I poured my heart and soul into this for the past 3-4 months. I made it all the way to the end.
But I'm doing the research. A nodule on the achilles is nothing to mess with. I've had 3 very knowledgable professionals tell me that this race would be a risk. A risk of a ruptured achilles. A risk of surgery, of crutches, of all summer lost. All season lost.
The thing that kills me the most is that I know I would have done it. I would have hit my goal. I know it in my heart, and that's what hurts the most. And I know that I brought this on myself and did too much in Tennessee, and then never stopped once I got home. I wanted the mountain. I wanted to keep up. I never had time to sit down.
I never made time to sit down.
So I'm allowing myself to have a good solid 15 minutes (okay, half hour) of tears tonight, chased by a margarita (hey, it is Cinco de Mayo, after all). My run today didn't go all that well, and in my heart I know that running the race in two weeks is not a good decision. Because I might make it okay, but there's a pretty good chance that I wouldn't. I'd either rupture it during the race or I'd be so injured afterwards that I'd be out all season.
Either way, I wouldn't be able to keep up with these guys.
What it really comes down to is, why do I do this? To push myself, yes. But to live the lifestyle. To be active. For them to see me active and to know that it's good for you.
If I set out two weeks from tomorrow and tried to run a 1:42 half marathon, what would happen? One of two things:
1. I'd do it, and then be pretty injured afterwards. I'd hobble around for a month or two, and then try to get back into Rev3 training.
2. I'd rupture my achilles mid-race and need surgery, effectively ending my season, my summer, and my ability to have moments like the ones pictured above for at least 2-3 months.
The best case scenario here is option 1. But that would still knock me out at least for part of the summer.
You guys, I think I'm not going to start this race.
And I'm sitting here, sniffling and snotting all over myself. But I know that I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I knowingly put myself in a boot and on crutches two weeks from tomorrow for the rest of the summer.
Part of me feels like I have wasted everything. So much time down the drain. So many miles, pointless now.
But I'm trying to remember that every run has a reason. I have a crap ankle right now, but I've got some serious fitness and am leaner than I have been in a while. I know that I have gained a good amount of speed. The runs I did were tough, mentally and physically, and I made it through them. All of them.
I climbed a mountain for the first time ever. Yeah, it probably was the trigger, since the pain started the next day, and I was undertrained, and yada yada yada. And yeah, I am effectively now learning my lesson.
But you guys, I climbed a mountain.
|And HELL no, I don't regret it.|
So I'll cry like a good old fashioned toddler meltdown (and I see my fair share of those) because I can't have something I want, and I'll cry and get it all out until I'm exhausted from crying and need a big hug. And instead of a blankie, please pass me a margarita.
Because tri season has officially begun, for real. I will be spending a lot of time in the pool and on the bike now, thank you. And I'll remember all the work I did this spring and channel it to the half marathon I'm planning on killing in September.