Since February I've been training to run the Lake Placid Marathon in June. A month ago (St. Patrick's Day, to be exact) I returned home from a ten-mile run in Central Park (with a short stop to watch part of the parade) with a sore Achilles tendon and a swollen ankle. I had pulled my Achilles tendon. As it turns out, this isn't an injury you can just walk off. Attempts to run a few days later, then a few days after that, were unsuccessful. I finally decided to listen to my husband (and my brother who is a personal trainer who said, "You let that sucker get back to 100%") and not run.
Needless to say, this was frustrating. I had been kicking ass at my training, running in rainstorms and snowstorms and freezing temperatures and up hills, and I was feeling really good about my preparation for the marathon. I was depressed that I couldn't run (and just as spring was beginning) and angry that I was going to fall behind in training. I finally got back to running this week. A three-mile run on Monday sucked. My tendon, thankfully, was fine, but instead of kicking ass my ass was kicked. Same thing for Wednesday and a four-mile run on Thursday. Completely pooped. Thursday afternoon I was questioning whether I should stop pretending I'd be ready in time for the marathon. But today was better. I ran five miles and it felt good. I did my best to supress a smile after the first mile when I realized it was going to be a good run, but I'm pretty sure I smiled anyway, by myself, running in a populated park in New York City. Whatever.
I have some catching up to do, and it's not going to be easy, but after today I'm convinced I can do it (which is good, because the race entry is nonrefundable).
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