| So here we are, Londoneve. I've not run since last Sunday, when I tried to jog down to Trafford, gently, to check out the Manchester marathon. After a pain free start, I got to 3 miles, at which point the pain in my knee from the tight ITB had escalated to an extent that I decided the really sensible thing to do would be to stop. I then walk/ jogged home, fighting back the sobs at one point quite frankly, glaring at all the happy, blissful runners around me with envious bitterness. It's not that I couldn't have run through it. I just knew there was no point risking a flare-up so late in the day. In retrospect, that my legs and head were still full of jet lag probably didn't help. |  |
I have since rested (swimming and gentle cycle commuting only), stretched and foam rolled twice a day, been sports massaged, iced and Rock Taped. I've eaten well and prehydrated. I've worried, agonised and fretted. And then I found some perspective. Yesterday at the expo after I picked up my running number and timing tag, I went and fan-girled at the Brookes stand. (Scott Jurek wasn't about sadly. One day, one day...!)
"Are you ready for it then, how are you feeling?" asked the attendant, selflessly opening the way for the full torrent of blister stories, absent toe nails and chafing.
"Weeeeelllll..." I started "I've had this ITB niggle, injury thing and I'm not as fit as my last marathon, it's not a fast course either, is it and... Wait. Has any single runner you've asked that actually stood here and told you they were fit and ready for it?"
"No. not one."
"In that case... My worst malady would appear to be a standard bout of maranoia. Thanks for asking. It'll be fine."
I count myself truly blessed to be fit enough to even approach the start line of a world class event. Just participating is, for many, a once in a life time opportunity. I will treasure every footstep, cherish every mile, relish each breath and revel in the shared atmosphere of hopes, dreams, grit and determination glowing from runners and supporters alike. More than anything, I will give thanks to have blood pumping in my veins and oxygen billowing in my lungs, which is more than the friend I run in memory of has. If the knee gets sore, so be it. We'll have to wait and see. I'll cope and I'll get round one way or another.
Che sera, sera. Whatever will ITB will ITB. Pain only hurts and I'm damn lucky to be here to feel it.
I miss you, Giles. This one's for you, dude.
"Are you ready for it then, how are you feeling?" asked the attendant, selflessly opening the way for the full torrent of blister stories, absent toe nails and chafing.
"Weeeeelllll..." I started "I've had this ITB niggle, injury thing and I'm not as fit as my last marathon, it's not a fast course either, is it and... Wait. Has any single runner you've asked that actually stood here and told you they were fit and ready for it?"
"No. not one."
"In that case... My worst malady would appear to be a standard bout of maranoia. Thanks for asking. It'll be fine."
I count myself truly blessed to be fit enough to even approach the start line of a world class event. Just participating is, for many, a once in a life time opportunity. I will treasure every footstep, cherish every mile, relish each breath and revel in the shared atmosphere of hopes, dreams, grit and determination glowing from runners and supporters alike. More than anything, I will give thanks to have blood pumping in my veins and oxygen billowing in my lungs, which is more than the friend I run in memory of has. If the knee gets sore, so be it. We'll have to wait and see. I'll cope and I'll get round one way or another.
Che sera, sera. Whatever will ITB will ITB. Pain only hurts and I'm damn lucky to be here to feel it.
I miss you, Giles. This one's for you, dude.
