After Tuesday's semi-disasterous run, I was really disappointed when I woke up on Wednesday still feeling like poop. I begrudingly decided to give myself another rest day. I was okay(ish) with my decision because I figured that my physical therapy appointment on Thursday would be some kind of magic wand to make me all better.
Think again, Mollz. To make a long two hour experience short, all you need to know is that I got the crap beat out of me by (very handsome) mister physical therapist. There were tears. There were f-bombs. And a new-found understanding of the phrase "no pain no gain."
The good news: I can still run. Even though I told him I wouldn't listen to him if he told me not to, it's encouraging to hear that I won't cripple myself by continuing to run.
The not so good news: I need to cut my running days down from 5 days per week to 3 (I told him I'll compromise on 4...all I got in return was a pair of raised eyebrows. Apparantly you can't really negotiate with a physical therapist).
The annoying game plan to remedy my 75 year old hip: Enjoy the heck out of my three
I know that all of this will help me and eventually my rickety hip will be strong and good as new. In the mean time, I'm continuing my pity party. Because ya know what? It's not fair. Life's not fair, blah blah blah.... but for the first time in my life, I actually WANT to run. A lot. Whenever I want. Without dealing with stupid injuries. And I can't right now.
In case you haven't noticed, I don't really handle it too well when things don't go my way. I promise the pity party will dwindle down soon. And by soon I mean Sunday. I've got a 15k race that I'm super excited to run (yes I was given permission to run it). Till then, I'll be doing my physical therapy homework with (fake) excitement.