Flashes of Panic

Yesterday the pool re-opened for the summer. The hours aren’t quite as good as during the school year (noon to six, no morning or evening hours) but if I do summer hours at work, it’s doable. I can handle this until Puffer’s Pond is warm enough for regular workouts.

As I pulled in to the parking lot, I saw the track coach bounding over towards the track. I could tell he was on his way to a workout, because he had his spikes in hand. He ran a 3:44 1500m in Boston last weekend and looks like he’s in good shape. There was a lot of spring in his stride. I envied him so much I practically drooled.

After the workout, once I’d had the bad news from the scale (course corrections are due,) a father with his kid in the locker room asked if I was a runner. “You’ve got the build for it,” he said. That’s the only way to call it, since the “Greenfield Winter Carnival” shirt I was wearing gave no indication that it was from the associated race. It’s funny that even though I feel like I’m a long way from the runner I used to be, I’m probably a lot closer than I feel, and relative to most… well, as you get closer to the asymptotes, those incremental differences get bigger and bigger.

I’m trying to get I have an appointment to talk to a doctor about ESWT, which is a new treatment for PF. I’m not sure where it’s offered; I might have to go to Boston.

I’m thrashing in the pool again, thanks to too long away. I managed a mile, and I’m not too sore today, but I won’t get that far today. I’m wondering if I shouldn’t just bag running for the rest of ‘04 and really put my effort into swimming. Too bad it’s too late to train for (let alone enter) the Peaks to Portland swim.

Now playing: The Blonde Waltz from Us And Us Only by The Charlatans