Caught in the Weeds
I am falling apart. It started with my calf.
Things quickly progressed to the opposite leg. Every run was painful, every 2 miles ended in a limp. I've spent the last two weeks in a running depression, unable to pull myself out despite numerous physical therapy appointments, reoccurring sports massage, and regular salt baths.
In fact, this is my third pass at writing this post. The first two were just too sad. I decided to scrap that, and rally my attitude. It will be ok!
And then I got a cold.
It is easy to get caught in the weeds- lose track of what matters in the day to day of training. All of the things that have gone wrong seem to add up, and it is hard to find your way through the jungle.
I am not sure where it happened, but somewhere along this path I started to believe that I could run this race. That I had never worked harder, that this time, was the time. That all of those failed attempts would pay off, in character and in guts. In the finish line.
And maybe they already did. Just not in the way that I thought they would.
There is a very real possibility that this story will not end in a marathon, and yes, I am having a hard time swallowing that reality. But even if the finish line remains elusive, maybe I can still walk away with a medal of my own- an invisible hunk of brass to hang around my neck:
I have bravely pursued something that is so clearly out of my grasp, and failed, for the last 5 years.
It's no finish line, but man did it take guts.
And no matter how this ends, my stoke will essentially be the same. I'll high-five my awesome coaches- who patiently wake up early to run/walk hours with me, and hug encouraging friends who insist on being there to cheer me on, finish line or DNF. I'll celebrate with my family and kiss my partner.
And then I'll get to work again.