The kid blew off half marathon training run 2 yesterday. Something about a deeply bruised thumb, throbbing pain even when he walks, a splint, bags of ice, blah, blah, blah. So, I ran our scheduled 2 miles alone, on the treadmill, with Rhianna in my ears, and an itch to finish the short run asap. It just wasn’t the same without him.
Training run 1 was great — all 3.2 miles of it. There were times I was convinced I could just keep going. Other times: not so much. It was the boy who kept me going throughout, though — his long body finding a smooth stride, the way his head bobbed to his music, his knack for never really looking fatigued or even breathing in my usual labored manner. I even sprinted (kind of) to the finish because he did. I can’t wait for re-do of that run.
Friday is training run 3, and, maybe he’ll make it. I mean, he thinks he can fish on Saturday, so, surely, he can conquer a few miles just before he launches a boat in the water and pulls in his usual red fish. No pressure, of course — he can heal for as long as it takes. I’ll keep running in the meantime as I eagerly await his return.
(NOTE: the injury is a result of basketball, not running.)