Other than an ill-advised attempt at the 300m hurdles my
sophomore year of high school, I have never DNF’d a race.
That is, until today.
Woke up this morning to a slight dusting of snow in Moab.
Didn’t figure it would be a big deal, since I’ve been running in snow and ice all
year. Famous last words, I guess.
Started off the race conservatively, with a first uphill
mile in 8:34, followed by steady flattish miles in some mud in 6:51, 6:48, and 6:57,
keeping my heart rate around 150, as planned. We then worked our way up gold bar
rim trail, where there were pockets of ice. Got a little lost a few times, as I
am wont to do, but I was running conservatively, and I felt strong as we hit
the high point of the race, which was at mile 8.
Had a mini-snickers bar at the aid station, had a nice quick
chat with the volunteers, and then tucked in behind another guy who looked like
he might have been a masters runner.
(Warning: stop reading here if you're squeamish)
I consciously decided to run slowly in this section because of
the ice.
As I was following in behind the guy, I came upon a three-foot
drop kind of suddenly. There are lots of these on this course, so no big deal,
right? I tried to hop down. Unfortunately, I was on black ice, and I completely
lost control. I fell the three feet on to my right leg at a really rough angle.
My ankle turned all the way to four o’clock (use your imagination), and I heard
something snap.
It was like watching one of those gruesome basketball
injuries, except it was my own leg.
Anyway, I let out what I’m sure was a very masculine-sounding
whelp or two. I told the runners around me that I thought my ankle was broken.
An aid volunteer and a very nice runner helped me to limp
back to the aid on my good foot. From there, they debated what to do. After
about a half an hour, the decision was made to drive me down in a jeep. Only
problem is that this was one of the least drivable places (where is it still possible to drive at all), and my leg
was ruined. On a scale of 1 to 10, the pain was a 9.8.
So another agonizing hour on a jeep tour by Richard (thanks, Richard!)
to the trailhead, followed by thirty minutes with search and rescue (thanks,
Tom!), followed by a 20-minute trip to the hospital (thanks, wife!).
About two and a half hours after I fell, I was at the hospital
getting an x-ray: Spiral fracture of the fibula and they said my ankle was “disturbed.”
The force of the twisting of my ankle caused my fibula to break just below the knee,
it turns out. Other than a broken index finger and a stress fracture my freshman year of college, this is the first broken bone I've ever had.
I asked them what it meant that my ankle was “disturbed,”
and they said I should talk to my orthopedist about it. They said it wasn’t
super clear from the x-ray, but they suspect I’ll need surgery to stabilize my
ankle.
I’m in a half cast for now, and I’ll have to visit the orthopedist
next week.
Who knows when I’ll be walking normally again, much less
running.
The last few months, my fitness had been strong—better than it
had been since I was 19, and now, well, I’m going to have to take a long break. Maybe
I’ll be able to swim or something when I get a full cast. But, at the moment, two months on crutches sounds like a best-case scenario.
On the scale of life’s hardships, this one is minor. I still
consider myself very fortunate and am thankful it wasn’t any worse. I hurt myself
right next to the aid station. That was very fortunate. Many people rearranged
their races, days, and their energies to take care of me. I’m thankful to them
all. Generosity and kindness came to me from lots of directions. Now that I'm just sitting on the hotel bed, the pain isn't too bad.
I suppose I’ll just have to focus my attention on other
things the next few months.
If I can be jogging again by summer, I’ll be thrilled. If I
can be racing again by this time next year, great.
That said, after this, I don’t think I’ll ever do another
winter trail race in icy conditions. I might be done with those kinds of races
for good.