CONFESSIONS OF RAGE

I just returned from a 2-mile run. My time was 17:45. It was one of the most painful, frustrating experiences of my life.

This blog/rant is dedicated to all runners. Please don't think I am diminishing anyone's pace, ability, or dedication as I write this. Rather, I am attempting to relate my frustrations to you, in a manner I'm sure most of you have experienced, whether your daily training pace i 6, 7, 8, 9, or 10 minutes a mile.

My usual training pace lies around 7:10-7:15 a mile these days, and I average about 40 miles a week when I'm training for shorter races; 50 or so a week when I'm training for a marathon. Two months ago, at the Boston Marathon, I averaged about a 7:02 pace.

Two torn hamstrings in May shredded my training like it shredded the back of my leg. Despite aggressive physical therapy, and the declaration from my orthopedic surgeon that he'd ok my return to running after he sees my on July 3, I concluded that the only way I could strengthen my hamstring again was by a initiating a slow return to some light running.

Remember everyone, this is the chronicle from someone who is addicted to running like some folks are addicted to crack, so this is by no means sound advice!

Last Sunday I began by jogging for a half mile. It is Friday. I can actually run 2 miles without stopping. Clearly, however, I WOULD stop if there were even a sign of hamstring pain. There is not.

There is, however, pain everywhere else!

From my lower back, to my quads, even down to shinsplints. That's right, shinsplints!!! I've been running for 36 years, for God's sake, and now I develop shinsplints. My breathing makes my feel like I'm glad I gave up that 2-pack-a-day habit. (exaggeration for effect, I've never smoked a day in my life) When I finish the run I feel like my entire body is ready to explode.

For the past five and a half weeks, since my injury, I have stretched more than ever. I have done upper body lifting three times a week. I have ridden the bike, gone crazy on the elliptical, and have tried my best to not become sedentary. I have gained only 3 pounds, and still I feel like an out of shape couch potato.

So, given the difficulty of mounting a comeback (at least as quickly as I desire), I am filled with rage.
I have confined my rehab runs to the secluded mountain behind my house. There, in quiet solitude, among the sounds of gentle breezes and chirping birds, one can hear the growling sounds of my expletives, as I attempt to sooth myself above the tunes bursting from the ear buds of my iPod.

Eventually, I will get back to running on the streets, where drivers will delight themselves by laying on their horns, shout the pleasant admonitions of "Get off the roads," along with chants that challenge my manhood.

So, here's my confession.

In my current state of frustration, I WILL freak out!!!

The offender will absorb the wrath of 155 pounds worth of rage. And I better not read one of those spineless coward, call-in losers opinions in the local newspaper. You know, the person who, several weeks ago, suggested we all need a "Jogger's License." That person will receive a written b--ch slap from me.

Well, thanks for reading my rant and hearing my confession.

I love this sport. I will beat myself up in order to be able to return to full training and racing again. Thanks to so many of you who have offered kind words since my setback. For those of you who are injured or returning from an injury, I feel your pain, both literally and figuratively. And, to all of you, this guarantee: I'll see you on the roads...soon.