![]() ![]() First, seeing your feet means you're looking down-and that's bad for your posture and lung capacity. The following tips helped me move back on track and run efficiently.Ĭan you see your feet when you run? Well, you shouldn't, for two reasons, says Jaramillo. He explained that triathlon success requires focusing on good form, maintaining your muscles to offset the strain of training, and scheduling recovery time. In fact, I had torn my soleus, the outer calf muscle.Įnter physical therapist Marty Jaramillo of ICE Sports Therapy in Manhattan. I hobbled home, thinking, I can't believe I hurt myself. ![]() I looked down but there was no yellow jacket-just the pain. I suddenly felt pain-as if a wasp were driving its stinger into my calf. I hadn't run in 5 years and had forgotten the reason for my hiatus until about 25 minutes into my first outing. But quickly-very quickly-I realized that I was facing the biggest physical challenge of my life. I would compete in a 0.9-mile open-water swim, a 25-mile bike ride, and a 6-mile run. In my case, it was 8 weeks away: the New York City Triathlon. And there was the enticement of a game day. I tried to go back to some boxing and powerlifting but was stymied by "what I used to be." I needed to change gears, and a triathlon seemed to offer an ideal way to do that: three different disciplines, only one of which involved heavy impact. Working out had been relegated to the monotony of the gym and occasional tennis games. All my stories about athleticism, all my reference points for "how good I was," were at least 10 years old. sorties to swim, bike, or run: "Why are you doing this?" The answer came a bit more slowly, but it was the same as always. Road kill!įive stitches later, my wife posed the same question she'd been asking after each of my recent pre-6 a.m. I'd braked to dismount, been slow with the twist-and-release, and boom. You have to twist your foot outward to release it. I'd been on my maiden ride with clipless pedals, the kind that the cleats of your cycling shoes lock into. My bike's chain-ring teeth were sunk deep into the calf muscle of my right leg. Sprawled on the sidewalk, I mulled over which of my three available emotions I should call on: anger, shame, or anger.
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