I had a wake-up call last night at the gym. I have been pushing my non-athletic ass harder than I have in the last several years because I don’t want to disappoint embarass myself at the 5K on Sunday. I know that I said I was just going to do the best I could, but then I realized: that is stupid. I know I said that I would slow down if Greg needed to, but I kept pushing myself at the gym because I don’t want to lose to him. I’m not really sure when we became so incredibly competitive with each other but some days, I swear, I would rather chew off my own arm than lose to my husband.
I’m such a grown-up.
Last night, reality hit me like a ton of bricks. Monday night I did 4 miles on the treadmill. Afterward, I was walking (okay, fine. I was limping) on cloud 9. I marveled at how much my endurance had increased in just over a week. I was damn proud of myself. Despite the fact that my legs ached like they hadn’t in years, I felt amazing.
On Tuesday, I had been whining at work about how sore and fatigued my legs were but I was forced encouraged to run again last night. So I did. And I made it to 2 miles before I started to cry.
I really wish I were kidding.
I have shin splints so bad, the pain was shooting up into my knees with every step. At 1.5 miles I thought I could push through the pain. I was forced to re-think that when I began to stumble and finally gave in at the 2-mile mark. I called my bestie (who is also a nurse) and asked her what to do and she told me to take Ibuprofen and soak in Epsom salt (which I forgot to do. I’m probably the best patient evah.) When I got home, I whined to Greg and he gave me some tips. Some were more helpful than others. One of the less helpful ones? “Wrap your legs with ACE bandages.” When I asked if that actually worked, his response was, “How should I know? Do I look like a doctor?”
Ah, marriage. Some days I really feel like murder would be justified.
(If you are a cop, I’m totally kidding.)(Mostly.)
After I whined some more, he finally had enough and gave me the (figurative) bitch-slap that I needed. He said, “I’m not going to run this with you if you keep this up. It’s not a race. You are not a professional athlete. You don’t need to win this thing. You said you were going to run it with me, not against me.”
Then I gave him my best “I’m so wounded & sad that you would say something so mean” look and he totally fell for it and rubbed my aching legs.
Running is not getting easier (as I was promised it would) but the reward is getting greater.
Do shin splints count as a reward?
Because I haz them and they are ouchie.