As of yesterday, I had completed 79.7 miles out of my 240 mile goal and I was all on track: 11 miles a week until my birthday and whamo, done.
Then, I had this little goofy cyst taken off my shoulder yesterday and stitches were required. Of course they were. When they cut something the size of a small golf ball out of your shoulder (totally benign and harmless) it is going to require some stitching to pull that sucker together, right?
Anyway. I'm a bit slow on the uptake.
Bottom line: I can't run until the stitches come out. No running until April 20th, that's right. That means I lose ten days off my training time. Which means I need to tack on more mileage onto my already taxed running schedule once I can actually run again. And onto my taxed, still flabby body.
Did I mention I haven't lost any weight? Unless maybe that cyst weighed a few ounces.
I'm feeling sorry for myself, acting like I just missed my chance at the Olympics or something. And I'm dreading the idea of running MORE. Farther. And then I have delusional moments where I think of running a half marathon.
When I was at the doctor yesterday, I asked the nurse if she was grossed out by this surgery business. Is it gross, I asked.
"It's not gross. It just is," she answered.
There it is. Sage like words, I think. Not gross. Not lame. Not disappointing.
It just is.