I have been lucky. No two ways about it. Pure and simple. Luck. For the last I don't know how long now, I have not had to ice pretty much anything. Which for me is kind of unheard of, usually a knee or two will give me a bit of trouble (nothing a little freeze time can't cure). But pretty much for the last couple of months, nada. Perhaps my body has adjusted to the rigors of marathon training?
That is until Sunday. The date of my last long run...except...it wasn't long. I mean unless you consider oh about two miles long. Then, whew, so glad I made it!
But technically it was supposed to be 20 miles. So yeah, I guess you could say I was a little off. And though it pains me to admit this and thus give him the victory he so desires, it was Mr. Virus. He called my bluff knowing I was in all actuality powerless to stop him. At about mile two, hacking up a lung and feeling a tad dizzy. I turned right around and walked back to my car (so actually there were 4 miles total then huh?). Besides I was absent the Kenyan because he was having some ankle trouble and wanted to give it a little R & R. So I just figured hey, I'll do a couple short runs and get that last pre-marathon long run in by Wednesday so the Kenyan doesn't have to go it alone and I can kick this cold.
Only one problem. I seem to have somehow, in two miles (or four, whatever) have aggravated something (anklish, back of, slightly to the left). Now tell me, how does this happen? I can run 15, 17, 18, 20, 24 and I'm good to go, but two (or 4) and I'm reaching for the ice bag. I tried to go for one of those little short runs earlier today and literally made it less than a 1/4 of a mile. What the crack is that?
This makes no sense. If you need me, I'll be laying in bed with ice strapped to my ankle adoring my fuel belt that just arrived in time today for me to...um...lay around in bed? Maybe I'll fill it with some Pinot Grigio or something and read a running book. That's kind of what it's meant for right?
'Til next time...