You know he’s going to say it. You’re sitting there, under the florescent lights, in your underwear, your feet dangling over the edge of the examination table, clenching your teeth–waiting for the inevitable.
You’re going to need to take it easy for four to six weeks.
“So no running at all?” you ask, as man tears well up in your eyes. Those are vaporous droplets of moisture consisting of raw hide and Old Spice, in case you were wondering.
Then he adds: “No strenuous physical activity involving leg work at all.”
“Daaaaaaammmmmmmmnnnnnn!” you scream internally (I hope I screamed that internally, anyway).
So now the withdrawals begin. The first day’s a real doozy. You’re depressed, short-tempered, and despondent. You don’t see this as a much-needed break from the rigors of daily extended cardio. You see it as rehab a la Dr. Drew Pinsky’s hour-long MTV depravity sketches.
Those not in-the-know, typically aren’t aware running does more than make you svelte: It gets you high. A good long run can keep you fuzzy (in a good way) for hours… It’s addictive.
And hearing a doctor tell you you can’t get your fix, is like… well I already provided that analogy.
However, after the first few days of moping around in the ugly world of calorie restriction (another reason runners run), you realize it’s doable.
You see a physical therapist, he gives you some possible explanations for your injuries (IT band, runner’s knee, blah, blah, blah) one of which is the expensive insoles you bought at REI. We’ll talk about those torture devices at a later date. And you start a regimented, hourly, stretching routine…
I’ll keep you posted.