Today is a tough, tough day. I must admit; I am feeling low. This week, which was supposed to be filled with my heaviest miles has become the week of my fewest. I am re-reading the things I typed from the beginning of this blog and training mission and seeing how overwhelmed I was at viewing the whole enormous picture of the road ahead, and my doubts at being able to do this big thing. While they got pushed to the background because I was doing so good as the weeks and miles increased without much lip from my body- those scary doubts and sadness are coming back in full strength.
My knees, the sleeping dragon, have awaken, and are not taking a bottle and going back to sleep. For both of my past marathons the situation was the same: the running schedule went along just fine (I mean it sucked, so “fine” is a really generous word, but still…) until after the heaviest miles week capped off with my twenty mile run. That’s when the wheels started falling off this broken down cart and I had to hobble my way through the “tapering period” not being able to run much at all the last couple of weeks of training. But I re-grouped and God blessed me with two successful marathon runs.
This time though I haven’t even been able to complete that heavy week, and I know this is kind of hugely important in preparing my legs to handle a full marathon. I’m worried. Being a hormonal woman and also a mom I am prone to indulging a bit in the emotion, but still, I’m worried.
I want to fix it quickly so I can get back on tract, to solve the problem, learn the lesson I am supposed to be learning with this little setback so I can check it off the list and do this thing. I looked at the blog post from January 21st, and it is front and center in my brain:
The nuclear bomb that fuels my Doubting Thomas attitude is this: In praying for God to give me this cross that I might offer it up for my four reasons, I know, and He knows that the biggest cross He can send me is not being able to complete this mission. Not being able to run is far worse to me than going out and running every single horrible mile- tearing down and painstakingly building up my legs, my whole body. All the blood, sweat, tears are better by far than to have to sit on the sidelines.
That is it. That is my fear and it is a big one. Youch, I do not like this cross.
So what do I do? I guess I pray. I sit here, ice my knees and not run and hope the cortisone shot is the magic elixir.