What goes up must come down.
I was going to just not write a blog post this week – let Wednesday go by and see if anyone noticed. It’s one of those weeks where I don’t want to write some BS cover up post, but I’m also tired of thinking about what’s been going on. But blogging is about the good and the bad – so here I am.
“What goes up must come down”. It’s a phrase we all learn as kids. As runners, we use it to help our legs power up and over hills. And as I’m learning, it’s also a phrase that also very much applies to marathon training. Just when things are going well, something happens to remind you this isn’t a smooth ride. Let me back up.
As I was leaving my weekly chiropractor appointment last week I got a fist bump as he said “How PUMPED are you that you are just killing marathon training?!”. I had finished my 12 miler that past weekend faster than I’ve run any of my halfs. Hills were back in my life and weren’t leaving me attached to my ice pack. Things seemed to be really working in my favor.
Then I got home later than expected and still had 4 miles to get in. It was cold, dark, and windy (as it typically is on a January night when you live by the ocean). I sat around in my running clothes for a solid 20 minutes throwing a temper tantrum because all I wanted to do was throw on my PJs, eat dinner, and curl up on the couch. It’s so late. I deserve a night off. I’m not in the mood to be outside for 40 minutes. Finally the guilt spoke louder than my excuses and I huffed and puffed my way out the door. I was barely a mile into my run before “battery low” turned into silence from my iPod. If I wasn’t pissed before, I was now.
Here’s where I keep trying to go back and remember what happened, what I could have done wrong. I know I ran angrily through the dark streets, cursing everyone and everything I could think of. And then somewhere around mile 3 I felt that familiar throbbing in my hip. That was the deciding factor that I was done and I headed inside to stretch and foam roll in a panic. Maybe it was my imagination. But when it hurt to lay on my side that night in bed I knew the pain was back.
I spent the rest of the week with my ice pack, the foam roller, and extra chiropractor appointments. And when the weekend came around I had to make the decision to miss my 14 miler. To say I was devastated is an understatement.
Every Saturday night I’ve been scared shitless about my long run the next morning, but despite my fears I was secretly excited for 14. It’s been 14 months since I’ve run a “new” distance and I just wanted to know what being on the other side of 13.1 felt like. My chest felt this combination of panic, anger, disappointment and sadness all rolled into one and I didn’t know how to deal with it except to cry (Which let’s be real – that’s my go to emotion for everything). I know this all sounds pathetic and absurd to be crying over such a thing as not being able to run 14 miles but until you’re an injured runner, until you are someone training for such an incredible goal, you don’t really get it. But when you’re there in that space, the emotional pain is so much stronger than the one you’re feeling in your body.
The good news is that as I’m writing this my hip is already feeling a lot better than it did – and as I’ve said before but will never say enough – I have an incredible team that’s working to get me to the start line healthy (and from not jumping off the ledge in the meantime). I know I have to stay optimistic, I know that this is just one of the bumps there will be in my road to Hopkinton. After all nothing worth having comes easy, and there is nothing I want more right now.