Resting

I've been resting for a few days.

Resting my right lower leg, which I managed to injure by ignoring a tight calf. (No, that doesn't mean not stretching. That means I kept running on it when I knew it was slightly strained. No amount of stretching will help repair muscle tears.) Sunday after running with Annabelle the dog on the slush and ice, the top of my right foot and my soleus were screaming.

But also just... resting. Because here for a bit I have been letting some stress and pain and anger get through the blood-brain barrier, and have been fighting against that, and gradually losing my zest. This week, haven't wanted to read. Haven't wanted to eat. Haven't wanted to run.

Certainly haven't wanted to let on. Whining zebras getting cut out of the herd and all. Knowing how utterly fantastic I have it in life. But you know? Storms pass. Doldrums pass. You don't need details. Everybody loses a grip sometimes.

Sometimes best not to battle, or even retrench. Sometimes best just to rest and be easy with yourself.

Sometimes best not to compare yourself to people who seem never to struggle with any emotions. Sometimes best not to try to fool yourself. Sometimes best to admit that something hurts. And then rest.

Really rest. Not merely avoid. You pull your soleus? Well, you stop pounding it but you don't pretend it's not there. You work it gently. Plantarflexion. Dorsiflexion. Point your toe. Flex your foot. Gentle. Slow.

Your spirit's low? No good taxing it with guilt or catharsis, but don't numb it in television either. Just find a place where you can rest and work it out gently. Call things what they are. Say, "OK." Say, "Fine, then here's what I'm doing next." And rest just enough to go do whatever it was you decided to do.

I'm resting. I've been resting. And now I feel like getting up early in the morning for as much of the bike trainer as I can get. Happy sign.