So, we’re on week 3 of this running plan, and kids? Last night was HARD. This week’s extra-30-seconds-of-running-at-a-time wasn’t so bad for the first 20 minutes, but by the time my hour was almost up, I was ready to kick something.
Or not kick something, that would have hurt too.
On the plus side, it was 4.2 miles total. Even with the warm up and cool down walking (and there’s a lot of it), I am making the 15 minute mile race cut off. Woot!
I’ve also learned that if I can run on Wednesday nights, I need to do so to So You Think You Can Dance. Seeing what I used to be able to do (“Fun” fact, I was cast on season 3 JUST BEFORE my accident. Eff that. I watched the season and cried the whole time, that summer.) is inspiring. And when I get upset about the fact that I can’t do it anymore, I can take my anger and pain out on the treadmill. It’s a reminder why I’m doing this.
In any case, when I got back upstairs, I was done for. I stripped everything off and jumped in the shower just to stand and cool off. Then I put on my comfiest pjs and collapsed on the couch. I had to force my Gatorade down though. That’ll teach me to not check and make sure I’ve put the GOOD kind in the fridge.* My legs were stiff and my back hurt (not HURT hurt, I was just sore all over. I’m being very careful to pay attention to the little twinges, and so far, so good). I was tired. I just needed to rest.
Then the husband comes home.
Looks at me quizzically.
“What’s wrong?” “I hurt from my workout.” “How far did you run?” “4.2.” “Did you foam roll?” “No.”
Enter a 10 minute speech on the merits of foam rolling and how I’m not doing any of this right.
Now, with all my years of dancing, and my accident, I’m VERY good at listening to my body. If something feels off, I do something about it. But, the stiffness in my legs was already going away, being replaced with that soreness that comes with muscle realigning. No big deal, already improving. My back needed to be worked on, but it was fine. I wouldn’t have continued if it wasn’t.
By the time the 10 minutes was up, I was really upset. It showed. When he asked “WHAT?!” I lost it. As I sat there sobbing, trying to explain how while this is a really tiny thing to him and his marathon-length runs, it’s a huge deal to me right now. How I needed support and for him to be proud of me, and a little sympathy as I struggled to get my body back into shape.
And he just got irritated that I was upset.
::sighs::
I said forget it and, crying, went to brush my teeth and go to bed. I was still awake when he came into the room half an hour later to talk. I was able to explain to him while I was so upset (without sobbing) … but he still doesn’t get it. He doesn’t see why I need encouragement, and why jumping straight to (what I call) correcting me on technique or telling me I’m doing something wrong hurts me. He’s only trying to help, he says. To give me the benefits of the tips it’s taken him so long to learn.
I appreciate the help, I really do. But it doesn’t negate the fact that I need the support, and I’m not getting it.
::sighs::
This is a tough one.
* The husband like the regular red-orange-yellow Gatorade. I think it’s foul, and will only drink the Frost varieties (the light greenish-blue and purple). Which means we always have 2 kinds in our fridge. Or, are supposed to.
Little Pieces Everywhere 