Refusing To Quit...And Knowing When To Quit

I had another runner's first today. I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner, actually. Yep, I ate dirt. Bailed. Crashed and burned.

I fell.

Tripped on a stupid shoelace.

So down I went, hitting the pavement before you can form the word "splat" on your lips. My left hand and right elbow (my right hand stayed up to better protect my iPod, you know) took the worst of the impact, with my knees coming in a close second. A nearby gardener leapt forward. "Are you okay?" "Oh, I'm fine," I said as I stood back up, assessing the damage.

Mostly embarrassed, I reassured him that I was uninjured, and set off. I finished my run--another three-quarters of a mile or thereabouts. The good news is that nothing is broken, no muscles seem to be damaged, and my injuries are all surface--some road rash and bruising.

But oh, how spectacular the bruising. My elbow, in addition to having some lovely road rash, is bruised over quite a large area. It's quite sore this afternoon.

I had grand workout plans for today. I was to run 2.5 miles, do a fantastic new strength training routine at the gym, then swim 300 meters. I finished my run, walked a mile-and-a-half back home, whimpering whenever my sweat dripped into the broken skin on my elbow. On reaching home, I got some much-needed sympathy from Mom and cleaned my wounds in the bathroom sink. Then I set off for the gym.

Mom simply shook her said and muttered, "You are dedicated..."

I arrived at the gym feeling, perhaps, a little less ready-to-go than I had when I left the house. I grabbed a ten-pound dumbbell and started doing a Turkish Get-Up. This was when I realized that I was far more sore and tired than I had thought. My knees had started bruising from hitting the ground, and my left hand wasn't happy supporting me as I propped myself up in the exercise. I completed two before sitting back on the floor and reassessing my options.

Sometimes, you just have to quit.

I'm not a quitter by nature. I take great pride in the fact that every time I tell M. the Reasonable I will do something, he simply smiles and says, "I know you will." In six months, he has learned that even when something is really, really hard for me, I will not give up. Even this morning, right after falling on the ground, I got back to my feet and finished my run. I am proud of that.

As I left the gym, I grumbled to myself and felt a little like crying. I'd been there maybe ten minutes, tops, and here I was, giving up and going home. It felt like quitting, and it doesn't sit well with me. I have to remind myself that taking care of myself is not a crime, and that I can go back tomorrow and commit one hundred percent to the workout I was supposed to do today, with better results. Forcing my body through it this morning would have been a bad idea...so even though my heart is saying, "Keep fighting! You are hardcore!!" at loud volume, my brain is telling me to slow down, let my body rest a bit, and go back tomorrow.

Sure enough, I'm sore and tired this afternoon. I'm not in horrible pain, but I have an overall feeling of tightness in my body, which means some before-bed stretching and Ibuprofen tonight.

Plenty of time tomorrow to be hardcore.