Our Lady of Perpetual Hell

Six months after having started to run, I have almost entirely lost touch with the person who inspired me to try it in the first place. Still, I run. So at least something good came out of that aborted relationship. I was hoping for more, natch, but it ended up being a lotta talk and notta lotta action. Damned shame, too, ‘cause I rilly liked him. I thought there was the potential for a genuine connection there. *heavy sigh*

What I’m left with (aside from the small, blunt pang I still feel whenever I think of him) is an activity that I am finally rilly enjoying. It took a while, but about a month ago I noticed that I had begun to look forward to going out for a run. After five months of slogging, I had doubted that I would ever get over that hump of having to push myself to get out there and do it and then being relieved when I was finished! But now, whenever I am unable to go out at my usual times, I feel it missing from my day and it’s frustrating. I think I noticed the mental change the first time I got out the door in my running gear, discovered a chilly, steady rain falling, shrugged, and went for my run anyway. And it made me feel like a little kid out there in the rain, getting soaked to the skin and not giving a shit about it.

I think my new li’l iPod shuffle

–which I had engraved with Run Faster!–has made a big difference. I actually have a real smile on my face when I’m running, now (instead of a Mats Sundin-like grimace… look at his face when he returns to the Leafs bench after a shift and you’ll see what I mean). Sometimes, I even sing along. Or, rather, “sing” along. Gawd, I wonder if my neighbours have ever heard me bark out “September gurls do so much…” as I ran past their homes at 5:30 in the morning. Oops. (Well, shit, you’re supposed to keep a pace where you’re able to talk while you’re running but if you’re by yourself, surely singing is the equivalent to that and is slightly less crazy-looking than talking to yourself …right?)

I have had people tell me that they’d rather not have a shuffle because they want control over what they listen to, but I kinda like the randomness of the mixes, the surprises, the sometimes wild shifts in tone and style, and I think the anticipation of what the next song is gonna be keeps me out running longer than I might normally. F’r'instance, last Sunday I ran 8 miles–that’s almost 13k, the longest I’ve run so far!–and I think it was largely because I was enjoying the tunes while I was running.

So, with all that said, it is with great alarm that I regard my wonky knees. They were fine after that long run on Sunday. Felt fine ’til Wednesday night, when I went for a 6k run with my Running Room 5k clinic group. Not sure if I was trying to go too fast or what, but my right knee has been aching since then. Two weeks before, it was the left knee that felt sore after a run with my clinic group (and I went on a brief stint of anti-inflammatories prescribed by my doctor for it). These knees have a bit of a history… They were fine until I made the mistake of listening to one of my Utah cousins, who recommended the hike up to Timpanogos Cave National Monument. “Oh, it’s easy. The path is paved.” Yeah, but she didn’t tell me the fucking path was at pretty much a 45° angle for a mile and a half. Except for those places where it was steeper. Ay-yi-yi…

Going up was hard, I’ll tellya. Especially in the 100° F heat. The caves, themselves, were a joy to reach if only because it was 30-40° cooler inside. But once we made our way all the way through the cave system, we hadda walk all that way back down again. And I think it was the trip back down that did the number on my knees. ‘Gravity is a harsh mistress’, as The Tick sez. I was fine until a few days later when I was sitting quietly at work, not doing anything weird–just sitting there at my desk, working dinking around as usual. All of a sudden, it felt as if someone (a midget was my first thought–don’t ask me why, ‘cause, honestly, I give my head a shake over that one, too) had crawled under my desk and stabbed me right in the fucking knee. I think I might’ve yelped. I sat very still, shocked, wondering WTF. Then–oof!–there it was again!! I hadn’t moved, fer crissakes–what the hell was going on?! It happened a few more times that day, then happened from time to time over the next few days. Each time it happened, I had been sitting quite still–it’s not like some movement had provoked it. Eventually it stopped happening. (No, I never did catch sight of that pesky midget. The little bastard.) When I took up the treadmill (boring as hell–that lasted only a few months) a coupla years ago, I wore a tensor brace on that left knee, on the advice of a friend. No recurrance of the stabbing pain. No trouble at all from the knees, actually, until recently.

That it is happening now is distressing. Since I have come to enjoy running, I don’t want to have to quit because my stupid knees are balking.

So tomorrow, I am going to a chi running clinic. Must. Focus. On. Dantian. Oooh, gotta pee.