I express myself in two ways–running and writing. One feeds off the other. Running is my physical expression, and I reap rewards of mental clarity and creative thought. Writing is my intellectual expression; it drives me and drains me, and sets up the next run.
It’s been ten days since I slipped on the ice, took a nosedive and injured my groin. I haven’t laced up the running shoes since, and everything has come to a screeching halt. I’m looking for something good in this, a lesson.
There is a small matter of a 50K I registered for in the beginning of January. Perhaps the spill I took was the man upstairs telling me to slow down and take a break. After all, I should have been tapering for the race the day I went down. Maybe I’ll do what I’ve advised others to do in the past– get healthy first, then run.
I haven’t given up hope yet, but each day that goes by I am more concerned. This is my second bout with the notion of hanging up the long-distance running shoes in the last five years (in 2009 I had two knee surgeries.) At fifty-nine I’m fortunate to even consider an ultra-marathon, and I know it. I’m five years older now (obviously not wiser) and thinking about life after running, a scary prospect that I’m ill-prepared to entertain. I still believe I’ll wake up tomorrow and no longer limp.
I’ve been doing exercises recommended by a physical therapist, but I’m also relying on writing to maintain sanity and get me through this injury. For the first time, I will truly Rite 2 Run. I’m going to lay it out in prose, write my butt off, write the injury out of my system. Can it be done? Am I a crazy man? We’ll see.