Monday, March 8, 2010
Last week, after coming close to killing myself during a 16 mile pain fest, I was advised by my boss (a triathlete) to seek counseling. At the time, I thought he was joking. Now, I'm not so sure.
Turns out pushing through the pain for 8 miles isn't such a great idea. The consequences this time around are an injured calf that refuses to heal. I've run twice since February 28. The first was a three miler that was relatively do-able - my calf was sore but didn't seem to warrant stopping. I was limping the next day. The second was yesterday's attempt at a "long run" - just one 4.5 mile loop of Queeny Park. I didn't get a half a mile.
So, there have been some tears. I'm not sure I'm out of the marathon. I have the number of a chiropractor that treats athletes and I'm reserving my final verdict until after a visit with her. I may try to run tomorrow morning - advice marathon vets? If I can't get back to a reasonable training schedule by next week, the full Mari is out. I can probably do the half - we'll see what the Doc says.
Even though I'm not officially out, I'm heartbroken. And a little relieved. After some time resting, its pretty clear to me that I was suffering from overtraining. True to form, I would never have admitted it until my body forced me to acknowledge reality. I've got to stop this ridiculous self-torture. When will I find the line between training and punishing? Looking at old posts, I think I had that line before. I suppose my all-consuming drive to "get back to my former self" after Noah was born has completely warped my judgment. Two stress fractures and now this whateveritis are evidence enough that I push myself too hard.
Balance is elusive.
And still . . . I long to finish what I've started - to cross the line and hang the medal. To put that silly 26.2 sticker on my car. Lord, please save me from myself.
Posted by Larissa at 2:03 PM