Saturday's 14 miles was not fun. It wasn't even hard, because hard doesn't come close to describing it. It was gruesome. Have I ever run 14 miles before? Really? You lie.
I've been breaking in some new shoes. Saucony's Triumph 5 (the same kind of car I want!) because the kid at the running store told me they don't make my beloved New Balance 1023s anymore, so to try these, 2-week money-back guarantee if I only wore them on the treadmill. Which I did, for two 5-mile sessions.
So I thought I was good to go.
Although I have noticed my achilles has been sort of sore.
And yeah, my calves have been kind of tight.
But who pays attention to that crap? C'mon. If I paid attention everytime something hurt, I'd never get out of bed! HTFU already.
So off I went in my pretty new Sauc's. Our coach decided at the last minute to send us 7 miles north, into the wilds of Maryland, instead of South, into the civilization of D.C.
We were running along the Rock Creek Hiker-Biker Trail, a part of Rock Creek Park I had never seen before. A beautiful paved trail that runs right through the middle of a woods, alongside a stream. Birds were singing, the skies were blue, there was an ululating symphony of frogs (no really, there was). Temps were in the 60s, and would be 70F before we stopped.
All was right with the world.
So my calf hurt. And I ignored it. What, was I gonna go home without even trying??? Not likely. I started running with two other girls. And we went up hills and down hills. Past woodland creatures and human creatures. It was all good. Until mile 5 when I stopped. Because ouch. It hurt. Like for reals. Like an am-I-gonna-make-it? kinda hurt.
My running buddies were great, stopping with me. I cursed myself for not bringing my customary $10 for a cab...until I realized—no cabs in the woods. I have never (knock wood) not finished a training run. Ever. So I wasn't too eager for today to be my first.
I stopped, stretched, massaged, gritted my teeth, examined my options— a loooooooong 5-mile-walk-or-run back, or run onward 2 miles to the turnaround. Of course, it was ONWARD!
By now my will (which was weak to begin with) was pretty much shot. I was hanging on, helped by healthy doses of stretching, massaging, and lots of moaning. (Always a pleasure to run with me!) I made it to 7 miles and then? I had to run back.
Time to HTFU, again.
It took 3:06. A blistering 13-minute-mile pace.
Take that Miss Fancypants Speed Development!!
My poor running mates. They were such good sports. I can only hope that I'd be as kind confronted with a gimpy running mate.
So here it is Monday.
My calf is still sore, but I'm pretty sure (after much consultation with Dr. Google) that I didn't tear anything. I've been massaging it like mad. But what to do with Tuesday night's speed session (that would be TOMORROW night), Internet People?! Do I go? Or no go? And what to do with Saturday's 14-miler??
And more importantly, what to do about those $@!$ shoes?
Back to the shoe store? Run/no run?
(You really have to wonder how I get dressed by myself in the morning. Well, the answer is: I don't. Number One Daughter consults. Daily. It's frightening.)
I've got the National half coming on March 21. I really really wanted to kick Danielle's ass! Or Ray's. (Hi Danielle & Ray! Just kidding! Ha ha!)
In other news:
1. Call has been made to upstairs landlord about possibly DRAINING THE LAKE that's inside his apartment; and
b) I SIGNED UP FOR D.C. TRI'S HALF-IRONMAN PROGRAM (henceforth known as HIP) WHEEEEEEEEEE!
(Thanks Neal, and the rest of you. You know who you are.)
Although I have no desire, and I will not, under any circumstances, actually enter, or even pretend to enter, or remotely consider entering, a half-ironman.