I hemmed and hawed all week about whether or not to try racing this weekend and in the end, my body made the decision for me. It's hard to explain, but I've just been feeling a little...off, I guess, with the running. I'm getting in decent mileage, but it just seems like I get out of breath way too easily and my heart starts racing when I don't even feel like I'm putting out that much of an effort. A couple of times in the last week or so, my training partner has pushed the pace going up a hill or even on a flatter section and he leaves me behind like I'm standing still. And I know it's not me being too competitive or something silly like that, my legs just feel leaden and my lungs can't seem to get enough air into them.
So I was already feeling a little skeevy about trying to run four miles at under seven pace when my left calf started giving me an odd little twinge at the beginning of my run Thursday morning. I stopped and stretched and it felt fine after than, but then when I got to work the pain had become much sharper and I was having trouble walking down stairs without limping badly. I skipped the running on Friday and just spent an hour on the trainer instead, but even so I was still feeling some pain during the day so it just seemed silly to risk causing some real damage in a race that I was afraid was going to be a flop anyhow.
I think it's just as well. I've got a new part-time gig working on a radio show, so since I didn't have to beg out of work after all, I can save that credit for the next race that falls on a Saturday. Luckily the Coogan's 5K falls on a Sunday, so I can enjoy that one guilt free, even if I just hack the actual race. That one is really much more about the free Guinness and Corned Beef afterwards.
Oddly enough, as soon as I got to work this morning (instead of shivering on a cold starting line), my calf started feeling much better. Which makes me wonder how much of it was psychosomatic. I mean, it definitely did hurt and I could feel that the muscle was badly knotted up just below the back of my knee, but then why did it just magically relax once the race was no longer an issue? I'm going to have to get back out there and compete sooner or later, but just the idea of it makes me feel vaguely nauseous right now. Which is odd, since the racing has always really been the main point of the running for me. I've had my confidence shaken a bit by some advice I've gotten recently about having unrealistic goals based on my age and ability and that might be part of it, plus I'm very conscious of the weight I've gained since the marathon. I don't know exactly. I just know there's a good chance that the next time I race, my time is just going to really blow and it's really hard to get excited about putting myself through the pain and effort of competition just to be pissed off by the results.
And finally, lest I sound too hopelessly depressed and pessimistic, I had a really lovely run this evening. The snow has at last melted enough that I could get off that nasty, hard pavement and back onto the forgiving mud of the bridle path. I stretched really well and kept to a nice and easy 9-ish pace and everything seemed to function just as it's supposed to. I even added on a couple of miles at the end because it was so lovely out. The light had faded to the most hypnotic shade of violet and created the illusion that the thin crust of ice on the reservoir was generating its own soft white glow. The air had warmed just so slightly during the day and there was a softness about it that unmistakably hinted of spring and after seven miles, I wasn't quite ready to leave that behind. There's a lot of my life that requires too much in the way of thought and worry these days, but in just an hour there, I felt completely free and the world was mud luscious and puddle wonderful.