This is going to be a self-absorbed whinge-fest. Again.
In 8 days, I will run the Edinburgh Marathon. (Yes. The full one. Not the half. If I was running the half I’d say “I’m going to run the Edinburgh 1/2 Marathon”)
My body is not talking to me. My hips have been getting steadily worse. I now limp constantly. Like…. Worse than my Granny did when her Arthritis was flaring up. When I went running with a friend on Tuesday this week he remarked upon how weird my run was. That’s because I can’t really move most of the lower half of my body without some kind of jabby-knotting pain somewhere. But I shouldn’t moan. Because it’s probably not that bad, right? I’m training for a marathon. It’s supposed to hurt.
This is incredibly frustrating because EVERYONE I speak to and EVERYTHING I read tells me that right now, my body should be at it’s strongest.
Well it doesn’t fucking feel like it. I can’t work on my upper body because my neck is two sneezes from seizing. I can’t work on my core because my hips are in such bad nick. I can definitely lie on the floor and stretch but that is not enough. AND MY PHYSIO IS ON SODDING HOLIDAY.
On the plus side (hoo fucking ray) I surprised my doctor mid check-up this week by announcing that yes, I did in fact run a half marathon on Saturday and yes, 4 days post-concussion I did run a PB (2:27:27 – not that good. But quicker than my previous time by 4 minutes) so I
suppose there is something good amongst all this bitter self loathing.
I go back to work on Monday and have 5 days of torturous email answering to hopefully take my mind off the upcoming Marathon. I took the decision this morning when my back started pinging below waist level, to rest this weekend and instead of a 10k, work on some basic, low impact Pilates and make sure I’m taking on plenty of fluids.
I wanted to enjoy this.
I wanted to feel good and strong and confident.
I feel sore. And fed up. And tired. And about 85 years old.