Ok, enough with the shoes and the feet; but seriously, who knew they were so important. LB and I headed out for 18 miles on Saturday and we had to leave early, 5:30 a.m. as I had a full day ahead with family activities.
Truth be told -- I have been in denial about a plantar issue on my left foot. Yes, the left, not the right. Can I please have two feet without pain at one time. Anyway, it would go away as I ran. Pieter looked at it and worked on it and it was much better.
Saturday started well and I was anxious to get it to Marathon Goal Pace -- 7:37 or better. We were going slower than I wanted and I was getting antsy. If I don't get 10 miles of MGP in, I'll start freakin'. So LB says we should play chase and off he goes. He gets farther and farther ahead of me and I am working so hard to catch him.
A get a stitch. A fellow Gazelle comes along and runs with me for a bit. Then I keep pace along Duval. We're almost done. Suddenly, my left foot starts hurting so much that each time it hits that pavement, I feel like I am impaling it on a nail. Finally, I stop. I sit on the curb, take off my shoe and probe it. Nothing seems broken. I massage it a little and then I start to cry. Just three weeks away and I feel like my left foot is giving out on me. I put my shoe back on and get back up. I'm going for it. I have do the miles. I will myself back up the hills and down Congress, but now I am short miles and have to add to make the 18. I don't want to, but I must do it for my mental state.
When it's over, LB is really nice about it. He had a great run, he was really strong. Me, the 22 miler was great, this one, not so much.
Well, better now than on April 19th.
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