I've been training for a half-marathon for the last couple of months. Before that, I was a regular gym rat, but not a regular runner by any means. Lately, I've been working really hard at running. I've been following my training plan, planing my meals and hydration accordingly, invested in fancy new running shoes and trying really hard to take care of myself. Things have been going well and I was on track to finish the half-marathon.
It's weird how fate intervenes. It sucks how your body can turn on you too. Two weekends ago I ran 8 miles for my long run. It was a great run and I felt strong. Except for this pesky pain I had in my lower leg. It wasn't anything I couldn't run on, but it was a nagging discomfort. It wasn't enough to worry about.
It was sore on and off last week while I was running too. Again, nothing too troublesome. Then this past Saturday during my 9 mile run it was aching again. I figured if I could still feel it through my four Advil and huge amounts of race adrenaline, then the soreness might be something I should pay attention to.
Anyway, by Sunday night the soreness was constant and there was a definite spot on my leg that was tender to the touch. I sucked it up and made a doctors appointment to see a Sports Med doc for today.
As it turns out, he didn't have anything good to say. Nonsense about stress fractures, tendinitis, not running, and apologizing that I had already paid race registration fees.
Nonsense, I tell you!
So you know what I did? I drove straight to Wendy's and treated myself to a forbidden, gigantic fountain Coke.
I figured it was more responsible than a bottle of tequila.
I'm saving that for Friday's Cuatro de Mayo party.
Meanwhile, the following photo demonstrates exactly what I have to say to my leg:
Sorry if I offended you.
Workout: 35 minutes on my bike trainer