I was in a bit of a bad mood and very nervous this morning before my run. The possibility of heading out for my scheduled 25 km only to have to stop half way because of an injury made me want to hide under the covers instead. Better not to know, better not to risk it, better to pretend I'm not a runner today. Better not to try at all than to try and fail. Because imagine my disappointment if I failed, imagine what it would mean for my goals. But then I bit the bullet and did it anyway.
Unsurprisingly it was a less-than-stellar long run, as I had to keep checking for signals my foot might be sending instead of losing myself in fun conversations and beautiful surroundings like I usually do. I took a detour on my way up to the hockey arena and thought that the foot felt ok. A bit stiff maybe, but it definitely didn't hurt. Once I got there, 7 km later, I stretched it. I had taken my orthopaedic insoles with me in case I needed them, but I decided to wait with that and see what happened. One theory going round in my head was that I was imagining the whole thing, and that running with the club and talking to the others might distract me enough to filter out the paranoid little voices in my head.
Sure enough, as long as I kept talking to people and didn't think about my foot, it didn't complain. After 10 km it stopped complaining altogether. But the worry in my mind didn't let off as easily. What if it started hurting afterwards? I talked to our coach about it and he gave me hope that, even if it is plantar fasciitis, I don't have to stop running, as long as I take care of it right away: icing, diclofenac, stretching, the works. Good. So far I'm already doing everything right. Another thing that I'm going to do to take care of it is to treat myself to a proper sports massage. The foot is a symptom of something else and my hips are notorious for their lack of proper mobility. It's time to get rid of the stiffness in my body before it turns ugly. The stiffness, not my body (opinions vary as to whether that particular ship sailed a long time ago).
On my way home I stopped by some shops in town to pick up some crucial household items we had run out of (wine). When it was time to start running again, this time with a loaded backpack, my legs politely informed me that they were suddenly feeling very tired indeed. I took it as a good sign that they waited for almost 25 km to tell me that and jogged home. I shall be bracing myself for the aftermath that is likely to follow.