It's Friday the 13th during Week 13 of my training to run 13.1 miles. See a pattern? It's not a good one.
I thought 13 was my lucky number considering I gave birth on a Friday the 13th, but apparently my luck ran out.
I was only 2 miles into what was supposed to be an 11-mile run at Oak Openings Metropark today when I rolled my ankle. Not good friends. Not good at all.
I honestly don't know what I tripped on, but it doesn't really matter. At first, I was afraid a park ranger would have to come pick me up from the trail. Then I realized I could at least put some weight on it to walk. Slowly.
Then, like an idiot, I thought I would try to run. Because the high school athlete in my head was saying "Just walk it off." But no. No no no no no. NO!
There would be no more running today. Or tomorrow. Or maybe even the next, I realized. While I'm not crippled (and I know I don't have a serious strain), I'm smart enough to know I shouldn't run.
So all I can do is rest. With 23 days left until my half marathon. And a 12-mile run coming at me next week. $@!&*$!@*$!!!!!!!!!!!
I'm not giving up. I'm not. But I'm also not very upbeat right now. Hopefully in my down time I can find some renewed inspiration. Or hopefully it will find me. Until then, I've got ice. And wine.