One Week

I should lead into this post with the Barenaked Ladies video, since I've always liked that song. And that band, at any rate.

So yeah. One week. No running at all. I went to see the sports medicine doctor who helped with my plantar fasciitis problems on Thursday. Xrays don't show a fracture (at least not a new fracture; there are a couple of old fractures still visible on film, thank you anorexia), but they do show an area in my fibula - or to be specific, the lateral malleolus - that would like to be fractured. So, no running for a week, and then only a very gradual return following that. I asked categorically if I would still be able to run on October 30...and was told we had every chance at making it happen. It's discombobulating not to be running, but if crossing that finish line depends on me following doctor's instructions to the absolute letter, you can bet that's what I'm going to do.

It's been an emotional week. Besides the couple of days of thinking I had come so far only to be shot down 3 weeks before the run, some news came to me that hit me like a punch to the gut. A dear friend of mine, who moved away from FL a few months ago, got the news that she was going to need to undergo another surgery to remove a recurrence of cancer. She has a 14-month-old son. I miss her terribly, every day. I can't imagine what she's going through, and if I could, I'd be on a plane yesterday to help take care of her and things she and her family need. There have been a lot of tears shed this week, and renewed resolve to get myself out of town after the first of the year to see the sights in Nashville. Or at the very least, to see her. Things were definitely put in perspective. I may not be running this week, and I may not run this race as well as I would have under normal circumstances...but she may be facing the fight of her life - again. Hardly important, my race, under the circumstances.

It's also been a funny week, and a week of a few interesting milestones, around here. Le Snoog has cut 3 of his 4 canine teeth, learned to sing the chorus to Roxanne (you don't have to put on the red light), and learned the word "vagina" well before I was prepared to teach it to him. Only a few short weeks remain before his second birthday. My baby, two years old. Embarrassingly, much less effort has been put into his birthday party than into my half-marathon because they are only a week apart (and the race happens first). Next year, I promise it will be different. I try to make myself feel better by telling myself he won't remember much of this one anyway. I can only hope I'm right. There's always Christmas.

5 more days without running. I will survive, I'm good like that. In the interim, the spin bike is ripe for me to plant my butt on. Fall down seven times, get up eight.

Happy fall weekend, y'all.

Now? Really?

After all the sweat and tears I've put into training, I'm afraid I'm injured.
I'm hoping it's nothing more than transient, but I'm not sure.
I've come so far, and am so close - so, so close - to having the opportunity to achieve my goal.
The idea that I could be out before I'm even in is breaking my heart.

How ironic that it happened during the best run I've had thus far.
Two more days of rest and ice.
I'll let you know.