Well, it took a full week, but I think I've finally recovered from my self-imposed torture in Salt Lake City. I endured a healthy amount of muscle soreness throughout my legs for a few days immediately following the race, then fretted over some residual achiness in my knee that had me concerned I was one run away from re-tearing my LCL. But after a week of taking it easy with either total rest or easy-paced recovery runs, I'm pretty confident my knee was just feeling the stress of being forced to run 13 miles for the first time in five months. It's still in the process of forgiving me, but I have great hope we can work things out.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Unfortunately, what doesn't seem to have improved since my finish in SLC is that sense of delirium I felt immediately following the race. In fact, it's become quite obvious I am-- more than ever-- one card short of a playing deck. One watt short of a lightbulb. One sandwich short of a picnic basket.
How am I so certain, you ask?
I am seriously considering running another full marathon this fall instead of the planned half. And though I really need say no more to prove my point, I will anyway.
This lunacy of an idea has been running through the space between my ears for a couple of months now, but not until now have I really given it the time of day. It became a little more serious just recently when a blogfriend of mine (whose identity I won't reveal in an effort to protect the equally crazy) suggested it might be fun to work in motivating each other to qualify for Boston in a couple years. Now, I may not be the brightest of the bunch, but I'm pretty sure I can't qualify for Boston by running half-marathons... even if I am kinda cute.
After running my marathon last summer, I was on top of the world. I'd never before felt such a natural high that came from being so thoroughly proud of myself and what I'd accomplished. Everywhere I went, my head was held just a little higher, my chest just a little broader. "Look at me!", I'd say to myself often, "I'm a marathoner!" But I can't recall a single time I said to myself, "I can't WAIT to do that again!"
Don't I remember the endless hours of training every Saturday morning when I would have just as soon slept until noon? Don't I remember the perpetual aches and pains racking just about every muscle in my body? Don't I remember the blisters that deformed my toes and caused me to walk pigeon-toed for several days until they healed? Don't I remember being asked to go out on Friday night with friends and turning them down because I had to go to bed early in order to run long on Saturday morning? Don't I remember being so weary during the middle of long runs that I desperately wanted to just dig my own hole on the side of the road and be done with it all? Don't I remember???
Stay tuned, folks. That picnic basket may just get a little emptier.