Pre-workout fuel: Slice of whole-wheat toast with apple butter
Workout: Ran 4.43 miles in 38 minutes, 22 seconds; average pace, 8:40.
It was my last run of Fort-4-Fitness training. Just a mild-mannered tempo run of 5 miles with 3 miles at an 8:54 pace. It should have been "nothing" given last week's tempo run of 8 miles with 6 below 9:00.
But it wasn't. OK ... it was. At first. I ran a comfortable 0.9 mile or so and set off on the path around campus. My legs felt great and though it was a bit tough, I couldn't help but push myself. I saw paces beginning with a "7" a time or two when I looked down during that first mile. It rolled in at 8:10.
And then ... then I don't really know what happened. Denali got scared and bolted, pulling the water bottle out of my hand. The leash off my wrist. He ran 20 feet ahead. I fell to the ground. Hard.
It took me what seemed like forever to stop the Garmin, get myself standing and call Denali back to me. He trotted to me like nothing had happened.
How wrong he was.
I don't want to get gross but let's say my knee didn't look as pretty as that girl's. My hands felt scraped. I was covered in mud on my entire left side. I retrieved my handheld and tried to rinse as much stuff off my knee so I could go home, which was 2 miles away.
I started to hobble, pain and stiffness radiating from my knee. A few steps was all I could manage - I couldn't walk home that way. Not 2 miles. So, being me, I started to run. Slowly at first ... with tears pouring from eyes. It wasn't the pain that made me cry but the fear that everything I have worked toward for the past 8 weeks would end like this. Injured. Three days before the race.
After a quarter mile or so, I was able to compose myself. No more tears and my pace came back - sort of. And I did the best to "salvage" my tempo run though I admit that might not have been the smartest move. I do get a point for not running past my house and around the block just to hit 5 miles. Go me!
I surveyed the damage once I got home. I cleaned the knee as best I could and moved to my arm. As I wiped away the dirt, I winced. It hurt! And there seemed to be an odd bump, like half a walnut shell protruding from underneath my skin. So I did what any girl would do. I called my grandma, who is 15o miles away.
Grandma, in all her sleepiness, advised an X-ray and so I met my father-in-law at the ER. Lucky for me, he was there with his students for clinic AND he's an X-ray tech. We got some films done, a nurse cleaned my knee and the doctor told me stories of rollerblading with his dogs. (Scratch that one off the list of things to do.)
Thankfully, my arm isn't broken. Just my spirit - and that's just a little bit. I mentioned to the doctor that I was running Saturday and he wished me luck. Told me to take it easy before the race. I can do that.
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