Thursday, November 08, 2012

Slight Sting

The night before I leave, and I feel a slight sting. (Pointing to my head.) That'd pride effing with me. Eff pride! Pride only hurts. It never helps. I gotta fight through this spit. (Compliments of Marsellus Wallace.)

Now I'm crushed. Defeated. Embarrassed. Grim. Depressed. And bordering on an anxiety attack. My woes from late yesterday continue. Something below the belt is sprained. Not badly. On a scale of 1 to 10, it is no more than a 3. But taking a 3 with me to an Ironman event will result in a long term 9 or 10.

I cannot risk surgery, then six weeks of recovery, and six months of therapy just because I want to maintain my pride. I stayed home today to rest and soak and try to recover. Not sure how much, if any, good that has done. If I still feel this way in the morning, I have to do the unimaginable and throw in the towel. Cancel my room, cancel my drive over, cancel the whole damn thing and NOT compete. Not do what I've been training eight weeks to do.

Yeah, Marsellus, I'm feeling it. I'm feeling it really badly. And I don't like that sting. Not one damn bit.


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