I had a serious talk with my knees, ankles and hips today. I know some people talk to their cats, their Kenmores, and their shadows. Me, I talk to body parts; my body parts, interviewing each one, scrutinizing their replies. I can’t help but be suspicious. How are we feeling today? Are we ready to rock it? I listen carefully. Friday, my hip screamed at me, bared it’s teeth and threatened to bite. Didn’t like the stairs, I guess. Today, a much more subdued response came through, “I’m okay.” Good. Good. Knees and ankles replied in kind. Great. Except. Right foot spoke up just a little. Right where the stress fractures appeared nearly two years ago. Was that a growl? What now? Maybe it’s just a little tight.
I’m a situational runner. I run best when I’m angry, when there is something I need to work out. When the mind is on overload. Running in the gerbil cage forces me to stay focused. If the dryer is loud enough I run in time to the load’s cycle spinning. If the run is long enough I zone out, think of nothing but where this would take me if I was homehome. Would I be in the Cathedral woods or out on the cliffs? Would I be down by the wreck or beyond? More often than not I talk to my legs, asking them for another mile. I barter with my knees, promising a crazy good bag of frozen peas and maybe a steamy bath afterwards…if we get through it. The only one I can’t talk to is my heart. Stubborn and silent it stays. Maybe that’s a good thing. Because despite the silent treatment we usually work it out.
~*LunaSea*~ 