I am taking a day off from my fitness today. I was going to do an abs workout, but I decided that running tomorrow with my family is more important than one extra workout. I also ran 7k last night, and with the toe and calf aches I have been dealing with, it was harder than the week before. I think the DOMS from my RPM class had hit yesterday, I didn’t get an adequate warm up before our run, and I have considerably upped my workout intensity this week. All leading to… Well… Ow.
I drained my bottle of Nuun in less than five minutes when I got back to my car after the run, my legs shaking, my stomach in knots. I inhaled my banana. It was a very, very good banana.
I was in so much pain last night once I got home, that I hobbled into the house like Quasimodo. My husband took one look at me and refrained from asking me how my run went. I wasn’t sure, to be honest. I told him “I am in pain.” and then hugged my children so I wouldn’t cry.
I helped get the kids down, then ate my dinner and slowly peeled off my rainbow socks. Even that hurt. When I looked down, my calves were gynormous round things and visibly pulsing!
I did not freak out, since I found it somehow morbidly fascinating, poking at them with curiosity, hissing in pain when I did. (Read: Ow, quit it! *poke* OW, quit it!) I was also quite certain I was not seeing things. They were HUGE! Like Arnold Schwarzenegger huge. I wondered if indeed I should have worn my compression socks, or if I had simply overtrained this week and was now paying for it.
The only other time I have seen this kind of crazy calf pulsing was at Tough Mudder, when folks stopped at the top of the black-diamond ski hill, their legs shredded from the death-march climb. The grimaces on their faces was a dead giveaway that really, that was not a lot of fun. Or just that salt pills taste like crap. Who knows.
I have no idea what caused it tonight, maybe lactic acid build-up, lack of sodium, lack of proper pre-hydration (Which was not my case, I done watered up good, Ma!)… I’ll be exercising some Google-Fu later on today, on my lunch. *cracks knuckles* I’ll let you know if Google thinks I am going to die, or need an amputation. (Not kidding, self-diagnosis on the Internet can be scary if you are not ready to realize the ridiculous while verifying your sources).
Thankfully, I have a wonderful, amazing, thoughtful husband. He went out to fill the car with gas after the kids were snoozing, since the price had finally dropped below eleventy-kajillion dollars a litre to ten-kajillion dollars and we need a full tank for our Thanksgiving trek to family.
Seriously, there is no price fixing in the gasoline industry… Nuh-uh *shakes head* No collusion… Not at all! *sarcasm face*
When he got home, he had brought back the most wondrous gift to make me feel better. A foam roller! A honest-to-goodness flippin’ foam roller! I would have done a happy dance, but I was in too much pain. Instead, I did a soppy post on Facebook with a picture. I have a very nice husband. I think perhaps I will keep him for another 30 to 50 more years.
By this point in my evening post-run, I was almost in tears, my calves still pulsing, my right toes throbbing, my worried self wondering if I had just injured myself. That run was physically hard in places, and I was slower than last week. I did the distance, I did not walk, and I had a great time chatting the whole way with Mis(s)Mannered Mom . (She seriously helped me get through the last two kilometres. I was in an “I want to stop” place and would have if I had been alone) so I was this weird mix of feeling successful and happy, grateful to my run club by the heaping cupful… Yet disappointed and sad because I had wanted to do better.
I was all up in my emotionals, and there was not a lick of chocolate in the house. That was a good thing. I ate pork loin and veggies instead, chased by Advil and some milk.
So you know, after eating all the things, I tried that blue-foam puppy out, sitting on the floor in my basement, watching Alex O’Loughlin and Scott Caan mug it up in Hawaii 5-0, thinking it was perfect scenery when
torturingrolling sore, tired muscles out. It hurt, but afterwards, my legs suddenly relaxed, my calf muscles returned to regular size and my quads were also singing a much happier, less stiff tune (not sure what the song was, it was rather happy, though!)
Basically, it was heaven compared to the ache from before. I finished off with some spiky dryer-ball foot rolls while my whole body did an “AHHHHHHHHhhhhhh……..” Seriously better than sex, that was. I mean it. And sex is lots of fun! (Unless you, dear reader, are under 18, not married, and still in school. Then, it is not. Ever. Heh.)
So today, I purposely left my workout clothes at home, as well as my gym fob. My legs feel a *@#$-tonne better, but I need a rest day.
There is a flaw in my nefarious plans to rest, though. I am at coffee break, restless, and regretting it. I like my new intensity level. it makes me feel awesome.
I just hope my calf muscles can keep up. *poke*