For the past 5 years of my life, I've seriously tried to be a runner. I've trained my ass off, even waking up before daylight so that I could get my miles in before the sun started blazing down on me. This is a major sign of devotion, considering how much I love sleep. I've cried on the side of major highways, called my loved ones for rides, suffered through IT band friction syndrome, bursitis, and I even agonized my way through a marathon in a fairly injured state. My body has lived in a varied state of dysfunction for roughly the past 3 years.
Last night, I ran/walked a measly 2.5 miles, and I've now apparently pulled "something" contained within that massive conglomeration of muscles, tendons, and wonky space behind my knee. I thought that the solution to all of my running problems was switching to a walk/run/walk program, but in addition to janking my knee last night, I also janked my Gymboss.
I think it was a sign. My knee and my Gymboss went to hell, both during the same run.
Guess what, running?
No, like seriously.
You're just like an abusive boyfriend.
I have this crazy, psychotic love for you, despite the fact that I know in my mind that you're just no good for me. I devote my time and attention to you, and I think that everything is going along swimmingly, and then BAM! , you turn around and bitch slap me for no good reason.
Then I cry and pout and stew, and you apologize. You tell me that you'll change, it'll all be OK in the end. You're 'different' this time. So I take you back.
Then, a week later, you beat my ass again.
And so, to this, I say "ENOUGH", because "everyone has a limit". And nobody puts Baby in the corner. And such.
I just can't do this to myself anymore. I have to own the fact that it's just not working out for me. Running isn't my thing. It never was, and as I continue trying to run month after month and race after race, I'm getting injured quicker and quicker.
I'm going to do my best to complete the 3 races that I have on schedule for 2011 (February, March & April), and then I'm going to have to move on to something that better suits my body. I've said it before (remember 2010--the year of the triathlon?), but this time I mean it.
[p.s...can I take out a restraining order on myself in order to properly enforce this decision?]
Unfortunately, this opens up a whole new set of challenges.
I'm probably going to have to rename the blog. 'Bicycler's Life', 'Weightlifter's Life, or Wii Gamer's Life just don't roll off the tongue as easily. All I know for sure is that "Jogger's Life" will be a bit of a misnomer after April.
I'm going to have to start believing the fact that I'm not going to instantly gain 50 pounds if I stop running. On the flip side, I'm also going to have to commit to participating in other activities that I enjoy (eating cupcakes is not a sport). Otherwise, I actually might just gain 50 pounds.
I'm also going to have to really own the fact that there will be no more running in my life. I'm going to also have to stop convincing myself that "this" time that I start running again is somehow going to be "different".
It's never different. Stalk me as you may, running, but I know that you're no good for me, and I don't have to take it anymore.
J. Lo said so.