I’m worried about injuries.
That’s what you say when you’re trying to keep up with a sports conversation but have no idea what sport or what teams are being discussed or anything at all. It’s a safe comment, shows you’re engaged but you aren’t really. A radio DJ once waxed poetic about this conversational dodge and he or she or they if it was a morning zoo drive-time discussion were all so right.
I’m worried about my injuries. I’ve got a nagging hamstring whatzit. It’s not an injury but it’s… annoyingly painful at times. And since I’ve got a marathon on Saturday I’m *trying* to rationalize not going for a run today. But last night I had a holiday “cheat” smorgasbord of cookies and treats that’d make Cookie Monster turn green (which he was during his Ed Sullivan years).
So I do what I always seem to do when confronted with regrets and a downward spiral of depression over not going for a run — I researched big ticket race adventures… ones that require long haul flights.
I’ve made my balance due payment for the Mt. Kilimanjaro Marathon, which means the Road To Marathon Series ends with a trek toward Zanzibar in June 2018.
And just today I looked into a race in Carthage, Tunisia, that would enable me to tack on a 6-day Star Wars locations tour, following in the footsteps of Luke Skywalker on the sands of Tatooine. The tour company I found quotes in Canadian dollars so with the exchange rate it’s like I’m paying 23% LESS. That’s just good financial planning, right? A bargain, even.
I’m worried about my mental health. It’s one of the reasons I run, to clear my head. It’s one of the reasons I travel to run.