When people get injured, they'll come to me, knowing I have a history of running, and thus a history of injuries (though in recent years, through the combination of regular strength training, cross-training, vibram usage on some days, trail running, and ultrarunning, I get a lot less injuries!). ITBS. Bursitis. Shin splints. Random bone pain, bone spurs, other weirdness.
However, last August, I had a rather unusual injury while running. On a run home from work on the Williamsburg Bridge, my mind was racing. I had to pick up a bike box, then grab some broccoli at my health food store, then go home, make & eat dinner, sew, pack, converse with friends on packing lists for Burning Man...
And then I smashed my hand into the railing of the bridge, like I've done dozens of times before, but hard. So hard tears popped into my eyes. I clutched my hand, trying to ignore the pain. The pain that would soon pass. The pain that had to pass.
It didn't. Home that night, after carrying the bike box, the groceries, while sewing, while packing, I called my dad.
"Take it easy. Don't do anything, let it rest."
Easy for him to say. I had to finish sewing this tutu, had to turn the wrench on my bike bolts...
At Burning Man, I was useless. Hammer rebar? Hardly. Rachelle had to do the hardest parts of setting up my tent, do most of the shower set-up herself. I went to the medic facilities on 9:00 and C, and they gave me ibuprofin. Unfortunately, from taking way too much ibuprofin during high school track, it doesn't do anything for me/to me. I was in a lot of pain.
It started to heal. Slowly. Very slowly. After Burning Man, I skipped the machines at the gym requiring usage of my hand. And I decided after a few more days, I'd be good to go back.
Until a complete idiot riding his bicycle on the sidewalk rode his bike straight into me. I guess he thought riding into me was a good substitute for applying his brakes. I put my hand out so he would not smash into all of me, and he did get me pretty bad - I had bruises and cuts on my arms and my legs, and my hand, oh my hand, it hurt so freaking bad.
My Gram later asked, "What did he say to you?" I didn't know; I cursing too loud to hear any of the words he said to me.
Months later, I finally decided to go to the doctor. A cortisone-like shot caused me to scream curses in the doctor's office, and I'm good.
Alleve occasionally, but I'm still doing good. Until my second run on Thursday - I smashed my hand into something else on the Pulaski Bridge. I stopped, cradling my hand, tears in my eyes. A guy walking on the bridge inquired as to my state of being, and it's slightly swollen, hurts a little, but luckily, I smashed it in a different area.
Running seems to be a way for me to hurt not only my legs, but my hands as well.