So I’m sitting here, a day and a half before 3m, with ice on my knee. If the race was tomorrow I don’t know that I’d run it. Well see how it feels Sunday.
It started hurting after the second of those fourteen mile Mt. Bonnell jaunts, and ever since then it has ached a little bit at the beginning of each workout, and maybe a tad afterwards, but would always be gone the next day. Except for this week.
Those mile repeats and its friendly downhills were still with me on Wednesday, and yesterday’s fartlek “announced its presence with authority” all day today. Who knew pressing the gas pedal could hurt like that? Oh well, I’ll see how it goes, do my best, maybe not my smartest, and that will be that. I’m just your ordinary mid-packer so there’s nothing at stake.
Except my short-term health. And my ego. And mental well-being. And self-confidence. And the love of my wife and children. And my very existence. Aye, I kid.
Speaking of fartleks, yesterday I did a few with a big group in the afternoon, and though we spread out a bit for each hard interval, we mostly ran together. And the whole seven miles I kept thinking how pleasing it is to run in a group. The trail seemed especially crowded after weeks of chilly sparseness, and it was pleasing to whoosh by the joggers like the familial herd of Gazelles we sometimes pretend to be. I’m pretty sure that’s why I like training infintely more than races, where you’re just an isolated ant, a footsoldier marching to the “MGP” drum, or trying to attain an inward-facing “PR”. For such an anti-social person I most enjoy the social aspect of running.