My running life so far this month has been a mess. If I checked my Strava feed, I’d be surprised if I ran a total of 26.2 miles the first two weeks of March, much less the 13.1 distance I’m supposed to be training for.
A right knee injury. Low-level yet whiplashing psychodrama with my two sons. Crammed schedule. Endless carpooling. Then a left knee pain after the right knee recovered.
I couldn’t catch a break, it seemed, and nearly every jog I managed to squeeze in or hobble or hack my way through felt like more of a forced march than anything. And then that nasty respiratory bug which has been percolating around finally found our household and laid us all out.
Yet now that I’ve managed to push across that slough of despond, you know what? I’m kinda proud of myself. Even if the distance doesn’t add up to much, even if I was slow as molasses, it feels like I managed to power my way through a true marathon of sorts.
rundaddio.com 