Disclaimer: I’m about to vent about a first world problem.
I didn’t have time to make it to the gym this morning, but I did go on a walk with a a few opportunities to run the flat parts. It was scary. Not because I’m not allowed to run, or that my body is telling me to stop, but I’m overcome with an anxiety that something will go wrong and I will undo any progress I have made. My run is a graceless lumbering stride (my physical therapist informs me that my bounce will return someday) and never do I run long enough to start sweatings. I guess I should be grateful…
But today I’m not.
A slew of people have told me about their GREAT runs this week. And good for them, they got out there and enjoyed the weather and ran. Yeehaw. But bragging to me is like a slap in the face. Last year at this time I was out having great eight or ten mile runs in Forest Park; I was working on sprints at the track with my trainer; I had runs with freaking set up obstacles I had to jump over. And today I limped through two miles in 40 minutes.
So yeah, I don’t want to hear about your awesome run. If someone you knew was in a wheelchair, would you be like, “Man, I went on the most AMAZING hike yesterday!”? Or if someone just had a baby would you say, “I look SO GREAT in my bikini right now!”? No, because you then you would be an insensitive asshole.
I realize that I’m walking normal now, and I might appear to be back on the mend, but truly I am so far from where I was a year ago…and I hate it. When I’m driving my car down the road and I see someone out really running hard, I want to yell out the window, “YOU SUCK!” It’s childish, I know, but I’m being honest up in here.
Tomorrow I have a nice three hour workout planned at gym, where I’m going to pump some iron with my butch weightlifting gloves and get my crappy, Quasimodo run on…and I know it will be a better day. But the next person who brags to me about their run might just get a swift punch in the mouth.