Friday night, standing in my garage wearing shorts, a bra, and flip flops with Chris’ head stuck between my legs.
He’s on the phone with our friend, Dr. Nuts (our friend, he’s a urologist), describing my latest ache and pain – inner thigh on burning fire.
This happened after cycling about 400 miles in 8 days, after running 20 miles the night before, after trying to ride my bike indoors for a quick flush of the legs post run. About 15 minutes into the ride, my inner thigh lit up on fire nearly sending my stomach hurling and my body hurtling off of the bike on to the floor.
This might have something to do with Ironman training.
Now, I’m okay with getting off the bike after 15 minutes after a 20 mile run. Fine. Chalk it up to one of those can’t be explained but will probably go away pains. But I’m not okay with waking up the next day to sit on the toilet at 4:30 am and still feeling the same pain.
Time to call Dr. Nuts.
So I did, early in the day, a desperate call of give me something, anything to get rid of this pain.
8:30 pm, Dr. Nuts has finally called. Really, did he not hear my cries of agony and pain all day? He asks me a quick series of questions about the location of the pain, origin of the pain, and my life as of late.
“I’ve been riding a lot,” I said, shamefully admitting that I have the time to ride that far while he barely has time to ride his bike to and from the hospital every day.
“Liz,” he said….I could hear it now. Doctor-laced lecture about the hazards of riding that far in that few of days. He explained that one should not be riding 400 miles and any time one does ride 400 miles it is very hard on one’s body and sure to send one’s immune system into a weakened state.
All medical code for you idiot of course your inner thigh is on fire.
But I’m not satisfied. There has to be a reason beyond it. Pain doesn’t just pop it. It follows a course over time. So he probes me some more. What can you feel? Is it swollen? Is it red?
No, no, no. It just hurts. To ride my bike. And sit in the car. It’s not a muscle pull or tear, it’s just pain, Ironman-induced-not-otherwise-specified-pain.
Then he asks me where I’ve been. Why, the Rocky Mountains of course. Have I been hiking? Did I pick up a tick? Feverish? Swollen? Something stuck in my hair? After ruling out Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever and Kennel Cough, we were back to the inner thigh.
He started asking me questions about the leg and how it looked but honestly in my oh so inflexible of an Ironman stance I could barely see between my legs.
But right then my husband pulled up. Perfect. Earlier, I had demanded he ride up to the grocery store to buy me a slice of heavily frosted white cake. When in pain and cannot get hold of doctor, eat cake. Trust me, it works.
(Note: Best to wash cake down with a glass of red wine – also works)
But now that husband was back (FINALLY) – perfect timing – I handed him the phone, threw my leg up on the car door, and said LOOK. At first I’m sure he thought it can’t be this easy not even for a married man but then he realized Dr. Nuts was on the other end of the phone. Not exactly the Friday night fun he might have been looking for.
The conversation turned to my inner thigh – how did it feel, swollen glands, pustules (none, thank you), red bumps, hair follicles, saddle sores, creases, crotch, and the ever fun to talk about – taint.
“It’s not in the leg crease or the crotch, the pain is radiating more to the left of her taint.”
You can only say things like this to Dr. Nuts.
After a few more palpations and questions, Dr. Nuts decides to prescribe antibiotics. A good old course of meds to clear things up. Whatever the things may be. It could be a hair follicle gone amok, it could be a virus, it very well could be Rocky Mountain kennel cough.
A trip to the pharmacy, a bottle of Amoxicillin, and I am well on my way to hopefully curing yet another mysterious Ironman-induced pain. A night of sleep and wouldn’t you know I woke up the next morning with pain magically gone?
But if I know one thing about training for Ironman, it is that the pain most certainly will reappear. If not in my inner thigh than somewhere, anywhere before October 13. But with Dr. Nuts in my corner, I’m sure we’ll be able to sort it out with a phone call and help from husband.