Sciatica is a shocking show-stopper for runners

 

Ever step on a high-voltage cable? Don’t even think about it.

 That’s sort of what sciatica (sciatic nerve pain) feels like. At least, that’s my own best estimate.

 It’s crazy-painful. Like many runners or other athletic types, I’ve broken plenty of bones. I’ve had stitches in several spots. I’ve had a frozen shoulder, a collapsed lung, and a host of other injuries – not to mention chronic migraines.

None of those comes close to the agony of sciatica.

Sufferers have described sciatica as aching, burning, sharp jab, or stabbing pain. It often plagues pregnant women (when the baby’s weight adds pressure to the lower back), as well as older folks who spend a lot of time sitting. But active folks can have it too.

 If you’ve ever lived through this ordeal, you’re already nodding your head. (That might be the only thing that doesn’t hurt with sciatic pain. Or nearly so.)

 Wish I had a heroic story to go with this injury. The truth is, I was pulling out a too-big and too-deeply-rooted plant in my garden on the first really lovely spring day of the year.

You know how the story goes.

 Immediately, I felt something go wrong in my lower back. Then I could hardly stand to my feet for a while. Soon, the high-voltage torture ran from the small of my back all the way down one leg. Fire gripped that hip, those glutes, that hamstring, the back of that knee, that calf, that ankle, and that foot.

 Soon, the foot went pins-and-needles and then numb. For nearly a month, that foot alternated between pins-and-needles and numb. I couldn’t trust that ankle while walking. (Forget about running for a while. More on that below.)

 An x-ray showed only a 23-year-old compression fracture. My primary care physician quickly tagged that as the cause of my sciatic pain. 

Um, not exactly. 

There’s like a 6-inch distance between that spot and the onset of sciatica. My chiropractor, physical therapist, and neurologist begged to differ with the PCP, pointing directly to a lower vertebral spot (right smack at L-4). Classic sciatica.

Did I mention insurance won't cover an MRI till after at least a month of physical therapy?

Ten weeks later, I’m just barely coming out of the woods on this thing.

 

What is sciatica?

 The sciatic nerve is the biggest (largest and longest) nerve in the human body. It runs from the lower part of the spine all the way (on each side) past the hip, buttocks, thigh, calf, ankle and foot. It ends by the big toe. It’s approximately 2 cm (almost an inch) in diameter at its widest spot. That’s a lot of nerve!

 Sciatica occurs when the sciatic nerve is pinched or compressed, usually by a bulging or herniated disc between two vertebrae (often L-3 and L-4). And it’s a whopper.

What does sciatica mean to a runner?

 Running is a no-go till it subsides. People try, but pounding the pavement isn’t exactly what the doctor ordered. (Walking is good. More on that in a minute.)

 Lifting is a non-starter. I was instructed to forgo any exercises with weights and to steer clear of anything over 10 pounds in daily life. In our house, that meant someone else has to tote the 50-pound bag of dog food into the house.

 Yoga is a mixed bag with sciatica. Some yoga stretches can be helpful, but twisting can make it worse – much worse.

 Sitting is out of the question for a while. That rules out deskwork (unless you stand up for it), and biking is not an option (especially trail biking or bumpy road biking). Don’t mention horseback riding or motorcycling for a couple months.

 Sleeping is a stretch. Many sciatica sufferers can sleep on their backs. Not so for me. The only way I’ve caught any Z’s has been on my stomach. Side-sleeping is starting to become an option, but only on the good (non-sciatica) side.

 Standing can be challenging, especially after a few minutes. Walking is a bit better and sometimes helps to alleviate some of the sciatica stiffness, as long as you don’t go too far. For two months, I had to force myself to get up and walk at least a mile or two (wearing compression socks and a lumbar support belt with an ice pack at first), just to push back the pain of trying to be still (or adjust painful positions) overnight. 

And if you have MS or another chronic medical condition (such as an autoimmune disease), guess what ongoing sciatic pain (and all that lack of sleep) can do. That’s right. It can trigger a flare-up/exacerbation.

  Doctors may suggest steroids (either orally or by injection into the affected area of the back), physical therapy, back surgery, or any combination of these. And maybe massage.

 For me, the answer has been a combination of chiropractic adjustments (first twice a week, but then weekly), added to physical therapy (on a similar schedule). It’s a long struggle, but it eventually helped.

 In the meantime, I missed a bunch of races. I’ve skipped a lot of cardio and strength training sessions at the gym. I’ve done a lot more walking than running.

 But I’m coming back.

Related Items:

·        Hey, Doc. Don't tell a marathoner to exercise more

·        Marathon recovery: Let's talk about toenails.

·        Mid-season knee injury puts a crimp in marathon training

·        Peroneal Tendonitis is stretching my vocabulary by a foot

·        Sick days are setbacks for runners!

 

 

Image/s: Public domain photo by WolfBlur - Pixabay

 

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Marathon recovery: Did I race again too soon?

Marathon experts and running gurus trumpet the value of post-race resting. Lots of them urge runners to take time off, perhaps calling for one day of rest for every mile (or five miles) they ran in the big race. Some advocate reverse tapering, with athletes gradually increasing their distances (and speeding up their paces again). Others simply suggest easing up a bit for a while and listening to one’s own body.

Toss MS into the mix, and well ... I probably should heed that advice better.  But sometimes it's worth the risk.

Oops.

I kind of got off-track recently, while recovering from the Chicago Marathon, which took place nearly three weeks ago.

My intentions were good. I skipped my morning-after weight training class. I eased up on my training mileage for the following week or two.

Then I headed to Washington, DC, with friends.

I’d signed up for the Marine Corps Marathon 10K, rather than the full 26.2, acknowledging that my body still needed some recovery time from the Chicago race. 

But things didn’t exactly go that way. And I’m honestly glad they didn’t.

Marine Corps race day arrived, along with crazy-heavy rains and strong winds that overflowed puddles and the Potomac River.  Runners slogged through ankle-deep (and higher) waters to follow the race course. It was a mess. Then the sun came out, bringing system-shocking humidity.

Runners were dropping like flies. Skilled, well-trained, fit runners climbed (or were loaded) into rescue vehicles.

Two friends and I completed the 10K and then checked in electronically on two others, who were slugging their way through their first-ever full marathon. One was tired and hurting around the midway point. She’d come back from major surgery (with complications), but she wouldn’t let any of that stop her from doing the marathon.

We 10Kers jogged to the nearest subway stop and made our way to that friend’s next mile marker on the marathon course. Once we spotted her, we tucked our 10K finishers’ medals into our shirts (to keep them from beating our chests) and fell into step with her to offer some encouragement for a mile or two.

The other back-of-packers at that point didn’t seem to mind our company, either.

We shared our goos and pickle juice and other snacks (along with shoulder taps and words of encouragement) with total strangers, as we all trudged along together. I handed one lady a tiny snack bag, with just 4-5 pretzels left in it, and she actually hugged me.

We made it to the final bridge, a dreaded gauntlet, not long before many later runners were swept off the course into buses. We outran the final pickup bus and passed the final turn-off, sharing a cheering roar with fatigued runners all around us.

But we didn’t stop there.

We actually ran almost a half marathon, accompanying our intrepid friend all the way to the start of the marathon finish line chute, before veering off to let her conquer the final battle alone and receive her well-earned finisher’s medal.

Our two marathon-entry friends completed their first 26.2 races. The other three of us totaled about 19 miles, between the two races, although only 6.2 officially counted.

All in all, the day was worthy of true celebration.

Today I’m a little tired. That was more than I ought to have done, so soon after my own full marathon in Chicago. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. The glow on our friend’s face, as she beat the marathon dragon at his own game, was well worth it.

My next race is just under two weeks out. It’s a 10K. And I promise I will leave it at that.

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Long runs: Shared-track slowdowns don't have to be let-downs

OK, I goofed. When I planned my latest double-digit training run, I didn’t double-check what else might be going on along the way. I just geared up and went.

Oops.

 I’d picked a lovely trail that winds around a little lake in a nearby forest preserve. Each lap is about 2.5 miles, so I had to do several loops to make my run ration for the day. That sounded simple enough, right?

I picked out my playlist and loaded my car with salty/healthy run snacks and a cooler of chilled water. My whiz-bang plan was to have these ready and accessible throughout my whole training trip, as that’s one of the hardest things about a non-supported teens-to-30-mile run.

About an hour into this plan, I saw a van pull up to one of the park shelters. A few ladies climbed out and began setting cases of water and boxes of bananas on a picnic table. Next, they opened a box of race bibs. 

Uh-oh.

By the time I looped around again, several cars were pulling into that parking lot. Strollers were unfolding, and folks were congregating ON THE PATHWAY.

“Excuse me,” I said to one mom, as I stepped onto the wet grass to pass. No response.

“What time does the race start?” I asked another, as she backed into me.

I sighed, adjusted my earbud, and continued on my way.

By the next lap, the entire trail was blocked, as the small crowd lined up to start their 5K. There were runners, wheeled teams, jog strollers, and baby buggies. I headed for the nearby road to avoid the pack. Then I traversed the grass again to regain my place on the path.

The next time around, I encountered the race leaders. The front-runner, a mom with a tiny baby and a toddler in a jogging stroller, was flying. She called out a quick greeting before zipping by.

By now, I was halfway through my long run and sort of asleep at the wheel. I swigged my water and kept going.

Rounding a bend, I saw the rest of the race pack, making their way along the walkway that edged the baseball field.

That’s when I became inspired.

Although my knees and foot arches and other stuff already hurt, I saw children, young people, and adults giving it all they had. This wasn’t just any run-of-the-mill 5K.

• I saw a pair of runners pushing an adult man in a racing wheelchair. His grin was miles wide.
• I saw a dad with a maybe-eight-year-old boy on his shoulders. The child had braces on both legs.
• I saw a mom coaxing her reluctant runner daughter to keep going. The girl looked to be about six or seven.
• I saw a mom and dad helping their teen daughter along, each placing an arm under one of her shoulders, as she stumbled on the way.
• I saw a young man with crutches, inching his way along the path.

I found myself calling out to these already-motivated folks.

 “Way to go!”

“You’ve got this!”

 “Great job!”

“All right!”

After about 90 minutes, this special 5K was over. The van had been loaded. And the picnic shelter was empty.

My heart was racing from my own run. But it was a little fuller than it had been when I set out that morning.

Because sometimes an interruption is a pick-me-up, rather than a let-down.

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