So not this past weekend, but the weekend before, forty-nine robbers came knocking at my door.
Um.
No.
That didn’t happen. (But does anyone else remember that rhyme? I did some mean double-dutch to that bad boy all throughout my grade two year – you know, when I wasn’t chowing down on eggos and drinking Labatt Blue that is.)
I asked them what they wanted, and this is what they said – Spanish lady go like this! Spanish lady do the twist! Spanish lady touch the ground! Spanish lady turn around! Spanish lady jump once more! Spanish lady out the door! [at this point you had to run out of the rope circle. This was always the hardest part of double-dutch. It’s crazy difficult to run in or out of the circle with two ropes going! Also, why Spanish lady? I HAVE NO CLUE.]
But I digress.
Two weekends ago, I over did it a little bit with the training. M and I ran a long run, filled with hills and sprints, before ending up at the circuit track at Queen’s park. The monkey bars were slick with rain, and as I worked my was across I slipped halfway and twinged something in my right bicep.
Of course, because I cannot ever leave well enough alone, the next day I ran a seven kilometer “recovery” run.
By the end I was completely and utterly knackered.
Things hurt. Things that don’t normally ever hurt, HURT A LOT.
I was done.
So for the next five days I didn’t do anything – no running, training, weight lifting, or core work.
I even went for a 30 minute massage on Monday after work.
And it was pretty awesome. I got to come home, cook food, write, read, watch Damages (if you are not watching this show YOU MUST SERIOUSLY START NOW), and hang out with Ms. Nymeria and Mr. M.
In all honesty, it was actually a little shocking how much extra time I had in the evenings, not lugging myself to the gym two or three nights after work – especially on the days when I would usually be rushing to the gym, rushing back home, rushing into the shower, and then rushing out the door for my volunteer commitments.
I’m certainly not going to give up my regular scheduled program (because at the root of it, I really like it) – but it’s good to know that when push comes to shove, and my body is telling me to rest up, I can, and I will.
And I did.
After five days however, I was revved up, ready to run.
This past Saturday I was practically giddy as I got ready to get out of the door and out into the sunshine.
And let me tell you, that week of rest did my body a world of good.
I had an absolutely stellar run, and I killed it on the circuit.
The loop at Queen’s park is about 2.5 km, and very hilly. I ran it three times. In between each lap I would head to the circuit where I would do one set of monkey bars (I felt like I really was a monkey – I made it across each time no problem. I could not believe it!), twenty push-ups, and ten box jumps.
At the end of my run, I did three sets of sprints – 1 minute as fast as I could.
And as I made my way home, I felt as though I was flying.
Over the last few hundred meters back to my house, a couple of tears leaked out of the far corner of my left eye.
Not from exhaustion, but from exhilaration.
I was on fire.
(Maybe that’s why I was crying – to put out the flames.)
I do, however, have some pretty brutal blisters on my hands from those accursed monkey bars. Check it:
Urg.
But even sore hands couldn’t keep me still for long.
The next day, Sunday, I set out once more, and my legs propelled me through another absolutely smashing run. The sun’s rays burned bright, but not too hot – the green of the park’s trees, so lush and ethereal, while the sky burned a white opal, sapphire blue.
It’s moments like that were I truly believe that my body is capable of anything.
As long as I listen to it, it will tell me when it’s ready.
And goodness knows, beware to anyone standing in our way.
…
Post script – I just received one of the most hilarious and completely incoherent spam comments of all time. It reads: Good afternoon fellow , probably fire a torpedo from grace is increasingly cumbersome due to the restricted set of telephone operators.
“Firing a torpedo from grace” is now what I’m calling my tough mudder training. Boo yeah.
Rant and Roll 