Dr. James explained that plica are an extension of the protective synovial capsule of the knee. Occasionally, a little of the plica tissue can become irritated, enlarged, or inflamed causing something called synovial plica syndrome. The plica themselves are remnants of the fetal stage of development and exist in adults as sleeves of tissue called synovial folds. Very few people ever develop plica syndrome, but those who do are often distance runners.
The surgery to remove the inflamed tissue was a relatively simple one and required three tiny incisions. The operating surgeon then inserted a scope and some cutting pinchers through these incisions to extract the tissue. Doctor James told me that if I rested long enough the inflammation would eventually go down, but that I would always be prone to synovial plica syndrome, unless I had the surgery.
I knew the surgery had to be done or I would face this same injury again and again for the rest of my life. The best time to have the procedure done, though, would be over winter break and back in Boise where I could recover at home. Also, I recognized that I am a high maintenance sick or injured person and was counting on my mom to take good care of me.
The surgery was simple, and recovery would have been easy had I not let my body atrophy so badly the past fall. A physical therapist gave me drills to do that would help me regain the strength and fitness I had lost. But, with the wisdom of youth and immaturity, I tossed the drills aside in exchange for the TV remote.
With my legs bandaged and propped up on pillows, the only thing that kept me from going totally insane was having my little sister with me. Lauren was now a senior at Bishop Kelly High School. Though we had fought often when I was living at home, usually over resources like the dial-up Internet or the phone, we had grown very close since I had moved out. I missed her, and was grateful to have her by my side, watching trashy movies with me as I recovered from the surgery.
Following winter break, I returned to Willamette University. While the surgery had me hopeful that I would one day run again, I still was not ready to spend a great deal of time with my former teammates. Instead, I continued to hang out at the Sigma Chi house where I found diversion and companionship.
With the spring semester underway, the fraternities and sororities were getting ready for rush. This annual tradition where the various Greek houses recruited new members had everyone at the house excited and busy. My friends in the house continued to urge me to rush, but I still had reservations. I liked being able to come over, hang out, and drink beer, but I also liked being able to go back to my room away from the house when I wanted to. As had been the case with running, it was ultimately at the urging of a girl I had a crush on that finally pushed me to join Sigma Chi.
Rumors of my behavior, my new weight, and my joining of the fraternity eventually traveled to my coaching staff and I was sent an email asking me to meet with one of the coaches, a man I’ll call Coach Kendrick. At the meeting he sat across from me with his arms folded and bluntly asked me what the hell I was doing. I told him that I was pretty sure my running career was over. I also said that since I wasn’t on an athletic scholarship what I did in my free time was none of his business. He didn’t directly say so, but I got the feeling that he wanted me to drop my pledge to the house. I held my ground.
Needless to say, the meeting did not end well. I understand now that Coach Kendrick cared about me and didn’t want to see me waste my potential. At the time I had trouble seeing that. He and I always had poor communication with each other, and I felt his concern came across as a mandate, rather than as a guy who genuinely cared about me. This failure to communicate would become a defining characteristic of our relationship.
Well into the second semester of my sophomore year I still had not resumed training. Several weeks after my surgery I had attempted to jog a few easy miles, but my knees still hurt. Even more troubling was that my Achilles tendons were starting to hurt as well. My body was clearly rejecting running of any kind, and I was too lazy to do the rehab drills I had been prescribed.
By this point in time, running had completely fallen off my list of priorities. This allowed me to put all my time and energy into school and a social life. I continued to get good grades and was having a great time in the Greek system. I had made more new friends in my first month with Sigma Chi than I had in the three prior semesters I had been at Willamette. My love life was at an all time high as well, now that three sororities were inviting me to all kinds of events.
One afternoon, as I sat in the Sigma Chi house shooting pool, there was a knock on the fraternity door. One of my Sigma Chi brothers came back to tell me there was “some guy named Sam,” here to see me. I set my pool cue down and walked to the front of the house.
On the steps was a young coach I knew from around the track. His name was Sam Lapray and he was a volunteer assistant for the Willamette Track Team. Sam was a tall, good-looking guy who had run track for Willamette University in the early 1990s. He was now in his mid-thirties and still looked pretty fit. I liked seeing Coach Sam around the track because he always brought a lot of energy to practice. Sam and I had chatted a few times in my first three semesters at Willamette University, but we weren’t especially close.
The rumor going around the team was that Coach Sam owned millions of dollars in real estate all over Oregon. The guys on the team looked up to him because he was wildly successful and had a beautiful wife. I also liked Coach Sam because he seemed kind, and because he occasionally brought his three young children with him to our practices. They were great kids and Sam seemed like a really good dad. I recognized that this guy was successful in everything he did, and I wanted to know what his secret was.
That day, as we stood on the front doorstep of Sigma Chi, I am sure I looked the complete opposite of successful.
“So, what have you been up to?” he asked.
“Not much,” I replied with a shrug. “Mostly just trying to have some fun.”
Sam took a seat on the steps and asked me to do the same. He looked me in the eyes and said he recognized a talent in me that was special. He said he had known several world-class athletes before, and that he saw in me what he had seen in them, a passion and drive that would ultimately overcome any obstacle that stood in the way of my goals. He then went on to say that he truly felt I had the potential to make an Olympic team one day and, furthermore, he would help me get there––if that was what I wanted. I flushed red at the compliment, and then laughed it off. I told Coach Sam that I was pretty sure my running career was over.
“If I find someone to help you with your rehab will you do it?” he asked.
I told him I would think about it and wished him a good evening. Then I went back to finish my game of pool and drink another beer.
That night Coach Sam did some research and found a company in Beaverton, Oregon, a suburb eight or nine miles southwest of Portland, called Function Dynamics. They specialized in helping athletes recognize structural weakness in their bodies. Once these issues were identified, the team at Function Dynamics created a personalized menu of drills that corrected the underlying problem and allowed the athlete to move more efficiently.
On a rainy, February day, Sam picked me up in his truck and drove me to the Function Dynamics headquarters. He also sat with me through an initial consultation where they took pictures and video of me standing and walking.
The Function Dynamics team told me that the human body was designed to handle an incredible amount of stress. If, I learned, all the pieces are in alignment, the body should be able to withstand hundreds of miles of running each week without injury. However, every person has a few weaknesses and it is these imperfections that lead to overuse injuries. Members of their team then showed me the images they had captured, and identified my own personal weaknesses.
I could see right away what they were talking about. My hips were clearly not parallel to the ground, and my right hipbone was an inch higher than the left. From the side I could also see that my weight was not being evenly distribute
d through my legs, and my now large torso was swaying well over my toes. The team at Function Dynamics said these issues were the underlying cause of my lower leg problems.
I was concerned with the issues and wanted to address them. However, what concerned me most was the way I looked in the pictures. I had never been the type of distance runner who had a long, lean build, but I now did not resemble any kind of runner at all. I stared at the pictures in disbelief, wondering how I had let myself get so big. I missed being in shape.
The Function Dynamics team printed out my menu of drills and then led me through each one, ensuring that I did it correctly. The entire program took about twenty minutes to complete. On our way out, Sam laid his credit card down and said that he would pay for today’s visit.
As we climbed back into Coach Sam’s pickup I told him I would pay him back. He shook his head and said, “I don’t want you to repay me with money. You can repay my by doing those drills every single day, without fail.” I told him I would, then he asked me for one more thing. “I want to see you at track practice every day.” I started to protest, but he cut me off and continued, “You don’t have to do the workouts with the team. Just do your drills, run a lap or two, and then come say hi to me before you go home. Deal?”
I nodded my agreement. Coach Sam’s selfless love and support was exactly what I needed at that time. We rode back to Salem listening to music and talking about things unrelated to running. On that drive home I recall being as happy as I had been in months. Though I still wasn’t sure I would ever run competitively again, I knew that I had just made a very good friend, one that would last a lifetime. I was wise enough at the time to recognize the importance of this, and smiled at my good fortune.
True to my word, the next day I showed up at track practice decked out in my old, heavy sweats. I completed my drills, and ran a very slow, painful lap. Then I walked to the weight room where Coach Sam was taking a few of his sprinters through a workout.
“Did you do your drills?” he asked.
“Yep. And ran one lap,” I replied.
“Well, that’s a great start!” he said and put his hand up to give me a high five. I slapped his hand and then gave him a hug. I thanked him and said, “See you tomorrow Coach,” as I walked out of the weight room.
Over the next few weeks I was able to add more laps to my daily jog. The drills seemed to be helping and the pain in my lower legs subsided. By mid April I was running close to thirty miles a week and, despite now having to deal with the worst shin splints I had ever known, was almost starting to feel like my old self again. I remained active in the fraternity, but made plans to run track that spring.
My first race back was scheduled to be at Hayward Field. I was still very overweight and seriously under-prepared, but Coach Sam thought it would be good for me to get some competitive juices flowing again. I entered an 800 meter heat and, to my surprise, won with a time not far off my personal best.
Doing so did not feel easy or smooth. As my bulky muscles burned through the little oxygen that my heart and lungs were able to provide them, lactic acid built up in my body. The lactate that formed from metabolic processes taking place in my body during the race had a paralyzing effect on my muscles, and to win, I had to push myself through a level of pain I had never known before. I crossed the line and deliriously stumbled off the track, through the main gates, and onto Agate Street. Coach Sam was soon beside me, along with a few of my teammates. They were all excited that I was “back.” But I didn’t feel back at all. In fact, I felt like I was going to die and to prove my point, I collapsed on the grass. I then raised myself up onto my hands and knees and began projectile vomiting. Coach Sam laughed and said, “See that guys? That’s how you know you went to the well!”
I had always felt that I was a good runner, and made the most of a little bit of natural talent. Given that my body type did not fit the stereotypical mold of a world-class middle distance runner, I assumed that it was my work ethic that had gotten me this far. That day, as I heaved my lunch onto the grass, I had a revelation: I was built to run, and run fast. There is simply no other way to explain how I was able to win that day without having trained most of the previous six months. What if running is what I was born to do?
I now know that injuries test every great athlete in every sport. To become one of the best, an athlete must constantly straddle the razor thin line between training hard and over training. Though I didn’t feel it at the time, I can now look back on that knee injury with a certain amount of gratitude. In fighting through that injury I learned a lot about myself. I learned that I was born to run, that I had the mental resolve to overcome obstacles and become one of the best, and that to get to the top I needed a lot of help from people like Sam Lapray.
I had a feeling that Coach Kendrick was not going to be part of the support team that took me to the next level, but he was still my coach and we sat down the following week to form a race schedule for the spring. We talked about going back to the NCAA Championships and what it would take to get there. We both knew that I did not have the strength to defend my dual titles. I opted for the shorter of the two and we made a plan to defend my 800 title.
With workouts coming from Coaches McGuirk and Kendrick, and emotional support coming from Coach Sam I clawed my way back to fighting form. In June we flew to Decatur, Illinois to compete at the NCAA Division III National Track and Field Championships hosted by Millikin University. Suffering though a hot, humid climate unlike anything I had ever run in before, I managed to defend my 800 meter national title. As I crossed the line I felt both joy and disappointment. I was running and winning on a national level again. But I had failed to top, or even match, my accomplishments from the year before.
I flew back to Oregon and added my new first place trophy to the two I had earned as a freshman. Then I spent a few days at Coach Sam’s house, getting to know Coach and his family better before I drove back to Boise for the summer.
As my 4Runner rolled along I-84 though the Columbia River gorge I replayed the events of that year in my mind. In some ways my sophomore year had been less successful than my freshman year. There had been many more obstacles and low points. There had indeed been many disappointments, but I felt they had tested me and I had learned a lot about myself and about life in working through them.
I turned the music up and rolled the window down to let the hot, Oregon air pass through the car. I smiled, knowing that I was once again healthy and had the entire summer back in Boise to regain the strength I had lost during the winter.
My incredibly tough sophomore year had given me much, but it had also done some permanent harm. My relationship with Coach Kendrick was not the same after the meeting where we discussed my decision to join the fraternity. I think he may have seen my decision as direct disobedience of his authority. We certainly had personalities that clashed. Furthermore, I think it hurt his feelings that it had been Coach Sam who finally got me back running, and not him.
That summer I worked at the hospital as an assistant to an eye doctor. I also trained hard and looked ahead to my final two years at Willamette University, I tried to be optimistic that Coach Kendrick and I would be able to repair our wounded relationship. However, upon my return to campus, my optimism quickly faded.
6
When I returned to Willamette to begin my junior year, Coach Kendrick and I began to seriously butt heads. I had spent much of the summer running in the rolling hills of Idaho, and had regained most of my leg strength. I thought the workouts he gave me that fall were too easy, and I didn’t feel challenged. I mentioned this to him, often, and he responded the same way each time. “Oh, so you’re the coach now. Why am I even here?”
“No,” I’d say, “you are the coach, but I know my body and I can handle more work.”
Despite our discussions, Coach Kendrick continued to write work-outs that I felt did not challenge me. This, coupled with the manner in which he addressed my concerns did little to reassure me that he
was the right person to be coaching me. Though Coach Sam had a continued presence around the track, his job was to train the sprinters and jumpers. I could continue to rely on him for emotional support, but ultimately, I needed someone to help facilitate communication between Coach Kendrick and me on a daily basis.
Fortunately, Willamette University had just hired a young, new assistant coach by the name of Jimmy Bean. Jimmy had just finished graduate school and was eager to be coaching full time. He was only a few years older than me, but I looked up to him. He and I got along very well from day one and I often expressed my concerns to him. With Coach Jimmy facilitating most of the communication that occurred between Coach Kendrick and me, we were able to find something that worked.
Despite having Coach Sam and Coach Jimmy, I was still frustrated with my running career. I was not being challenged enough, both in practice and in competition. I had taken Coach Sullivan and Coach Sam’s vote of confidence to heart and began to believe that I might actually have the talent necessary to make an Olympic team.
As I began to dream about making this a reality, I became frustrated with school. Though I loved my general chemistry and biology classes, I loathed my advanced classes. What had been mind-blowing lessons on how lasers worked or why the sky was blue, was now mind numbing lists and charts that had to be memorized. I soon came to resent all the work that had to be done to get good grades. School was still at the top of my list of priorities, but keeping it there was getting in the way of running.
Life Outside the Oval Office: The Track Less Traveled Page 5