Apparently, as much as I figured I could sprint up and down twenty-seven flights of stairs –and despite winning the fastest time for the feat– my calves (as much trouble as I’ve been having with them this year) were not on board for the gig. I’ve had two days of debilitating pain following Thursday’s effort, and after stretching, rolling, pills, and creams –well– I’m still limping around the house like a guy twice my age… and that’s starting really say something. Working on some recovery for my run tomorrow, but as of right now I’ll be lucky to make it down the stairs without limping, let alone a ten klick run. *sigh*
So, the story of my ninth half marathon isn’t as awesome as I would have hoped this time yesterday. Cruising along and on track for a PR –yeah, really– my calves started to ache around the 18k mark. I slowed, and resigned myself to a good-but-not-great time. I’d swung around the corner at the 20(ish) klick mark, the hints of the finish line visible up ahead further down Jasper Avenue, and –BAM– like being shot in the back of both legs within seconds of each other. Worst. Leg Cramps. Ever. I actually rolled, fell down, was laying down in the middle of the road in charlie-horse-pain-hell, waving off a dozen or so of my fellow runners who were trying to help as I tried not to pass out from the pain. A cop came over, helped me to the curb, gave me some water, and offered to call a medic. But I opted to hobble it in, instead, every step painful for the last kilometer, and ultimately added an extra fifteen minutes to my time because of the injury… all within sight of the end. This morning, my calves are crazy sore, and not happy about anything that involves their participation. Getting to and from work is going to be fun.