March 4, 2009

My knees are officially fucked.  Again.  As the doctor at the sports medicine clinic explained to me (and which I knew from rounds one and two of this over the past 15 years, but was conveniently ignoring), since this is a syndrome there is no cure, only management.  In the interim, there is only pain.
It turns out that going back to running four years ago was a good thing at the time – it did enough general muscle strengthening to placate the problem.  Now, though, it’s a hindrance – not running won’t make it better, but continuing to do so (or to do anything) without braces, orthotics, and physiotherapy (expensive, all of them) will make things worse. As if being confined to this one project, this one apartment wasn’t enough.  It feels like my body is conspiring against me, curtailing my few avenues of mental and physical escape.  Grrrr.


Happiness is a warm run

April 9, 2008

The canal path is, for most intents and purposes, snow- and puddle-free. I nearly flew along it this morning, hitting my stride so much faster when I don’t have to stop for cars and crosswalks. I’m sweaty and spent and grinning; staring at the sunshine out my window I keep thinking “I want to go again!” Madonna might be on to something when she says* that those who run seem to have all the fun.

*I envision my dissertation defense looking something like this.


February 26, 2008

I can feel in the slowly tiring muscles just how much is left, maybe 2k. The sidewalk curves slightly and out of the corner of my eye I see lips moving, a hand waving, flagging me down. A petite bleached-blonde has just popped out of a cab, and I pull the headphones out of my ears in time to catch… “pour un marathon?”
“What?” I pant. “Pardon?”
She smiles, broad and sincere. “Are you training for a marathon?” she asks. “I see you all the time. You must be very good. Do you run twice a day?”
“No, maybe three or four times a week.” I know what she means. One of my aunts runs 15k a day, and in my mind she’s always running.
“For half an hour?”
“Just under an hour, usually. About 10k.”
“Why, if not for a marathon?”
It pops out, honestly and inadvertently. “I just really like it.”
She looks surprised. “But where can you go? Just up and down the street.”
I nod. “But not always. In the summer I run along the canal.”
She lights up. “Oui, la canal! I just bought, two months ago, this…” She gestures behind her at one of the new condos. “My place, it is in the back and the view of the canal, it is lovely. I cannot wait! Have you lived here long?”
“About ten months. It is lovely.”
She smiles again, extends her hand. “Marie-lynn.”
I shake back. “I will see you on the canal.”
“Bien sur! Salut!” She traipses up the salted stairs in her heels, waving over her shoulder. “We will run! In the spring!”
I wiggle the headphones back in place, pull my toque back down, and keep going.