Ever since I was a kid my dad has always called me Tiffy Tuffy. What can I say? I was a tough chick. But seriously, I was. Or at least I thought I was. I can’t say I really did a whole lot of crying over injuries. I developed a pretty high tolerance for pain. I must have learned it from dad. He’s one tough dude. So if it was a bump or bruise there wasn’t much fuss over it. I just picked myself up and kept going.
However, at some point in my childhood I learned to distinguish when something needed to be said for a particularly painful incident. My family quickly learned what this said something was which in turn helped them to know if something was really wrong with me.
My un-intentional, I’m really hurt, saying was “owie, owie, owie, owie….” I don’t know where or why I started saying this but it has to this day stuck with me. If I’m hurt and it merits crying over, I just chant this wonderful, oh so creative word over and over again while the tears (all on their own mind you) stream down my face.
So why am I telling you this? Not so you can make fun of me. Not so you can know one of my quarks. And not so you can mimic me and use this highly intelligent form of notifying those around you that you are in fact hurt and you need assistance, however I won’t complain if you do decide to use it, it’s effective. No, I’m telling you of my “owie, owie, owie…” cry because on Saturday I was seriously contemplating using this effective method of letting everyone within ear shot know that I was in some SERIOUS pain. I was being a wuss, a wimp, a baby, a big old whiner and I wanted, NEEDED someone to know that I hurt. Problem was there wasn’t anyone around me who would have cared or aided me in my plight of painfulness. Nope. No one would have cared if I had tears streaming down my face and I was chanting owie, owie, owie because I was on a lonely road. A lonely road of… stupidity.
I mean really, who trains for a marathon? Yea, you’re absolutely right, stupid people, dumb, crazy, out of their ever-lovin’ minds kind of people. Unfortunately, I am within each and every one of those categories. I’ve been training for another marathon and I’ve been excited for it up until last Saturday. Last Saturday while I was nearing the end of my extremely painful, stupid, crazy long 18 mile run, I was asking myself “What possessed you to ever want to do this?” And you know what? I HAVE NO IDEA!!
My legs were hurting SO bad. I wanted to lie down on the side walk, curl up in the fetal position and just wait for someone to come along and take me home. Oh, but I couldn’t do that. I was so close to being home. I only had one and a half miles to go. I couldn’t quite now. Not to mention by the time I called someone to come pick my sorry, good for nothing butt up I could be home. So I kept running. I had to keep moving. My legs were to the point that walking hurt worse than running, funny how that works. Everything from my waist down was screaming at me, threatening to shut down, fall off or just simply hurt me so bad that I would never torture them in that manner ever again.
I just couldn’t let my thighs, calves, butt, feet, hips, knees and anything else in that general area win. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I didn’t. I made it home. A little slower than I had anticipated but I did it. Once I made it home I pretty much collapsed on the grass though.
Oh and just to show those dang muscles, joints, nerves, and toes who’s boss, I’m doing it all over again next week. Mwahahahaa…. We’ll see who’s laughing after that!
Ok, it might be them but I’ve got to keep my wits about me. I can’t let them on to the fact that I’m terrified of the pain they might thrust upon me for thinking I’m more clever than them. For thinking I’m in control of this here body. For thinking if I just gradually build up the miles, they won’t know the difference. For ever thinking I could get away with such torture without torture of my own. Sigh… I guess me and my body need to have a little heart to heart sometime soon so we can get this power struggle figured out. I don’t want to lose the title of Tiffy Tuffy. I can’t let my dad know that his tough chick daughter was ready to accept defeat, ready to cry owie, owie, owie... He has to know that I am still tough, I can still handle the pain, I can still… sniff, sniff handle it. I can. I can.
4 comments:
You are amazing!
What's a little pain, a little ache, a numbness, a lay down and die moment? It is the top of the hill. It is the man on the mountain! The next run will be easier, faster, less stressful! This was a hurdle, a bump in the road, a mental road block.
And only you will know the reason for getting picked up in the paddy wagon. And only you will know the lessons learned from it.
But take this moment of victory and move to the next challenge. It was only a moment of time. A moment of suffering. Kudo's for finisihing. Kudo's for going again and not letting it stop you! Fear is only from not knowing.
Love you and good luck with the next run!
How did your legs feel the next day?
More power to you for doing another one! Sorry you got hurt though, but next time they say no pain no gain, you can say heck yeah! Hope you feel better
Tiff,
I just signed up for another Marathon. And I am already thinking what in the world have I done. Power to the Marathon runners. The crazy people that we are.
Hey - we feel your pain (not literally but you get the idea) and you are so not alone. You can call me anytime and I'll sympathize with you and come and give your sore feet a massage (well at least my foot bath). Way to keep going - you are my exercise hero!!!Call us ANYTIME you need to complain or need us ot pick you up!
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