The Race I Shouldn’t Have Run
Blame it on the butterflies
I ran a race with an injury. I ran it with the false promise that I wouldn’t push, I wouldn’t continue if the pain got worrisome, and I wouldn’t even do it if my hip felt bad on the jog to the starting line. It was a trail race, and because I’d been resting for three weeks, my endurance had decreased (according to my watch), and because I am stubborn, foolish, but not completely insane, I dropped distances from 25 miles to 10. The cut-off times were lenient, and I could hike 10 if I had to. Well, I could hike the ups. I’d run the runnables. I’d be ok.
But I wasn’t.
I got to the starting line and felt the excitement, though halfway there my hip was saying, “No.” I ignored it. A small group gathered for the 10 mile, only 68 of us, and everyone looked happy and ready to enjoy themselves. There were a few hotshots, but they were much younger and would be out of sight as soon as the starting gun went off.
I got in line with people my age. It was a perfect day for a race with cool, crisp air and bright blue sky. It had been dry for a few days, so the trails wouldn’t be sloppy. The earth would be just soft enough to cushion the pounding. It was much better for me to run trails, I told myself. I did a few squatting butterfly stretches that felt good on my hip. I was doing the…
