Of Mastiff and Marathon

I am having kind of a hard time lately. I miss Huan so much, more than I have in a long time. I don't know what else to say about that. He was extraordinary. I will never have another dog like him. I will never know another soul as gentle and gracious and humble and sweet and good and decent as he. Repeat.

I have been training for a marathon, for months actually. There. I said it. Only a few people, until now, have known that. I haven't even registered for it, but the registration screen has been minimized on my laptop for what feels like forever. I have been afraid of jinxing it, I guess, but it's too late for that.

Current status: my longest run to date is 16 miles. I have been running 3-4 times a week, all according to the guidelines of a free online training program. There is always one really long run (e.g. 15 miles), 1-2 shorter runs (e.g. 3-5 miles), and one long-ish run (e.g. 8-10 miles). My times have been pretty impressive for a rookie (9:30-40ish on long runs), though that may be because I am a total idiot and haven't stopped to rest or hydrate ever. (No, I am not kidding.) I have also maintained my bootcamp days, but had to drop my leg day at the gym. I have, until now, maintained my upper body weight training regimen. And now I am injured.

Injured?

For weeks, my shins have been very painful to the touch, and it has gotten increasingly more painful to run on them. I have also been suffering through hip pain that is now pretty unbearable. There have been a couple of times when my leg has gone numb, and I haven't been able to support my weight while running. This past Friday, I set out to do an 8 miler, and I didn't make it 1/2 mile before I had to stop, tears streaming down my face, and limp home. I remember thinking, "I don't even know how to distinguish anymore. What will I tell the doctor? Does the pain radiate up my legs or down them?"

I have an appointment with a sports medicine doctor tomorrow. I have an appointment with a podiatrist on Friday. I am icing and stretching and taking anti-inflammatories. And resting. For the first time EVER, I missed a run, a 12 miler yesterday. I have no idea how much more I will have to miss. I am scheduled for a half marathon at the end of the month, which is just part of my training for the full in October. I don't know that I will be able to do either now. And I can't even stomach the thought of that. I have given this everything I have to give. I have set my alarm at 4AM on long run days so I can be home in time to get the baby when she wakes and so Hubby can leave for work. I have run in South Carolina, while on vacation, down cobblestone streets in the midst of Hurricane Irene storms. I even set my alarm at God knows what time to fit in a 10 miler before our flight took off for South Carolina. And, to reiterate, it has really, really hurt most days, even to run one mile.

I began running a week after Huan died, and I haven't stopped since. I always wanted to run, to be a runner,  but never really had the kind of motivation that the loss of Huan inspired. (I often call it "grief running.") And I did  toy with the idea of training for just a half, but I tend to operate in extremes. I go big, or I go home. I go Mastiff. I go marathon. And I have to believe that, even if I can't physically cross the finish line, everything that has carried me to this moment in my training--the struggle, the love, the grief, the tenacity, even the dedication to get out of bed at 4AM for months on end--that's all big stuff--bigger, perhaps, than even 26.2 miles.

I really hope I can believe that.