Um, yeah, this is where my Bronx half marathon report should go. Um, if there was anything to report on. I bailed on the race. I did not DNF, thank you very much. I just didn't run.
After two days in a row of mild pain (okay, not all that mild), I spent a large part of Thursday and Friday calling doctors to find one that could see me. The doctor I saw before - ironically for the same pain - was on vacation through the end of August. Do you know how hard it is to find a sports medicine doctor who takes your insurance, is accepting new patients, and can see you within a month? I'll be seeing the new doctor on Thursday.
I also bought new shoes. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I already have too many but hear me out: I haven't been fitted for shoes in years. Every time I got fitted, they recommended the same Asics (10xx series and then 20xx series). So I bought pair after pair. This past January, my beloved Asics were tweaked and they started giving me blisters in my arch, which is when I started screwing around with different shoes. Right now I have too many pairs of shoes because of that - I've just bought more and more and more. It was high time I got fitted again, and I'm now the proud owner of new Sauconys. These will be the only shoes I will wear for the next few weeks.
Will they cure me? Who knows. Is it worth a try? Yes, absolutely. My sister/coach has also instructed me to run the first half mile or so of my workouts barefoot to concentrate on my form. I'm not sold on barefoot running, but I'll do what she tells me. Her marathon PR is 87 minutes faster than mine, after all.
Confession time: these shoes are HOT. They are so cute, it makes me want to run all the time. I tried on every pair they brought me and was honest in my assessment of the fit, but secretly the whole time I was thinking, "Please, please let it be the adorable green ones."
Final note: Congrats to my running friend (and blog reader: WHAT UP!) Mike for a smoking 9 minute PR on his half time at the Bronx Half this weekend!
On I went, out of the wood, passing the man leading without knowing I was going to do so. Flip-flap, flip-flap, jog-trot, jog-trot, curnchslap-crunchslap, across the middle of a broad field again, rhythmically running in my greyhound effortless fashion, knowing I had won the race though it wasn't half over, won it if I wanted it, could go on for ten or fifteen or twenty miles if I had to and drop dead at the finish of it, which would be the same, in the end, as living an honest life like the governor wanted me to. -Alan Sillitoe, "Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner"