Scary Adventures in Iowa

The weekend before last, Tim and I took the kids to Iowa to visit his family. Although the trip is long, it is not unpleasant for me, because I have a longstanding diabolical scheme of using annoying driving habits to keep Tim firmly ensconced in the driver’s seat, eyes bloodshot, mitts clamped to the wheel, for hours on end. I get to sleep. Don’t try to tell me we womenfolk don’t know what we’re doing.

We got to Iowa, we ran. Well, Tim ran. I tried to run through what was fairly intense lower back pain. I ended up walking practically the whole distance. I thought it was kidney pain. I drank a lot of water when we got back. It didn’t help.

We drove a couple of hours about halfway through the trip to attend a family reunion. As the visit progressed, so did my pain and a weird twisting sensation in my upper thighs and hips. I started wondering if I had somehow cracked my pelvis. (No comments from the peanut gallery, here. I mean it. If I have to pull over and stop this blog, somebody’s gonna be sorry.)

Tim’s dad suggested that it was sciatica. Absurd. After all, I thought, sciatica would mean no marathon.

We drove home. I woke up the next day. Incredibly intense pain. Crap.

A little internet research provided me with a physical test, which confirmed Tim’s dad’s diagnosis. I also discovered that the long car rides were probably the catalyst, and that poor posture (slumping while sleeping) almost certainly exacerbated the problem. It did not mean no marathon. What a relief! I was advised to take a week off from running. And stretch. And take ibuprofen. And sit up straight.

Last night Tim and I walked three, ran three. No pain. I iced my back. I woke up this morning. No pain.

Sciatica schmiatica.