T minus 17 days until Miwok 100K race day and I still am not running.
I strive to get 8 hours of sleep every night. In my imagination, tiny little green kidney bean-shaped cartoon beings with head lamps, black stick-like arms and legs and white Mickey Mouse-style gloved hands go to work while I sleep. (I have no idea why they’re green.) There are hundreds of them repairing my muscles and tendons while I drift off into dreamland. They’re like tiny construction workers, jackhammering the knots and scar tissue and then braiding my muscle fibers like ropes to make them strong again. The longer I sleep, the more time they have to complete their work.
I have a weird imagination.
Every PT appointment, every Anodyne treatment and every yoga session feel like bricks in a wall that I’m building. Fifteen minutes of icing my tendons or one night of wearing a compression sleeve on my leg provides some mortar to make everything stick.
My wall needs to get to a certain width and height by the time Miwok rolls around. If it reaches the correct dimensions, I’ll be completely healed. But those dimensions on the blueprint are too blurry to read, like someone accidentally spilled a few drips of coffee on the paper and then wiped it off with the heel of their palm, smearing the numbers. What does it say??
Every missed opportunity for a yoga class is a missing brick. Every night that I spend watching a Kendra on Top marathon instead of stretching and strengthening on my own (can you tell what I did last night?) — there goes another brick. I’m stacking this wall up but there are some holes in it.
Will it hold?
Every time I step the wrong way or try to take two stairs at a time to test my leg — and it hurts — that’s a chisel chipping away at one of my bricks, weakening it. I’m running out of time, but I can’t rush my wall’s construction. I can only hope that I make the deadline.
I ran for three minutes at PT yesterday. I didn’t start hurting until I stopped. I guess the trick is to start running at Stinson Beach and never, ever stop until I get back to it and cross the finish line. I don’t care how much I hurt after that. I just need my wall — my leg — to hold up for 62 miles.
Is that so much to ask?