’s get past this, and skip the “wow, you have bad luck!” comments, as they’re simply not helpful. Wasn’t it a snowboard last year, too? Yes, and as part of my ongoing training, I plan to gradually increase my exposure to snowboards, in hopes that someday, I’ll be able to come within 10 feet of one without suffering some crazy, season-ending injury. Are you systematically trying to injure every body part at least once? No … but Steve says I should probably be careful with my shoulders, as they might be on deck. For background, please see the wrist I broke on my first and last day snowboarding, and the surgery that followed.

A few things I know for sure:

• Nothing I did or didn’t do caused this. It was just an accident that I had no control over.
• In the big scheme of things, this is not a big deal. It’s what I’d call as a class-3 knee on the mountain—nothing life- or limb-threatening. My best friend is fighting breast cancer with grace and strength—surely, I can manage the same with a knee.
• I’ve never gone through physical therapy without coming out stronger, physically.
• I’ve never recouped from an injury without coming out stronger, mentally.
• This is a mere speed bump (or misplaced mogul?) on my ultimate path to becoming a patroller.
• Sometimes, life throws you a bone: While something stopped me from signing up for a half-marathon in March and a marathon in May, I felt the opposite nudge to sign up for the 4.4-mile Great Chesapeake Bay Bridge Swim on June 12. Thank goodness for swimming, the sport of last resort!

Stay tuned for info about my surgery date, which will come as soon as I get insurance mumbo jumbo sorted out. In the meantime, check out the coping-with-injury lessons I won’t have to re-learn from last year:

Motivational quotes for injured athletes

How to call a truce with your body

Resources for injured runners

Coping with running injuries

And, of course, my story in the January/February 2011 issue of Women’s Running, Tips to a successful running comeback

If you’d seen me walking into Whitetail Mountain Sports on Thursday, you’d be forgiven for thinking I was on my way to adopt a child, or do something more momentous than what was actually happening: I was picking up my new skis!

My level of enthusiasm when I laid my eyes on the K2 True Luvs, my first new pair in a staggering ten years, was indeed closer to what one might feel about a new baby than new ski equipment: Hello, little skis. I’ve wanted you for so long!

They are pretty. They are springy. They let me ski the same way I did before, but with less effort. They have pink ribbons on the tail, making me think they’re giving a shout-out to my dear friend Alexis, who’s been diagnosed with breast cancer at age 30. And they came just in time for my first day of ski-and-toboggan training as a Whitetail Ski Patrol candidate Saturday—the main thing motivating me this week.

The training, which lasted all morning on Saturday, consisted of having a cadre of instructors carefully assess me and my classmates while we completed what should have been simple exercises: snowplow, side slip, and short-, medium- and long-radius turns. No brain-busters there, right? We all knew how to snowplow, sideslip, etc. What we didn’t know: All the stuff we were doing wrong, form-wise. One classmate learned he kept his skis too close together. Another learned he was leaning forward from the waist.

My lessons: Though I thought my upper body was the only part I got *right,* it turns out my torso is a hot mess. Rather than keeping my torso facing consistently downhill while my legs do the work, I rotate every which-way while I ski, which in turn throws off my whole stance. Steve and I had actually filmed each other skiing moguls a few days beforehand, and my bad habits are painfully obvious there: It looks like I’m trying to conduct a choir with my poles!

And that’s not my only bad habit. I also bail on my turns before I carve a complete “C” shape across the mountain, failing to engage the edge of my inside ski and making turns that look more like a “Z.”

Is there anything quite as motivational as knowing how to improve? I finished the morning exhausted, and anxious to practice my new skills. The only bummer: At the bottom of my last run, a snowboarder slammed into me from behind, and I tweaked my knee just enough to freak me out. I’ve been staying off of it, and am seeing my marathon-running, expert-skiing, former Navy SEAL, rock star of a sports orthopedist to get it checked out today. Wish me luck!

What’s motivating you this week?

It’s sometimes hard to connect the dots between your January speed workout and your half-marathon in March (stay tuned for details about that, by the way), or to remember that you’re doing jumping lunges in your living room so you can nail the moguls on your weekend ski trips. I find that the right song, image or mantra can go a long way toward transporting you to a place of motivation.

In honor of my first day of ski-and-toboggan training as a Whitetail Ski Patrol candidate Saturday, I offer the image that for months has helped remind me why I’m dragging my butt to the gym:

My snowboarder-friend Lauren, one of my favorite people in the world to be on a mountain with, sent me a postcard with this Anne Taintor print almost a year ago. It helped me channel my inner skier through the steamy D.C. summer—and still cracks me up every time I see it.

Wish me luck on Saturday!

It’s been a while since I posted my last new playlist here. There was a good reason for my radio silence—it had simply been a while since I found new music I felt fired up about enough to share. I was feeling stale and uninspired by the tunes I already had, and unmotivated to search for others.

Then, Steve and I watched a couple Warren Miller ski videos over our holiday travels (they were Christmas presents for my dad, a lifelong skier), and immediately started searching for their soundtracks. The top of this playlist is composed almost entirely of those songs. Some of these are ideal for sprinting (“It’s a Dull Life” will make you break your mile PR), while others seem perfect for a longer run (“Hip Hop” is hard-driving but also chilled-out). All of them make me think of nailing a mogul run like Olympic medalist (and ski-movie narrator) Jonny Moseley, which helps take my mind off whatever hill I’m currently running up. 

It’s a shorter playlist … but I make it longer mid-run by listening to some songs twice.

Babylon of the Occident – The Shanghai Restoration Project

Hip Hop – N.A.S.A, feat. KRS-One, Fatlip & Slim Kid Tre

Kids – MGMT

Dull Life – Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Down and Out – Cam’ron

What a Wonderful World – The Ramones

Shimmy Shimmy Ya – Ol’ Dirty Bastard

Crack a Bottle – Eminem

Clan in Da Front – Wu-Tang Clan

Power – Kanye West

How Many Mics – Fugees

Cunninlynguists — Lynguistics

Have you found any great new running songs? Share them by posting a comment below!

It’s that time of year again—the time when gyms and running trails fill with New Year’s resolutioners, and lapsed athletes attempt to stage movie-montage comebacks. If you’re a regular runner or gym-goer, though, you know gyms and sidewalks will empty out within a few weeks, when those hard-core comebacks lead to injury or burnout.

It doesn’t have to be that way, as I was reminded via a recent assignment from Women’s Running. The story, which appears in the magazine’s January/February issue, focuses on how to stage an effective comeback, and I’d like to offer a few of my favorite tips from it here:

* Start slow. Running coach Janet Hamilton says people tend to “bludgeon their bodies into fitness.” Sound familiar? I know I’ve been guilty of going for one, big, boot-camp-style comeback workout that leaves me sore for days and unlikely to return to the gym for weeks. A better strategy: Take it easy out of the gates so your body and spirit can’t wait to get back out there for another round.

* Listen to your body. General guidelines are great, and it’s certainly helpful to know that you’ll decrease your chance of injury by not increasing mileage by more than 10 percent per week. That said, if a 10-percent weekly mileage increase aggravates your old ankle injury, those guidelines are not guaranteed protection against a stress fracture. If something hurts in the wrong way, back off until it feels better.

* Get a workout buddy. This is so obvious, but so helpful. It truly is harder to bail on a workout if you’re accountable to someone other than yourself.

Click here to read the story in its entirety, and share your own comeback tips by posting a comment below!