lemonade

weekend long run:  12 miles
on the iPod:  "payphone" -- maroon five


I hate plantar fasciitis.  


Having said that, things can only go up from here.  And I promise they will.  But please understand that, right now in this moment, I hate plantar fasciitis with every fiber of being in my great big body.  It's that simple.  I'm also taking applications for people who want to hate plantar fasciitis along with me.  There is no pay for the aforementioned position, because I live on the salary of a public school teacher, but I can give candidates free training on how to hate plantar fasciitis and will also be happy to write an outstanding, and mostly truthful, letter of recommendation when the time comes to move on to better opportunities.  I'll even throw in the buzzwords like "ability to multitask" and "think outside of the box".  


I feel better already.


I unofficially marked the weekend as a jumping off point to begin training for fall marathons.  I'm registered for two pretty big ones and haven't ruled out running both, but also haven't booked plane tickets, either. Regardless, it's time to train if I want to survive them, not to mention that I've simply missed distance runs since the end of April in Nashville.  I like the whole concept of training unofficially this time and feel like it suits me well.  I've never been nearly as interested in finishing fast as much as I have been enjoying the entire race, so going into July and August without anything on paper is just fine with me.  Running has always been about more than a time for me, it's been a passionate experience that makes me feel alive, so i'm cool with simply lacing up and doing the best that I can.  In fact, it's liberating.  As long as I don't come in dead frikkin' last, I'm okay.  And if I really stop for a minute and think about how lucky I am to be able to do what I love, even that wouldn't be so bad.


So at some point on Wednesday or Thursday of last week I decided that 12 miles would be a good get-back-into-training distance run.  Plus, I knew an easy six-mile out-and-back on the Mud Creek and Skull Creek trail system, so logistically it made sense.  Heading out at 6:30, the sun was barely awake but the morning was already bordering on hot.  Sweat on my brow  was quickly followed by sweat everywhere as a late June morning in Arkansas enveloped all things organic, including me, in an blanket of humidity and sunshine.  Not to be deterred by the weather, I relished the chance to log miles and collect my thoughts, loving the cardio push and muscles churning.


The Skull Creek trail, which serves as the main artery for the trail system, was teeming with runners and bikers.  It was great to see friends, old and new, as the mileage increased along with the morning heat:  Bruce Wilkins, Brandon Pigeon, Carole and Lloyd Swope, Katie Helms, Mark Vetter, and Rolf Wilkin.  Part of what makes training so important to me are the community of people that are passionate about the same things.  It's invigorating and reassuring to be amongst like-minded fellows.  Runners are my people and I'm starting to realize that more and more with each mile, each race.


My enthusiasm for returning to training was incredibly visceral and ernest, almost tangible.  But it was also short-lived when, somewhere around mile 8, my right foot began to ache with a mild pain that I immediately recognized:  plantar fasciitis.  Damnit.  Nevertheless, I pushed on, trying to ignore what was so obvious and persistent.  It wasn't going anywhere.  Finishing with a quarter-mile cool down walk, I spent a considerable amount of time stretching in an effort to minimize the pain and give relief to my stupid right foot.  The entire ordeal of not finishing strong was disappointing and upsetting: I had high hopes that everything would go well and it would be the start of a great three months leading up to 26.2 miles.  Not to mention the fact that, having showered and grabbed a cup of coffee, my foot now officially hurt like hell.  It was the worst pain I'd experienced.  After pouting on the couch and minimizing all unnecessary movement for a couple of hours, I had a minor ephiphany:  we're all people that are essentially broke, busted, and disgusted, so there's no utility in not having a positive attitude.  I decided to turn lemons into lemonade.  It also helped that my best good friend, Mrs. Murie, who I know that i'm going to miss during this summer training season, texted to invite me to stop by her nieces' and nephews' lemonade stand.

   


I don't know what the rest of the summer holds in terms of running, and i'm okay with that.  There's nothing i'd love more than to go out every Saturday morning and increase my mileage from the week before, but sometimes we have to let go of the need to control and simply let it happen.  I've learned that nothing in life is without purpose, even things that we don't like, so maybe this is supposed to be time to let my body relax and heal.  Or maybe its supposed to be time for something new and profound to happen.  Or maybe the zombie apocalypse will start tomorrow and we'll all have to outrun the undead.  I can't say for certain either way, but in the interim methinks I'll have another cup of lemonade.