“Tremble, weave like a moth by flame deceived. Sit down.” ~ Daktari, 10,000 Maniacs.
I have sat down for a full week. Translation – I have been off the run for seven long days. Every passing day has been like an inhumane torture. Starting Monday I could feel my psyche slipping into serious psycho; just knowing I would be down for an indeterminate time. The not knowing was killing. Day by day it got worse. By the time Pearl Jam came to Fenway I was ready to launch myself off the green monster in an attempt to quiet the chaos. Faces more than looked Doors strange and humanity was just a little too close for comfort. I don’t have resting bitch face in this state, I am a resting bitch. Period.
I broke down and bought a massage stick. Black and green, it looks like a bruised torture device. Perfect for my tormented mind because it showed me exactly where to hurt. Two inches up from the ankle bone and one inch back. There lay the rub or not rub because it was too painful.
I am tired of sitting down. I need to be taken from the dunce corner, pretty please. I know I was a bad girl for forgetting everything every friggin’ therapist told me. The words You Are Not a Runner wafted away like grill smoke as I gorged on success. The words You Should Take Up Swimming evaporated like sea spray on sun baked rocks. I forgot all about the tilt of my pelvic bowl, the one leg being longer than the other, the hips completely out of whack, or how crooked is the spine. I talked myself into being as straight as an arrow. In my dreams I am a ruler-fine line. In my mind I am healthy. I’m the patient who stops the medication because I feel cured instead of cursed.
Tonight I will run. I am officially off the training plan. The new plan is simple: Stay healthy. That means running with no set distance. No set pace. No set anything except this: my mind is set on being broken arrow straight.