Choices

Over the last couple of days, I've made some important choices in regard to my injury. Some good -- like making an appointment to see a podiatrist and not running Derry tomorrow (single tear... sniff sniff...). Some rather poor -- like going out dancing last night in non-supportive shoes. This morning I made another key decision, and the jury is out on which category it falls in - I went for a run.

I woke up from yet another night of restless, tormented sleep feeling groggy and entirely unmotivated. I hadn't run in 2 weeks, it was 34 degrees and sunny outside and the ArcTrainer seems to be aggravating my arches more than it helps my shins. I couldn't bear the thought of ANOTHER indoor workout and moreover, I was mentally restless. There's a lot going on in my head that I can't seem to work out at the gym when I'm distracted by 4 TVs, people watching and music. I need the wide sky above me, fresh air in my lungs and alone time with my thoughts.

All things combined, I decided to put on my sneakers and give a little test jog around the living room in my pajamas (now there's a mental picture for ya!). Everything felt fairly copacetic, so I said "screw it" and suited up for 4.3 slow easy miles around the river on a beautiful Boston day. My shins and calves felt a little achy, there may have been one or two twinges, but I was outside, working out, propelling forward and ALONE. No friends, no music, no TV. And it was blissful.

What was so particularly hard about this run, though, wasn't the physical discomfort, but the mental. I hated having to run so slowly (and clumsily/stiffly) and was even fighting a tail wind, like some divine power was trying to shove me forward and I had to say NO! I'm running SLOWLY today! It felt like all the runners I shared the river paths with were gazelle-like, cruising by me and making it look easy. I wanted to wear a shirt that says "I'm Injured" so everyone would know I was a real runner and not some New Years Resolutioner picking up the sport. I wanted to increase my pace and pass people. I wanted to secretly race the other women who passed me. I wanted to make eyes at the cute guys running toward me but was too ashamed of my pokey pace to even try. I wanted to break into a sprint when some stupid group of loud college-aged kids started chanting even more loudly in Spanish as one of their cocky dudes broke away from their group to catch up and run directly behind me me, thinking he was being soooo funny (Ok, I might have also wanted to punch him in the face before I bolted). More than anything, though, I wanted to scream in frustration.

I'm still not sure if running today was a good choice or not, and as I submerged my calves into a bucket of ice water afterwards for 6 excruciating minutes (yes, I've also recently chosen to start doing ice baths - they suck every bit as much as you would imagine), I wondered to myself why in the heck I stick with this sport at all. But as I sit here typing all this out, I can tell some of the junk in my brain has been set free and I know THAT is why I run. And it's a choice I'll continue to make for as long as I'm able.