Monday, February 6, 2012


Warning: loads of whining to follow.

My body has betrayed me.

In all honesty it did a long time ago when God's plan included triplets, and I've come to a deeper, truer level of thankfulness (not to be confused with acceptance, mind you) of the aftermath of being blessed with a total of nearly 15 pounds and 51 inches of healthy babies.  Sigh. Shoulder droop.

But now.  Now my pride has taken a hit and I didn't have a lot left over to give up.

I'm supposed to be training for a 1/2- marathon coming up in...oh...3 WEEKS and I've been sidelined with an injury.  I've been running for over 25 years and have never been seriously-take-a-break-from-running injury and now is not the time. You see, running is one of the very, very, very few things I can do well and is the only form of exercise I enjoy.   

I've been fired up about this 1/2 for 8 months now and did everything just right.  Built the best base possible.  I couldn't have been more careful about increasing my mileage, blah, blah, blahbiddy blah.

And now it's ended and I'm still (stupidly) going to hobble through this thing for many reasons.   I ran 4.4 miles yesterday and my foot (plantar fasciitis) was only  yelling a little bit, so I think I can add another 9 miles to it without causing more injury, right?

Double curses.

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