I’ve made progress, but it’s relative to my original stated goal. Last night I was able to run. Period.
Oh, it wasn’t anything fantastic, just 10 kilometres on the treadmill. But after Sunday’s run and subsequent pain I was grateful to get back at it so quickly. Still, I may be pushing my luck – and recovery. At eight km, the foot began hurting again, but I stubbornly pushed through to 10.
The result is I’ve been icing it all day again and tonight it’s back to spin class to take weight off of the foot. Hard running, particularly, seems to aggravate it.
I haven’t entirely let go of the idea of running Boston this year, but with only a month left in which to squeeze in my long runs, the opportunity appears to be quickly fading, and I find myself surfing over to the website for the Sugarloaf Marathon and eyeing that up.
The fact of the matter is, I may be forced to re-evaluate my plans and change my goals.
I’m like Martin Dugard, in some respects. The author of the memoir, To Be A Runner, also suffered from plantar, but the similarity we share comes not just from the injury, but the attitude toward them.
“The fact of the matter is that injuries need time to go away,” he wrote. “Rushing them invariably leads to relapse, which leads to more frustrating time off.”
Dugard goes on to say – and it’s here where he, I and many other runners share a commonality – that he hasn’t yet acquired any “magical patience” that leads him to acceptance. “No,” he writes, “I still grit my way through a run or two, hobbling like a complete moron who lacks the common sense to know better. But I’m getting better at it.”
This evening I took my frustration out in that spin class. It helped, although I’m left with the nagging feeling that my fitness is diminishing with each passing day and that I’m facing the possibility of missing the race season for a second year running.
Patience, I need to cultivate that patience. It’s either that or become that hobbling moron.