Thought for the day comes courtesy of Born to Run (again):
Suffering is humbling. It pays to know how to get your butt kicked.
I hardly know where to start. Best to go with the butt kicking part I guess. The third week of training brought with it some very unwelcome tidings:
Lefty (affectionate moniker for my oft-injured left foot) started giving me grief during my long run on Saturday. I didn’t think much of it, but continued to monitor the discomfort, just in case. I finished 9 miles wondering what on earth could be the matter with it. Just a dull ache. Nothing cataclysmic, I hoped. Luckily, I happened to be in my hometown for the weekend where my physical therapist sister was on hand to take a look and offer an initial prognosis. With 2 rest days to follow, I thought for sure it would be a fleeting hiccup in the training process.
As I ventured out the next day, I instantly knew it was more than that. The pain radiated up the back of my leg, every step delivering a cringe inducing soreness. I didn’t make it a half mile before I had to stop myself. This wouldn’t be so upsetting were it not for the vivid deja vu washing over me.
The context for the deja vu is this: several years ago I broke my third meta-tarsal, mid-run. Not knowing it at the time, and figuring I would only be able to deal with it once home, I pressed on for the 2 miles it took to get back to the house, where my then roommate was luckily on hand to take my broken self to the ER.
I’ve had to actively fight the hysteria that potentially being in a boot brings back. Not to mention the inopportune timing of it. If there weren’t a small non-refundable fortune registering me for a marathon I might be able to take it in more stride (Pun intended?). Really convince myself to look forward to biking, or swimming or something. I spent an uncomfortable few days constantly keeping at bay the waves of hyperventilation that want to overcome me at the prospect of not running again. I was able to get in on very short notice to see the doctor.
The news is good. Unbelievably good. X-rays are clean, and the bullet I’ve dodged feels immense (and maybe that it grazed me just a bit). Peroneal tendonitis means no running for at least 2 weeks a lot of physical therapy.
It will put me behind in training a few more weeks but at least the marathon is still a possibility, and those are chances I’m more than ecstatic to take.
It makes me much more nervous about the race than I have been to this point, but nervous trumps broken every time.