Like Ali In The Jungle

It's, not, how you start, it's how you finish,

One-and-two-and-three-and, I grunted out my core exercises and thought about my low point. It wasn't when I actually got the news I had another stress fracture; it was hours later, sitting in my hot parked car, in my hot garage, choking back hot tears hearing all the things I didn't want to hear from Vince about Chicago.. and any other high-mileage plans pretty much for the rest of my natural, running life. One stress fracture, you move on. Two, things have to change.

And it's, not, where you're from, it's where you're at,

It didn't seem to matter I'd done everything right. I've been there. Practically an expert on stress fractures, what to do, what not to do. It's almost embarrassing I did it again. But, I guess it doesn't matter. Here I am now. Tibial stress fracture. In the exact. Same. Spot.

Everybody gets knocked down,
Everybody gets knocked down,
How quick are you gonna' get up?
How quick are you gonna' get up?

Well, sometimes it doesn't seem like everybody. There's no normalizing boxing glove to make sure everyone gets a sucker punch every once in a while. But, that's not the point. What am I going to do about it? Recovery is no big deal, I know the drill. I want this to mean something. Ultimately, my stress fracture in 2008 ended up being such a positive experience, I wouldn't take it back. Even if I could.

Like Ali in the jungle,
Like Nelson in jail,
Like Simpson on the mountain,
With odds like that, they were bound to fail

I actually wanted to spend some time feeling sorry for myself. I waited until evening to have a good cry; I earned it. But it never came. I've had worse odds against me.

Like Hannah in the darkness,
Like Adam's in the dark,
Like Ludwig Van, how I loved that man, well the guy went deaf and didn't give a d---, no...

Twenty-three and, twenty-four and, twenty-five and, yes. I have something to prove. This can be ordinary, or I can try to do something highly improbable. Or anything in between. But, it excites me to think.. maybe I can do something extraordinary here. Maybe this.. could be an example of how to get through a serious injury, without laying down and giving up.

It's, not, where you are, It's where you're going,
Where are you going?

Sensible people would take the time off, come back in a few months and consider a 2011 marathon. Or maybe no more marathon training at all. And, no, I haven't run in fifteen days--don't think I'm doing anything stupid here. Chicago is a mere eleven weeks away. But, I have hit a "maintain fitness" routine that is as challenging--or more so--than my running was going. And I am determined--as if lit by fire--to give this my all: Come out across the finish line in Chicago with a PR, a New York qualifying time, and a healed tibia. My own hat trick through sheer determination.

And it's, not, about the things you've done, it's what you're doing, now,
What are you doing, now?

It's a very, very long shot. Mission impossible, really. But what if I can do it?

Post Holiday Blues

#$@)(-ing great. Marvellous.

I'd been quietly training for the past few weeks, very happy with my progress... avoiding the, "Wow, this feels almost too good to be true..." entry.

Until, it was.

It's been almost two years. I'm wiser this time, though.

I dug through the back of my closet, thinking the F-word more times than I care to count. It's in there somewhere, I know it.

"On the bright side," I pensively thought.. and cursed under my breath, "I live on a lake. It's July. I can do this." And, there it was. Waiting for me.

I kept the original box, I don't know why. I took it out, held it up, yeah.. this is what it's going to be today. And tomorrow. And probably... well, I'm not going there yet.

Now, where's the swimsuit? I'm not doing this in a bikini. Not for an hour. And there it was, under all my running clothes, in the very back, my one piece swim (read: exercise) suit.

I grabbed my kids' boom-box, a towel, a stopwatch, and headed down to the shore. Yes, in the answer to my next question, there was a functioning outlet on the dock. Bonus. This was going to suck for hours on end if I had to do it in silence. I don't listen to the radio, so I found some decent sounding station, tossed the ladder in the water, strapped the purple thing around my waist and started the stop watch.

I looked to my east. This might not last long, and soon, it started to rain. By 11:52 into this gig, it was raining so hard, I couldn't see across the cove. Sheets of rain poured down off the metal dock roof and hammered out the radio on high volume. Perfect. I closed my eyes and kept up the steady rhythm. I imagined myself a drowning cat. I hoped no one was watching.

Surprisingly, this was a great, all-over-body, workout. Note to self: Maybe I should be doing this in the summer even when I'm solid.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention it--my leg is.... hurting. I noticed it now and then Friday-ish, Saturday-ish, nothing problematic. Yesterday (Sunday), it was more evident. By 2.31 miles today, I decided it was best not to push through the pain on the inside of my calf anymore. Oddly, it doesn't hurt on impact (good sign), but does hurt as the foot pronates and is tender to the touch on the lower calf (bad sign).

I saw my doctor today, and we're hoping the insurance company will approve an MRI this week. It will be amazing if they do, since they don't see fit to approve my daughter's emergency appendectomy of a few months ago, but that is another story (I'm bitter). But, I want answers. I can push through the pain, no problem. But, of course, that is the crux of the problem--learning not to push when I really shouldn't. I'm busily trying to convince myself the conservative approach is best.

So, after 2.31 miles on the treadmill, it was 60 minutes of aqua jogging in the lake. We'll see, stay tuned. I'm not about to give up Chicago, just yet. Meanwhile, I'm hoping for a "Get out of jail free" card this time.