I will run this race…I think

As I’ve mentioned before on this blog, I’m attempting to run a race August 18. My third in the “Triple Crown” series in Southern California. When I finish, I get an extra medal for doing all three races. That’s three races, four medals. That’s awesome.

Assuming, of course, I can run the race.

This nasty plantar fasciitis has set me back in my training big time. I haven’t run in a month. I can’t. I’ll run a mile and my foot will start giving out. It’s obnoxious and annoying.

And with this particular injury, you just have to stretch and massage and wait for it to get better. It’s broken and needs to heal. And as long as you push it, it won’t heal.

And it’s driving me nuts.

I’m now less than a month away from this race and I am completely out of cardio shape because cardio requires functioning feet.

I’ve tried other options like biking, which I grossly dislike (see my previous blog post). I can’t handle being on the bike for that long. Plus, it makes my butt and hip flexors feel weird. I don’t like it.

I’ve tried elliptical but my foot flares up a little and it doesn’t seem worth it to cause damage to the part I’m trying to heal just to get a mediocre cardio workout in. Plus, I look like a doofus on that thing.

Sure, I could swim. Theoretically. But you try finding a lane open in a pool near a retirement community. Good luck.

I’ve got a d-day set in my mind. August 1. I’m going to go out for a run on August 1. That’s Thursday.

When I do, I’m gonna try and see if I can get 3 miles in. If I can…I’m gonna attempt to run this race after all.

If I can’t… well, I’ll deal with that when we get there.

D-day comes upon us quickly. Wish me luck.

Guilt As Motivation

I saw a guy yesterday at my gym who clearly had problems walking.

I saw a blind man walk down from the top of the stairs in the weight room all the way to the locker room slowly following the railing and his own instinct.

I see really old people who barely shuffle along plop down on a treadmill and get their sweat on.

I read stories of people who went from being almost unable to walk to running marathons through slow but sure dedication to exercise.

I’ve lost close friends of mine way too young. These friends loved to race and workout.

I see, read, and think about stuff on a weekly basis and it motivates me to get off my butt and get to the gym.

If the guy who has problems walking can get on the Stairmaster, I can get over my little sore foot and get a good run in.

If the blind guy can get a ride to the gym, find his way in an out of the locker room, get up and down three flights of stairs to presumably lift weights for a while, I can finish that last set of pull ups I wasn’t looking forward to.

If an old person get take their fragile body on a treadmill and make a concerted effort to continue to push it to better themselves,  I get take my young, healthy body on a treadmill for a mere 30 minute jog.

If a man who had scar tissue throughout his body and was almost in a wheelchair at age 40 can slowly reengineer his body through a whole lot of yoga and even more patience and perseverance to be able to run again without pain, I can get off my lazy ass and get some time in at the gym.

If some of my wonderful buddies were still around, they would give anything to go for a run in the fresh air and feel their lungs burn while their muscles tire out. It’s such a meditative, familiar feeling that you get addicted to once you’ve experienced it enough. Sometimes, when I’m really not motivated or need an extra push to get through a rough running patch, I’ll picture my friend running with me, giving me that extra inspiration to keep going strong.

Maybe it’s weird. Or maybe it’s the midwestern in me that constantly feels guilt. But I use it as a reason to get off my butt and be the best me I can possibly be.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go get my workout in.