I had an hour long torture session on Thursday afternoon. With this, came a stern reminder on my need to use the foam roller — not just when I’m hurting but routinely. I noted the difficulty finding the time to run, let alone add on a minimum of 30 minutes of self-torture. To that, my friend noted that I would pay for it either way: in the time invested in self preservation OR in the money invested in the repair. Her point was then driven home as she worked.
A day later, I could feel the bruised tissue in my left thigh whenever my hand brushed past the area. My right calf had a similar tenderness. I’d felt it during my not-so-restful night. But it was all good. I knew this from all the other times I’d been forced to pay for my disregard for the necessity of foam rollering.
As I climbed the stairs with my morning cup of coffee, something was missing. The clicking of my left knee was no longer audible. Nor could I feel it. Hurray! Today, I would run.
At lunch, I slipped on my Treks to take a much-needed break from work stress. Deviating from my somewhat routine routes, I stayed on the paved road and sidewalk for quite some time. Taking in new scenery, my decision to stay on the mostly smooth pavement allowed me a bit more freedom to let my mind process things other than foot placement and puddle jumping.
It was good for a while but as my course came in parallel with the RR tracks, I couldn’t resist the pull any longer.
Stopping briefly to remove my long sleeved shirt, I headed back on my more routine path — thankful to live in a place where I could wear shorts and a jogbra in December. Oh how I love this glorious place I call home.
Beneath my feet I could hear the familiar crunch, crunching sound that is so therapeutic for me. A short while later, that crunch, crunching turned to squish, squishing. Mud squished between my ten toes. Or should I say my fivefingers? I must admit, it was a good feeling. A rush of youthful playfulness filled my being.
I enjoyed this feeling as I ran around large puddles left from recent rainfall. As my run continued I became more secure in my ability to read signs of slippery-when-wet vs. not-so-slippery-when wet. That was when the idea of running through the puddles entered my mind.
Could I run through these puddles without slipping and falling? I considered the dirty looks I would get if I returned to the office head-to-toe in mud. And then I thought why not?
If you haven’t let yourself run thought large puddles lately, you might want to give it go. It’s rather freeing.
As for my foam roller, I did carve out time to work with it after I returned home from work. It was not fun but, if doing this exercise will allow me to continue to be outside pounding the pavement (and therefore my stressful thoughts) and allow me the space to splash through puddles with exhilarating freeness, I suppose I can work on making this a part of my days.
Interesting note: The leg that was not worked by my heavy handed friend was the leg that caused me to cry out when it became reacquainted with the foam roller. Go figure!