An unusual run this morning, back from dropping my car off for service. This was on roads that used to be part of a long standard loop I ran, and it reminded me of three things. First, that I’ve strained one achilles or the other so many times on long, flat, quick, and also !@#$%, Bacon Pond Road that I think of it as trauma central. Second, that there’s an almost exact downhill mile from the top of the rise near the pond on Cat Swamp Road, down White Deer Rocks Road, across Sanford, onto Bacon Pond, and back to White Deer Rocks over which you can fly. If your achilles doesn’t decide it’s had enough, thank you very much. And finally, that the not especially steep uphill back toward Main Street on on White Deer Rocks is the most annoying and least enjoyable quarter mile in town.
My first adult-lesson swimming session ended a few weeks ago, and I’ve been expecting a call giving me days and times for the next. I even called the Y a few days ago, but nothing. Perhaps they’re sending me a signal. “Come back when you can breathe properly, pal!” Maybe I should be practicing in the bath.
The machine stuff carries on. More clank, clank, grunt, grunt. I hate it. But, boy, do I need it. When I restarted, every muscle in my body ached, an admonishment for sure. Much better now, stepping up weights and reps gradually (very gradually!), and no more pain. Just that maxed-out, wobbly muscle feeling. And jaw-clenching boredom.
It’s a long way back. And “back” is relative.
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