Nothing against the hand surgeon I saw yesterday. Au contraire; she was lovely, and a runner herself. We chatted merrily as she inspected my broken hand and the X-rays. She had good news: this will heal by itself, and I can type and run.
But the custom-made protective cast she prescribed –how should I put this?– sucks. It’s big and clunky, not very comfortable, and my suit jacket won’t fit over it. I have to sleep with it, the doctor with the great smile said. But it would have been easier to share a bed with my parents dog, the late great Tommy, when he was 6 months old and wild.
So, restlessness ensued during the first night of The Cast and I. Add some severe, delayed hamstring tightness from a brutal hill workout Tuesday night, a pain that actually woke me up several times. And what you get is the essence of exhaustion at 6 AM. I imagine brand new parents wake up feeling like this every morning for a year or so, making me wonder how they survive, and whether the kids are really worth it.
Of course, there was only one thing to do after a lot of coffee and a struggle to meet a deadline around lunch time. Lace up the light and swift minimalist Sauconys, which I am in love with by the way. Ignore the hamstrings. Breathe in the perfect air on this mild sunny New York day. And run.
After a 5 mile tempo on the Central Park trails and a few easy ones to cool down (sorry Doc, without the cast, I cannot run with it) the pain in my legs and hand had gone down. The tired fog had lifted. I waited for my order at Tal Bagels, my favorite bagel spot, and once again thanked the running gods for this gift.