Last week my knee started hurting as I ran. By Thursday it hurt so much after 4.7 miles of a planned 6 mile run I stopped, my knee aching the whole walk home. I stayed off my feet as much as possible for five days and the pain seemed to subside.
The half marathon I have been training for is May 5. Yesterday I decided to get back out on a short run to see how I would feel. After about two miles the dull pain returned. It felt better after I stopped running, yet today some soreness has returned and I am afraid this marks the end of my half marathon aspirations.
Murphy's Law? Self-fulfilling prophecy? I wanted this so very badly and weeks ago during the Oakland running festival I thought to myself "I should have ran this race." I should have. Now it may be too late. I have always questioned my body's abilities, strength and power. I never thought I could do distance of any kind or anything that would warrant a cheering crowd of supporters. I got so very close. 11.26 miles. The half marathon was mine...
But I don't think there will be a race, a t-shirt, strangers and my family cheering me on. I don't think I will ever get there. Not on May 5, and probably not ever. The discouragement is thick and heavy. I feel defeated. All of the work, none of the glory.
Oh sure, I will continue to work out, it has become a necessary part of my lifestyle. I'll do my body sculpt class, and probably end up on the bloody elliptical watching Bravo reruns until eventually I am running short distances on pavement. I'll try to keep fit. But that is an entirely different thing.
I wanted to be a runner. A real runner. One who wore the fanny pack with the water bottles and knew what goo tasted like. One whose legs were tight and strong and felt that six miles was a short run. I didn't want moderation. I don't want moderation.
With all the bad in the world I feel selfish for this self-pity and yet today I feel stuck. A bitter taste in my mouth.
I just wasn't in the cards.