Maybe I Ought To Say Nothing At All.

I don’t really know what to say that isn’t going to sound self-pitying. My hope is that by the time I finish, I will have discovered some solace, some greater good, some something that will make this make sense. The LA Marathon is in 46 days. It’s getting harder to get up in the morning. Everything reminds me that I want to do the thing I can’t. What I want to do is run. I drive down the street, a song from my running playlist comes on and my heart starts racing. I see people training and I want to jump out of my car and join them. I stop to let a runner cross in front of me and I remember how much I appreciate it when people do that for me when it’s mile 16 and I just can’t pause.

I’ve started dreaming about it at night.

In my dreams, it doesn’t hurt.

When I wake up, I remember. Then I go back to sleep. Every week, I seem to be sleeping an hour later. At least there, I can run. Maybe that’s why. Maybe I’ve just begun sleeping in the hours I like to spend running.

The last Orthopedic Doctor said I can’t run the race. He also said my MRI and CT scan showed nothing was wrong.  I know he was lying about the second part. I’m hoping he was lying about the first. 

Tomorrow, I have an appointment with a new Orthopedic Doctor for a second opinion. I’m hoping he’ll tell me I can run.

Hell, I might even pray for it.