Will a stress fracture keep you from your race?

A stress fracture isn’t always a season ending injury.

I set a goal. I make plans to meet that goal. I carry out those plans. Fate crushes plans. I make do.

That pretty much sums up my second attempt at completing a 100-mile running race. My first attempt was a sad novice attempt. I learned from my naivety (mostly) and created a stellar (maybe) plan to tackle the distance that not too many years ago I thought was insane but now can’t get out of my mind. 

I was rocking my training. No hiccups, really. I felt tired, but who doesn’t when you’re running that many miles and getting up at 4 a.m. to do them?  

I mostly followed Bryon Powell’s Relentless Forward Progress (RFP) 50-mile week training plan for a 100-mile race with a few tweaks here and there. I was kind of stressing about the 50k (appr. 31 miles) and the 50 mile run a few weeks after, but I knew completing those distances would be a huge part of the mental preparation for the 100. 

For my 50k, I planned a cloverleaf course so I could use my house as an aid station stop. It was perfect. The run was great. Under six hours with stops and a few walks thrown in at the end.

The next day I felt fine. A little tired, but good to go. The day after that, I went for a quick shake-out run of 2 miles. Still felt great. The day after that, I walked 4 miles. And the day after that, I ran 5 miles. The next day, I started my run as I always do, and immediately I felt the pain. I walked for a bit, thinking I must have slept weird and the foot needed to warm up. I tried to run again. Pain. 

After a week of no improvement and countless searches on the internet, I was convinced it was extensor tendonitis or a stress fracture. I made an appointment with a podiatrist—mostly because of the helpful recommendations from my trail running ladies’ Facebook group as I usually hold off doctors (long story). I hoped for tendonitis as the stress fracture would likely mean an end to my training and race hopes. 

A great appointment with a great doctor. He spent ample time finding out how I got to this point—training load and types, shoes, nutrition, sleep. Then the x-ray. An ultrarunner himself, he knew how the news would affect me. I’m misquoting him, but essentially he said, “It’s a stress fracture, but it doesn’t mean you can’t run your race.”

What? How could I still run the race? Everything I read said a minimum of four, but usually six weeks, of no-impact exercise.  

He went on to say he’s had several athletes cross-train and go on to finish their races. He may have been more specific about how they trained and how far out they were from their race when they had their injury. He also might have said finished and not placed. All I heard was, “it doesn’t mean you can’t run your race.”

It was the beginning of September, the race would be in mid-October, and I had been training since the end of April. I thought four and half months of single focus training for the race would be lost upon hearing the words “stress fracture.” To stop running and pick another race the following year…I was going to race, even if it wouldn’t be pretty. I was in. 

For the next four weeks, I followed RFP, converting running distance to time where ten minutes equaled 1 mile, and either used the indoor rower at a sub 2:30/500m pace, the indoor bike at a medium setting (7 or 8 out of 16) and 80 plus RPMs, or a combo of both. One exception was the 50 miler on the schedule. I did just over six hours instead of just over 8, switching every 15 min between the bike and rower. 

I didn’t start running again until three weeks before the ultra. The podiatrist suggested I start at 20 minutes a day with a ten miler a week or two out from the race. So, that’s what I did, nice and easy, and I worked up to 30 minutes just a few days before the race. I supplemented all the runs with rowing and biking to stay in sync with the RFP schedule. 

I never pushed it. I couldn’t let the stress fracture come back. I had to make it to the starting line. 

Reflection

With each ultra distance I complete, whether in a race, training, or fun run, I learn so much more about what I can do and the difference between what I think I need to do and what I actually need to do. I believe the pain I felt was and will always be there regardless of the level and type of training. The feet will always hurt. But, I also genuinely think my feet suffered from not getting that impact workout. Whether it was mental, physical, or a combination of both, I needed that time on my feet.

Can a person run after injury? Fuck yeah! (Sorry for the swear, I’m getting a little excited about the next attempt). Is it going to be the same as if you hadn’t been injured? Probably not. Every time I talked about the race, the words that came out of my mouth were, “Well, I’m hoping to hit a hundred, but who knows,” leaving room for the possibility of not making it. But in my mind, I felt like I put in so much work on the rower and bike—I really thought I could. My failure may have been mental, but I can’t ignore the role my injury played. 

Another thing to note is the severity of my stress fracture.  While I “tested” the foot by running during the first week, I didn’t go overboard, cutting the run short and going to non-impact exercise instead.  My doctor said that had I continued to push it, I would have made it worse.  Worse to the point I wouldn’t have been able to do Ghost Train. So, another lesson learned from this experience is that sucking up the pain may do you in. 

All in all, I’m thankful my stress fracture wasn’t worse.  I think I’m better for having run the race and I’m glad I did.

Final Thoughts

If you set your goals ridiculously high and it’s a failure, you will fail above everyone else’s success.

This quote made me feel better right after the race. Although, I don’t know if I always agree with it. I’m more of a a-failure’s-a-failure and what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it type of person. When I taught, I always told the kids to set realistic goals after years of seeing kids crap on themselves for not attaining some distorted sense of perfection dictated by a number or letter.

However, I think living by James Cameron’s adage (if you deal with failure well) is the way to go if you want to feel like you lived. To try and succeed is ideal, and trying and failing is far and away better than never trying at all.

Happy adventuring, my friends. I hope this helped in some form.

Special Note: Also included below are my lessons learned in this cycle. If you are interested in seeing how I trained, feel free to send me an email (contact at the top of the page), and I’ll send it over, typos and all:-)

Race Afterthoughts

These thoughts were written just a few days following the race. There is raw emotion and some reflection, and with a few present-day notes in italics. 

I am pissed. It took a lot to get from the last aid station to the finish line, not because I couldn’t go on mentally—it was all my feet. Yes, my legs were sore, but my feet felt like bricks that could feel only pins and needles. My pace had slowed to 24-minute miles. Some people might say that it’s all mental and it all hurts, and I would tell them to fuck themselves. I KNOW (I think—I’m pretty sure calories would have helped) that had my feet gotten the stress the last two months that they were supposed to, the rest of the journey would have been complete. That’s where my “pissed” comes from. My times weren’t record-setting, but I was doing pretty well. This would have been a 100 for sure, more even. The fucking injury. I left room for the possibility of not making the 100 because I thought it was possible my stress fracture would break again. Oh well, I’d have to stop. But this was different. Not running for six weeks, then only accumulating 12 miles per week leading up to the race. My feet needed more stress. My heart needed more stress, too—a running type of stress with the whole movement of my body.  

I feel like the rowing and biking kept my cardio up, but I shouldn’t have tapered where those activities were concerned because it wasn’t the same stress. Even though I used trekking poles for 30 miles, I didn’t have any arm or back soreness, which speaks to the work the rowing did. My legs are surprisingly sprite considering I covered 60 miles, which again, I think speaks to the training. It was my fucking feet. It was hot and I didn’t drink or fuel well, but that can be caught up on, and I did after the 30. It was just my fucking feet. 

So what next? Do I want to do another ultra? Yes. 30 seems like a walk in the park now, and 50 not all that bad. I think, again, if I hadn’t had that time away from running, it would have been a much better race. Do I want to do a 100? Absolutely. I don’t like how long the training is. It was part of why I decided to just go for it instead of starting again from scratch. I wanted to have the notch in my belt and then have the choice to do it again if I wanted. Now I feel a little obligated even if I’m not. Even if part of me really likes the challenge and truly wants the torture again, it looms. 

After spilling my anger on the page a little reflection. I’m pissed I didn’t get it, but it makes sense. I’m not coming off of a decade of ultras. I’m in my third year. Even then, the training wasn’t intense. 60 was good for not running for six weeks out of the last nine of training. If I had decided to hold off and train for another 100, I wouldn’t have had the experience. I wouldn’t know how well and not-so-well the cross-training would work. I wouldn’t know the value of taking 10 to 30 min to chill and let the calories catch up. I wouldn’t know how well rowing transfers to using the trekking poles. I wouldn’t know how much I suck at fueling, which again, might have been affected by my two months away from using running vests and staying on top of it. I wouldn’t appreciate the need for running more trails instead of roads even though I sold myself that it didn’t matter because the course was flat. I wouldn’t appreciate the effect of all that time on the roads and speed work on the roads contributing to my injury. My lack of calories also hurt me and contributed to my ending when I did, and I need to figure out how to work on that moving forward. Too often during training I would find myself not hungry, which didn’t make sense for how much I was running, and I’m starting to think that means I dipped too deep.

I shouldn’t be bummed, but I am. I’m bummed I didn’t make any friends this time. I like running alone, and I think going to the car ruined the chances of having more convos, but it was just a bummer. I also think I wanted some of the glory of finishing the 100. I know I don’t deal with attention very well. I certainly don’t bask in it ever, but to feel it every once in a while is nice. So much work has gone into running (and writing, for that matter) with nothing to show for it. At this moment, I feel like a giant piece of shit, a waste of time, a meaningless occupant of space, sucking up oxygen. I will turn around, but this feeling sucks. I also feel like I needed to prove myself to my running buddies, and I didn’t. Like I said in an old post, to me, this is the only acceptable way to boast, to say, “I am a badass.” But I’m either not, I need to find a different way, or shut up about it and just get it done. I prefer the last of the three.

I will sign up for another 100. When? I don’t know. But the training will be a little different. I have no doubt I would have had the 100 miles if I hadn’t had the stress fracture. I need to stay healthy for the next one. 

I don’t feel like a piece of shit sucking up oxygen and occupying space anymore. I’m fortunate to be aware of my ups and downs and know growth comes from the pain, anguish, and disappointment. Sidenote: It being only a few days out from Veterans Day, I’m especially thankful for having this self-awareness and the ability to crawl out (and my hole wasn’t even that deep). It sucks when you feel like crap, and you don’t have help or the people around you don’t understand.

Overall, I have to agree with my raw emotions above. I’m embarrassed to put some of these things “out there,” but every time I have, the aftereffect is good…because it’s real, it’s true and imperfect.