Apparently I’m full of it right now. I went to my running club’s annual banquet last night, where talk of course surrounded running and inevitably, injuries as well. I heard several ITB horror stories–surgeries; having to sit out for months; being able to run but only as far as a few miles at a time. All of it got me worrying; I woke up several times during the night wondering if I really will be able to get back to running this week. What makes my case of ITB the exception?
I know I’m not 100 percent, so the possibility of a false start is definitely out there. Toeing the line in Hopkinton on April 18 is questionable.
As I was sitting on my trainer this morning while my husband left out to do the workout he loves–basketball–I started getting angry. I did NOT want to be on that stupid trainer. I envied him the ability to get out of the house and do what he loves. Later, after I returned from taking the kids to church, the hubs came home after several hours of basketball enjoyment. I had a bit of a meltdown.
Which may or may not have involved my yelling and throwing things around the garage so the kids couldn’t see me. Which may or may not have led to my packing up my swim bag and rushing off to the gym to work off some steam.
Even after which, I’m still a mess. I don’t want to face months on the trainer and in the pool. I don’t want to flounder around for ages being able to run a few miles here or a few miles there, but not getting up to the long mileage I love.
The real kicker is that I have no one to blame but myself. I’m the one that pushed through several runs when the pain told me to stop. I’m the one that raced a 5-miler in December that I shouldn’t have. I’m angry that I could be so stupid when I know better.