News on the running front
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<> This week my only news is running related. I started out at 5:00 am on Sunday morning for a 23-mile run. (My next marathon is on April 8, only 5 weeks away.) Little more than three miles into the run, I fell. I apparently tripped on an uneven section of asphalt that I didn’t see because of a missing streetlight.
My second thought was also a familiar one: I won’t look. If I don’t look, it won’t hurt. It can’t hurt because I must finish this run today. I’ll just have to be tough. I knew my hands hurt, but I wouldn’t look at either of them. My right knee also smarted, but I wouldn’t look at that, either. I moved slowly to make sure there were no serious injuries. <>
I can move okay. Feet, knees, hips. That’s all I need. So, I’ll just get on with it. I can worry later about treating any minor scrapes.
I was reminded of the evening when I set out for my first ten-mile run. I fell about two miles into the run, but I dared not look. I kept going, determined to complete the run. When I got home and looked at myself, I was a mess. My left shoulder and left knee were both scraped, and blood ran down my left arm and left leg. But I had finished the run! <>
And so, on Sunday, I did continue—for about another mile, when I passed close to my house. By that time, my better judgment was kicking in and I decided that I should at least take a look, get washed up, and put some Neosporin on my wounds. It turned out that I had cuts on the heels of both hands where I had braced myself, and my right knee had a major scrape. I gritted my teeth as I quickly washed my hands and my knee, and then smeared on the Neosporin. <>
Five minutes later, I was back on the street and continuing my planned run. I made it to 22 miles before I quit. I didn’t stop because of the injuries, though. Nor did I stop because of my nemesis, hyponatremia. I stopped because of the very best reason: my legs were spent. <>
All in all, I chalk it up as a good run. I started out doing 5 x 1’s (for those not familiar with the walk-break method of long-distance training, this means that I ran for five minutes, then walked for one minute.) At mile eighteen, I stepped down to 4 x 1’s, and was able to maintain that to the completion of 22 miles. For me, that’s a good run. Often when I’m extending my distance, I’m reduced to more frequent walk breaks during the last few miles, or walking altogether. <>
My knee and one hand are still a little sore, but they’ll both be fine in a few days. At least I’m living up to one of my favorite sayings:
For more information about my writing and editing, visit BettieWailes.com.
<> This week my only news is running related. I started out at 5:00 am on Sunday morning for a 23-mile run. (My next marathon is on April 8, only 5 weeks away.) Little more than three miles into the run, I fell. I apparently tripped on an uneven section of asphalt that I didn’t see because of a missing streetlight.
My second thought was also a familiar one: I won’t look. If I don’t look, it won’t hurt. It can’t hurt because I must finish this run today. I’ll just have to be tough. I knew my hands hurt, but I wouldn’t look at either of them. My right knee also smarted, but I wouldn’t look at that, either. I moved slowly to make sure there were no serious injuries. <>
I can move okay. Feet, knees, hips. That’s all I need. So, I’ll just get on with it. I can worry later about treating any minor scrapes.
I was reminded of the evening when I set out for my first ten-mile run. I fell about two miles into the run, but I dared not look. I kept going, determined to complete the run. When I got home and looked at myself, I was a mess. My left shoulder and left knee were both scraped, and blood ran down my left arm and left leg. But I had finished the run! <>
And so, on Sunday, I did continue—for about another mile, when I passed close to my house. By that time, my better judgment was kicking in and I decided that I should at least take a look, get washed up, and put some Neosporin on my wounds. It turned out that I had cuts on the heels of both hands where I had braced myself, and my right knee had a major scrape. I gritted my teeth as I quickly washed my hands and my knee, and then smeared on the Neosporin. <>
Five minutes later, I was back on the street and continuing my planned run. I made it to 22 miles before I quit. I didn’t stop because of the injuries, though. Nor did I stop because of my nemesis, hyponatremia. I stopped because of the very best reason: my legs were spent. <>
All in all, I chalk it up as a good run. I started out doing 5 x 1’s (for those not familiar with the walk-break method of long-distance training, this means that I ran for five minutes, then walked for one minute.) At mile eighteen, I stepped down to 4 x 1’s, and was able to maintain that to the completion of 22 miles. For me, that’s a good run. Often when I’m extending my distance, I’m reduced to more frequent walk breaks during the last few miles, or walking altogether. <>
My knee and one hand are still a little sore, but they’ll both be fine in a few days. At least I’m living up to one of my favorite sayings:
Life … is not a journey to the grave, with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming, “WOW! WHAT A RIDE!”
posted by Bettie Wailes at
10:54 AM
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