Today marks the 3rd complete week of no running, or at least no running without the following day resulting in a maddening limp, and it is taking its toll in new ways every day.
A friend from The Running Company asked Michelle, “Is he a beast to live with right now?” and she bit her tounge, but I answered for her. “I’m not so much a beast, just a super bitter sour puss”, which is to say, an incredibly moody asshole. And I don’t like being this way, but the frustration that comes with not only NOT running, but expecting that to facilitate quicker healing…of which does not come, adds to my emotional frustration every single day. It would be one thing to experience an incredibly slow process of healing, knowing you are getting closer and closer to running everyday, but when there is no noticeable difference and the day when you can run without restriction and get back to training is completely unforeseeable, well, I just don’t know how to process and accept this. EVERYTHING running related eats at me.
I’m frustrated wearing my Annex jacket or Spirit of Columbus hat. I feel like a poser. I hate wearing my brand new running shoes (which are to help the healing) when I haven’t run a single mile in them yet. I feel like a poser. When I see other runners my heart drops into my stomach and I want to look away, but can’t help following their every step, just really missing that feeling. Last week I rode the Monon on my bike and passed my team who were just heading out for a warm up. I joked with them about their embarrasingly slow warmup, but the second I rode past I wanted to fall over and bury my head in my hands out of dissapointment. That SUCKED. Michelle and I have been riding the Monon a lot recently and when I get up to the Broad Ripple area there are so many runners in their gear, of all levels, a number of them training for the Mini-marathon that is here in a month, and it’s almost too much to take. I want to turn off to a side road and pretend that running was never invented. I just feel like hiding in a hole until this all goes away. I don’t want to see anybody else running when I can’t.
Speaking of the Mini. I had high hopes for that race. It’s such a high profile local race where the best of the best in this region come to race, to see where we stand. I was really looking to run in the top 10 and set a significant PR, but now, well, not only are those hopes gone, but I’m most likely not even running that race now. That will be the 3rd race I have to miss out on because of this setback. I missed the Papa John’s 10 miler, the Race for the Cure 5k this weekend and now the Mini. That does not feel good.
My one consolation in this is knowing that Chicago is still eons away, well, 6 months away anyways. That’s plenty of time to get back into it, even if I was out for another month. It’s not exactly how I wanted things to play out, but this is just part of the process, and I have no option but to make something positive out of this and train smarter when I’m back in it, listening to my body more and not trying to run through those SOS messages it was tapping out into my leg.
Still, I can’t help but wallow in this frustration. I want to be able to just wait this out patiently…but I’m not patient. I mean, it would be one thing if I was ready for a break, ready to relax for a month or so, but that certainly is not the case. This part of my life was taken away without any warning, without any consolation, just like that.
Still, I’m trying my hardest to work through this with some sense of positivity. I’ve just started getting massage therapy from ProWellness Chiropractic and I haven’t resorted to throwing my fitness habits all away and going back to eating bags of cookies every night. I’m still trying to take care of myself and maintain something, anything, while this..this…THING repairs itself. I’ve been getting supportive comments and I certainly appreciate them. I’m told when I get through this I’ll be stronger than ever. I’m holding on to that, cause it’s all I feel I’ve got right now.
Once again, said with a deeper tone of frustrated resignation, “Here’s to hopin.”