I was so prepared for the longest run of the training clinic – 21K – that I was actually looking forward to it.
I went through my get-ready list in my head.
Plot a route. Check.
Carbo-load on Girl Guide cookies the previous afternoon. Check.
Ensure Garmin GPS watch is fully charged. Check.
Download new podcasts for Ipod for optimal distraction. Check.
Buy over-priced carbohydrate gummies for on-route refueling. Check.
Make extra ice for post-run ice bath for leg recovery. Check.
Refrain from imbibing in more than one pint on Friday night. Check (sadly).
Do pre-run warm-up including using foam roller on tight muscles. Check.
And out the basement door I stepped, ready to pace myself and thinking of the wine I’d be able to enjoy guilt-free that evening.
I knew the weather forecast mentioned rain and I had my cap, rain jacket and West Coast upbringing to not let a drizzle be considered anything than a dewy facial.
But within the first kilometer, the rainfall was more like Japanese drumming than caressing violins.
I knew that although I could run, may be, 10 kilometres wet and chilled, attempting more than 20 in a route that took me far out of my neighborhood was not a wise idea so I decided to loop back home.
Walking into my house, after only 2.39K (that damn Garmin doesn’t allow for perceived distance), and with the rain now only spitting as if in contempt, I decided there’s a reason that I have more than one running shirt, cap and rain jacket (and my husband thinks it’s just because I like to shop).
I peeled off my wet clothes, geared up again with dry togs but the same soggy runners and once again headed up the hill out of our neighborhood.
Again, I got about a kilometer along my route when the rain started pelting down so I turned around and headed for a part of the city where the clouds overhead didn’t seem as dark. I even glimpsed, was it possible? a sliver of blue sky. I figured I’d run 10K towards the pot of gold and then loop back home.
Maybe I couldn’t outrun the rain, but I could certainly run towards a sense of achievement.
I was feeling pretty good about persevering and the rain even slackened to be an annoyance rather than having buckets of water thrown in my face. That’s when the running gods abandoned me.
The pain that stabbed into the outside of my right knee was discouragingly familiar. But 
what I wanted to know is how and why did my IT band decide now to fail me? I hadn’t had a problem with the tricky treacherous band of tissue for over a year, and I was only 30 minutes into my run. In past years even when it was a chronic problem, I could get at least 90 minutes of continuous pounding on unrelenting asphalt with my Clydesdale body before feeling a twinge.
It was all I could do to not stop and announce to the daffodils roadside “Really?”
Of course being a runner, means running with discomfort (we don’t tell our physiotherapists that we run in pain) so I pretended it didn’t really hurt.
I headed to the soft trails around UVic, thinking the more forgiving surface would help.
All that did, when groups of fresh-faced youths passed me like gazelles, was remind me that age brings wisdom but definitely older body parts.
So I slowed down, alternated running with walking, while telling myself it was just a bad kilometer or two, that the pain in my leg would ease up.
It didn’t.
The injury accomplished what the rain couldn’t. I called it quits.
Our half-marathon clinic is training for either the May 5 race in Vancouver or the Oak Bay race on May 26. This setback has decided for me which race I’ll aim for – I’ll need the extra weeks of recovery time.
Unlike yesterday, it is beautiful outside today. What a difference a day makes – both in weather and running aspirations.
But I refuse to get discouraged (even if it does mean I won’t be able to eat as many Girl Guide cookies until I can return to my calorie-burning routine).
I’ve been running long enough to know that you can come back from an injury if you’re patient and follow the advice of health practioners.
The problem is, it’s only been one day, and I want to go for a run. Patience, indeed.
