So, here we are. Day 10 of no running. Ten days. No running.
Ten. Days. Of. No. Running.
Ten days of thinking non-stop about my ridiculous hip injury and how it means no running for the foreseeable future.
In other words, ten days of me going crazy.
Yes, I admit it. I've gone straight-up crazy. Straight-up injured-runner crazy, that is. And injured-runner crazy is a very, well, special, kind of crazy.
Injured-runner crazy makes one hyper-aware of all the glorious running that one is missing. And in that hyper-awareness is the knowledge that the rest of the world is still out there, running.
And, believe me. Everyone is running.
Really. They are. Everyone, everywhere. Even non-runners are running. Couch potatoes are halfway to 5K and over-the-moon happy about it. Everyone is running. And injured-runner craziness tells me that they are not just running, but they are having the Best. Freaking. Times. Of. Their. Lives. They are practically frolicking.
Everyone is running frolicking-good runs.
And long. Oh, those runners are out there running for miles and miles and miles. With glee. Glee! Everyone, everywhere is running the Longest. Runs. Of. Their. Lives. With so much freaking glee!
And no pain.
Those runners? Running their joyful/long/fast/what-have-you runs? Yeah, they are doing it without pain. Without a single ounce of pain. They are running super-human speeds and distances known heretofore only to Dean Karnazes and they are doing it all with glee and no pain!
EVERYONE IS RUNNING!
Except for me.
And therein lies the craziness.
I can't run. And all I see all around me is runners, running. I want to be them. I want to be out there gleefully running 18 hilly miles at 10K pace while pushing a 35lb kid in a stroller -- or whatever the heck those fit, uninjured runners are up to today. I want to be doing it. I don't want to be resting. Or icing. Or compressing. Or elevating. And I certainly don't want to be waiting for an MRI. And then waiting for the follow-up.
But I am. I am doing all of those things I don't want to do, which means I am not running.
And it is driving me crazy.
I know it is for the best and I know whining about it is about as unattractive as it gets. I can't help it.
Because, you see, I've gone straight-up injured-runner crazy. Please bear with me. I'm sure I won't be this brand of crazy forever.
At some point my hip will heal and I will run again. And the crazy runner will give way to the happy runner once again. At least I hope so!
Keep your fingers crossed . . .