I just ran three point one miles.
That's 5 kilometers for all you metric folks out there.
It was great.
Ok … I didn't run the “whole time.”
I walked a good part of it.
“Good” equalling about half … if you don't count the portion of the roadway I paced back and forth in an effort to catch my breath.
It felt great.
The pain in my right hip, not withstanding. That's no big deal. Just a little hiccup is all.
I didn't even feel it until the next day, anyway. It could have been from anything.
And the hip pain was nothing compared to the pinch in my left knee.
Probably the shoes.
Or the crick in my neck … it hurt a little to look to the left.
But, I'm sure that had more to do with my pillow being wrong side up when I was sleeping on it crookedly.
These things happen.
People my age understand that some amount of discomfort upon reentry into a new day is merely a gentle reminder that we've made it past the average lifespan of Neanderthals. “Go, homo sapiens!”
My creaky joints rustling like cellophane as I walk downstairs every morning probably should have told me all I needed to know about going from a seated position to a full out run in some deluded quest for exercise.
It's just that I really trust the imaginary yogi in my mind – the one with the sweet, comforting sliver of a Punjabi accent – who has reassured me that all will be fine in the end. “Because if it is not fine, it is not yet the end.”
I think it's good to have enthusiasm even if others think common sense is more useful.
That's why ibuprofen was invented, right?
I like the gel caps. They release their magical, pain reducing molecules ever-so-much faster.
Modern pharmacology aside, it's not like I don't worry about the pain. Or the extremely high probability that a person my age could pull, snap or otherwise dislodge something that won't push, snap or lodge back into place on its own.
I just don't need to think about it yet.
That stabbing sensation on the outer left knee has only been there for a few days, and I'm not sure, but I think it's moving toward the inner part of my right knee.
That could all be in my head (or at least the moving part).
And while I don't know my knee pain exactly, I do know my hypochondria. I've successfully trained myself NOT to panic about discomfort until it becomes crippling or lasts longer than two weeks … whichever comes first.
So … I'm walking this one off.
That's what I tell myself, “Walk this one off.”
I told the coach that, too as I walked around the track.
“I'll be fine. I'm just going to walk around for a while. I'm sure I'll be able to run by the end.”
“Are you sure?” she wondered skeptically?
“Positive! If I am not running in the end, it is not yet the end.”