I went to see the workers' compensation doctor this morning. My foot is sprained. He advised me not to run a half-marathon on Sunday. When I started crying, he was surprised, to put it mildly. He told me I could do another one after my foot is healed. I cried and whined and told him it is so hard to train for a half-marathon, I don't ever want to do it again. The race is the reward for all of the hard work. No one but a runner would understand this. He looked at me like I was NUTS. He asked how much it cost to register - oh, not much, only $75. and months of running in the heat, in the rain, in the cold mornings, in the mud, and when I don't feel like it, when I have a headache and I am tired, and when I should be cleaning my house, or spending time with my family... that's all.
In other words - WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
He finally said "Okay, if on Saturday it doesn't hurt AT ALL, try running around your block and if it doesn't hurt AT ALL, maybe, just maybe try running the half-marathon." But he still didn't think it was a good idea.
So I came back to work, ate the nutritious lunch that I packed for myself - and then I went and purchased a bag of vanilla creme cookies and a bag of chex vanilla strawberry yogurt evilness. And then I came back to my office and ate the entire two bags of crap (sorry to borrow your word Marcy.)
I called one of my friends to complain and he said "There's a war in Iraq." Like I don't know that! He was trying to suggest to me that there MAY be more important things in the world than if I get to run this race. I am just not there yet. In time, my sense of proportion will return, won't it?