They say that the the greatest challenge of the marathon is not finishing the race but making it to the starting line uninjured and rested.In 2006, I tossed my Paris marathon registration under a debilitating cough I couldn't shake--never made it to the starting line.
In 2008, I threw in the towel at kilometer 33 of the Madrid marathon having been stupid enough to go into it entirely untrained.
In 2010, I am going into the Madrid marathon yet again, but this time with hundreds of solid miles under the belt, new half marathon PRs, a dedicated fan club, a bitter resolve to 'finish what I started' ... and a peroneus brevis strain six weeks before the big game.
One swollen-foot-the-size-of-a-plump-papaya, six x-rays, four nurses and three hours in the waiting room later, I am now staring down 60 painkiller/anti-inflammatory pills and two weeks worth of ridiculously awkward crutches while chanting loudly "I think I can", "I think I can", "I think I can" ... still finish the marathon, that is.
The all-important twenty(plus)-milers planned for this weekend and next are clearly a bit, um, out of the picture for the moment, but good ol' Running Planet is providing the all important glimmer of hope that perhaps all is not lost. Yet.
So, Mr. Peroneous. The next two weeks are dedicated fully to you.
Two weeks of sitting on my bum, two weeks of blogging, catching up on heaps of emails, scrapbooks and studying ... interchanged with two weeks of (re)discovering what an absolute klutz I am on crutches, how (in)accessible Europe is for the physically challenged and how very, very much we take our general spryness for granted.
Just please let me have my (active) life back after?
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