Slowly getting back on my feet (really slowly)

I haven't run much in the past 10 days.  There's been a short jog here and there, but for the most part, my energy outside work has been reserved for finding ways to avoid putting on pants and looking for new foods on which to spread peanut butter. (Admission: most of the time, I just eat it out of the jar by the spoonful).

I promised myself I would take ample time off after the Boston Marathon; at least one week of no running followed by at least two weeks of minimal running.  I was planning for the physical recovery, but the mental recovery has turned out to be a longer process than I anticipated.

Not to insinuate that there is a positive spin to what happened, but in a sense, the need for an emotional cleanse has kept my ambition in check.  I have a habit of jipping the recovery process.  In the past, this has resulted in a broken foot and an inflamed IT band that according to one doctor, "looked like a Christmas tree" on the MRI.  Both injuries have called for much more time off than I should have taken immediately after the marathon.  But, what happened on April 15th put running in perspective.

I've enjoyed going for walks since the race.  We found Tanya while walking near the reservoir in Central Park.

Tragedies have a way of making you appreciate the basics.  In this case that's the ability to run when I want, where I want and with who I want.  No one has taken running away from me like they did from hundreds of people who came to the Boston Marathon for the sheer joy of spectating at a road race.  There will be plenty of time to live by the Garmin and cheat unconsciousness in a workout meant to push physical limitation, but I consider myself fortunate to be able to control when and if I will start doing that again by the choices I make now.  

Until then, If I'd rather go for a walk, or sit in the sun and read the paper, drink a beer or three or hell, eat peanut butter right out of the jar until I can't stomach it anymore, I'll do that instead.