May 28, 2013 by Amy B
This weekend was a complete fail in terms of running.
I was really looking forward to the log weekend; we had great weather forecasted. I still had two weeks before my first “official” long marathon training run. The first run of eight miles is a nonissue. I wanted to get out for nine this weekend and seven next weekend.
I was EXCITED for the long run. I mean, I’m never excited for the long run.
Saturday we spent the bulk of the afternoon/evening either prepping for or enjoying Sophie’s second party with her brothers and sister. I ate my lasagna and cake and called it carb loading.
Sunday I woke up feeling a little under the weather. I reasoned that I’d feel better in the afternoon and set a plan to get my long run in while the kids took their afternoon nap.
Sunday afternoon: the kids were playing in the front yard. We have a broken front step that Scott was getting ready to repair. I’d already fallen on it a few days earlier, but my foot felt recovered and only slightly sore.
This time? While walking down the steps to take a picture of the kids, I. Hit the bad board again. This time, I folded my ankle over as far as one can possibly fold an ankle without it snapping in half.
I’ll spare you the lovely details of me lying on the ground in tears, slightly nauseous from the pain. So mad that I’d fallen again. So mad that the step wasn’t fixed yet. But most of all, I was scared to death if just wrecked an entire summer of training.
I spent the afternoon icing my foot and trying to take it easy, which was a little easier to do after my cold started ramping up into full onset bronchial nastiness. It was so bad that I ended up staying home today from work, which wasn’t exactly what I’d hoped for the week before I start my new job (another story).
So today is Day Three of no running. I’m not exactly the most pleasant person to be around, and on top if it, this just makes me angrier about the five pounds I’ve gained back over the past two months.
I sit here and just feel my ass getting bigger.
It all comes at a time when I’m also trying to wean my one year old. I know I need a serious overhaul in the calorie department, that I need to get back to journaling, caring about what I eat. At first I didn’t worry about the few pounds. “I’ll take them off during marathon training,” I said. Now I feel so much less confident, with my will power hovering around zero lately and my stress eating totally taking over.
I keep trying to tell myself that now that the weather is finally starting to resemble spring instead of winter, that it will be easier to get out and run. My new job (I start next week officially) includes a benefit for a reduced rate at the gym; I can start getting back into that routine a few days a week and get strength training again.
So the positive here? Being injured makes you really appreciate being able bodied. No more complaints. No more excuses. If you can move, then do it.