Not running, very much unlike an antelope

Christmas morning. Felt fantastic. With no races on the schedule for the first time in years, it was a week of fun running. No plans, just miles. How about six before seeing the family for holiday festivities? Heck, make it seven.

Solid pace...moving fluidly....smiling....singing...happy...right through mile six...

The nagging ache in my lower back appears. It creeps down to my buttocks.  The ache becomes a pain, which starts shooting down into my leg. What *is* this? My whole right side, from back to leg is killing me by the time I finish that last mile. I limp home and spend Christmas hunched over, unable to walk or even stand without pain or discomfort.

Rest day. Then try to go out the next. Can not even get started moving. Two more rest days. Walk a mile in agony. Three more. Jog a mile in utter pain. Awful.

Was I not recently running sub-6 miles? Now I can barely move.

Two weeks go by. See a physical therapist. Not impressed. No real answers. Forget about going to a doctor, though. I do not trust those drug pushing ghouls.

So I wait, feeling slightly better each day. But it is slow...and it drives me a little mad.

Appetite comes and goes in weird waves. Some days I eat practically nothing. Others, I gorge until my stomach aches. I gain a only a few pounds, but I feel like an elephant.

Sleep is completely out of wack. Can not rest at night. Exhausted during the day.

The worst part of being a runner is not running. When the brain wants it - needs it - and body rejects it, that is hell.

Try to distract - make some music, watch some movies, get together with friends. But I just...want...to...run.

23 days after the initial incident, I ran - no, jogged - a mile and a half. Severe discomfort. That is an improvement.

Next day, a slow mile on icy roads. Took a spill. Banged up my knee. Did not care. Needed to be out there. One more rest day. Try again tomorrow. Will not give up.