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Jogging withdrawal’s my Achilles’ heel.

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If you’re a jogging junkie like I am…

…you might wake up some days feeling like that scene from Hostel:

Ah, the cantankerous calcaneus tendon.

It wasn’t until I started working again in the P.T. field that I realized how bad I’ve let it get. Or how deep in denial I’ve been about it. Why? Because I’m a running fiend. And, like most forms of fiendery, when you’re in love with your drug of choice – entertaining the thought that its excess might be causing a given issue just isn’t an option. You row right on through the Egyptian De-Nial river, and straight to a sanity bereft sarcophagus – running all the way there, of course, if you’re anything like this chick. Because why wouldn’t you turn to your drug of choice for comfort when something as upsetting as the fact that you’ve an inability to moderate that drug of choice has come to light? Why wouldn’t you be the one horror flick style dicing your own heel cord for another dose of feel good?

Yes. My proverbial Achilles’ heel is the dreaded rest day from running.

And that might be alright if I were moderating better. I used to run an hour or more, once, every day. Then I split that into two half hour jogs. Then I started fitting in a third workout at the gym. Then I started increasing my morning run’s time. Calories and weight loss concerns are a thing of the past. I’m officially in it, every time, for that full body ubermensch feeling high that permeates your essence and makes you wonder where your cape is by the time you cross that sweaty finish line. While in a state of sprint, I’m Spiderman. Within moments back in my parked car, I’m Peter Parker sans the wrist silk. And I check that wrist for my watch, ignoring the ache in my ankles.

“How soon can I go again?”

Recently, I read about a fellow addict – a famous person – who’d gone through nearly the same.

Eminem (You might know of him. From rap. And being Caucasian.) went to rehab circa 2007. Emerging on the verge of obese albeit clean, he took to the gym and rat-wheeled himself straight into hip flexor hell (surprising we’ve never met, since I own a summer home there). Granted, he ran a bit more than I did (17 miles a day), did so on the treadmill (versus trail like I do), and probably listened to gangster rap (while I reveled in being a hilly tierra trotting hippie) – but our stories are still the same: that endorphin seeking addict within each of us leads us to our own detriment if we indulge it. And since it’s not in a shot glass or getting shot up it seemed fair game. Right? (Wait… can you rail a jogging trail?)

That’s all rhetorical, judging by where it’s landed us each. But what’s the fix?

If the only fix were to quit running – even for a while – it’d be inconceivable. I’d be right back in my Egyptian reality refusal pontoon, sailing off into my own body demise. But, I suppose – what I could ask myself is – could I at least drop down to two runs instead of three? Could I decrease the time I’m doing? Part of why I’m not willing to rest is because my body gets stiff when I’m non-aerobic for too long. So, could I at least try – in between my shorter runs – to find other forms of exercise I don’t hate?

That’s what Marshal did.

Much like I have, he saw that his new means of staying Slim was Shadies of his past habits of the chemical variety.

Just… healthier:

“It’s easy to understand how people replace addiction with exercise. One addiction for another but one that’s good for them. I got an addict’s brain, and when it came to running, I think I got a little carried away. I became a fucking hamster.”

And, also much like myself, that self-awareness moment wasn’t enough to hamper his hamstery tendencies.

It actually wasn’t till his body began rebelling that he gave it another thought:

“I ran to the point where I started to get injured. All the constant pounding from the running began to tear up my hip flexors.”

And what’d he do?

“So when I was starting to dial back on the treadmill, I tried out some of those workout DVDs you do at home. One of the first ones was Shaun T’s Insanity workout. I know a lot of these DVD guys are wacky, but I’m alone in my gym; I need someone on the TV yelling to motivate me. Besides, some of this shit is entertaining. When I first started the Insanity workout, I alternated my routine, running one day and doing the Insanity the other. Then I stopped running altogether because it was too much to do them both. The Insanity won. After a while I started plateauing on that, so I mixed it up. I did the P90X for a little while (and I still do that ab workout because it’s the most challenging), but then I moved on to the Beast.”

Now, this is normally where lazy me would say “But I like being in nature – not listening to some person’s recorded image yell through a screen while I’m stuck between four walls and glancing wistfully outside like a third grader wishing she could go out and play instead of learning fractions”. And, who knows, maybe you are too. That’s where we put on our creativity beanies and brainstorm up a custom fit plan. For me, I know I’m not giving up trail jogging – I’m just going try and taper down the amount. But when I do, I don’t wanna go through withdrawal from outdoorsy aerobics, so I could I supplement that?

And… how?

(Read on here for part 2)

Jogging withdrawal’s my Achilles’ heel (part 2)

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On a recent post, I shared my (and Eminem’s mutual) addiction to running.

And how our bodies (his hip flexor; my Achilles) both have suffered as a result.

(Hashtag: comparing myself to famous people helps me feel relevant.)

And… to be honest… I wasn’t sure whether to post this here or on a fitness related site I write for. But, seeing as exercise addiction has become a serious-but-not-prescription-habit-level-serious reality for me, I opted to at least address it here. Why? Because if I don’t broadcast it out loud, then I’ll carry on with that whole “denial is just a stream near the Sphinx” thing which does dos cosas: A.) me a disservice and B.) deprives you of the opportunity to say “Holy soleus, Batman: I’m guilty of this too.” You see, Eminem humbling himself enough to realize he had to back off (and being kickass enough to share his story about it) helped shed a little light on the matter for me. So, I’m trying to do what I’ve been taught about good insight: keep what you have by giving it away.

See, Mr. Mathers did the math and realized he’d hafta find a good non-impacty shoe in for his shoes smacking the belt of a treadmill for more hours he spent awake than not. I, on the other hand, have been a tougher sell – even when held as a captive audience to the constant carnival of pain permeating my ankles. Thus, I’ve begun asking myself: Could I at least try looking at other cardio options that I can do outside? (That’s my thing – outdoor exercise). Things that don’t make me wake up walking like an alien that just overtook a body and isn’t sure how to ambulatorily conduct it yet?

Surely, there’s something out there for me…

Well, for one, I see other people taking their bikes out and they always seem pretty happy to be doing what they are (or are they just grimacing?) Plus them Schwinners are winners of slimness, typically with a body karate of a level black belt. Not a bad side effect if the high’s as good as it seems (they always look so determined unpacking their two wheels from their 4-Runners and blissful by the time they return). What’s the benefit of biking? Well, there’s less impact for one. I hate the idea of my toes not touching the ground… but I’m totally open to it.

Or I could kick it old school with the roller blades. In the park I frequent (most of them, really), there’s a nice pedestrian/bike lane shaded by a cathedral of tree foliage and low traffic (on the weekdays, at least). The nice thing this has over biking is that A.) It’s cheaper. B.) It’s a happy medium where at least my feet can kinda feel the ground beneath me. C.) It’s a total arse and thigh workout that could potentially land me buns and gams of the Brazilian Barbie variety. Not bad.

Then again, I could mix up what I’m doing during my actual run. What if the whole thing wasn’t just impact stuff? What if I spent five to ten minutes at the middle or end of my jog doing forward lunges toward my destination? Bounding plyometrics? Squats even?

And, finally, adhering to the old acronym R.I.C.E.R. would probably do me some good: rest, ice, compression, elevation, and referral for therapy. Because, in the end, you’ve gotta find what works best for you… by seeking out the help of someone schooled on the subject of ouchery and how to solve it. Granted, I’ve got the advantage of working in a health field. But up until recently, I’ve been like that one cancer doctor who knows better but sneaks out for a smoke every fifteen minutes anyway. Not practicing what I preach. Had I sought some advice earlier, I might’ve rowed right outta that water body of “whatever, I do what ah want” with pyramids on its periphery and been enjoying my moderate jogging routine. I’d also be feeling less like a Hostel abductee and more like my superhero self.

So, if you have the wherewithal to halt your habit, great. Go create a personalized plan with a professional. (That’s always the first step, isn’t it? Reaching out for a hand with your heel, hip, or heroin habit?) But if you’re a jogging junkie like I am, there’s a chance I’ll be seeing you at la casa de calf cast. ‘cause we both know I’m a cautionary tale who may or may not adhere even to my own good advice. This is normally where I’d say good luck to you and sign off. But for now – let’s just say it to each other, agree to try making better decisions, maybe phone a fellow fiend about it, and definitely phone that guy with the white coat to check it out.