So it goes: I pronate. I pronate worse on the right foot. My left achilles tendon is slightly atrophied and my hips are WEAK, especially in comparison to my other muscles.
So I go to physical therapy now, and we won't know if it's working for a long time, and she has me do planks and I stare at my thumbs and think about how much I hate this. She only makes me do 20-second planks and I'd tell her I can go longer but I don't, what's the use? In my head I picture the word ATHLETE and I scratch it out with the Sharpie marker in my mind until it is completely illegible. She teaches me to do hamstring exercises and I think about telling her that I do stiff-legged deadlifts once or twice a week but I don't say it. I scribble harder. In little loopy letters next to that, I write "guitarist." Lazy normal person. Reads articles every week about how to lose weight. Jane doe. Suspects gluten intolerance. Does not actually suffer from one. I paint a picture in my head: Hapless American. Middle-class Postgrad Who Goes To Spin Class Because It Is Trendy And To Lose Weight For A-hole Twentysomething Who Rejects Her Due To Own Insecurities, Not Any Fault On Her Part. I mean, like, just kidding, but really.
Why is it that this particular loss has unhinged so thoroughly my sense of self? I have never spent this much time thinking about my career, or about any boyfriend, or any further worry about the future. How did I not realize that my view of life was oddly simple: I am a person who runs. Not a "runner," not by trade, not even really by talent, but de facto. Undeniably.
The PT, Jane, teaches me how to do core exercises. "You'll be strong when you start back!" she tells me brightly. As if a few minutes of planking and a brief hamstring exercise are enough to be strong. I know "no pain no gain" is a lie, but, actually, no pain no gain.
The dress I bought myself for my birthday arrives in the mail. My waist is 2cm too big to fit in it. In the afternoon, I swim 1800 meters-- my longest yet-- and the timed mile of that (1650) is only 38 minutes. I'm getting faster in the water, which should make me proud, but it doesn't. Yawn.