I guess it was inevitable I would pick up a serious running injury at some point, since I'm running so much these days.
When I first started running I remember an especially tough club run (fast, and a longer distance than I was used to). The next day my toes, feet, and ankles hurt so much and continued to hurt for the next 3 days. Fortunately I saw my sister, who is a physiotherapist, during that period, and she assessed my injury, diagnosed overpronation, gave me some exercises for my feet. She also told me to get a proper pair of running shoes, which I obediently did the next week!
I've been fine the rest of the year. I've had the odd niggle, but I've always put that down to dodgy knees or too many squats at circuit training! My routine now is to run twice during the week with my running club friends, and then on my own at the weekend, on Saturday morning (my long-run day) and Sunday afternoon (4-6 miles).
This weekend my in-laws were visiting, so I'd swapped around my runs. I ran 5 miles Saturday afternoon while tea was cooking, and then I planned an 8-mile run for Sunday afternoon during the F1. 2 hours of Sunday morning were spent digging my allotment, not something I'd planned to do!
The first 6 miles of my run were really great, nice consistent 9:15 pace (see the data pasted below). I'd got a bit confused about the route to take to make my run 8 miles, so by 6 miles I was in the centre of Letchworth with another 4 miles to run! And that's when the pain started in my left knee. Halfway up a hill, I got a sharp pain in the side of my knee. I stopped and tried to bend my leg, massaged it a bit, and tried to carry on. The pain was so acute I couldn't put any weight on my leg. I hobbled up the hill for about a third of a mile (not quite crying, but very close!) then attempted to run again. Still couldn't put weight on my leg. I could manage a walk though, so I carried on as fast as I dared. By the edge of Letchworth, and after nearly a mile of walking, I decided I would have to grin and bear the pain to get myself home. I managed no more than 11 min miles, which I recalled was the fastest I could run back in February and March.
I kept expecting (hoping) to see my husband driving the streets looking for me, since I was at least 30 mins over the time I'd given him. But he hadn't even noticed I'd been out for a long time! And he told me to stop moaning when I got in!
So here I am, lying on the sofa, leg strapped up with a tight compression bandage, and two bags of frozen peas in the freezer with my name on them. Hoping that I'll be OK by Friday for a quick test run around the village. Really really hoping.And really hoping the "worse case scenarios" my physio sister was describing aren't what has actually happened.