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.