Stupid foot. It was working just fine until Monday night. Even then, it wasn't that bad. Tuesday was terrible, but after that, things started looking better. I did all the things you're supposed to do: I stayed off it, I iced it, I took my vitamins. I even prayed that my two months of preparation might not be in vain and that my foot would stop hurting.
So this morning I got myself out of bed far earlier than I ever get up on a weekday to attempt to run 11 miles. After a half mile, I thought I could do this. Sure, it hurt, but not that bad. After a mile, I began to change my mind. After walking a bit, I tried to run again. Bad idea. This now left me with a sore foot two miles from my car. No phone and no road access even if I had managed to find someone up to come get me. Nothing to do but hobble back. Which left me a lot of time to think about life.
I had a thirty-second episode of, "Why is this happening? I didn't do anything that would have caused this!" Then logic took over, which said that asking why was really quite pointless. It will not fix my foot. It will not help me run the half marathon next week. All it will do is make me even more frustrated.
You see, I don't believe in accidents. Everything happens for a reason. Even if I don't understand that reason right now. Someday in the eternal scheme of things, it will make sense. Until then, worrying about the whys will only waste energy that could be put to use fixing the problem.
So I took it slow, enjoyed the view, and made it back okay. My foot still hurts, but I'll live. Who knew you could learn so much about faith from running?
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