As someone who likes running for the speed of it, it's really impressive to follow the outstanding progression of one key metric in the automotive industry: the time it takes for a car to reach 60 miles per hour, from a full stop. Last week electrek reported on Porsche boasting a mere 2.1 seconds for its Taycan Turbo GT with is Weissach boosting package. What $230,000 can buy you these days... No wonder this unsustainable race to power has create another environmental catastrophe, or a boon for the tire industry as a matter of fact. Indeed, electrical cars burn tires 20 to 30% faster than traditional ones.
As for me, the number 60 triggers great memories of my 60-meter dash runs in middle school. Being among the youngest and shortest throughout all my school years, 1 year ahead of my schoolmates. my speed on that distance help me regain some stature and self confidence. I switched to and focused on soccer afterwards, only coming back to the track mid way through College. Then to distance running after building a family.
60 is also a major milestone I passed a month ago as some of you have seen on Facebook. After missing on most of the M55-59 age group after contracting an injury at the end of 2018, a tendon which took almost 4 years to heal, I was excited to see how to make age just a number, as I successfully did in my 40s and early 50s.
The beginning of the season wasn't great already with a minor but annoying pain deep in the calf. To be on the safe side, I did rest for 6 weeks in January and resumed training mid February, 3 weeks before the 50K Nationals on Long Island. Having missed the Jed Smith 50K annual test, I didn't have much ambition for that Championship, still aiming at breaking 4 hours given a reasonable fitness level.
There was special excitement for my birthday on this leap year. For many years I had teased my dad, an OB-GYN, thinking he had decided to declare my birth a few hours after a February 29 just to shield me from the ambiguity of a 2/29 birth date. He didn't find that particularly funny, I'll never know for sure if I turned 60 or 15 last month. March 1st was a Friday this year and it turned out to be a busy day: 10 hours straight at work, then rushing out to squeeze an ultimate 10K training run before some tapering, then attending a concert at Agnès' school. It was pouring rain, not the best conditions to test the speed, although you never know which weather you'll get in New York in March, so I did suck it out. 50 yards from the house, I was at full speed when I saw a big puddle and decided to jump over it laterally. Oh my, how much I regret that decision... Upon landing, I thought I had lost my lower leg. Such an intense pain, like a wire had gone though the knee to cut the leg.
Going to the concert right after this was a painful experience as I could barely hold any weight on my left leg. But the next day was horrible, after the knee warmed down and a big inflammation kicked in. Like with any bad event happening to you, or to me anyway, I got into pure denial that this could be serious.
I first thought that I had just twisted my knee given all the ligaments around the need were so painful but the knee still seemed to function. And that it would just take a couple of weeks to pass. But then, after the swelling decreased, and seeing a PT last week, who checked the ligaments were all good, the pain still subsides and it seems like an MRI is now in order to see how much damage has the meniscus suffered and if surgery is required. Dang, triple dang. Just for that stupid idea of avoiding a puddle.
I've so many bad feelings about the situation that I'm thinking of writing another post just to spit them out! Not that you care but as part of the journaling of my running experience. And some sort of therapy.
So, here you are for those wondering about my silence and 3 DNSs so far this year. I so much wish this would be just a nightmare or an April Fool joke but I spent a month pitching myself and, unfortunately, it isn't. And it sucks. Although, every day, and thinking about too many friends, I remind myself that this isn't cancer at least. And all the energy and hours I'm saving from not running go into my first job, my employer should be happy at least.
With that, not much to relate anymore in this blog from a running journey standpoint. Hopefully some better news in a few weeks. Or months. Not years. Or worse...
