In recent weeks I have come to regard my 10k race as achievable, it is still extremely daunting, but I have acknowledged that I will be able to accomplish this. A week or so ago I was able to fulfil my training requirements, exceed my own expectations, push through some plateaus and then bring my triumph to a screeching halt. After two rest days it began to dawn on me that the pain I had been feeling was not, in fact, “the burn” that I attribute to exercising. Instead, it is the pain of a premature geriatric. You have all seen it, the hip swagger that is more of a stagger, the tentative shuffle, and … the waddle. I injured my hip, and as a result, I no longer have the graceful run of a gazelle; I am full-on penguin. It appears as though I have a case of bursitis, so I have been icing, stretching, and pill popping for over a week. I can put in a valiant effort on a decent walk and I can suffer through some yoga, but I cannot run. Yesterday I plunged into the pool for a long-overdue swim with the vain hope that it would help to calm things down, but, alas, it was not to be. My 3.3k walk home probably did not help, and I am now wondering if the 60 flights of stairs I heaved myself up today were a bad idea. So, as I write this I am covered in ice with pain pulsing from areas I did not know existed. I believe this is where I make my bi-monthly emergency phone call to both my chiropractor and my massage therapist. Every time I see my massage therapist she says “what did you do this time” and then “how did you manage to do that”. I really have no idea. She says I am overzealous, I say that I am trying not to wimp out; her recommendation is to strive to be about a notch below wimp so I can save myself some money. Whenever I take up a new activity some sort of injury follows:
- pole dancing = lower back issues and bruised rib;
- running = shin splints and bursitis,
- ballroom dancing = stuck neck;
- yoga = muscle spasms;
- strawberry picking = muscle spasms in low back; and
- skiing = rotator cuff.
Following all of these injuries my husband comes up with a new term of endearment for my injured body part, all of which appear to come from the menu at McDonald’s and/or KFC: McRib, Chicken Wing (rotator cuff), Hoof (foot), and Drumstick (hip). In conclusion, if you notice a lack of running-related commentary, it means I really did it this time; I finally injured my Biggie Fry.