Withdrawal

Running is an addiction, my drug of choice. What comes with addiction? Withdrawal. Who is feeling symptoms of withdrawal? Me.

Sometime between junior year cross country and senior year cross country my body decided that it would no longer let me run. It started pretty small. My iliotibial band began acting up in one leg.  Did I rest? Of course not, I couldn't stop running. Maybe lighten up on the mileage a little bit and go a teensy bit slower, but not real rest. Stretch and foam roll, sure, but no one could convince me that I should stop running to make the problem go away. Long distance runners just deal with the aches and pains that come with a running schedule that regularly involves fun weekend runs of 10+ miles. Unsurprisingly, my other IT band began hurting. At first, it wasn't a big deal. Then I ran official half marathon number two. By mile six, it was excruciating to move the bottom half of my leg. Every foot strike was agony. Did I stop then? No. I still finished the race. I did it slowly, but I did not stop once to walk or stretch. To stop would have been to admit that I had to listen to my body.

Since then, I have been unable to run. I mean, I can try to train for a little 5K every once in a while. I can't really run regularly. My body can't withstand a normal training cycle of base, long intervals, hills, speed workouts, and tapering. Two or three weeks of running about 3 times a week for 20-30 minutes at a time is about all I get. After that, everything starts acting up again. I have done this so many times over the past three years that most people think that I am crazy for still trying to run.

The withdrawal is killing me. When I first got to college, I naturally woke up at six a.m., ready to run. Every morning, though, I had to remind myself that I couldn't. For almost an entire year, I didn't run at all. Maybe there was an occasional jog around the Bear Trail, but even that didn't happen more than once or twice a month. These mini two to three week training periods are amazing. Except for when my body tells me that I have to stop again. Then there's a whole new period of withdrawal to go through. When my body finally gives me the next go ahead, I do it all over again.

Running still has a hold on me, and I refuse to believe that I am not going to be all better one day. One day, I will be back to a normal training schedule. One day, I will run another half marathon. One day, I will set a new PR for a half marathon. I promise that I will never push my body to do anything more than a half. Heck, if my body doesn't want to go that far, I would settle for consistently being able to participate in sprint triathlons with 5k runs. All I need is for my legs to agree.

All this to say, essentially, that I miss running. I miss waking up early, lacing up my shoes, running out my door, watching the sunrise, and the bit of pride that comes with saying that I just got done running an easy ten or twelve with the guys. Besides that, dad beat my 8-mile PR last year, and that needs to change.

This is a picture of my father being a beast at a triathlon.
I only ran for 100 meters here, but it is still a picture of me running.