Today I was supposed to run 12 miles while Shea went to a baseball game. Instead, I'm lying on the couch in pajamas with an ice pack on my knee and choking down four ibuprofen every four hours.
And it makes me mad. Mad, mad, MAD.
Thursday it wasn't awful. Just like a headache in the outside of my knee. It was stiff after sitting too long, and the pain only was bad when walking down stairs. But last night the pain was so bad I cried until the ibuprofen kicked in, and I fell asleep. I figured it was too much walking around the cider mill.
But today it's still hurting, and I've only walked from the car to a coffee shop. So tomorrow the plan is to call sports medicine doctors until someone has a same-day appointment opening.
I am hoping it's something that can get better in two weeks and I can still run my half-marathon even though it's not going to be as fast as I trained for. If not, maybe I can just run with my dad who is also racing but at a more manageable pace for someone with an injured knee. If I can't run because there is risk for permanent damage, then fine. I will be the loudest spectator on the sidelines.
But I'll be really really sad.
"You must listen to your body. Run through annoyance but not through pain." - George Sheehan
Sunday night update: Leftover hydrocodone is a beautiful thing.