Mile 2

I imagined I looked something like a hobbling ballerina to him. He still opened the doors, without muttering a word. In a different context, I would have told him, "Now, listen, these are graduated compression socks, high-grade stuff, designed to improve blood flow back to the heart. And who doesn't like that? No seriously, just for a minute here, Albert (my doorman), consider the moisture management and temperature regulation, the Achilles tendon support, and the padded foot soles that prevent irritation. This is serious stuff, and I'll sell them to you off my feet for $30, after my run, for a song, really, for the $60 value and they're worth every penny of that and you can pick them up at Urban Athletics." (http://zootsports.com/spring2010/product/m-compressrx-sock?category=mens%3Acompression)

It was a day of firsts. It was the first time I put these on and headed out the door to meet JR, my friend and teammate from Central Park Track Club, for a morning run. It was the first day in my marathon training that I woke up, stepped out of bed, and my right leg felt on fire, as if it were still in the middle of my 5K effort from the night before. It was the first day I had officially freaked out the doorman.

Giving Albert my casual good morning and good-to-see-you nod on my way out for mile 2, he pulled his head back in surprise. I looked behind me to see if something else had caught his eye. No, I realized, my ensemble of short running shorts and compression socks was a revelation to him. What that revelation was, I don't know, except to say it was a revelation to me, too.


I was hurt. Not emotionally hurt. When I'm training for something I'll do anything to stay healthy. I'd wear my graduated compression socks out for a black-tie event. This was just the first time I'd worn them out for a morning run. Part of the problem is my personal approach to injury is a lot like how surfers think about sharks: it doesn't exist, injuries happen to other people. That kind of attitude is fine until you see the fins a few feet away from your surfboard or if you're only on mile 2. Anyway, I should have known that running a one-legged 5k on a concrete surface can cause this kind of pain and that the sharks were too close, but I didn't.

So here's what we're looking at. This is a rough sketch I found with some of my other notes and scraps of paper on my desk. I'm not sure I can actually take credit for the drawing, but the point is, that thing is fragile. Albert knew it, the good people at Zoot who make compression socks know it, and I need to admit it.

Getting to the start line (pictured below) has to be the first goal now, since the ultimate goal is actually running the race.

As for Albert, and my morning of firsts, I ran twelve steps. Waves of pain swept up my leg to my hip and somehow made it to my ear and screamed "STOP!"

So I did.

Continuing to run, to meet JR, and to go for 9 miles would have introduced a whole new set of problems that I wasn't willing to invite. In my finest hobbling-ballerina swagger I came back into the building and nodded to Albert, who smiled and said, "Finished already."