Hannover Recovery

I am seeing a physio now. When I started preparing for a potential Hannover Marathon entry, the pain in my heel flared up. Reluctantly, I decided to get help from a health professional. I thought their answer would be obvious: Stop running in minimalist shoe-ware.  But I wanted to get serious about recovery and was prepared to make compromises. For a couple of years now, I have been running in sandals in summer and FiveFinger or other minimalist trainers on cold days. And while I think there might be a link to my heel pain, I don’t believe supportive trainers are the solution. The physio surprisingly agreed and did not stop me from running minimalistic. The compromise is that I am putting small wedges into my shoes to lift my heels slightly up and reduce the strain on my calves. Tight calves and limited dorsiflexion of my ankle are seen as the main causes of the pain.

But I did not dare to sign up for the marathon before seeing progress. The training went much better as expected. I was following Garmin’s personalised training schedule, based on my heart rate and other fitness indicators. Over the weeks there was an incredibly steady progression, even when replacing the VO2max runs with less ankle impacting ones. My physio’s therapy seemed to make everything better: calf releases, taping, ice packs, and plenty of tailored exercises seemed to be doing their job. I was thrilled, eventually sealed the deal and signed up for the Hannover Marathon. There was one month to go.

Shortly after signing up, everything seemed to reverse. My legs felt like lead, I was unable to hold any pace comfortably, and my heel pain was getting worse again. I tried not to panic. Then I landed funny with my sore foot on a random bump on the road. It was like an overdone dorsiflexion that sent 10 out of 10 stabbing pain into my already sore heel. It almost felt like I was shot and came to an immediate standstill. I limped slowly to the next Lime rental bike, continued my exercise routine by cycling the last few kms to the lido, completed my 30-min swim, and slowly limped home. I was boiling inside, trying to take control of my emotions of disappointment and frustration.

This marked a point where even the physio seemed to show a hint of doubt that this is all a normal part of the healing process. We continued but also said to wait for after the marathon (he probably felt I wouldn’t easily give that one up) and then reevaluate. The following weeks were a series of discouraging runs. I had to skip the last long run, and all other ones felt terrible. The last week of taping felt like I was as fit as before starting the training. There was never a moment of light, carefree running until I finally ended up at the Hannover Marathon’s starting line.

In order to make it there, I had to dissociate. I just stopped thinking about the marathon, took the training day by day, continued stoically with my apparently ineffective physio exercises. I suppressed any feeling of nervousness or marathon excitement. When flying to Germany, I treated it in my head as a normal weekend break and relied on running buddy Michael to take care of all logistics. When joining the endless queue to collect the race number (yes, there was the longest queue I had ever seen for BIB collection), I kept any thoughts at bay that this means I am going to attempt running 42.195 km tomorrow.

When I woke up on race day, I just mechanically put my running kit on, a couple more layers that I planned to leave at the bag stations. It was a sunny but chilly morning. The start was at 10 a.m., our hotel only 10 walking minutes away, so I even had time for a decent breakfast. The marathon start and finish were in front of Hannover’s beautiful New Town Hall; a stunning backdrop to the crowd of energetic runners gathering. I still felt nothing. No excitement, no nervousness, just an almost fatalistic surrendering to an uncertain destiny. It was nice to listen to The Scorpions’ lead singer welcoming us. Who knew that Hannover is The Scorpions’ hometown? It was a helpful  distraction to the ever-nearer countdown. 

Then: Ten, nine, eight… I decided to try to relax and let go. …five, four… Maybe I just cling on to the 4:15 pacer?  …two,… How can I possibly survive this? …one, go! And we went. The good thing about events like these is this almost mysterious energy that surrounds you.  It feels a bit like magic. The spectators cheering, The Scorpions’ hits blaring out of the boxes. It was great. The first km felt indeed very relaxed. My heel was behaving, and my legs felt surprisingly fresh. When I got my first km split, I couldn’t believe it, because I was way faster than it felt. The second km was yet again faster and in solid sub-4 territory, and suddenly I thought I’d go for it. I wasn’t sure the last time running felt so light and like so much fun. 

Of  course, a marathon is not run by the first couple of kms. But the feeling of lightness and consistent sub-4 pace held longer than I could have hoped for. 32 km to be precise. I felt like in a dream, and this section restored my faith that a time of effortless running can still lie ahead of me. And even though I did feel my heel a bit, by no means did it feel limiting to my running. Even when I eventually slowed down, and finally hit the wall at 35 km, it was not because of heel pain. It simply felt I was not well enough trained to carry on like this. Fair enough, this is what more training is for. I  am not saying the final 7 km were pretty, but it felt like a normal running problem rather than being handicapped by injury. The crowd was awesome. At some point, when I had to revert to walking, a kind lady came out, held my arm and was calmly talking to me, telling me that I can do it, and I should carry on, and she knows, because she  also did it before. It was so nice and sweet, almost angelic. And it made me start running again and carrying through to the finish.

Once I crossed the line, I realised that despite everything I did not feel completely shattered. Can it be that I somehow progressed recovering from my injury despite running a marathon? The next days will tell, and I am sure my physio will have an opinion, but for now I informed my Garmin about the Riga Marathon in six weeks, to consider it for my next weeks’ training suggestions. I give myself two weeks before I decide whether or not Riga is a realistic thing to sign up for. And maybe I won’t ask the physio.