Liberty Mountain 5k Race Report

On Friday evening, having yet to register for my anniversary trail run, I confided in my running journal (I keep several logs and journals in addition to this blog) that I was only about 90% sure I was going to run. The ongoing pain in my right calf when coupled with the last minute entry fee complicated my decision. In addition the weather forecast predicted a small chance of snow flurries and I assumed even a hard effort would result, at best, in maybe an 8-9 second improvement over last years race when my legs were not seven days out from a 50k or suffering an injury.

If it weren't this race, I would probably never have contemplated the thought. Three years ago, in 2010, after only a few months of running, the Liberty Mountain 5k was my first time ever running on trails, and I'm not sure that I even did very much running that day. I didn't know anyone except for my sister and spouse who I had conned into trying out this new adventure alongside me. I remember I had poorly fitting winter running gear that year, in the picture I look like a kid in their siblings hand me downs. Snow the week leading up to the race covered the trails that morning and I remember fondly being surrounded by Liberty students, some barefoot and dressed as Native Americans, howling as they sprinted past me on that first descent down Falwell Road. I had never experienced anything like it, the snow, the decent, the icy bridge crossing, the climbs that left me crawling rather than even hiking yet alone anything near a run. By mile two I had given up on the idea of racing, I decided to just hold on and enjoy not knowing where I was or where I was headed. That last climb up Lake Trail I kept thinking if I wasn't careful I would fall off what seemed at the time like a fatal cliff. That last switchback on trail forced me to dig deep for any energy I might still posses. I finished in just barely under forty minutes. But that race marks clearly in my mind the day my trail running began.

I came home and immediately looked for more trail races, that search led me to the Mountain Junkies. And the rest is history so they say. It wasn't until last winter that I really embraced the mountain that hovers over Liberty's campus, but it was that race, three years ago, that opened my eyes to the wonderful world of trail running. Each year I have gone back and run this so-called anniversary race, remembering that first time.

So you see, I had to run on Saturday. Or else that's what I told myself when I awoke Saturday morning feeling decent enough. I skipped the Virginia 4 and 10 Miler races this past fall which were my first race ever  in 2009 and marked the anniversary of running for me, I was a little depressed about this after the fact. I guess even now I'm sort of sad I missed it. I wanted to avoid feeling this same kind of sadness about the Liberty Mountain 5k.

I drove over to my second home and paid the kind Liberty student my registration fee before heading back out for my warm-up run. Within a minute my calf was asking me to reconsider. I ran less than a mile before the searing pain forced me to turn around and head back to the lodge. I was headed inside when I passed Frank Gonzalez. "Don't run today if you're calf is bothering you," he offered. I just looked at him, unable to respond anything more than, "Where were you fifteen minutes ago when I registered?" "I'm not kidding. Don't run. It will only get worse if you run on it. It's only a 5k." His words a warning swimming in my mind, agreeing with my body's plea.

But I'd paid for the race now. It's winter and the construction business isn't booming in these parts. I'm a stay-at-home mom with a racing fetish trying to weigh every dollar that goes out. I couldn't just change my mind. I had to run.

Standing at the start line, Sam Dangc told me not to run. I didn't move. Todd and Blake told me to move more towards the front. Still I didn't move. I was busy convincing myself that this would be a challenge of mind over body. I thought I knew what it was like to run through pain.

The first downhill was about place jockeying and evaluating who was out ahead of me, I passed a few females as I settled into my pace. Three tenths of a mile in Frank Gonzalez was off to the side of the trail, "Don't let that little girl beat you, Alexis". There were two girls directly in front of me when we made the turn onto the lower section of Lake Trail. I followed one of them, watching her feet, trying to focus on something other than the increasing pain. As my watch beeped, notifying me of the first mile split, I looked down to see 6:28, that must be wrong, I thought.

The pain in my leg intensified down Lake Trail and as we turned to run towards the steep hill that cuts over to Camp Hydaway Road Georgianna passed by me, I knew I was in at least fourth place, and my leg was begging me to stop. The competitive drive runs deep in me though so I pushed past Georgianna and one more female up that hill. On Camp Hydaway Road I reassessed, there was a young female runner a few hundred yards up ahead of me, maybe I could catch her on the gradual climb. But even before the climb is clearly visible the pain in my leg started to effect other body parts, sending a shooting pain up to my hip along my illiotibial band and down into my ankle and foot. The harder I tried to push the more painful each step became. I felt like I was moving in slow motion. I couldn't tell you what another runner looked like or a single song that came on my iPod. I thought about quitting but then saw the yellow sign that signals the top of that climb. Please, just make it there and it's downhill back to Lake Trail, the pain in my foot was now effecting my gait. If my body had been warning me beforehand it was punishing me now.

I don't know how I made it to Lake Trail, the effort was draining beyond reasonable measure and yet it felt so dreadfully slow at the same time. Coming up Lake Trail I passed three runners before getting stuck behind two guys, I couldn't exactly just ask them to step aside, there wasn't anywhere to go and I feared the race was over. This didn't stop me from barreling up the side of the crater-like mound before the last climb out of Lake Trail. I climbed up and over and made some howl, probably similar to the one I heard years before. Rounding the switchback that promises the end is truly near Todd and a female stood there cheering me on, you can chase her down, they encouraged. I was in so much pain I didn't even recognize the female, I had to ask Todd later who was standing beside him, it was Katherine Sibande, I should have been able to recognize her voice if nothing else. The pain was blinding. Looking back on that switchback I saw another female runner coming up quickly behind me, any further a distance and she would have had me, I've no doubt.

I finished the race in 26:05, a 1:54 PR for the course, which is not bad for the 5k distance, but I was even more surprised at the clock because I had felt so slow and been in so much pain. Still in the shoot I congratulated Sammy Schreiber, the fifteen year old female runner who kept an impressive lead the entire race. Fifteen feet later I just stopped, the pain in my right leg made the act of bending or moving nearly impossible. I had told my legs they were through, they were confirming this to be true.

I'd run a hard race, redefined my pain thresholds and set an impressive personal best on an unforgiving course in unforgiving terms. It was not a bad day. But if I'm to be entirely honest, I had gone out that morning in the hopes of a win and was now hobbling inside to get warm and re-hydrate worrying about what further damage I had just done to my leg.

Within a few minutes the foot pain had subsided enough for me to stretch the calf out along a piece of baseboard in the lodge. By the time I left an hour or so later the leg felt better except in one specific point in the upper right quadrant of the calf. I bailed out on the second half of that morning's run and went home instead for some massage therapy (thanks, Todd!), stick rolling and ice application while the family watched an afternoon movie. After the hour of so of man handling I went downstairs for a glass of water. The legs felt fresher all over except in that same nagging place.

What could it be? By nightfall the foot, legs and upper body felt pretty good all save for that tender spot on my right leg that was there even if I just walked across the room. Todd told me to cancel our Terrapin run planned for the next morning. I begrudgingly obliged. A slight crying fit similar to that a teenager might throw ensued briefly before I realized my body was telling me it was tired. Maybe we do need a break, I told myself as I headed up to bed.

The next morning I awoke to the exact same pain and tenderness in the leg in the upper right quadrant. While not full out painful to walk it persisted with every step. I started to hear a faint whisper, stress fracture? I tried to take it easy yesterday, but I will be lying if I said I didn't try to run. I did, it was painful, so I stopped. Stress fracture? 

After putting the kids to bed last night I perused some of my running books, in particular the sections on injury. More and more I began to wonder if what I'm now experiencing sounds like a potential stress fracture. If it is Tom Noakes, Bob Glover and Dagny Barrios all said the same thing, rest is the only treatment. I have't been to the doctor, I don't know that I will. A bone scan must cost considerably more than a race registration and if the treatment is rest I don't necessarily see the need. Some fractures don't apparently even show up for several weeks. Now I realize I don't know without doubt that it's a stress fracture, and quite honestly I hope I'm just overreacting and it isn't. But being an amenorrheic female puts me at an increased risk and furthermore I failed the 'jump test' on that leg. The outlook isn't so good. I'm sure there are varying levels of stress fractures, but it sounds as though it may take at least six to eight weeks complete rest if this is in fact what is distressing me.

Whatever it is, it is distressing me.  I am a wreck at the mere mention of taking that much time off. I only took five days after Brodie was born, even less after most of last year's ultras. Todd asked me and I agreed to take the week off, see how it goes, let my body rest like I should have done after Holiday Lake. If it isn't any better we'll go from there, week to week. But Terrapin might no longer be possible, or Western States.

I know many people have suffered injuries and come back to running, Jamie Swyers, Mike Mitchell, Melissa Goodrich and Jordan Whitlock all come to mind. But for some reason I fear that a few weeks off will make me soft, the desire to run will disappear and starting over will be too much for me to handle. I can take pain, patience on the other hand, I am severely lacking.  Todd assures me that I'll recover and possibly come back stronger. But I feel the loss of control and feel tricked by my body. I can already feel the depression settling in, questioning and second guessing everything. Maybe you're body can't really handle all this running, who did you think you were anyways?

I don't know what exactly ails me at the moment, but it's ready for me to stop ignoring it and ready for me to start addressing it. I am ready to run pain free and if that means taking a break or reassessing my training, then that's what it means. Who knew not running would be as hard as taking up running?

-Alexis