Didn't run today. Not an hour. Not a mile. Not a step.
Jacked my ankle up yesterday. Or something close to it. Left leg, on the outside. Above the ankle, really, but the pain radiates down that way. Walking on it hurts, but I can roll it around okay.
During the group run yesterday. Nothing popped. No moment that I remember, specifically. But the last mile hurt, then hurt like hell, but I wasn't slowing up. Speeding up, actually, because that's what we do, as we near the finish. And I'm too stubborn to cut it short, even by a few hundred meters.
Stupid, but it's done.
Walked home. Not quick either.
Felt better today. Spun on the elliptical for an hour, then the stationary bike for an hour. Lifted. Felt good about all of that. (I've always told people I'm really more of an exercise dork who focuses on running, than a "runner". So in a pinch, I can get off on this stuff.)
Walked around the gym. Felt okay. Thought maybe I should run. Thought maybe I shouldn't.
Won't tomorrow. Probably not Sunday either. Not until the day after it feels perfect.
I'm happy with this, actually. It's not an injury. And that's not wishful thinking. Sometimes you just know. And I know. Or at least I think I do. Anyway, it'll be fine in a few days, if I let it. If not, I'll give it a few more.
And I'm going to. It's all good.
Probably needed something like recovery anyway, post marathon. After the bad ones, you want to get back at it. Hammer more. Hammer harder. Hammer, uh, hammerier? But after the bad ones, you're more beat to shit than after the good ones. Best not to take out your frustrations on your legs. Fuck things up seriously.
Plenty of people have suggested that I run too much. That I should schedule rest days. Never really cared. Told them I ran every day I felt like I could. Every day I wanted to. Just so happened that turned out to be every day. I'd take a day off when I needed a day off. They never believed me.
I can stop whenever I want.