Chicago Marathon, 10 Weeks From Now

There are 10 weeks until the Chicago Marathon. And my bursitis has relocated itself from my groin to my outside left hip. The nagging pain no longer hurts when I walk or twerk my leg in odd ways, however, sitting at a desk all day, oh the agony. But, Friday, I said to heck with it, I laced up my running shoes and set out for a jaunt to see how things were working. I have been doing sporadic weight training, but I find the motivation required to convince myself to get out of bed for that on a regular basis, especially compared to running around a city full of runners, is much too much. I cannot argue the time spent with Jillian Michaels has expedited the healing process. Though, I also cannot argue the icing, physical therapy, resting, and stretching regimen has seen me through either.

Alas, the weather—and sunrise!—was perfect when I set out on Friday. I headed down to Iwo Jima, through the Arlington Cemetery, around to Teddy Roosevelt Island, and up the hill of death to breakfast. I felt increasingly worse as the run progressed. And my positive, very positive, splits can attest to that. I rested up over the weekend; Monday, I hung out with Michaels, per my joke of a training schedule. Then Tuesday, I set out to run my favorite eight-mile loop at a more reasonable pace. I ended up racing all 71 of the other morning exercisers I crossed paths with. I could certainly be faster than the girl ahead running significantly faster splits. I am sure she wants me to chase her for two miles also. Positive thinking, anyone? I have lost my rhythm. And my faith in what was the plan.

So unable to walk, after logging fifteen total miles and an hour of strength training in five days, I reached out to Dr. M.E.K. for a consultation. I prefer to alarm her with dire messages super early, aided by her Central Time Zone. My text read, “I have Lyme disease and it’s caused early onset arthritis because this mystery has yet to heal. I’m looking for a 26.2 mile piggy back in October. Hope your training is going well.” She is, after all, deservingly responsible for getting me into this mess.

Avascular necrosis? Pain. Trochanteric bursitis? Pain, pain, pain.

I need a miracle, quick. I am not looking to be the untrained fool in October.