I went for a run last night and after a few miles I began feeling a sharp pain shooting down the lower right side of my back down through my right thigh. It was a familiar pain. It was something I had acquired during the best week of my life. On November 25th, 2007 I participated in (and completed might I add :-P) the 24th Edition Firenze Marathon based in Florence, Italy. What a trip....
I was overwhelmed with the depth of culture and the social substance the second I arrived. Everyone was dressed in fine Italian leather from head to toe. It didn't matter if they were walking their dog or going to work..... EVERYONE was presentable at all times. I rarely, if ever, noticed anyone overweight. Not that I have a bias towards anyone who is overweight, but the frequency with which you see it in the United States makes it the status quo. But not in Italy. The people were healthy, friendly, vibrant, cultured, classy and aware of it. I loved it! I deeply admired the civility with which they carried themselves. I looked down at my UCLA sweater, beat up running shoes and blue jeans and thought, no wonder that guy I walked by on the bus bench glared at me as if he wanted to murmur, "Stoooopeed Amerriiicuun!" (that's my version of an Italian accent). By the way, he was the only unfriendly person I came across so don't let that taint the aforementioned description of the Italian people and their culture.
Anyhow, back to the pain. After touring around Florence on foot for 5 hours the day before the marathon (not a good idea), I fortunately completed the race and returned to my hotel to collapse from exhaustion. After gorging on food that night and hydrating with fluids that are meant to intoxicate and not replenish (again, not a good idea) I felt that awful, searing pain in my lower back and leg. It was obviously the result of overuse. Running 26.2 miles is not good for the joints to say the least. According to my doctor and chiropractor the repetitive pounding induced a pinching motion in my lower spine wherein the sciatic nerve was compressed and released with each step. So although I was able to finish the race, it certainly didn't feel good and I had to cross the finish line galloping like an injured horse who had taken running lessons from the Hunchback of Notre Dame.
Almost a month and a half later I still feel the remnants of that sharp pain. I felt it again when I finished my run last night. But it won't stop me from running because I don't associate the pain with discomfort or an ailing will to continue. I associate it with the wonderful food I ate after the marathon. It reminds me of the cheerful, old women on the streets edging me on yelling "Bravi, braviii!"I think about the overwhelming sense of awe as I walked into the Vatican in Rome the day after my race. So many incredible memories. But I have more than the pictures, nicknack's from street vendors, and a pocketed hotel key card to help me remember the week I spent in Italy. Whenever I want I can strap on my running shoes and hit the pavement to reignite the pain in my back and leg. It's the ultimate nostalgic token. Strangely I miss the pain. I miss it because it reminds me of the life changing week I spent in Italy. It reminds me of the money I raised to help cure HIV/AIDS as a donating participant in the race. It reminds me of the passion I developed for running and of my love for discovering my own personal limits. At this point I realize that I ran the marathon not to complete it, not to show anyone that I could do it, but to hurt. To feel pain and anguish. To appreciate the health I have and the opportunities I was given despite the pain. No pain no gain, right!? Had I not experienced the utter disolution at mile 22 when my legs cramped, or the throbbing ache in my right foot as my arch became inflamed, or the burning sensation as my toe nails fell off I wouldn't have appreciated the race. I wouldn't have appeciated the trip not nearly as much as I now do. It was for the pain, and because of the pain, that I gained so much.
I can't wait to get home from work to go on another run....
I was overwhelmed with the depth of culture and the social substance the second I arrived. Everyone was dressed in fine Italian leather from head to toe. It didn't matter if they were walking their dog or going to work..... EVERYONE was presentable at all times. I rarely, if ever, noticed anyone overweight. Not that I have a bias towards anyone who is overweight, but the frequency with which you see it in the United States makes it the status quo. But not in Italy. The people were healthy, friendly, vibrant, cultured, classy and aware of it. I loved it! I deeply admired the civility with which they carried themselves. I looked down at my UCLA sweater, beat up running shoes and blue jeans and thought, no wonder that guy I walked by on the bus bench glared at me as if he wanted to murmur, "Stoooopeed Amerriiicuun!" (that's my version of an Italian accent). By the way, he was the only unfriendly person I came across so don't let that taint the aforementioned description of the Italian people and their culture.
Anyhow, back to the pain. After touring around Florence on foot for 5 hours the day before the marathon (not a good idea), I fortunately completed the race and returned to my hotel to collapse from exhaustion. After gorging on food that night and hydrating with fluids that are meant to intoxicate and not replenish (again, not a good idea) I felt that awful, searing pain in my lower back and leg. It was obviously the result of overuse. Running 26.2 miles is not good for the joints to say the least. According to my doctor and chiropractor the repetitive pounding induced a pinching motion in my lower spine wherein the sciatic nerve was compressed and released with each step. So although I was able to finish the race, it certainly didn't feel good and I had to cross the finish line galloping like an injured horse who had taken running lessons from the Hunchback of Notre Dame.
Almost a month and a half later I still feel the remnants of that sharp pain. I felt it again when I finished my run last night. But it won't stop me from running because I don't associate the pain with discomfort or an ailing will to continue. I associate it with the wonderful food I ate after the marathon. It reminds me of the cheerful, old women on the streets edging me on yelling "Bravi, braviii!"I think about the overwhelming sense of awe as I walked into the Vatican in Rome the day after my race. So many incredible memories. But I have more than the pictures, nicknack's from street vendors, and a pocketed hotel key card to help me remember the week I spent in Italy. Whenever I want I can strap on my running shoes and hit the pavement to reignite the pain in my back and leg. It's the ultimate nostalgic token. Strangely I miss the pain. I miss it because it reminds me of the life changing week I spent in Italy. It reminds me of the money I raised to help cure HIV/AIDS as a donating participant in the race. It reminds me of the passion I developed for running and of my love for discovering my own personal limits. At this point I realize that I ran the marathon not to complete it, not to show anyone that I could do it, but to hurt. To feel pain and anguish. To appreciate the health I have and the opportunities I was given despite the pain. No pain no gain, right!? Had I not experienced the utter disolution at mile 22 when my legs cramped, or the throbbing ache in my right foot as my arch became inflamed, or the burning sensation as my toe nails fell off I wouldn't have appreciated the race. I wouldn't have appeciated the trip not nearly as much as I now do. It was for the pain, and because of the pain, that I gained so much.
I can't wait to get home from work to go on another run....
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