I feel like a bit of a fraud.
Got a t-shirt in the mail today, one emblazoned with 'I'm training for the Buffalo Marathon.' It was one of the perks of registering back in January for what was to be an epic race for me. My first half-marathon.
But that was back in January, back when I wasn't a gimp. When my hip wasn't causing me pain and I wasn't limping.
And so, today's t-shirt arrival was a reminder of how my plans have been derailed — for the time being, at least — and how much longer the pain I felt after my Run for the Cats in February has lingered than I anticipated.
No, I'm no longer training for the Buffalo half-marathon. I'm not even training for any run right now, starting instead a regimen of physio and massage therapy — I feel old — to get my hip up to snuff once more and get me running again. My goodness, have I missed it. The stationary bike at the gym that I've been relying on to keep me in shape somewhat hasn't really cut it. The endorphin rush isn't the same. Neither is the satisfaction.
The sports injury specialist I saw last week said I should be back to my old self, after nearly eight weeks of my B-Boy walk, in two to three weeks. Fingers crossed. I still have $300 to raise and four races to run to meet my commitment to the Lincoln County Humane Society.
Still, my plans for my first half-marathon in May have been thwarted. But I'm hopeful I'll be in a race by the end of the month and running my 21.5 kilometres by summer. Fingers crossed.
Now, to find a dark corner in the back of my closet for that t-shirt...
