It’s never easy to take a day off from running. Years ago, when I was running between three and five miles at a time, “rest” days weren’t even a part of my vocabulary. But over the past year, as my weekly milage has increased – and consequently, my injuries have increased – so have the number of days that I have to take off.
OK, so I could have spent Sunday doing yoga, strength training or partaking in some other form of physical activity. But instead, I took the opportunity to give my entire body a break. (Not my digestive system; that was hard at work breaking down a delicious brunch and lots of chocolate with my dad…
…and a healthy dinner of salad, spinach and shrimp salad, and a less healthy but completely worth it piece of three-berry pie with Noah.)
Last summer, right before I signed up for the Queens half marathon, I suffered the wrath of a faulty piriformis muscle.
I ignored it for quite some time, and ultimately, the pain benched me for a solid month while training for the race. I have no other way to describe it than this: It totally sucked. Not running made me crazy, and I started to hate all the happy runners out there just soaking in the summer sun. (Sorry, it was runner’s envy.)
So yea, if it means talking myself out of a jog – even on a beautiful 47 degree Sunday in January – so be it. Because by holding out for one day – a mere 24 hours – I can hope to run strong for the next five. And that’s exactly what I plan to do. Starting today. Here goes nothing.