Heartbreak

I really wanted this to work out.

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.

 I'm going to see what the doc says on Tuesday, but unless someone can tell me there's no chance of a rupture, then I can't do this.  I can't take that kind of a risk for something that in the long run really doesn't matter outside of my head.

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.