My first run back was the middle of last week (all on the down-low, as it was still against doctor's orders). How did it go?
Well... honestly, not very well. My sister instructed me to do 3 miles - no more - and that I could walk if I needed to. I stupidly picked 10:30am on a hot day. It was already in the mid-80s when I left my apartment.
I don't know about you, but my runs follow a pretty standard trajectory. Something like this:
Miles 0-.25: "I'm running! This is so awesome!!!"
Miles .25-~1.25/1.5: "Why am I doing this. This sucks. GO HOME. Crap, if I turn around I have to run home. So I'll gut it out. But this sucks."
Miles 1.5-3: "Eh, this isn't that bad. Nice day out."
Miles 3-3.2: "HALFWAY THERE! Take a walk break. Check your email. But don't dawdle... too much."
Miles 3.2-6: "I love running. So nice out. I love running. Running is awesome. It's basically like flying. But better."
Well, sadly, a problem I was having before I took time off has continued. I don't know how better to describe it than to say that I'm not "clicking in" to my runs. That point I get to around mile 1.5, where I just settle in, I'm warmed up, my body has accepted that like it or not I'm running now - that hasn't been happening. I wasn't ever, ever getting to the last phase, the phase that keeps me coming back for more. And that would describe this most recent run.
In terms of pace, the first mile was too fast, and then the second and third were too slow (go figure). My legs - which I expected to feel superfresh - felt like jelly in a bad way. I noticed my ITB for the first time, ironically the day after it had been "kneaded out" on a foam roller.
More tomorrow on my leap back into the deep end of the running pool, as I attempt to pick up where I've left off with mixed success.
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"