Laryssa Rote

What they don’t tell you before your first real, athletic injury is that you don’t even know it’s happening—unless you snap a bone or something else that’s catastrophic. An athletic injury is often a slow hurt. It’s that pain you can’t shake. It’s a thought that maybe you took it too far, too fast, but you’re fine. That first inkling that you’re hurt never hits home.

That oh shit moment comes later, when you’re 6 miles in and that pain you thought you could work through was now knife-edge sharp.

My attempt at a first half marathon was Christmas 2020 and while that whole year was a dumpster fire, I wanted one good thing to come out of it. My dog and I started running down our Montana mountain road. I didn’t want to set a record; it was all about finishing up those 13.1 miles and celebrating with a beer. Four miles in and my right knee was starting to burn. Not uncommon—I had made jokes for years about having bad knees. Mile 5, I was seeing flashing lights and wondering what was going on. Mile 6 I slowed to a walk and then sat on a guard rail, knee screaming. Did I break it? Did I pull something? What was going on? I straightened it out and caught my breathe. The pain ebbed but as soon as I continued, it came roaring back, and I finished my marathon limping and in tears.

According to the internet it was patellar tendinitis. Just one of the common ailments that outdoor recreationists face. Others include sprains, fractures, and concussions. In a study done 2004-2005, it was found that over 200,000 outdoor recreationists end up in the emergency room yearly. An outdated study but still some big numbers, with hiking being one of the biggest offenders. 

A common injury, affecting 1-3% of the general population at any one time, tendinitis is inflammation of a tendon and caused by overuse. In my case, it was also exacerbated by running downhill for long periods of time (I mean, who likes running uphill?) Luckily mine hadn’t ruptured and I wouldn’t need surgery. Rest would fix it. 

Right? 

I found myself in a catch 22. This wasn’t a straightforward sprain. I needed to rest, but too much rest caused the tendon to stiffen, shorten, and become more prone to reinjury. Also, with the patellar tendon, it also connects up and over your knee cap and connects to the quad. If you don’t keep your quad strong, this could also lead to reinjury. Which happened to me twice because I’m bullheaded. The real fix was going to be twofold: taking it easy and a set of physical therapy exercises. I needed to keep moving, but slowly. No running. No jumping down from bouldering. No mountain biking. 

Absolutely maddening.

It was on my first “walk” after being prescribed a new knee brace that I was feeling particularly sorry for myself. My hyper vizsla zoomed through the trees and I’ll admit, I was jealous. It was the middle of spring and everything was green, so I couldn’t help but notice a contrasting blaze of orange against a tree, just at the base. When I picked my way over some fallen logs, I realized that it was a bright orange and white set of stacked fungi. In the back of my mind, a colloquial name came forth: chicken of the woods. An edible mushroom that gets its name from the texture and taste it takes on from being cooked. I decided not to harvest it, but I was giddy with the discovery. 

My next walk I discovered a tiny antler. My first “shed.” My eyes were being trained towards the itty-bitty and instead of putting in the miles, I was slowing down and, in a way, covering more ground. There are people who singularly do this, looking for mushrooms and sheds and berries and whatever else they could bring home to utilize. Moving so fast for so long, I had forgotten that every time we experience the outdoors, the experience is a cumulation of a billion small things bound together to create this breathing, living thing. 

On my hands and knees, I was measuring the scat of a mountain lion against the size of my own hand. Bear scat. Wolf tracks in Yellowstone. There were creatures leaving a whole slew of details as their way of communicating with us. I was learning the habits and traits of the plants and animals I had been taking for granted. Bitterroot flowers that had been closed when I passed them in the early morning were completely open in the afternoon sun. Millions of sunflowers dotted the churned-up gravel alongside roads, some so close to pavement you could see spindly roots reaching out towards the white line.

A tiny, green bird, barely the size of my index finger was raising chicks in a nest outside my kitchen window. While doing my PT in my kitchen, I’d watch him and his wife the whole time, flitting back and forth, snagging tiny insects mid-air. It only took 14 days, from hatch day, for their chicks to join them in the air. Now that’s an animal that lives fast. In the Sibley Bird Book, I learned their name: a Cordilleran Flycatcher. 

I’m still healing. It’s been 8 months since the initial injury and I’ve slowly worked mountain biking and easy jogs into my life again, but I’m cautious. This injury has taken nearly a whole year away from me and my miles; if I can keep it from taking anymore that’d be great. 

I have three pieces of advice for those in outdoor sports who are facing an injury or who might just be feeling that first twinge of an angry muscle or tendon. 

1. Listen to your body the first time. 

Looking back, this injury had started long before my half marathon. I didn’t listen. Some people have amazing pain tolerance and perseverance; if it doesn’t knock them out, they’re going to keep going. Not listening to your body can lead to being laid up for a year or more. Or surgery. My skin crawls when I think about what could have happened if I would have torn my patellar tendon instead of just getting tendinitis.  

2. Go to a doctor. 

I didn’t. I looked it up on the internet. My first reinjury was what sent me to a specialist. If I would have made an initial appointment, I would have gotten a brace sooner and started down the correct course and recovering quicker.

3. It isn’t the end of the world. It’s okay to rest.

I think that outdoor recreation is appealing for the people who live for speed. When that gets taken away from us, it can feel like the world is crumbling. But there’s so many other ways that we can experience the outdoors. There are so many facets of that world. While it can never take the place of the “gotta go fast” rush, it doesn’t mean you’re barred from it completely and forever.

I hate being injured. But I love the new set of eyes it’s given me. I haven’t seen my Cordilleran Flycatcher family in a while. Maybe they’ve found a way to slow down, too.