I knew that getting through a 10-mile run would result in some, uh, discomfort for a few days after.
But i had no idea about the full range of reactions my body would put me through in the days following Sunday’s jaunt.
- Pain. Well sure, this one is obvious. And as I said on Sunday, it was evident by the time I was halfway through the race, in my calf, in my hips and in the now-infamous groin. And as everyone warned me, the pain and stiffness continued into Monday, even after a torturous morning session with our foam roller. Tuesday was better in general, but there’s a pain in my left thigh that appeared out of nowhere today. I’ve learned several new funny walks since Sunday, but this will clear up with time, more foam roller abuse and a new bottle of Advil.
- Exhaustion. I expected this as well, although not to the degree it’s actually hit me. In spite of the pain I had to deal with on Monday, I actually felt pretty good most of the day. But when I got home and took a seat on the couch, I was immediately ready for bed. This wasn’t helped by working until 1 this morning, but it’s getting better as well.
- Food. I made a mistake on Sunday — when we went to Piper’s for a post-race breakfast, I immediately ordered the richest thing on the menu, their version of chicken and waffles covered in delicious banger sausage gravy. On a normal Sunday, I would have had no trouble hoovering the entire plate; on that Sunday, I ate about a third of my meal before my stomach made it clear that something lighter would have been a better way to go. I ate the leftovers without too much trouble Sunday night, but the discomfort continued on Monday, when the only thing that sounded interesting for dinner was a can of chicken noodle soup. Even yesterday’s election-night pizza is still fighting with me today. This can stop any time now, thank you.
- Drink. WHAT? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN I CAN’T DRINK BEER? Sadly, this is true. I’ll chalk up Sunday’s experience — ordering an amazing (and amazingly strong) Victory DirtWolf instead of a nice, cool wit as I had planned — as a poor decision; that’s because I couldn’t finish my glass. I drank about 47 gallons of water on Monday, but I didn’t try with the beer again until that night, when another strong IPA led me to suffer feedback from my body *urp* that I experienced on Sunday. And as I am bound by journalistic tradition to have a post-election night beverage, I successfully downed a bottle of Woodchuck cider when I arrived home last night. I think I may give the beer another try tonight, because DAMMIT THIS IS COMPLETELY UNACCEPTABLE.
I’m going to try to get outside for at least a brisk walk tomorrow morning, to try to work out the last of the kinks I’m suffering from Sunday. I know, I know — i’ll take it easy for a while. But I want to take advantage of whatever momentum I gained on Sunday and turn it into a regular thing again.
And so I can skip the part about having to avoid beer for three days after the next race.