Note: This is a guest blog by Bonnie Siegel, an endurance athlete and former patient of Dr. Silverman.
Here’s one of my personal mantras: If you want to succeed, set yourself up for failure. I came to this epiphany in the dead of night on a steep, snowy trail. We were 16 miles into the race with 50 miles to go. We never made it the whole 64 miles. And that was a good thing.
I like running races that seem crazy and challenge me both mentally and physically. The Frozen Otter is one such race. No snow shoes, no outside support, no sanity. I signed up as fast as I could. My husband decided to join me, probably to make sure I didn’t get myself killed. During training I paced out the speed it would take to go the required 64 miles in snow. It came out to just over 3mph. Anyone could keep that pace.
Shortly before the race, I had added orthotics to my arsenal as my arches had been hurting pretty badly. Dr. Silverman discovered that I had torn my fascia significantly. Once again, he was at my side, working his magic, and finding a way for me to get back up and running.
My strategy was to start in the back of the race pack. This would allow us time and space to make any adjustments and eventually use passing people as progress markers. After a brief race meeting, we discarded our thick coats and started off up the first hill. Now I had never ran in ankle deep snow on an un-trodden trail up a hill in hiking boots with a 20lb backpack and 3 layers of clothing. I soon realized I may have bitten off more than I could chew. About a half mile in I let out my first groan. My calves were on fire. Onward we went. Eventually we decided to break out our trekking poles and walk as briskly as possible.
I am not a power walker and I have no idea how these people were trekking so fast. These people were destroying us. I kept thinking we would catch them on the next hill or around the next bend but they only left behind their boot tracks. We used those to our advantage, placing our feet in their tracks, as we continued on through the rough terrain.
Every single step was precarious. My ankle twisted left and my knee went right. So much for pristine training runs on snowy sidewalks in near zero temperatures. Staying home with our feet up and drinking hot chocolate would have been just as effective. My ankles held together nicely and my orthotics were working full time. Finally we dragged our lifeless bodies into the first checkpoint. I asked a volunteer if we were far behind the other races. “Yes.” She said abruptly. Oh goodie. We were just over 7 miles in with 57 to go and it had taken us 3 ½ hours to get there. This was going to be a breeze.
So there we were, trudging along fresh out of checkpoint 1 and I knew we weren’t going to make it. A feeling of insurmountability crept over me. We reached the 2nd checkpoint just after sunset and found several racers huddled around the fire. This was a time when racers notoriously opt out and head for the shuttle back to the warmth of their cars. They each know that they will miss the cut off for being one of the “Frozen Few” Though every ounce of me yearned to end the agony as I listened to racers throw in the towel, we strapped on our backpacks and headed back out. If there is one thing triathlon training has taught me, it’s to keep going in the face of physical exhaustion.
Onward we went, up hills, across clearings, through the night, fighting to keep the sleep monsters at bay. “Why do you keep going when you know you’re not going to make the course?” a voice asked inside my head. I let myself consider the question. The answer was: Because I could.
My greatest reward was not a shiny medallion for covering the entire race. The reward was pushing myself further than I ever had, overcoming mental obstacles that you can only encounter when you have pushed and gone way outside of your comfort zone. And that is a medallion you can hang around your neck forever.
