I don't even know what to do anymore.
All I want to do is run.
I love running. And I'm not even that bad at it! When I'm in halfway-decent shape, I do long runs at a 9:00 pace without much trouble. But WHY does it have to be so difficult for me to get into even halfway-decent shape? And I'm not talking "difficult" in the sense of, oh "OMG I can't hold this pace!" or "OMG my lungs are BURNING!" or even "OMG my legs feel like lead and I couldn't possibly take one.more.step."
I've been there, to all of those places, and those are the easy things to surpass. You have your tough runs and your easier runs and it's the tough ones that make it possible to have those fantastic I'm-flying-this-is-amazing! runs later on.
No, I'm talking "difficult" in the sense of "every time I've tried to train and run more than 20 miles per week I get a stabbing pain under my right patella." And I have trouble going down the stairs. And my hips are incredibly tight. And I spend half the day the next day at work doing IT band and hip flexor stretches in my office when no one's looking.
What really kills me about this is that -- while I certainly don't SUCK at running -- it's not like I'm pushing myself unusually hard. Yeah, I'd like to PR in Broad Street this year, but right now, I'd settle for just completing it, even if it's at a 10:00 pace instead of 2008's 9:05 pace. There are plenty of people who are in far worse shape than I am, aerobically speaking, whose bodies can handle even the 9:00 pace I aimed for in '08 that sent me to the doctor that month.
This is the kind of thing that makes me want to throw myself on the floor, kicking and screaming and flailing about, because really, what it boils down to is "IT'S JUST NOT FAIR!!!!!!"
And life ain't fair. That's just how it is, and I know I'll get over it, but right now...UGH.
I went to the doctor yesterday. What a tremendous waste of time. I saw a GP, who did get me set up with a sports medicine specialist for next week, but I was so frustrated when I was done. I explained that I've recently been able to run about four miles at a time, once a week, without pain during the run, but that I feel a flareup afterwards. And he's like "Oh, four miles -- well, that's good!" I got the distinct impression he really didn't get why that would be a problem, and why I was wasting my time? He offered to write me a prescription for motrin, which I declined. It ain't the pain that bugs me, brother. It's the fact that IT PREVENTS ME FROM DOING WHAT I REALLY WANT TO DO, and no amount of motrin is going to make it safe for me to run on these stupid lower extremeties of mine.
Blech. Well, it's now almost 9am, and I need to roll into my boss's office for a delightful conference call. But I feel a little better having gotten that out.