Last weekend was the Golden Gallop. 5.28 miles, half a slightly uphill slog, half a total blast downhill.
This photo was shot at about the halfway point when I realized I wasn’t going to die. In fact, I was going to keep running as fast as I could. I’ve been nursing this stupid heel injury for three plus years, leaving little motivation for running. If I ran, I spent the next 2-3 days limping, grimacing and swearing.
And yes, I tried everything. Shots. Shock therapy. Expensive shoes. Insoles. Physical therapy. Magical thinking. Massage. And lots and lots of pity party hosting.
I can’t run! I am a runner! A runner who can’t run is just a chubby walker.
Let’s be frank. The last three years have included a lot of chubby walking. I’ve gained weight without my morning 60 minutes of sweaty, heart screaming cardio. (Go figure.) Imagine my delight when the Golden Gallop came along, I signed up, and was able to complete the race without debilitating pain?
I didn’t limp! In fact, my goal was to “run” the race in less than an hour. I crossed the line at 57 minutes and felt like I deserved an Olympic medal in pathetic suburban athletic exploits. Gold, in fact.
It isn’t my best race photo. Or longest race. Or proudest moment of physical glory. However — this moment is one of my happiest. Because, hot damn: I’m healing! I’m going to be back to triathlons and half marathons sooner than later. I’m going to feel like myself again soon, in many ways.
It may have just been a 5 mile race, but it was a huge triumph.
BOOYAH and take that, stupid plantar. And your weak ways.