Why the sight of a pair of sneakers made me cry

Why the sight of a pair of sneakers made me cry

I watched my running friends get up at the crack of dawn to complete their long runs on Saturday. I listened to their stories of aches and pains. I started seeing posters for the marathon around the city – on subways, in the park, and everywhere in between. I pushed aside memories of the race's exhilarating start, the agonizing middle, and the triumphant end. I didn't care about the medal.

It doesn't matter that I'm not running the marathon this year, I kept telling myself.

And then came the shoes.

As a running writer, I often get funny packages in the mail (gas! socks!), but when I opened a box to find a new pair of Brooks Adrenaline GTS, I wanted to cry. Not because they were a size too small, but because this “Gray Lady” edition had the names of New York boroughs and neighborhoods printed all over it. They were made specifically for the New York City Marathon, the race I sat in and had to wait a whole year for. So yeah, maybe I cried a little.

Training for a marathon typically takes at least 16 weeks, a time enough to cause injury to even the most cautious runner. Ten weeks into my training, I ran—I should probably say raced—a 10-mile race through a neighborhood in the Bronx. Before the race in the morning I woke up feeling rested and with fresh legs. Basically the best I've felt as a runner in months. Maybe I somehow knew this would be my last big run for a while because after getting a big PR the ball of my foot started hurting. Then I started limping. Two days later I saw an orthopedist who told me to take Aleve and avoid it for a week.

But this mysterious foot injury kept me from running for an entire month, during all the peak weeks in my training schedule. My goose was cooked, and I knew it, but I still hadn't accepted the truth...until I saw those shoes. There's no way you can run the marathon, one side of my brain would say. Unless you really want to hurt yourself. And then the devil on my shoulder would say, “You can still do it!”

There was really only one way out of this mess.

Moping sounded like a fantastic way to spend the rest of my training. So I tried it. I lasted three days.

Then I started thinking about the positive aspects (yes, there are positive aspects) of being injured. I suddenly had a lot more time. I had less pain and wasn't constantly hungry. My mind had space to think about all sorts of things that I had been ignoring: Maybe I should do strength training! Maybe cheering on friends will be fun! Maybe I can do another race in the spring!

The good news? That's exactly how injured runners should think, says Chris Heuisler, all-around running guru and National RunWESTIN Concierge for Westin Hotels & Resorts. I called him and asked him for advice on how to deal with my bitter defeat - and did he ever deliver. While New York is the "red carpet marathon," he says, "you're almost doing yourself a disservice if you only run in New York. There are hundreds of other races to choose from."

His next advice? Overcome your pride. “Self-pity is the last thing you want,” says Heuisler. "I would highly encourage a person to still go out and volunteer, bring water and gels and set an example. An injured runner, more than most people out there, knows what runners need."

He also pointed out that most people eat all the calories they can find during marathon training and are often under-rested due to early morning runs. Now that I'm injured, I can try to get better at everything that fails in running. That means eating clean and sleeping more—and actually joining a gym. Going to my neighborhood gym to ask for a membership felt like a last resort; a real defeat. But two weeks later, I now see that this feeling comes from unfamiliarity. My running habit was steady and calming. Once I put a few group fitness classes on my calendar (and figured out where the locker rooms were), I realized that the gym didn't have to be intimidating. In fact, it could be another tool to make me a better runner. (After all, effective strength training and cross-training are huge factors in making a runner both faster and stronger.)

Still, after a few weeks of cycling and “Ass & Abs” classes at the gym, I kept thinking: Of course I can still run. It would hurt, but isn't being a "real runner" part of getting through a race?

Oh no. Heuisler actually cured this thought with a single question: What are the elites doing? “You’ll never hear an elite runner show up at a race with something wrong about it,” he says. Some people think racing through injury is a badge of honor, but "it's a sign of stupidity," he says, making sure he understands the impulse and stubbornness - people train and pay huge sums of money to compete in these races. But in the end, he says, "Look at the bigger picture. It's all about longevity."

So I may not be running the NYC Marathon this year, but I'll be running for life? I can look forward to that.