|Actually, 9 as of today!|
I obeyed doctor’s orders and did not run for 7 days. A week ago I strained my popliteus muscle behind my knee from overuse, most likely a direct result of middle-age male insanity in thinking that I could do anything. As each day of my layoff went by, I felt a tangible improvement, from only a little pain, to tightness, to being aware that it was there, to forgetting that there had been a problem. That these bodies of ours heal is a wonder.
So I set out with some trepidation yesterday morning to attempt my first run post-injury. Four miles, slow pace, after stretching. Of course the rest of my body complained as if I had never run in my entire life. So much for muscle memory. But for the little muscle I was most concerned about, it was a good start. No pain; it just let me know that it was there. So I pulled up after four, stretched again, and declared victory.
Of course in the back of my mind, the repeating storyline is that there’s a big difference between 4 miles and 26.2. But rather than panic, I’m choosing to go slowly, slowly. I’ve demonstrated that I have the endurance to do the distance. But I want to bring my healing popliteus along in such a way that it doesn’t completely blow out and cause me a DNF in Richmond, or even worse, a Did Not Start.
So instead of running more today, I’ll take advantage of the weight machines and cardio machines when my shift ends later this morning at the Y where I work part-time. Not very exciting, I know; but necessary. Sort of like real life.