Though I'm currently coursing through an increasingly thorny thicket of sleep deprivation, in preparation for my return trip to Japan in just a few hours, I've been back in the States for a few weeks now. Upon my late January arrival I was greeted, near immediately, with a snowstorm. It was somewhat appropriate, I suppose, since my family celebrated a faux-mas that weekend as a welcome back party (I was away in Japan during the real deal), providing us with the pleasant kind of white Christmas that Bing Crosby would be proud to croon about dreaming of. Aesthetically, I enjoy snow. As a runner, though this winter has been eerily warmer than it was during last year's training circuit, it's a complete bummer. Apropos of the Wet Snow, my running schedule was pushed back by two days. Instead of running, I spent that Saturday morning on a stationary bike, somewhat sleepy-eyed with jetlag, gazing out the window into the bleak specks of white blanketing the streets below with a foreboding glisten.
Waking up after a long weekend of not running, I found myself, understandably, more than a bit eager to make the most of my Monday morning. The local meteorologists weren't brightening my day with anything they had to say: Monday = cold & rainy. Though the rain washed away some of the snowier spots on the sidewalk, it did me no favors in making the streets any easier to get around on by foot. My clothes, though their labels boasted of a resilient water resistance, were soaked within minutes. My shoes were even worse off. They felt like Sisyphisian bolders bolted to the bottoms of my feet with slender ice cycles.
I charted a course with five 4 mile loops for the day. Four miles into the 20, I ditched my ipod back at home, for fear it would float away in my pocket. I changed my socks and shoes, which I knew was futile, because that only kept my feet dry long enough to walk out the front door into the downpour. At least it provided me with the comforting memory of a dry footed 15 seconds that I held onto for much of the remainder of my run.
So it goes...more wet weather woes below.
From the start I was cold & miserable. Before even reaching the halfway point, I was fighting off the nagging voice trying to talk me into trading in the gondola's view along these suddenly Venetian streets for a reclining chair & a hot cup of coffee. At mile 16 ITBS (Iliotibial Band Syndrome, that old familiar affliction I thought was laid to rest long ago) began peeking out of the shadows with the kind of menacing eyes that Mia Farrow shrieks about in Rosemary's Baby. By mile 20 my knee was alit with shivers of elicit pain. I stumbled home, throwing every last sopping thread I was wearing into the dryer, then burrowed under a mound of blankets. After resurfacing from my catacombs of quilted cotton, I iced my knee & coffee'd my throat. I scolded myself for the stubbornness. A deflating feat of self-flagellation that I am still reeling from. The ITBS in my left knee has not had the chance to fully settle down yet. So, over the course of my final weeks leading up to that tricky terrain in marathon territory, I've been cutting out scheduled runs to increase rest days, stretching, & icing, all with the hope of being fit enough to be a formidable runner on race day. Who knows, at this point, if what I've done to correct it will be enough. If I had only been half as active in preventing the injury, then maybe I'd be in much better shape now.
Though I have made claims in the past in regards to the mental acuity of my cloud-breaking capabilities, that specific skill set, doesn't exactly translate into controlling the weather (at least not at my amateur level of proficiency, which, truth be told, borders on a brazen lie). But there were other factors, outside of weather conditions, involved in this 20 miles of misery that I could have controlled: namely, when I should have stopped (but didn't) & what shoes I should have worn (but didn't). You see, I made a major miscalculation by coming home from Japan nearly (running) shoeless. I thought I had a viable pair here, but quickly discovered that wasn't the case at all. I had nothing in the States except a small pile of worn-out footwear. Even with my recent switch focusing on a more forefront/mid-foot running form, a pair of old shoes slurping up water like a parched desert drifter diving headfirst into an oasis, doesn't help the medicine go down in anything even remotely resembling a delightful way.
It's been a few touch & go weeks now. While I still have wonky moments with the knee, I was able to get through my second 20 miler, a mere 2 weeks ago, without much incident. Now, with nothing more than a series of diminishing runs until race day, I'm hoping I've tamed this beast, just long enough to put another 26.2 miles through Tokyo behind me, and hang another medal around my neck.
I'll admit it, my obstinate pursuit of the 20 mile mark in those egregious conditions, with shoes nearly old enough to enroll in kindergarten, was absolutely foolish & extremely short-sighted. I was driven to test my mettle against that 20 mile beast, and came back to the shire with nothing more than a tale of regret & defeat. Though I reached the goal of finishing the long run, it certainly wasn't a successful accomplishment. Sure, I'm on the mend—thanks in part to a new pair of shoes & some stabilyx tights—but I never should have risked putting myself in need of mending in the first place. Lesson learned: know when not to push past the pain. Here's hoping things will be back up to speed come marathon morning, and hold steady just enough to get me to the finish line one more time. Be well folks.
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