A week or so ago I signed up for a race: The Blackwell Dairy Run, taking place in Barnhartvale on May 26th. I was thrilled to have found a race I like, a first after I broke my leg and twisted my knee. I biked in Barnhartvale and I loved it.
The race is a hilly one I was told afterwards. So be it, I said to myself. I am a decent runner. I am not a lover of hills but oh, the things we can change when the mind wants to and gets busy… So I set my mind on the busy setting because time is short and hills must be tamed.
I changed my training regimen from running on mild hills and mostly flat surfaces to running mostly hills. I checked out more details about the race and it looked like a good race with some speedy people and… OK, it is fun to compete, why not.
My morning runs got longer, hillier and I was once again about to discover that the part I dislike more in a hill is the descent. But unbeknownst to me, the uphills had a dark side that was about to become a pain in the …foot.
That’s right. The top of my foot started hurting and I realized that I could not even walk on a hill without hurting let alone running. So I gave it a day, perhaps the laces were too tight or I needed the other running shoes. It’s good to rotate them, they say.
Nope. Pain was still there. Now I know that it is called extensor tendonitis. It happens when you run hills extensively. It takes a while to heal (weeks at least), it hurts if you try to run or even walk fast, the pain extends in the foot and even crawls up the shin and… That’s when you know you have a royal mess. No race, which is disappointing, but no running either for a while.
So I messed up. I wish I didn’t. I will miss my early morning runs and saying hello to the sun as I make my way to the Peterson Creek dusty trails. I will try to walk early in the morning instead and still say hello to the sun. At a slower speed, which means I will have more time to look around and be grateful for the morning. For each morning that is. It’s amazing how we can bend things out of (bad) shape when we set our mind to it.
So I messed up. And learned something I should’ve known. And added yet another tiny regret to that hidden bouquet that only I know about…
Perhaps time for some swimming and paddling for a change of pace.
It must be…Though I will miss the speed 🙂
messy is real 🙂 bouquets are stories and regret is a four letter word for resistance 😉
love your articles D
Thank you, Trish :-). Mess is what I created, so yes, it is real… Oh well, as always, live and learn (will I?;-))