The Achilles has been problematic on a number of levels, ever since. I hadn't dealt with this kind of nonsense before, and all I knew about tendon injuries is that, if they do heal, they'll do it slowly.
|Badass pic. (Not indicative of actual level of badassery.)|
|Ah, the tame, yet engaging, Chimney at Otter Cliffs on MDI. |
I am an eternally novice climber so this was the perfect spot, and the perfect day.
|Another shot of the Chimney. Interestingly, and not complainingly, this didn't bug the Achilles at all.|
|And then it was time for a casual stroll along the rather quotidian flanks of the fairly dull Precipice Trail.|
|See what I mean?|
It was extremely. fucking. difficult. One of the hardest runs ever, maybe. Not like Seven Sisters but was harder than my last (first) two ultras. The pouring rain wasn't a problem, in fact it seemed the perfect re-welcome. I think it was just a massive struggle to compose and maintain the level of technique that I hereby require to stay sound. I don't know, or if I do, I'm not going to moan about it here. It was just really hard, and I felt like I was on day 1 of a fucking couch-to-5k plan. I walked a lot. I had to. My body kept wanting to walk, or forgetting to run. But it was a run. And I did all that I could do.
And in spite of all that, it felt so damn right, so sweet, so very, very good to be back, and feeling like I can run again.
And just maybe Big Brad 50k, which is in three weeks, is not out of the question. If it's a matter of finishing dead last, or second to last, then I don't think that's relevant to my decision.
~53 minute run, or rather, run/walk
~Rain, to the ends of the Earth. Maran trails. Rolling hills. To Donut Pond and back. Shell, long sleeve shirt, long pants, winter smartwool socks