Just over two weeks until race day.
How do I know that you ask? Did I look at my calendar? Check my iPhone?
Nope, my legs told me. Loudly and clearly.
WE ARE GETTING TIRED OF TRAINING! WE NEED A BREAK...NOW!
This is their typical, predictable, I can set the clock to it, behaviour two weeks out from race day. And I completely understand. I have pushed them harder and farther than ever before, through the snowiest, slushiest winter I've ever run in. We're two weeks out, the taper has started and they don't want to taper - they want to go to an all-inclusive resort and sit on the beach for a week. Preferably one that serves mojitos.
Their little sighs have erupted into a cacophanous racket of complaints. I went to see my massage therapist (also known as Janice, also known as the main reason I am able to cross the finish line of any race) yesterday. She touched my calf and exclaimed 'whoa, that's not good'. Tight, full of knots that have appeared overnight, unwilling to yeild despite her heroic efforts.
I have prided myself on never asking for mercy, never begging her to stop because of the pain she was causing. Yesterday, only my inability to talk stopped me from crying out. She did what she had to do and I'm much better for it, but damn that hurt!
It takes a village to raise a child. Apparently it also takes one to get me across the finish line. My support team takes care of me during long runs, my running friends keep me focused, my diabetic team keeps me healthy and in control and Janice maintains my legs so they can keep running. As they near their breaking point and I ramp up my self-care a few more notches, I feel like I'm being held together with duct tape and paper clips.
Maybe I had better add that theme song to my playlist.