Calf Update

"Ok Kel.  Get back to running.  It's time to
moooooove it."

Remember the horrific calf injury that kept me from running for five whole weeks?  The one that necessitated I spend all day in my pajamas and drink real Coke for breakfast during my pity party?  The one that kept me sidelined during the most calorie-laden season of the year?  That calf injury?  Well, it's been five weeks and I tried out some running.  How's my calf doing?  It's vealing fine, thank you very much.



Because I really, really, really want to avoid re-injury, I decided my first post-injury run would just be the scheduled workout for week one of the Couch to 5K program.  It took every ounce of humility I had to get on the treadmill at the gym and run one minute intervals.  As we've previously established, every person at the gym is there with one unified goal: To watch me workout and judge my progress.  It killed me to get on the treadmill and run sloooowly for one minute when I am obviously a super svelte hardcore athlete.

Thankfully, because I'm not a heathen, I know my Bible and it tells me "Pride goeth before a fall". I'm pretty sure that what the good Lord meant by that wisdom was that if I was going to let my pride dictate my first post-injury run by jacking up my speed and distance, then I would surely and quite literally fall in a torrent of agony as my calf strained again which I would communicate in the most dramatic of YouTube worthy ways. And falling off the treadmill all broken and wounded and writhing in pain would have been way more embarrassing than running one minute intervals at 5.2 mph.

Still, I was completely unprepared for these feelings of inadequacy. Don't worry, however; I am an adapter.

The first thing I did was make sure my t-shirt was on full display.  This conveyed that not only had I already participated in a 5K, this particular 5K was also THE WARRIOR DASH.  I was way above the ranks of a normal runner; I could also crawl through mud and leap over fire.  This made me feel a little better.

Next, I picked some fights with people in my head who were not looking at me in the mirror opposite us which was proof they had already seen me and deemed me a poser and unworthy of their time.

Then I felt bad because I'm not a mean person who assumes the worst of others and these sweet people I had so rashly judged were just really focused on the televisions that face the cardio equipment.  Wheel of Fortune was on (and who wouldn't be altogether mesmerized since they now offer a grand prize of $35,000?).

Finally, I decided the back stories of all the people on the machines around me.  The lady on my left was flying on her treadmill (seriously, I think it's really rude to look at someone's speed but I totally did it anyway but had I looked I would've seen she was running around 9 mph.  That's about a 6 and a half minute mile).  The obvious conclusion was that she was doing a tempo run because no one runs that fast on a regular run.  But then I realized I was, in all likelihood, running next to a professional athlete who was just killing time at my gym before going into hyper-training mode for the summer Olympics in 2016.  (Rio, Baby!) I probably should have gotten her autograph. Or at least some training advice.

"Must ... get to ... the top..."

The man on my right was on the incline trainer, and not only was he seriously inclined, he also practiced the loudest exhale in the history of the universe. Ever.  He was no doubt in training to climb Mount Kilimanjaro, and needed to perfect his breathing in order to conquer any altitude sickness he might encounter.  I was in awe of his plans and drive.  I could never climb Mount Kilimanjaro because I have four kids and can't afford that mess. (This is when I started rapping -in my head- "Lose Yourself" by Eminem because "food stamps don't buy diapers, and it's no movie, there's no Mekhi Phifer, this is my life" and even though I've never been on food stamps this lyric is about being driven and providing for your family and I can totally relate to that which is proof that I'm so thug.  Logic = there it is.)

By the end of my workout I had gone the distance of about 2 miles.  It felt fantastic.  I was encouraged not only by a calf muscle that held up but also by the greatness that surrounded me.  And that is why you should train with champions.