Saturday, September 1, 2012

My Achilles Heel



I'm guilty of throwing the term around, I never really gave it much thought.  Heck a couple weeks ago, if anybody asked me, I would have answered the heat.  Now that I think of it, I have a bunch of Achilles heels outside of running, but lets not go into them we just don't have that kind of time.  What is my Achilles heel?  A few weeks ago, the answer was the heat.  Today, my Achilles heel, is actually my Achilles heel.

The last trail run certainly didn't help.  My run today finalized the inevitable.  Where it bothered me for the first mile, then seemed to ease up, today turned to progressively getting worse the further I went.  At mile seven, I knew I had to turn around.  At mile nine, I knew not only had I gone too far, but I couldn't pretend any longer.  I'm hurt.  The remaining six miles to get back to the car weren't pretty.  CT waited for me at the last water stop and told me she could recognize me not by my face, but because how awful I looked.  I know, coming from her, you never know if she's joking or sincere, but in this case it was obvious she was telling the truth.

Achilles Tendonitis is what I've got and I don't want it.  Running a marathon in under two months just isn't going to happen.  Running in general just isn't going to happen.  Visiting doctors, it's best not to ask the questions you don't want the answers to (don't hold me to this, but this is how I do it).  I'm not going to come out and ask how long should I not run, if I shouldn't run my marathon, because chances are their answers aren't going to agree with what I think.  I kept the question simple, when can I run again?  Thirty heel raises on my bad ankle and I have to be able to hop on one foot.  See, totally cleared to not have to miss any races!

This post starts in September, but really it's a post that all encompasses September.  This damn thing doesn't heal.  To make matters worse, I've now missed races.  I've learned something.  Running a race is hard, being a spectator is easy, being a runner who can't run yet has to spectate is torture!  It really is a form of cruel punishment.  There's the physical pain in my ankle, but there's this whole other level of mental anguish that goes along with it.  Part of it is sole searching, but there is a weird form of selfishness.  Cheering and being excited for running friends and family is very easy and genuine, but the whole time that face is on, devil horns are attempting to poke out with thoughts of wondering how I could have done.  The one race, I found myself judging everybody crossing the line.  I admit that while running, seeing the occasional person who I tell myself there's no way that person is going to beat me, but this was way beyond those thoughts.  I flat out don't like it.  I want to be done with spectating.  If the guys in the straight jackets are coming, I still want them to know, even hurt I'll still out run them....just saying.

How long with this last?  I don't know.  All I know is I want my Achilles heel to Achilles heal.