Tag Archives: running injury

The Magic Stick

 

You’d be surprised at how much joy a little plastic stick can bring.  It works magic on tight sore muscles.  Which is why I call it My Magic Stick.  That is, I used to call it My Magic Stick.  Then I realized people were getting a very wrong impression of me and my love of the “magic stick”.  So I dropped the magic.  Much as I love The Stick, I’ve neglected it for several months.  Mostly due to laziness and a little bit of didn’t-need-it-ness.  But mostly laziness.  Which is ridiculous, because the stick pretty much does the work for you.  Alas, there are few limits as to how lazy I can be.   Recently I liberated it from closet banishment, dusted it off, and reintroduced it to my muscles.  I’m trying to roll out the aches and pains that seem to creep up on me as my training cycle ends.  That’s about as technical as it gets with the stick – rolling the muscles.  Like I said, lazy.  Before I bought The Stick I used my trusty rolling pin.  Same premise, but a little higher on the awkward scale.  And much higher on the pain scale.  Unfortunately my rolling pin was no match for my tight muscles and it dramatically snapped apart somewhere in the vicinity of my IT band.  Enter The Magic Stick.  New (or new again, like me) users beware, there is a little bit of masochism involved.  Rolling muscles is surprisingly painful, but in an awesome way.

She’s got legs; she knows how to use them

I often feel like my long limbs get in my way.  There is a certain lack of coordination that comes along with extra-long legs – think Bambi learning to walk.  As a runner though, many people view my long skinny gams as an asset.  I’m not convinced.  Clearly they’ve never gone shopping for full-length running tights or “capris” as I call them.  I have a permanent ring of frostbite in that space between the end of my socks and the start of my so-called pants.

Let’s look at the reigning marathon champions.  At 5’8, Paula Radcliffe is taller than the average woman, but she’s barely model tall.  Haile Gebrselassie, at 5’5, is below average height, but not dramatically so.  I read somewhere (source unknown) that most elite marathoners tend to be of average height and below average mass.  Maybe distance runners look so tall because they are so lean.  Like an optical illusion.  Long legs may sound good, but a short lean person does have less mass to carry around for 42.2K than a tall lean person.  The shorter runner may also have a flexibility advantage that could benefit running – more efficient stride, less injury susceptibility, and so on.  I don’t know for certain that taller folks are less-flexible;  I’m just saying that you don’t see many sky-scraping gymnasts.

The ‘tall is better’ theory seems to centre around the hypothesis that longer legs means a longer stride, which in turn means fewer steps over the same distance.  Presumably, over the long run (ha ha), fewer steps are more economical.  However, longer limbs may also have a greater moment of inertia, which requires effort to overcome – which is not so economical.  Anthropologically speaking, as with shorter toes, increased lower-limb length is thought to have coincided with other morphological changes observed with the appearance of Homo species.  These changes are consistent with the view that daily movement distances were much more extensive for Homo than for earlier hominins.  When the movement territory was small the cost of less efficient shorter lower limbs would have been minimal, especially in light of other advantages (like climbing).  But as the need for endurance locomotion arose, fuel-efficient long limbs became an asset.  Perhaps a must.  Or so the theory goes.

Steudel-Numbers, Weaver, and Wall-Scheffler tested whether leg-length did impact running economy.  When controlling for body mass, they found that increased lower-limb length did result in a lower cost of running.  It’s true; there is a long-legged advantage, at least in terms of locomotor economy! Long legs are more efficient, although it isn’t clear why.  It is interesting, though, that this increased efficiency was not related to stride length. The tall (or, more precisely, the long lower limbed) do have an advantage, but not because of their increased distance between footsteps.   So don’t envy the stride, envy the ride.

Ref: Steudel-Numbers KL, Weaver TD, Wall-Scheffler, CM. The evolution of human running: Effects of changes in lower-limb length on locomotor economy. J Hum Evol. 2009. 53:191-196.

Title Reference: ZZ Top – Legs. From the album Eliminator. 1983.

The Long and the Short of It

I have long slender fingers.  People tell me they are perfect piano playing fingers.  With no musical gifts whatsoever, those fingers are wasted potential. I also have long(ish) slender toes.  They are a genetic gift from my father.  Beyond intense frustration when trying to buy flip-flops or the occasional post-race toe rehab, I don’t spend much time thinking about my toes.  I especially don’t spend time thinking about how my toes may be negatively impacting my running.  Or I didn’t, until now.

In a recently published article in the Journal of Experimental Biology, Rolian and colleagues found that a mere 20% increase in toe length over average leads to greater mechanical work in stabilizing the metatarsophalangeal joints and controlling the forward motion of the centre of mass during propulsion.  They presume (but didn’t directly test) additional mechanical work translates to increased metabolic costs of locomotion.  In practical terms the reduced mechanical performance and higher metabolic costs of long toes are suggestive of injury susceptibility.  The authors specifically point to situations in which the toes are loaded for long periods of time – such as during a marathon.  The extra forces could accelerate the onset of muscle fatigue, which tends to lead to alterations in loading (we change our biomechanics slightly so as to reduce pressure on the fatigued areas).  Possible long term outcomes include metatarsal stress fractures and increased wear and tear on the tendons culminating in microtraumas and tendon failure.  The latter issue, tendon stress, fatigue, and failure, has plagued me through the years.  Perhaps my little piggies are to blame.

The authors place this research in the context of evolution.  Short human toes (or more precisely, the phalangeal portion of the forefoot) differ from extant non-human hominoids (like chimps, gorillas, orangutans, gibbons) and earlier hominins.  Presumably a set of physical and behavioural adaptations for endurance running, including short toes, were selected for over the course of human evolution.  Our short-toed ancestors would have been more efficient runners, a fine skill when running was critical to survival.  Poor Australopithecus, with their long lateral toes, could not forage as far or as long as their shorter-toed brethren.  Modern humans with Australopithecus-like toes (approximately 40% longer than average) are similarly disadvantaged.  Somehow surviving natural selection, we still face an increased risk of injury during distance running.  I suppose non-running modern humans with long toes aren’t bothered much by the ends of their feet.  My anthropology loving friend has awesomely dubbed my disadvantaged digits “Lucy Toes”.   Those of you with more evolved Lilliputian-sized toes – rejoice, advantage one.

Epilogue:  Since originally posting this article I did what any good scientist would do.  I measured my toes. To my surprise, my increase over average is a mere 10% – less than the 20% found to mess up running.  I’m on the search for a new evolutionary excuse for my less than elite times.

Ref: Rolian C, Lieberman DE, Hamill J, Scott JW, Werbel W. Walking, running and the evolution of short toes in humans. J Exp Biol. 2009. Mar;212(Pt 5):713-21.

Diagnosis: Old Age

Evil Knee Pain returned last night.  I was pain free for one glorious week and then bam, back again.  A little background: After years of successful evading, Evil Knee Pain launched an assault in early January.  I was completely unprepared and EKP (pronounced ekp) won many early battles, as I cut crucial kilometres and limped home.  EKP is nefarious, coming and going at will, lulling me into a false sense of security and then striking when I’m 15K from my beloved sofa.  It disappears every time I make an appointment to see a sports medicine professional, many of whom are convinced that I have some sort of runner’s hypochondriosis.  Frustratingly unpredictable, shooting pains in to the lateral left knee, but occasionally migrating to a dull pain at the back of the knee and most recently in a what-was-I-thinking 2-hour yoga class, striking medially.  Sometimes EKP goes wild and jumps over to the right knee.  According to my sports doc, the roving nature of EKP means that I don’t have a diagnosable knee problem like the ominous runner’s knee, but that I have all the signs and symptoms of someone who is  ”not sixteen anymore“.   Direct quote.  I was diagnosed with old age.