I stared at the computer screen filled with MRI images as the orthopedist used the mouse to expand the measuring tool. “You see this?” he said, “That’s your patella tendon. A healthy one should be about 5mm.” He stretched the white line over the black and white mottled blob, “Yours is measuring 13.4mm. This is about the worst tendon I’ve ever seen.”
I stared back in annoyance. “Ok,” I said, “but HOW did that happen? After I fell and fractured my patella, I’ve barely done anything for the past 3 months.” With his blessing, I had tried a return to run walk/jog protocol after 6 weeks, which went well for the first three runs until my knee blew up, unrecognizable. Aside from that, I’d be begrudgingly using the elliptical to keep some cardiovascular fitness, doing rehab exercises, and top roping in the gym. All things that were blessed.
All things that shouldn’t have caused my patella tendon to suddenly explode.
“Good question,” as he gave a little shrug, “I’m really not sure.” He opined that perhaps, along with the fracture, the tendon had been severely damaged in the fall but didn’t cause any issue until it started to heal and then healed in it’s weird disorganized damaged tendon fashion. Or that not immobilizing the fractured knee caused the tendon to work overtime in daily life. Throw in a torn meniscus from the fall, and the knee was situation all fucked up.
So I guess, in what seems to be standard for me, I just got rather unlucky. And 3+ months later, I’m still no closer to returning to run as I was 3 months ago.
Of all of my years of running and injury, this is my first time ever dealing with a tendon issue. I always joked that my bones would break before my tendons went, and hell, I didn’t realize at that time what a blessing that is. Bone is predictable. Bone heals well. Bone, you have some understanding of when you could be back to sport.
Given the lack of progress over the past three months and a knee that swells up on any kind of impact still, there is absolutely zero clarity. And as my Chumbawumba Tub-Thumping relationship with running continues on a yearly cycling basis, the doubts start to creep in. In prepping for HiLo this summer, I felt like I had finally reached a solid, consistent state of training. I got some confidence back. Things were clicking. So it’s hard to not be bitter when a single fall comes in and fucks that all up.
Naturally, this hasn’t been the best for my mental health. I handled the first 6 weeks with ease (“doc said this would be a simple one! Just a simple non-displaced fracture wheeee!”). I then got angry. Then came the despair.1
A well-meaning co-worker joked the other day when I told him about my knee, “what percentage of the year do you spend injured?” I laughed it off, but it stung. I’m so tired of this cycle. So very, very tired.
And already knocked down and second guessing, a random interaction on social media the other week slammed my face into the ground with a single post.
I decided to gently challenge a coach and podcaster,2 one who I thought I was on good terms with, on the notion that a runners needed to be high-mileage to succeed. (Frankly, I actually feel like this following graphic, at least for 100 milers, was pretty decent?)
Perhaps I shouldn’t have waded into this territory, but his response stung, deeper than I care to admit. I followed up privately to try and smooth it out, but he told me to not publicly disagree with him again. For the record, I’m not a big fan of being told what to do.
Confidence already in the gutter, I started to ask myself “I mean, but what if he’s right?” Maybe I should be embarrassed given my track record. Maybe if I can’t run 80+ miles per week, I have zero business running 100 miles. Maybe it’s irresponsible and “anti-science” and being a poor role model.
After fuming over this for a few weeks, here’s what I know: fuck that. I absolutely stand by the notion you don’t have to run 80+ mile weeks to be able to run 100 milers. In an ideal world, would I love to be cranking out that kind of mileage on a weekly basis? Absolutely. But I also know that every time I try and go above 60 miles per week, I break down (what led to my femoral neck sfx in 2023). And I also know that I competed for years without injury, winning 4 world championships, with WAY less mileage than that under my belt.
I’m not going to let a single person shake what I know: I do not believe that high mileage is the only way, and frankly I find it elitist and gate-keeping of the sport to suggest that you must run 80+ mile weeks to be able to run 100 milers.3 A happy medium must exist, taking into account individual variation and training response, and I thought I found that in my prep for HiLo - 50-60 mile weeks, lots of vert, lots of hiking. (and for what it’s worth, anyone can see that my broken patella was entirely unrelated to the amount of mileage I put in beforehand).
But my quiet seething over this interaction then morphed into despair. I went on rambling, aimless walks with Emmy, attempting to stave off an impending existential crisis in sport. Because really - just HOW many times can you get knocked down and rehab and return to run again before you just say “fuck it, I guess I should find another sport”?
At this point, it’s easy for me to forget that I was once a pretty good athlete. I had a really impressive run. I did some pretty amazing things. I won world championships. The intervening years of disorder and injury and battling my body have made it so I doubt that I am even the same person.
I wonder where she’s gone.
But then I snap out the self-pity and recognize that she’s still in there. Older, slower, much more banged up, body a bit creaky, confidence shaken, but the fire has never disappeared. And honestly, my body is more resilient than I give it credit for me
And I will stubbornly fight to do the things I love until the day that I, and I alone, decide that it’s not worth the fight anymore. That it’s not worth the tears and frustration and hours of rehab and mind-numbing cross-training.
I’m trying to be smart, and I’m trying to figure out how to continue to do what I love to do given my limitations. I accept the fact that at some point, those limitations may outrun me.
I may not get to be the 70 year old still running 100s. Very few of us get to be that person.
And maybe it’d be less embarrassing, less frustrating, less expensive, if I just hung up my trail shoes and accepted that fact that I spent years disrespecting my body, and it’s caught up to me.
One day I’ll get there. Today is not that day.
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My one saving grace has been throwing myself into climbing, but my progress there is limited by (1) working around my knee with certain movements, and (2) not being able to take falls due to the risk I slam my knee into the wall. It’s lovely and I can’t wait to see where climbing takes me, and I also miss running.
I’m including screenshots here intentionally so as to not mischaracterize the interaction.
Sure, don’t go run a 100 miler (or a marathon for that matter!) coming off the couch, but there has to be a middle way.