By Bob Schwartz

I've been fairly lucky throughout my running years (knock on the bottle of anti-inflammatories) that I've been able to avoid a major injury. You know the one that turns many a suddenly sidelined runner into a foaming Neanderthal because they can't get their daily dosage of endorphins.

Unfortunately, I recently became part of that contemptible club with the required entry being one or more consecutive months off from running due to an injury. I wish I had some battle produced reason like I suffered a stress fracture in my foot after having run 180 miles per week for ten consecutive weeks or on my 74th consecutive 400 meter repeat I injured my Achilles tendon. That would have gotten a "Whoa Nellie!" but, alas, my reason gets a "Yo idiot."

My less than awe invoking excuse was to pull a hamstring playing basketball. I know. What's a runner doing playing with those weekend warriors who are otherwise known as the gang of Anterior Cruciate Ligament tears waiting too happen? The truth is I've always played basketball despite the fact long distance runners can't jump up to the curb even with a sprinting start. I'm lucky if when I sky, someone could insert a 3 x 5 card under my Air Jordans. And I mean the 3 way and not the 5. My scouting report would read, "Good stamina, no spring."

I'd been able to avoid a basketball related injury other than having my shot ferociously blocked and the word Spalding tattooed across my forehead while my opponent cried out, "Take that Marathon Boy!"

The problem with being wounded was I quickly realized I'm not the Joan Benoit type of injured runner. She underwent knee surgery shortly before the 1984 Olympic Trials and had a stationary type bicycle rolled into her hospital room to maintain her conditioning. On the other side of the cross training room, I wheeled the refrigerator into my bedroom, made sure new batteries were in the television remote control, speed dialed the number of the pizza delivery store into my phone and began to do my best Brian Wilson imitation while I perfected my sulking. It felt like I doubled my weight within the first six hours of concluding a sedentary lifestyle was on my agenda for the next few weeks.

Despite watching all of Leslie Nielsen's movies (hey, some days there's not much on), I was able to keep my mental abilities attuned enough to reach some half-way intelligent observations about being on the injured list. Specifically, not being able to run produces Injured Runners Savings Time, wherein days seem to triple in length. This did allow me to watch ESPN's Road Racing without having to set my VCR to 1:00 a.m. and those 3:00 a.m. infomercials can actually be interesting when the only other thing on is the gripping account of The History of the American Fruit Fly on the educational channel.

Also, your laundry is cut in half but showers don't feel nearly as rewarding when they're post repose as opposed to post run. Having recently resumed my running I've discovered a critical piece of information. Specifically, it's best to refine your "I can run across the street before that car comes" internal tracking system since not being as fast tends to make the cars appear to come towards you a lot quicker. Discretion is the better part of becoming a hood ornament.

I also discovered in addition to the funny bone there is a funny muscle. The latter is the hamstring which comes with it's own warped sense of humor by providing absolutely no pain until I'm three miles away from home during my first post injury run. It then sends me the not so subtle message that one more week of coconut cream candies on the couch would have been a better idea as I hobbled home. The lack of fresh air over the prior month enabled me to believe I heard laughter coming from the back of my left leg. The haranguing snicker of the hamstring that was then in control of my life.

Ultimately, I healed and did make it back to the roads. I realized there's life post injury and post Naked Gun movies. For me and Leslie Nielsen.