When we last left our heroine (that's me), she had successfully bounced back from a week of inactivity and transitioned back into running again.
And she did that. She even booked her airfare and hotel room for Dallas.
Things were business as usual.
Friday, November 5th.
Let's talk about that. And, while we're at it, I'll stop referring to myself in the third person.
There was a 6 mile run on my schedule broken down as two miles easy and four miles between an 8:40-8:50 pace per mile. Things were going like they normally do until the last mile. I started feeling a sensation in my knee, almost like a mild stiffness. I knew I was almost done, nor did I feel overly concerned about it, so I sucked it up and finished my run. Afterwards, I stretched and foam rolled, thinking it would help the tweaky feeling.
Saturday, I ran five miles outside from my house. That sensation was there again, this time a bit stronger. I had the Larry Robinson 10 miler on the books for the next day. I suppose I could have taken Saturday off, but I really wanted to be outside. Moreover, I still wasn't convinced that there was "anything going on".
I did the 10 miler the next day with my pal, John (refer to the "You CAN teach an old dog new tricks" post). And, I noticed it again. A little more. You see, there is one thing I have learned. There are a lot of things in our life that we may not have much feeling around or, perhaps more accurately, don't want to see. If you're not sure what to do about something, don't worry about it. Just wait. Ignore it some more. It'll get bigger.
And, pretty soon, you'll know.
That's what happened.
I rested the day after the race, only because it jived with the schedule (I can be a slave to routine). I picked up where I left off. Six miles on Tuesday. Eight miles on Wednesday. High intensity 10 miler on Thursday.
It was there. That feeling. Just kept getting louder.
Ignore. Ignore. Ignore. Not happening, not happening, not happening.
Sunday, December 5th loomed. The friend I had planned on running it with decided to drop down from the full to the half marathon. She didn't have the base mileage for the full and there was still time and space available to do this. Suddenly, I had the perfect compromise. I would register for the half-marathon as well. The full marathon never sells out, my friend informed me. However, the half has and was very close to closing registration.
So, that's what I did. I gladly ponied up the $100 for the half-marathon and breathed a sigh of relief.
Things would be fine now.
Then, I ran 16 miles on Saturday. And it was ridiculously hard. My slow pace felt like my race pace. Thankfully, my friend, Christina, was uber patient with me and didn't mind taking it easy. My heart rate was through the roof. Plus, we were experiencing unseasonal like warmth and I had way too many layers on.
On top of the leg being cranky, I hadn't slept well the night before at all. My body was just tired. But I had...to...TRAIN.
Bigger and bigger and bigger.
The broken sleep pattern continued.
Just how many signals did I need?
Cyndi Lou's not stupid. She's just stubborn.
I cross-trained the day after my long run. That night was the Sunday night where I didn't sleep. At ALL (refer to the "WIDE Awake...I'm WIDE Awake..." post). Monday was complete rest. I didn't run on Tuesday, either. I was starting to get wise.
By the time Wednesday came, I got my wake up call. My six mile run, which should have been a walk in the park, was painful and slow. I actually felt the need to stop a few times to stretch, hoping that would relieve the tension. However, that was equivalent to putting a band-aid on a broken arm.
That ship has sailed, sister.
It was time to pack it in.
It was also time to call my physical therapist who, coincidentally, is the friend I planned on doing Dallas with. My appointment for treatment was Friday, November 19th. That left us with two weeks and two days to fix what was broken. I was committed to the trip, emotionally and financially. I was also losing my motivation.
Ever hear the expression, "it sounded like a good idea at the time?"
Yup. That summed up my brilliant idea to do Dallas. It lost it's luster in a hurry. What started as a potentially challenging, yet fun, adventure was turning into an obligation. I began to feel more like this was something I "had to" do instead of something I "wanted" to do. Of course, my friend would have understood if I backed out. I bet my husband would have been fine with it also. Sure, I'd be out a few hundred bucks, but it's only money, right?
The most important things in life aren't things, after all.
The problem wasn't with my friend. Or my husband.
The problem was with me. But, like everything else in life, you have to figure that out on your own.
Just wait, Cyndi Lou.
It'll get bigger.
And, pretty soon, you'll know.