Dear IT Bands,
You brought me to a crippling halt exactly 2 months ago where my steep descent off Hope Pass was a whopping 2 miles per hour! Google says some caterpillars move faster...how embarrassing!
I've been asked what in the world are IT bands and hopefully the above picture brings clarity. It remains a mystery what happened to mine as they warmed up, became fiery mad and ultimately felt like axes being chopped into the side of my knees.
Since being forced out of the Leadville 100 trial run, my OCD has focused on the extremely boring topic with no tangible results. One article says "foam rollers are the solution" while the next one claims "there is no reason to hop on foam rollers to stretch IT bands since they have the consistency of truck tires."
The only common remedy of pissed off IT bands is, plain and simple, rest.
Whatever...
I have visted my mistress a few times over the past 2 months and despite her looking so good, I was forced off the mountain, gimping, while prolifically cussing at my IT bands who slyly snickered back at me.
Workouts at the gym, short runs and wind sprints did not flare them up, but a few token miles into an enjoyable trail run had them transform into red hot lava.
But, I reached a milestone yesterday. I visited my mistress again and headed up the canyon and noticed someone else was taking care of her. Rocks stacked here and stumps dragged there revealed someone else's caring touch. Selfishly, I wanted to wrap my arms around her for protection from potential false pretenses. But, as I trudged forward waiting for my IT bands to morph into fiery daggers, I realized it was a good thing having someone else watching over her.
A slight breeze blew colorful fall leaves into the air, frequently highlighted in the forest by shafts of sunlight penetrating the canopy. Fresh elk tracks told of a huge herd passing through and the hillside spring begged for moisture as it was down to a slight trickle.
In the exact same shoes when removed from the race, I continued on my venture while my breath pillowed in front of my face as she had turned down the thermostat. The sun felt good on my skin and, happily, I completed the loop with only a slight tick from the left IT band.
Wahoo!
So, IT bands, in my research of why you dropped me like a lead balloon, I am guessing you revolted from overuse. Prepare yourself for unbelievable abuse during the upcoming winter as I salute you with my middle finger.
As for you Father Time, although you giggle at me when another wrinkle is discovered or when joints pop like gunfire, I still come out of the corner when the bell rings and will continue to punch you in the nose, knee you in the gut and, if need be, will boot you in the balls.
Life's too short to grow old.
Sincerely,
The Moustache
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