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Friday, April 19, 2013

It sounded like coarse cloth ripping

About a month ago, I managed to strain my left hip adductor. No, I do not know how. I just woke up one day, and it ached. Later that day during a six mile run, I noticed it was tightening, not loosening. I taped it hard to participate in the Spartan Sprint, during which, the belly crawl in the mud under the barbed wire really got my attention because of the kicking motions required. Not to mention jumping over the burning logs to face the three Spartan warriors between me and the finish line.

That was the start of a three-week rest period. After a few days into that period, I became able to walk without much discomfort, and in fact, I found the walking to be therapeutic. So I walked. And walked. No, I have little talent for enforced rest and inactivity. That might be a problem.

Last Saturday, I taped heavily, and ran the 5K Tata Trot with a good friend. (She wound up finishing her first 5K ever that morning. We gotta love that part!) There was a dull ache, but nothing bothersome, and my time was a personal record, not that I was going for speed, and certainly not that I was all that fast. It just worked out that way, probably because of the three-week hiatus. That evening some 12 hours later, I also ran the 5K Glow in the Park, though it was really only 2.5 miles. That was mostly a big nothing as these things go, and I'm glad I did it.

Earlier that afternoon, I considered not participating because of the continued ache, but I taped again, and it all seemed better. I also knew that if I didn't run that evening, there'd appear this huge wave of depression, my personal Dementor from Harry Potter's movies, and I've had a gracious plenty of that to last a lifetime.

And so I took it easy over the week knowing I have Rugged Maniac coming at me tomorrow (Saturday). I walked. I trotted. I back-filled with NSAIDS and other supposedly nutritional supplements. What's an old queen to do? Hell, I even tried stretching. A little.

So here come yesterday. Thursday. After work, I ran and walked a little. Three miles. Nothing to get excited about, but enough to get a good sweat going, and my intention was to be warm and loose for the Krav Maga knife defense class I'm registered for. Yes, Grandpa is trying out a Krav Maga school to see if he can stand the instructors, and yes, it's working out. All that Tae Kwon Do from all those years past seemed to quickly wake up, much as I hoped it would.

So tonight, we're kicking. That's fine. The first round of kicks told me I needed to take it easy, but it was doable. Besides, the instructor is not going to discipline a 60 year old man for not kicking as hard as the younger guys. Second round. Second kick. A modified front kick I learned ages ago. It's good for opening a locked door. It's also good for ripping a left hip adductor. Audibly With the sound of coarse cloth ripping. Think burlap in a farmer's hands during sprint planting.

I went down in a hail of profanity that was masked by the glorious death metal the instructor plays when he's not talking. Yes, I had quickly learned to love that school. It was like training on a movie set. Mind you, the fall was controlled, but it was a fall nonetheless, and there I remained a few minutes until the instructor came to check on me the second time and offered me ice which I rejected in favor of a hand up. I needed to stand.

And just hush it about the language, well, unless you want to hear my litany of observations regarding Intelligent Design. 

Although turns were quite hazardous, I realized I could walk forward easily enough, and I went over to the side of the class to gather my things and get on my shoes. Yes, I had parked a half mile away, thinking the distance would help with additional warm up, which it did, though now it was helping with warming up the injured spot. I believe I managed to get in the car without making for a YouTube moment, sitting down sideways and lifting my leg with my hand while slowly turning into a driving position, whereupon I started the car and checked mobile Internet to see if my clinic was open. It was.

I was the only guest in the Pleasant Valley Inn, though I doubt I was as pleasant as I could have been. At least, they didn't rag me this time about my blood pressure, mostly because it was sufficiently low for them, despite the elevation spurred by these recent events. I knew there was nothing medically to do at this point. Well, except rest, which is exactly the dreaded word the PA used, but I was hoping she would also prescribe a few tablets of hydrocodone to see me through the next few nights. As you know, it's hard to toss and turn one's way through the night if the turn is accompanied with screaming.

She did, and here I sit at 4 A.M. waiting for the second tablet to kick in so I can get another nap before starting the day, which, you might recall, is the day I'm to drive to Asheboro after work where we'll run Rugged Maniac tomorrow at 3. Yes, I'm pretty sure that's not going to work out like I intended, but then what does?  

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