Something which I am noticing as an increasing recurrent
theme for this set of runs is a strong desire to not get up in the morning. I
can’t understand why – I mean, why would I want to lie in warmth and comfort
when I could be outside exhausted and drenched in sweat?
This morning was one of the ones where the struggle to get
up was particularly felt. I was very keen for a while on sleeping for an extra
hour and going for a run on Saturday, but the promise of a lie-in tomorrow was
enough to get me up and going. Just about, though, and my body definitely wasn’t
happy about it. I might need to buy it an extra kidney or something as a present.
I think it’d like that.
Another recurring theme of at least this week is my legs
going through the five stages of grief when it comes to them. Last week was
denial, and I think this week is a combination of anger and depression, in the
sense that they seem to be thinking “Man, this is really awful for us. We don’t
seem to be able to get out of this, so let’s make it a miserable process so
that we don’t have to do this again”. Interestingly, the Wikipedia page for the
Kubler-Ross method gives examples of how it applies for people grieving a
divorce or substance abuse, but not for those grieving the fact that they’ve recently
begun exercise. I feel like an edit is in order.
I was hoping the fact that this weeks’ runs are pretty relaxed
by normal standards would get me over the line, but from the moment I started
walking I could feel a revolution quelling in my legs, like a lower-extremity Les Miserables. Still, if they wanted
to be the stars of their own painful adventure, so be it – I’m still the master
of the house as far as the activities I get up to are concerned.
And so I set out, feeling very much on my own and
unsupported by the legs that were supposed to get me from A to B, potentially
via C and a relaxing café if energy was running low, which it usually is.
Instead, though, I seemed to be in some difficulty from the start. The walking
to begin with was slightly uncomfortable, but it was when the running started
that I had to look down and see if my legs hadn’t been replaced with needles or
something. It wasn’t overly painful (although mind you this was only the first
attack) but it just made me feel a bit like I’d never run before. This is a
feeling you’ll normally find pretty much every day in my life, but this is one
of the few times when I reckon that’s not warranted.
For the first run, though, the initial pain subsided after a
while, and I thought that maybe I’d just been swindled, that actually my legs
were perfectly fine. But then, after the 3 minute run, the walking came back
and the second attack began.
It was utterly bizarre, and a theme that continued through
the rest of the journey, but it seemed to be at its most uncomfortable during
the walks, to the point where starting the runs again was probably the most
comfortable part of the journey; by contrast, as soon as the running stopped,
suddenly the night of anguish began (if it were night, and the pain was anguish
rather than just mildly inconvenient, but the phrasing was necessary).
Still, I decided it was worth going on with the run now that
I’d got up and started, and so despite increasing discomfort in the legular
region (ask your doctor) I decided to keep going. Each step suggested that this
was rapidly turning into a really bad decision, until the confrontation between
my legs and the rest of me reached a head just before the final battle, the
last jog before the end.
At this point the walks were relatively ponderous, but I was
still moving, more or less. But I feel like the legs were trying to make a deal
with me, and the bargain wasn’t heavily weighted in my favour. Essentially they
said to the rest of my body “By all means, finish the run. But after that, if
you expect us to bring him home, you have another think coming”.
And so it must be. I finished the run, and my legs pretty much
gave up. The warm-down walk that I was supposed to do ended up being a hobble
as I could barely put weight on either leg. I was probably no more than a two
minute normal walk away from home, but it took the full five minute warm-down
to get there – at which point, having just about forced my way up the stairs, I
took about half an hour to just lie down and try and get to the point where I
could stand comfortably again. I didn’t even have my usual post-run water
before I lay down, because I forgot to take a drink with me to bed and once I
was down I wasn’t getting up again.
Fortunately, after the lie down (where I didn’t fall asleep,
sadly – I could have dreamed a dream of comfort which would have been much
appreciated at that point) things felt a bit more comfortable, and I suspect
that by the end of the day I’ll
have forgotten all about it. I’m quite glad I have the weekend to recover,
though- I suspect one day more of this might finish me off. You know what they
say – learning to run does put you in a dog eat dog world, and sometimes you
feel like you’re in the sewers, asking who am I to put myself through all this.
Actually, I don’t know if anybody says that, but it’s probably a good note to
end the week on.
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