icing & before

I almost fell when I got out of the bed on Sunday, since my left leg was not prepared to sustain my weight when I stepped down. Running seemed preposterous, so I skipped my “big run,” a ten miler, not even that big. I have been doing stretch exercises for the hip, and ice baths. The first one was too shallow and not cold enough (I learned about ice-to-water ratios). The second one was the real thing. I hope the third one to be a charm. That’s not decided yet, since I just got shivering out of it, and I am still numb from the waist down.

My mind made a magnanimous leap to accepting that I would not run for a few days. Perhaps a week. Whatever it takes. As I had anticipated, I do not miss the running in itself. My body rejoices over the break. I am, in essence, a creature enthralled with comfort and leisure.

It is my mind that worries, but I set that aside as well. I am not training for a particular marathon. I plan to run THE marathon, whichever it will be when I am ready. Every marathon is THE marathon for me. Except for the Boston marathon which requires qualification, they all amount to the same thing, 26.2 miles. So a short delay won’t make much of a difference for me. In the worst case, I won’t be able to compete in the Duke City Half-marathon next month. Bad enough, but what am I to do? Limping for 13 miles won’t cut it.

I miss something though. All throughout spring and summer, when I stepped out of the exercise room after the customary 5K or more, never later than 6:30 am, this overwhelming sensation washed over me, of being one with the brilliant universe. The day was young, the air crisp, the morning saturated with sunrise gold. I was spent and soaked in sweat, and a sense of accomplishment permeated dawn. More than one time, the first step into the quiet morning, the fresh intake of breath after exertion, this emergence into the glory of work well done, was the highpoint of the day yet to start. I miss that.