Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Mile 4

"Failed opportunity to name something you do "Demolition Derby" - Dan Maher


I'm still wrestling with this leg. I also had a failed attempt over the weekend to actually become superhuman, which involved a nacho recipe that got out of control.


Photo courtesy of Isaac Paul

This isn't an actual rendering from this past weekend, but a photo of successful nachos from months before. What does this have to do with running? I won't get too much into the wrong sort of details but the nachos only resulted in drinking and thinking more about this leg.


Anyway, I meet Doctor Hamner.

I need a true medical opinion about what's going on so Marathon Derby avoids becoming a lot of puns on my last name and nacho nights. Hamner is my kind of doctor. You can see it. He looks like he's been struck by lightning, traveled through time, and is kind of amazed we exist at all. He's just running with it.


(He advocates the Caveman workout, which is an easy way to see how training is done where he came from. The video link for this on his website under "Media," which is really worth it if you have some time and goes a long way to explaining a few things.) http://www.drdansportsmd.com/drDan.html#top)


Anyway, Hamner is the chosen prophet of a true medical opinion. I need him to tell me why my leg feels like it got hit with more than a few practice swings of a baseball bat. I tell Hamner about the race and the pain. He's looking at my leg and twisting and turning as we're talking about Tucson, AZ. I went to grad school there and found some great friends, running, and then left to come to New York, and I miss Tucson.


"Ummhhh, yeah we need to do that again," he says, "you got me daydreaming about the '70s."


He takes a foot and turns it to the right and left to test my range of motion. He pushes my leg back and over to the side. Yes, both legs flex. No sacrifice of limbs to the Marathon yet. Then it starts to occur to me that wherever Dr. Hamner may have learned about medicine, this table could have been a sacrificial altar. I feel like I'm being prepared. That and the contributing feeling of anyone touching the sensitive spot on my right leg makes me want to bolt out of the room. But bolting is not really in the cards right now. Hamner has begun "Mmmhhhing" and "uhhuhhing" in a very professional tone, which settles me down and impresses me. Do they teach that to doctors?


"Got something there. Don't I? And how many miles a week were you doing, buddy?"


"I was in the middle of an 80-mile week."


"Mmmhhh," he says.


Now, Hamner is the kind of guy who is just that interesting. I remember, suddenly, a story Jerry Macari, the owner of Urban Athletics, told me about Hamner from when he had a heart operation done. One morning, Hamner was sitting outside the story when Jerry arrived for work. Hamner stood up, pulled up his shirt displaying massive scars around his heart, turned around, and walked away playing the harmonica. Hamner snaps me out of this thought process.


"Yeah, Jerry, your boss and I go way back. He's a good friend."


To make this quick Hamner puts me through a battery of tests and treatments. I walk, only to discover my left leg is compensating for my right leg. I can barely jump on my right leg without falling over. I hear another "MMHHH" after this test. Then I'm back on the sacrificial altar getting painful deep-tissue massage, an ultrasound (I'm not pregnant), some laser treatment (not as painful as it sounds), a stim or electrical stimulation (a massive pulsing vibration which feels almost like someone putting a quarter in a vibrating bed), and then he puts me in the hyperbaric chamber.
Hyperbaric Chamber

We don't sell these at Urban Athletics . . . yet. Maybe it will come in our Winter line. I've included a description by the American Cancer Society of what a hyberbaric chamber does.  (You can skip that, though, because it just makes you feel high and removes the social filter which stops you from saying whatever comes to mind.)


The patient lies on a padded table that slides into the tube. The chamber is gradually pressurized with pure oxygen. Patients are asked to relax and breathe normally during treatment. Chamber pressures typically rise to 2.5 times the normal atmospheric pressure. Patients may experience ear popping or mild discomfort, which usually disappears if the pressure is lowered a bit. At the end of the session, which can last from thirty minutes to two hours, technicians slowly depressurize the chamber.
"MMHHH," and after I get out of this the hyperbaric chamber I'm Buddha. Right with the world and completely at peach, I mean peace. Before I leave, Hamner gives me the medical oppinion I've been seeking.
"You're not totally screwed here, buddy."
He tells me that I need to reduce my mileage by at least half and begin cross-training. This is the last known picure of me cross-training. That's me in front.
Sean and Peter Derby cross-training circa 1985

Hamner suggests a slew of vitamins and an analgesic cream, Traumeel, to mask the pain, because as it turns out my muscolskeletal system has endured quite a bit of stress. (http://www.traumeel.com/).


"I'm pretty sure your tibialis tearing away from your bone . . . uhuhh . . but since I can’t get an MRI there’s no way of telling for sure. You may also have a stress fracture."



I’m not going to get into the reasons why I can’t get an MRI except to say that after the hyperbaric chamber, I crave those nachos pictured above and remember what I said about the social filter? Well, after Hamner told me to slid down in that enormous plastic tube and the wooshing sound, the sound of oxygen filling the chamber, filled your ears and your lungs, you accept whatever it is that’s happened. Mostly because you have to. I mean, you’re zipped into an enclosed chamber. So as Hamner is telling me all this I say, “My mom’s prayers are my health insurance.”

Hamner gives me this look, and yeah you've seen it before, so imagine this but he's inspecting me through a pair of square framed hot-green eyeglasses that match his hot-green pants.

"You’re interesting, buddy," he says. "See me next week. And stick to the cross-training. Also only run on the bridle path in Central Park and cross-train. Oh yeah, and run in a soft training shoe like the Nike Vomero. You can probably pick those up at the store you work at, buddy."



Nike Zoom Vomero. Retail $130


In Mile 5, I will be cross-training and looking for new forms of tending to my injury. You may even see me towing my brother Sean through Central Park in a Red Radio Flyer Wagon in my Nike Zoom Vomero, which I purchased at Urban Athletics.


Any ideas on how to recreate these training outfits from 1985?




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