Of which I have none.
So here’s the dealio. Just as I’m about to break up with PT Pam, #brokeknee decides to act up. BIG time. I’d been pushing my speed for short bursts during my last few runs. If for no other reason than I haven’t been able to do any speed work for years. Yes, you read that right. YEARS. Soooo, last Monday at my PT session, PT Pam puts me on the treadmill. Where, once again, I say to myself, “Self? Let’s see what you can do on this horrible thing, shall we?” Now, knowing the speed on the dreadmill is WAY off in comparison to the pretty little numbers I’ve been seeing on my trusty GPS, I kept hitting the speed plus button. And hitting it. And hitting it again. All the way to that lovely point I lovingly call the death pace. You know the one. The speed where lead legs kick in, stitches stick in your side, and breathing is a long-lost, fond memory.
I had that blasted machine going faster than what it was telling me, and I started to suspect I hadn’t moved my dupa that fast since I was about 12. But, I managed to keep it going at breakneck speed for a couple of minutes. As I kicked it back for a cooldown, I started feeling a bit of discomfort in the spot. You know. The SPOT. The one started all this aggravation many, many, many moons ago.
Later that night and into the next day, that old familiar ache was back. And I was PISSED. When I went back to PT Pam a couple of days later – for what was SUPPOSED to be our big breakup – I was still pissed. She figured I’d aggravated my….wait for it…..IT BAND. (Cue dramatic music here). You know what I’m talking about. The same no-good IT band I thought was the source of all this crap for the past few years. Yeah….THAT one. I swear sometimes I’m cursed.
All that bitchin’ aside, I’m happy to report the ache has subsided quite a bit, but my first run back beachside wasn’t nearly as pleasant as I would have liked. Thank goodness the hubby ran with me. (I don’t think he realizes how much he pushes me just by being next to me. And that is a very good thing. Just don’t tell him, I wouldn’t want it to go to his head.:)
I’m trying to take all of this in stride – no pun intended – and stop all the crazy thoughts of here we go friggin’ again – from racing around in my already overloaded, game-show-dollar-machine brain. I’m yelling “plot twist!” and changing up the game for a couple of weeks. I’m headed to the Keys in a few weeks and there’s no way I’m NOT running in that tropical paradise. In order to get me there, the game plan will be all about biking, swimming, and walking. I’m still going to breakup with PT Pam tomorrow, but I feel good about it. Especially since I can do all the exercises on my own, and have pulled out and dusted off my trusty little muscle stim machine and foam roller. Oh, and did I mention hitting the leg weights? HARD? If there’s one thing this runner chick has learned, it’s to embrace the sweat, pain, and tears of the cross-train.
Any words of encouragement would come in pretty handy right now, so feel free to share any interesting, inspiring, little ditties of wisdom. Or you can just yell at me to quit my whining and get my ass back in gear. You wouldn’t be the first. If you happened to be peeking in my bedroom window yesterday you would’ve seen me doing the same thing in the mirror. BEFORE I called the cops about some creep peeking in my window. But thanks for the good intentions. Creep.
Enjoy the ride.
What inspiring words of wisdom do you have for a friend in need? Are you the arm-around-the-shoulders type of or more the Jillian-Michaels-scream-your-head-off type? What do you respond to more? Are you a fountain of patience or ready to ram your head through the door after a minor setback in training?