Perspective

RUNNING...

per·spec·tive
\pər-ˈspek-tiv\
a: the capacity to view things in their true relations or relative importance 
ie. trying to maintain my perspective

As I sit and type, I am icing my left foot.  My heel, to be specific.  I have already taken Advil this morning.  I also took it before bed last night after having iced for about 20 minutes while watching Madmen.  I do this routine 2-3 times a day, seven days a week.  Some days it hurts more than others.  If I have been on my feet for four hours at a track meet, even if I didn't run that day, it throbs.  Other days, I sigh with relief because I barely notice it.  Those don't happen as often lately.  In early April, I ran a 5 miler in racing flats - thin, lightweight shoes that provide very little support but make me feel like I'm flying (I'm sure it's mostly mental, but whatever works.)  I don't know if this injury had been sitting at the surface for weeks or months or whether it was fresh out of the bag that day but for some reason, after that particular race, it decided to make itself known.  I have a full racing schedule from now until this end of this year.  I have a coach that I work with almost every day and together we have set specific goals for this year in these races.  And, let's be honest, I need to get out there most days for my sanity, alone.  Even my kids know this.  The MRI is scheduled for Sunday.  I am scared, pissed, hopeful, eager to know, eager not to know, and lots of other things.  I go through this emotional range every day.  As I sit and type, my dad, who is 70 years old, is having his hip replaced.  He is literally in surgery at this very moment.  This is his other hip, the first one having already been replaced.  For weeks, my dad has limped around with shooting pain through his leg.  It hurt him to get out of bed.  It hurt him to sit down.  Some days were worse than others, but none of them were good.  Before he took my girls to Disney World this past April, he had his doctor give him a cortisone shot in his hip.  Ibuprofen wasn't strong enough to get him through five days of Disney with his 4 grandkids, ages 6-10.  And nothing was keeping him from going on that trip.  NOTHING.  He was scared, pissed, hopeful, eager for a new hip,  eager to be pain free and lots of other things.  When I talked to him last night he was in an incredibly good mood.  He couldn't wait to get into surgery.  He'll be down for the count, physically, for about 4 weeks.  This is my worst nightmare.  He could care less.  He wants to feel good again.  My dad is not a runner.  He is a 70 year old man who wants to sit down on the front porch and hang out with his family without wincing in pain.  Makes perfect sense.  And puts it all in perspective.  Thank you, dad.

...AND MUSIC

Youth - Daughter *  (Spend some time with this one. It's a slow build to awesomeness.)

* Bonus: download this song for free on Itunes at the moment.  Thank you Sounds the Matter.