Seriously, what the f¤#%?

I don't know what past sins I'm paying for, what cosmic retribution this is, what I've done to piss off the universe.

You know that strange feeling I described yesterday, that the inside of my left knee felt swollen? As soon as I stopped running, it disappeared, so I hardly gave it any thought. A few hours later, however, it started feeling tender to the touch. And this morning I woke up because I couldn't turn in bed or bend it without it hurting.

Since last summer, when I enjoyed a couple of injury-free months (I still had plantar fasciitis but it was under control), I don't think I've had a single week where I either haven't been ill (I've been ill three times this year alone, and it's only February) or had a body part complain. The back of my thigh, the front of my thigh, my lower back, my shoulder/neck, my foot and now my knee have all bothered me at one time or another. I feel like I'm falling apart. I can't even begin to describe how incredibly frustrated and fed up with this constant onslaught of obstacles I am right now.

I realise I run a lot. But I can't imagine myself running shorter distances. Heading out for a long run, taking in the scenery, chatting with friends, exploring new places, that is such an integral part of the sport for me that, without it, I might as well stay at home. Running makes me happy. Quitting running is not an option. Sometimes it feels like these injuries are part of the deal, an initiation test if you like, a trial that's meant to sort out the men (and women) from the boys (and girls). Only the strongest survive. Maybe after a couple of years' suffering, Sisyphus-like, I will be rewarded by the deity of running. Maybe, if I survive this test, I can spend the rest of my life running without injuries. Or perhaps not everything happens for a reason and my body will continue to fall apart until I have to sit in a wheelchair.

The prospect of running 6H in Skövde on the 10^th of March feels more and more distant, with less than three weeks left.