Tuesday, August 03, 2010

It doesn't take a therapist to figure this one out. . .

So last night I had a dream where I was attending a large marathon (full, half, 5K.) I was, surprise surprise, signed up for the half. I remember nothing of the race. Suddenly it was post-race, and I was in a large, fancy ballroom that had red velvet bleachers set up in it. Fancy gold medals were being passed out to those who ran in the race.

I did not get one.

To add insult to injury, the emcee of the evening then asked Kristin Chenoweth to stand (she was holding a 1-year old blond boy) and sing for everyone. So she got up and sang, I Wish I Was an Oscar Meyer Weiner.

End of dream.

(Many thanks to my spoiled Po, who woke me from this dream at 2:15 a.m. to request cold water and chocolate. In a fog, I went downstairs, got the water and chocolate. Halfway up the stairs I thought, am I seriously about to give my kid chocolate in the middle of the night because she woke me up and asked for it? Hell to the no! In the name of good principled parenthood, I ate the chocolate before returning to my room, only to find a fast asleep Po. So I washed down the chocolate with the cold water and went to sleep in Po's bed.)

* * * * * *

I'm kinda stressing about this half-marathon.

The Mister ran his 8-miler on Sunday morning after Hatfield's soccer game. Since I'm not one to run mid-day when it's hotter than Haiti outside with nary a cloud in site, my plan was to run that evening.

7.75 miles into his run, the Mister felt a distinct feeling of a grape bursting in his foot. With each step, he felt like he was running on a squishy grape. By the time he hobbled in the door, he could barely move and his complexion was grey-green.

Not good.

Yesterday was spent in a blur of doctor's appointments, therapy appointment, pharmacy runs, dance class and a search for crutches. The diagnosis is still murky (probably gout? possible tendonitis? possible stress fracture on an unclear x-ray), mainly because sometimes, those pompous drug reps think they know more than doctors. Yet in the end it was agreed upon that the Mister needs to be on crutches with as much rest as possible for his foot for "the time being."

Needless to say, I never went for my long run, and after trying to help my Mister through yesterday, by then end of last night I was an anxiety-ridden wreck who was wondering what the heck she was doing signing up for a half-marathon.

How do Mom's with kids and kids with issues and life in general actually get a chance to run in these things? Because right now, I am SO tired that I don't know how to get both the training in and have the ability to get through the rest of these days.

Those who can have my ultimate respect.

This morning, I ran my 5-miler, as slow as a long, painful death, but it's D.O.N.E. at least. I'm purposely ignoring the chipper "18 Days to Marathon Day!" email sent to me by the run organizers.

Mantra for the moment:
One Day at a Time
One Day at a Time
One Day at a Time





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