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I was in search of a new radio station to listen to, since the one I normally have playing in the van, the DJ's were suddenly fired. It now plays a loop of music that drives me crazy—not my style. Somewhere in the 106 point range on the dial, Miley Cyrus was playing this song. It spoke to me. Especially the lines: “You’ll never reach it” (I can relate to that voice inside my head), “But I gotta keep trying” (Okay, I will, Miley), “Always gonna be an uphill battle, Sometimes I’m gonna have to lose” (Running for me is an uphill battle, even on flat surfaces/ I fear I will come in last place in tomorrow’s 5K. There’s a great chance of it happening), “Ain’t about how fast I get there” (I hear ya, sister), “And I, I gotta be strong, Just keep pushing on” (I’ll try, I really will). I’m not a Miley Cyrus fan (do I look like I'm twelve?), but in that moment we connected. And I have come to accept the fact that my life is full of strange moments like these.
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My knees are killing me. As long as I move, walk, keep going then I feel okay. If I sit too long, or heaven forbid sleep at night, I wake with stiff, painful knees.
I have to walk backwards down my stairs, since it is less painful than walking down them forward. I ran Saturday. I ran Monday. Tuesday I woke in pain—hot, achy knees. As the day wore on, I felt better. I went to Big 5 and purchased running straps that are placed just below the kneecaps—one for each knee. I have a bad knee. I knew that and I wear a brace every time I run. But now, my good knee hurts even worse than the bad one. Hence, two straps. I planned to run today, and it’s killing me that I can’t. I look out the window and think, “Just do it” (like Nike). I want to. I need to get out there. Each day not running, I feel is wasteful. It takes my goal of improving my running and smashes it to smithereens (you know, one step forward, two steps back theory). I hate running. But I feel compelled to do it. I want to test out my hypnosis. I want to try my new knee straps. I want to do better than I did on Monday. Then I look at the bag of frozen hash browns on one knee and the bag of frozen fake hamburger meat on the other, and think “You’re nuts” (Bags are in place as I write, and boy do they feel good). I’m a hack runner, a beginner of all beginners—a true beginner in the literal sense of the word—not a beginner who thinks they are a beginner because they can only run 7 miles in one sitting beginner. Since I don’t run kazillions of miles, then why the heck do I have “runners knee” (my symptoms match every internet diagnosis)? For the small amount of running I do, I should have . . . nothing. I should be just fine. My lungs should breathe happily, my legs, feet and knees should be rejoicing that it isn’t worse, and my body should be thankful. Why the rebellion? I can’t run, but I can’t just sit here either. It’s frustrating not being able to train for a race that will make me cry, curse and ultimately make me wish for death. I hate running (did I already say that), but I think I hate failure worse. I’ve decided that I am in fact, a walker who happens to run a little and not the other way around (a runner who happens to walk a lot).
I don’t understand the running appeal. I just don’t get it. Walking I understand. Walking I embrace. I will happily walk long distances. On the other hand, while running short distances I find myself loathing the world. I am not a happy runner. No, while running I am fighting for every breath and I know in the back of my mind that once I stop running, even for a moment, my calf muscles will seize up on me. I dread running. I love the treadmill. I love the stationary bike. I sorta enjoy my stepper machine, but the track—especially the track at the SDRC—I can’t stand. I shake my fist at it, “Why can’t you be fun? The machines have a little TV to enjoy. You? You offer me nothing—nothing at all!” Running is a bugger. It’s kicking my butt. I admit it—it is. I went to the SDCR today to run the track with a goal of running at least 5 laps straight. I pumped myself up. I told myself. “YOU CAN DO IT! Don’t you dare think about stopping! Pretend you are being chased by a bear! Run girl, run!” Well, I ran four. It hurt. I stopped. That’s the way I work. I stick my tongue out at the “mind over matter” nonsense. My “matter” is strong willed, gosh darnit! If running didn’t hurt, I’d like it more. But it does, so I don’t . Sorry all you avid runners out there, I don’t like your sport, BUT I will bow to you if you would like in way of apology. Three cheers for all the crazy people, I mean, runners out there! I tip my hat to you. I will kindly wave to you as you fly by me ( and I promise to keep my middle finger down). |
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