And that not even running! Although probably the miles I was packing could contribute to the stress fracture I incurred while gracefully stepping down from a ladder I was using to paint the walls in my late nan's flat.
So now - the way it looks - my life is a mess (quite literally - I am not able to finish the redecoration on my own now and I'm living in a nightmare of paint rollers and books strewn everywhere) - and it's begun to dawn on me how important running was.
Actually, just before the injury, I wasn't having a very good time running. After my last half-marathon in Warsaw (followed by acute hematuria and recommended rest) I didn't feel too confident on my feet and running a stupid 10k was a bit of a struggle. So when I heard (or felt...or both) the cracking sound while landing on my foot last week I thought the break would be welcome rather than difficult.
Serious running-freak? That wasn't me. I like to think I was just a recreational runner. I did it for fun and had no interest in setting records or constantly chasing my personal best. I went to races solely for fun, to meet new people, see new places, experience the runner's high multiplied by the factor of thousands and cheer my better running friends.
So, I thought, a break in my case would be easy. Wrong. The 900 miles I did last year took a toll on my body and mind. It left an indelible mark, as if creating a new psychological need I now desperately want (but can't) satisfy. I am incredibly surprised. It seems I needed this fracture to realise this.
I feel like my body has also changed rapidly over the last 10 days. It's absolutely stunning how quickly you lose muscle.
The time that is coming is going to be difficult. Very difficult. I am about to launch a crowdfunding campaign I've been working on for the past 9 months and I was supposed to be logging miles and sending postcards from the runs as one of the rewards. I was supposed to have finished redecorating my apartment by now. I am going to LMV (as a spectator, of course) this weekend and on a trip to Portugal the day after. How on earth am I supposed to do it all on crutches?!
And how on earth am I supposed to stay fit (both physically and emotionally) under house arrest (I work from home), unable to go for a run and having to put up with the mess around me? This time last year I started preparing for my first marathon. I remember the 20 and 30k runs I did last May. I felt a sense of pride and accomplishment. Now I feel like I've let myself down. I can smell the putrid whiff of the word 'failure' in the air.
In such situations, there are two ways out - give up and despair (not very much like me) or face the music and persevere. What can I do to stay fit while waiting for my foot to heal?
Today I decided to make an experiment and try to run on crutches. I will soon let you know if it worked...
Also, more on metatarsal stress fractures coming! Brace yourself! (Quite literally too!)
