evidently I’ve got one foot in the grave.

Date August 5, 2010

Running has always been a getaway of sorts for me, my exercise of choice.  A routine that requires nothing more than a decent pair of tennis shoes and a ponytail holder.

Cheaper than a gym membership.  More skin covered than swimming laps.  Less annoying than “Five more, ladies, feel it burn!”.

I run for all of those reasons and so I can eat whatever I want.  Seems like a fair trade off because, let’s be real here, I like to eat.

So, there’s this 14.2 mile race I’ve been wanting to run for years where the motto is “Hurdle the weak.  Trample the dead” and every finisher gets this rad tie-dyed t-shirt with a skull and crossbones on it at the end.  Call it a throw back to my wanna-be-punk-rocker stage if you want or motivation to up the running ante, but I suckered a friend into committing to it with me and paid the entry fee.  (Gotta have that tie-dyed t-shirt!)

I bumped my weekly mileage a touch and tried to put forth more than my usual efforts so as not to embarrass myself come race day and to be able to eat more peanut butter.  All was going well until… (enter creepy drum rolly thing here)

My knee started hurting.  No biggie.  Couple of days off.  Ice.  Advil.

Like I said, no biggie.  All part of the running.

9 miles on Saturday.

Knee hurts a lot.  Couple of days off, ice, Advil, still hurts– probably more than it should.

Better check it out.

So, The Hubs calls in a favor and this morning at 10:00 a.m. I’m in a physical therapist’s office.  He asks the general questions and pokes around on my leg a little.  Stretch here.  Stretch there.  Does this hurt?  How about that?

Yadda yadda, you get the picture.

I handled it all pretty well I thought, until he asked me to sit up and said, “So, Emily, how old are you?”

“Um, 29.”

“And you doubled your mileage to train for this race?  Hmmm…”  (head shaking, finger wagging, frown from the uber fit prepubescent marathoner in front of me.)

“You know, you’re not 20 anymore.  It’s probably time to slow it down a little, Ma’am.”

Well, thank you.  Thank you very much.

7 Responses to “evidently I’ve got one foot in the grave.”

  1. Lou said:

    Hey!…those are fightin’ words Mister!

    DO NOT tell a Witt to slow it down some!

  2. Dani said:

    and he just HAD to say Ma’am like he didn’t already insult you by reminding you of your age!

    I can just imagine the fire shooting from your eyes haha!

    LOVE YOU, EM! If it helps any…. I’ll always be older.. 🙂

  3. Amy Laboe said:

    Hey! This is how I found I had a tumor in my knee!!! Please stay on top of it… and time off is the only cure if it’s just tendinitis. If PT doesn’t work, make ’em do an MRI!

  4. robin said:

    2 months…

  5. robin said:

    more like, 1 month and 3 weeks for me…

  6. deanna said:

    That’s just mean. Doesn’t he know you’re not suppose to ask a woman her age?

  7. Trava said:

    EXCUSE ME? I just started doing the Wellness Center thing and all be it, I’m no commercial for Jack LaLane fame, but I refuse to bend to the age of whatever. Just try a different approach with it, honey, and keep goin’! It’ll still hurt some, but you will not regret it, cause it is easier to keep at it than quit and try to go back and catch up.(i know….too many ANDs). What can I say, I’m not the English major!! Oh, by the way…if it doesn’t stop hurting though, investigate it more.