It was bound to happen ya’ll. Sixteen days before the marathon my knee began to act up. It cracked, it ached, it sent me straight into a panic. Big sad face.
To clarify, it’s not hurting while running. It’s the after the fact, during the day at work I feel it here and there. It’s reminiscent of how it felt when I restarted running in March and April. One thought I have is that it could be temperature and pressure changes that’s causing it to be irritable. That did seem to be a factor last spring. Or I’m just screwed, but it’s nice to blame the weather on my problems.
My worry-panic state of mind brought me to a lonesome Friday night at the pool. I swam 70 laps, which equates to two miles. That’s kind of a lot to swim. A full ironman swims 2.4, not that I was getting any ideas, I just wanted to draw a picture of how far I swam.
I swam, I worried, my mind began to wander…
Remember Diana Nyad who attempted to swim from Cuba to Florida? She trained hard. Twelve hour swims, 8, 9, 10, 12, 15, 24, 29 hours in the ocean, again and again.
Pure dedication, and she didn’t make it. Twenty-nine hours in she began to vomit and was pulled back into the boat.
“It was my decision to stop and nobody else’s. I’m deeply grieved and disappointed, but I can hold my head up high. We pictured that moment of me crawling up on that Key West shore. We knew it was my year and my time, even at 61. It was a fairy tale, but the fairy tale didn’t come true.”
For people over 60, she said, the goal should be “to live a life with no regrets and no worries about what you are going to do with your time. Fill it with passion. Be your best self.”
I’m not over 60, but I know my training up to this point was filled with passion. I can own up to feeling sorry for myself right now, I DO, IT’S NOT FAIR, WHY ME, WTF, it’s hard not to feel the negativity, worry and defeat. I know my knee very well, I know when I need to throw in the towel.
I’m trying very hard to not let myself think for a second that I wasted my summer training for this thing. I do enjoy training. I like the chaos, the challenges, the holy-shit-it’s-humid, the looking forward to the next long run. I like that. It’s why I came back for more. It gives my meaningless summer meaning.
Plus, I told myself going into this that there was a possibility of having to pull out of it. That possibility is here. I have to accept that. Yes, I will likely feel sorry for myself and cry, but I will not spend another four months on the sofa regretting running another marathon.
There are still two weeks to
wait it out on the sofa, I MEAN SWIM AND BIKE, DUH, and hope that it’ll be 90 degrees again on October 9th so that there isn’t a cold front bothering my knee.