I’m one of those crazy people that actually like to push myself passed what
I thought I was capable of. Running does that for me. There’s plenty of pain,
joy, pushing, and moments of triumph. But there are also moments that make me
never want to move my legs faster than a walking pace for as long as I live.
Like Sunday night for instance:
I’m not really sure what I was thinking when I decided to add a half iron man and a marathon to my birthday bucket list and then actually follow through. I think I must have had a stroke….or been possessed…maybe both? Anyway, Sunday night was the big 13.1 mile run. I felt good about it, well rested…because I hadn’t done anything in 6 days (I wasn't feeling good sheesh). It was a night run, so I didn’t need to worry about that awful round object in the sky called "sun". I did need to worry about my mental state as I ran in circles and creepers galore. All was fine and dandy for a while. No creepers lingering and there was plenty of entertainment. At one point I may or may not have been singing out-loud and dance-running to Usher's "Yeah". Like I said, fine and dandy. Then I hit that 11 mile mark. Everything from my hips up felt great. I was breathing normal, mentally I knew I was capable of running a measly two more miles but everything below my hips, you know those two limbs that were actually moving the rest of me and doing a lot of the work, those bad boys were dying. I pride myself on being tough with a high pain tolerance so take me seriously when I say I have never experienced that much pain while running. When that magic number finally appeared on my Garmin and I was allowed to stop I was overjoyed. Not just because I was able to stop, but also because my legs didn’t disincarnate into dust and blow away with the perfectly cool fall breeze. 13.1 miles, intense pain, and no disincarnation. Talk about a good night ya'll.
I’m not really sure what I was thinking when I decided to add a half iron man and a marathon to my birthday bucket list and then actually follow through. I think I must have had a stroke….or been possessed…maybe both? Anyway, Sunday night was the big 13.1 mile run. I felt good about it, well rested…because I hadn’t done anything in 6 days (I wasn't feeling good sheesh). It was a night run, so I didn’t need to worry about that awful round object in the sky called "sun". I did need to worry about my mental state as I ran in circles and creepers galore. All was fine and dandy for a while. No creepers lingering and there was plenty of entertainment. At one point I may or may not have been singing out-loud and dance-running to Usher's "Yeah". Like I said, fine and dandy. Then I hit that 11 mile mark. Everything from my hips up felt great. I was breathing normal, mentally I knew I was capable of running a measly two more miles but everything below my hips, you know those two limbs that were actually moving the rest of me and doing a lot of the work, those bad boys were dying. I pride myself on being tough with a high pain tolerance so take me seriously when I say I have never experienced that much pain while running. When that magic number finally appeared on my Garmin and I was allowed to stop I was overjoyed. Not just because I was able to stop, but also because my legs didn’t disincarnate into dust and blow away with the perfectly cool fall breeze. 13.1 miles, intense pain, and no disincarnation. Talk about a good night ya'll.
The next day I could barely walk down the stairs due to my new old lady knees
and hip. I’m assuming my legs felt like barely-moving-corpse-legs because I
don’t move them enough during the day. (Schoolwork typically requires you
sitting on your bum.) Since the rise of the dead I’ve iced my knees and been stretching. I’m not in pain anymore but I’m still incredibly tight. That triathlon business is a mere 12 days away and I am most certainly nauseous just thinking about it. So, if you’re a runner and have any suggestions/explanations/tips, please feel free to spill your knowledgeable guts.
Post a Comment