**I have Weeks 1-3 CIM training recap ready to post, I just need to post this rant first.**
So this morning started out pretty solid.
I got a ton of sleep this weekend. Relaxed for a solid 48 hours straight. Took an actual rest day on Saturday. Got a ton done around the house with boyfriend. Ate some delicious food and watched some fantastic movies together (Silent House and Friends with Kids), had 2 solid runs (6 miles @ goal pace on Friday, 8 mile long run on Sunday), taught 2 high-energy Pilates classes, and generally enjoyed the crap out of the weekend.
I set my alarm for 5:45 this morning, figuring I’d get my run out of the way early so I could come home and yet again… relax.
I snoozed once, then hopped out of bed to get ready and head out for 5 miles. My training plan called for 3, but quite frankly, running 3 miles does nothing for me. I’ve been running 40 mile weeks for the past few months and I wanted a bit more mileage this morning.
This will be a cruel, sick coincidence later, but I specifically chose my Wunder Under’s that are a size too big on me so I could save my Run Inspire crops for my longer/pace runs this week (when laundry is $5 a load you would prioritize your running clothes too), and set out.
The run started off great. Even after running 8 hilly miles yesterday and teaching two Pilates classes, my legs felt strong. I was maybe .75 miles in (halfway through the second song on my playlist, ironically Florence + The Machine’s “Shake It Off”) when I heard yelling coming from BEHIND ME. A mere split second later a biker who thought he was the second coming of Lance Armstrong whizzed by me so fast, I felt his bike.
At that exact moment, I whipped my head around to see what the hell had just happened (Biker Man YOU came from behind ME, and since I don’t have eyes in the back of my head, I can’t see you) and at the very moment I did, my shoe caught the ONLY lip in the asphalt and I went flying.
Like literally flying.
My phone flew out of my hand a solid 10 feet, and my right knee, right elbow and left hand broke my fall.
Resulting in them getting the sh!t scraped out of them and looking extremely attractive. Good-bye any and all hopes of wearing the perfectly work appropriate Shoshanna dresses Gilt had just delivered. (I’ve been having quite the Gilt moment ever since reading By Invitation Only and so far it shows no signs of stopping anytime soon.)
After initially bursting into tears (it was SCARY), my mind quickly went to my $70 Wunder Unders. Yes, you read right. Once I had established my face was spared the asphalt, I thought about my clothing. And I silently thanked the Lululemon Gods for making me choose the one pair that I cared the very least about. They weren’t ripped, but I’m sure the fabric is a bit thinner at this point. And you’d be nuts to think that I don’t care about the well-being of a pair of work-out pants that cost more than half of our monthly cable bill. There, I said it.
At the time, I didn’t think my phone fared so well, but luckily boyfriend saved the day by… plugging it in after I wailed that it was “done. broken. completely done!”
Being that I was less than a mile into my run at 6am, I told myself there was no way in hell I woke myself up in the 5am hour to run a single mile. So I kept going. And kept up a pretty solid pace if I do say so myself. (And I do because I just typed it.)
Downer being there was no music because I was under the impression my phone was beyond repair. (Brought the phone because my Shuffle hadn’t yet been updated with my new playlist.)
My knee hurt like hell, but it wasn’t unbearable. It looked pretty horrendous, so I applied about half a box of band-aids to my wounds and set off for work.
Where I’ve been limping around all damn day.
I swear it hurts more when I’m sitting down. When I walk around it feels much, much better. My plan is to advil and then to ice the crap out of it tonight…. and then run on it tomorrow.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
The moral of this story is Marina Bikers – this is not the French Alps, you are not Lance Armstrong, and I don’t care how cool you think you look in your matching jersey/bike-shorts/gloves/sunglasses at 6am… you’re still not Lance. So chill the eff out.
(Sidebar- I don’t hate bikers. I really don’t. I bike. I have many friends that bike. Boyfriend bikes. I simply hate the bikers that think Marina Boulevard is their personal training ground for the Olympics and feel the need to ride at extremely unreasonable and unsafe speeds. I won’t even get into the children that are out there on weekends, or the parents with baby strollers.)
Anyone else have a similar start (or finish) to their Monday?
Hope it turned around and you had a great day!