I ran 0.019 of a marathon this Sunday

This past Sunday I eagerly laced up my new Asics to go for a beautiful run with my dad, who was visiting, and the alabaster runner. The AR was going to kick out one loop around the surrounding farmland which equals out to 2.5-3 miles, something I would literally give my own leg (in exchange for a better one of course) to accomplish– my dad took pity and joined me on my one mile endeavor around the neighborhood. Luckily my pride was already gunned down mercilessly weeks ago during the marathon, so I’m extremely comfortable with runner’s pity as of late.

The only way I can possibly describe the run is that I resembled and felt like a bloodied, wounded baby deer gimping along after being hit by a huge SUV head on. Don’t perceive my analogy wrong, I adore baby deer; I just needed to use nature’s most innocent creature to violently describe my agony.

My arches were tender, but they weren’t really that painful. The seventh circle of hell was courtesy of my left knee that decided screwing me over in one race wasn’t sufficient. It started to throb almost immediately and I knew that finishing my recovery mile was a pipe dream. After wrapping up my whooping .5 mile run, my dad walked me home, which was nice because my other option was limping alone and swearing at the top of my lungs like a lunatic.

I expected my arches to hurt – that is why I’m going to physical therapy after all (side note- I just discovered my insurance covers up to 60 visits, not too shabby Manor Care…..not too shabby). Having my knee give out not only surprised me, but it genuinely angered me. One ailment at a time please, get in line left knee - if anything, my rippling biceps are due to be strained. My physical therapist assured me that it’s not actually a knee issue, which only hurts because of the issues with my arches, but that doesn’t make me feel all sunshine and Elmo better. All I can grasp is that I can’t run a mile right now and I discovered The Macaroni Grill is ripe with unlimited bread at the table. It’s like a Greek tragedy.

My next “run” is scheduled for tomorrow morning; I’m pretty pumped to see how this will play out. On an unrelated note, if I don’t post again within 72 hours, can someone check Route 472 in Hellam and make sure I’m not lying dead in cow manure?

Appreciated.