I was on the bench most of this week. I managed to strain an inner thigh muscle after my pilates cross-train day. It manifested as pain and an overall weird feeling about an inch above and below the inner knee. After two rounds of physical therapy, I was cleared to run my 17 on Saturday provided I “pay attention” to what the muscles were telling me. Ducky. Just ducky.

I kept thinking that this is a horrible time to get hurt and I hoped it was minor.

I felt pretty good until about mile 11 when the muscle started speaking to me… well, not so much speaking as clearing it’s throat like it wanted to say something. I decided to request a gag order, pulled off the path and stretched for a bit. It worked for a while, but I had to repeat a few more times.

I’ll be honest, this run hurt — in my lower back especially. I had to go hands to knees a few times to get it to relax.

My husband met me out on the run again aiming to get in 10. It’s strange, but I feel bad when I have to take small breaks like that when he’s with me, like I’m showing him things aren’t going well and I might not be able to pull this off.

I still have doubts. Yeah, I finished 17 miles, but I was dead on my feet. Everything hurt. I took off my shoes as soon as I got home. I crept down the hall and said, “I can’t imagine doing 9 more.” He said, “You don’t have to today.”

This used to be easier. I’m hoping the cut back week will build me back up again. Isn’t that how it should go? I’ve forgotten so much. I do remember it being easier. I was also under 40 and in pretty damn good shape. I’m reminded of a meme I read stating, “I spent the skinniest years of my life thinking I was fat.” It was about body image awareness.

While I relate to that as well, I’ll modify it to say, “I spent the best shape years of my life thinking I wasn’t good enough.”

I have so many regrets about not keeping up with running. I’m also still struggling to accept the things in my life that prevented me from doing so. I think constantly that if I’d been tougher things would be different,  I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am.”

Maybe it’s nerves. Time will tell. I still can’t imagine 9 more.