Hard-Headed Woman

Mean as she can be...

That's how I feel, disabled as I am. I guess logging my training process has to include logging the downs as well as the ups. I am so bad at being hurt (I know, who's good?). Feel slightly better today, but still find that bearing weight is painful to my right hip. And my obliques, both sides now, are, as my MFN would say, yakked. Sunday night around 3 a.m. I had to move out to the couch and fortify myself with the heating pad and a painkiller stronger than anything I've taken since the 1970s. Last night was better, but the jury is out on whether riding my bike to my Tuesday night meeting (about two miles each way) was a good idea.

I wish I could take a long swim in Pyramid Lake (yes! I uploaded another photo!) Maybe I'll amble on over to the King Park pool this weekend, since Pyramid is a bit far away for amblin' to.

In 1985 my knee seemed irreparably hurt, so I took the year off and swam at least three times a week. Toward the end of that period, one day I woke up and said, "I'm sick and tired of being so damned WET all the time." I went for a run that day, and haven't backed off since. This means swimming is not a long-term solution for me.

I'm almost ready to be realistic about what this setback means to my marathon training, but not quite. My hip, which seems the crucial element here (since I'll definitely need it to bear weight for a marathon), was more stiff when I woke up this morning than when I went to bed last night. But by now--3:30 p.m.-- it is much better. Even though the idea is killing me, I'm going to put off attempting to run until Sunday.

In other news, the birds are chirping, the trees are shyly blossoming and--ta da!--pitchers and catchers report in a couple of weeks. I find my mind strays to Bill King. As a baseball announcer he drove me nuts sometimes ("Check that...."), but the purity of his enthusiasm and the eagerness with which he embraced the sport and life itself will not be soon matched. In his 70's, he was too young to die.

Soon I'll be in Phoenix for the annual Cactus League fix. It's an ugly city, but is one of my favorite running venues, with it's miles and miles of canal paths that dip and wind and swerve among the houses, the cacti, and the freeways. I'm taking my gun so if I can't run by then I can just shoot myself. Oh, I'm kidding (sure).

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