I’m not one to overthink or anything, but…. I’ve been overthinking.
I know. I. Know. It is not like me at all.
Things have been going well. Too well. Sure, there’s been some bugs, a bout of shin splints, a projectile vomiting incident and some lost sleep, but largely I’ve been getting the hell on with it and kicking ass everywhere. It’s been ACE.
This was until I was 500m into Tuesday night’s swim. A gentle push off the wall and OH HOLY CHRIST THAT IS CRAMP.
Right foot. Shit the bed that hurts. I stop in the middle of the pool. The staff know me well enough now to notice this is not normal behaviour unless I have lane rage and I’m waiting to punch a chopper in the goggles. After a few minutes stood wincing in waist deep water, unable to move, the lad asks if he’s going to need to fish me out.
Oh how I fucking laughed. But seriously, help.
About 8 hours later I managed to doggy paddle back to the shallows dragging my misshapen claw-foot behind me. Slightly out of practise, having not had cramp for a few years, I began violently stretching the living shit out of Claw Foot until it eventually returned to its normal form.
4000m of sporadic cramp later I hauled my carcass out of the water and home to eat the entire contents of the fridge.
I slept the sleep of a person full of pasta and awoke at 5am to begin my morning ritual of “I HATE BEING A FUCKING ADULT SCREW THIS”.
I put my feet down and OW.
What? What?! My right foot felt like someone had driven a rusty stake through its ankle.
This isn’t good. Try again.
Walking was, at best, a challenge. I hobbled about and managed to make it to work where I spent the day googling “WHY THE FUCK IS MY FOOT BROKEN” and learning about tendons and metatarsals. Self diagnosis was broken everything and ruptured other stuff and basically no more running ever again. Thank you, Dr Google. Serves me fucking right.
Eventually the pain subsided enough to allow me to make the 100% sensible and not at all stupid decision to GO TO THE GYM AND THEN DO A THRESHOLD RUN.
Good. Fucking. Work. Bean.
Somewhat shockingly, this didn’t hurt.
But when I woke up the next morning it was basically def con 4 south of my ankle. I was not getting away with training through this.
Thursday was spent in a growing state of utter panic. Marathon in 10 weeks. Cannot walk. Oh god. Kill me.
It culminated in the most epic meltdown when coach advised NO CARDIO.
WHAAAAAAAAAAAT. NOOOOOOOOOO. BUT SWIMMING??? No. No swimming.
Oh, well fucking kill me dead.
There was ugly crying. There was texting friends telling them that THIS WAS IT I AM GIVING UP FOREVER BYE.
Eventually Beardy appeared and quite simply stated “your foot’s been sore like a day. Calm the fuck down”
*sniffles* ok. You’re right.
No one ever likes to hear the words “no cardio” when they’re training for endurance, but I decided, seeing as I was told to continue weight training, that all would not be lost.
Terrified of losing all the progress made with running and swimming, I gave myself a pep talk and decided against immediate amputation. It might heal. I’d rather not train for london with a bloody stump.
So. Now we wait. We ice, elevate and stretch. We have been through WAY worse. Hell, we ran 25 miles out of 26.2 with 6 weeks training last year. #lol
The swimming ban will hopefully be over inside a week. This is a huge relief. I’m nowhere near as quick as I could be. And certainly no where near ready to swim 10 fucking thousand metres. (What was I thinking)
Fuck knows when I’ll be able to run on the Claw but I know if I can keep my strength up it won’t take me long to get the run fitness back.
Onwards, with a limp.