Don't read this post

Don't read this post. It will be a pathetic whine from start to finish.

Last winter, that's seven months ago, I was preparing for my twelfth marathon, scheduled for May 2010 in Prague. Training was going reasonably well: I've gained enough experience by now to know exactly what training I need to run a marathon.

The winter weather was particularly harsh this year, with lots of snow and sub-zero temperatures resulting in snowbound surroundings for a good number of weeks. I had to keep training to maintain my fitness, but the extra effort to stay upright in slippery conditions may have been too much of a strain for my leg muscles. This didn't show at all in a 20k race in the beginning of February, which I ran exceptionally well, establishing my best time in three participations in this race.

Little did I know it was to be my last hurrah for a long spell. One or two weeks later the ground was snowed under once again, and at the very end of one particular Sunday long run I suddenly felt pain at the back of my thigh as I was going the short uphill stretch back home. Two days later I went out for a speed session on a snowbound Cinquantenaire Park close to the office, but I couldn't proceed because of two simultaneous pains: a sharp pain with each step in my right achilles tendon, and another pain in my left hamstring. The alarm bells had sounded: I had to take a break from training until I recovered.

But the pain never went away. Three weeks later, after several false starts, it was late March - just six weeks before the marathon - and my training nowhere near good enough to undertake such a strenuous event. I had to face up to the fact that it was bye-bye Prague marathon. It wasn't easy to accept, more so since all had been booked, and I actually went there with my loved ones for a (still greatly enjoyable) spring holiday there. On marathon day, from the roadside next to the Vltava river, I encouraged some of my fellow competitors who, unlike me, had made it to the start, and as I saw them slogging along in such beautiful surroundings I promised myself that in 2011 I'd go back to conquer the Prague marathon.

That was last May. Now it's four months later, and that's how long I have been planning my comeback, postponing it by a month each time. For a while I tried cycling, which went very well, but the injury persisted. So I stopped cycling, waited a while, then while in Malta in July I took up swimming. This, too, was very enjoyable, but the injury persisted. So after that I decided not to do anything at all, just allowing the injured muscle to rest. Back in rainy Belgium I was given anti-inflammatory medication, and the situation improved dramatically. I would wait a few more days after the end of the medication, so as not to rush things, then it would be time for my much-awaited comeback, this coming Sunday.

Except that the few more days (so as not to rush things) have revealed that the medication was only masking the pain, and today it feels as if I back to square one. It's a bitter blow. I'm beginning to fear that my running days are over. I don't want to even contemplate not doing any sport at all. Maybe I'll take up cycling and swimming again, and to hell with the injury. Complete rest didn't result in any progress, so I may as well do those activities that I can do, while I can, instead of becoming a couch potato.

So why am I writing all this, a cri de coeur as a dear hierarchical superior would call it? Well, I needed to. A few days ago I saw people jogging along merrily in the pretty Bois de la Cambre in Brussels, enjoying the mild temperatures of the late Belgian summer under the shade provided by the trees there. I saw pictures from back in Malta, where friends of mine undertook a 'Hellfire triathlon' last Sunday. I would love to start doing these activities again, but I cannot, which is why I feel so frustrated at my situation. As I've just remarked to a friend of mine on Facebook, seeing those pictures made me want to cry.

Let's say this is a way for me to vent my frustration. I did warn at the beginning not to read this, didn't I?

P.S. the funny thing is that the label I'm attaching to this post is "My runs", when it actually refers to the exact opposite. Let's say I'm placing it in this category in the sense of "my running chronicles"...