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?
