I'm not sure which broke first: my fibula or my will to go to work every day. For a multitude of reasons, none of which I am quite naive enough to post online, I decided it was time to resign from my position at the IU School of Journalism. Meantime, my daily runs became an achy affair. Everything between my knees and my feet throbbed with each step, but I kept going anyway. Running was the spoonful of sugar that got me through the stress of work. Well, that and multiple spoonfuls of ice cream. And lots of watching mindless TV in Dani's room after a long day of work and workouts.
A sub-par race at the Gate River Run in Jacksonville, Fla. over spring break morphed into another painful month of miles before the IU Mini Marathon in early April. Dani and I ran together every step of the way and split the prize money. (Note: We got second and third to to a Russian woman from Cincinnati who wore those Spira shoes with the springs in them. Not that I'm bitter or anything since I had no springs in my shoes). Aerobically I felt great, and the adrenaline masked the pain in my lower right leg on that sunny and pleasant day in Bloomington. The next morning we rolled out of bed and did our usual Sunday morning two-hour/16-mile part road/part Rail Trail long run. More aching, more throbbing.
In a masochistic way it seems only logical that the mental stress manifested itself into a physical stress fracture (right upper fibula). The more upset I felt, the more I ran, and the worse that fracture was getting while I dismissed it as a tight calf muscle. Ignorance is not always bliss when one is training hard.
I love running, and I love my coworkers at the J-school, but it is apparently time for a break before my bone and my brain literally break. I already miss running, and I will miss my coworkers. Yet, happy trails are on the horizon. As I have seen on the back of many a high school track team t-shirt: What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger.
Stride on able-bodied friends. Rest on all others.
