Wednesday, November 2, 2011
It's a Marathon, Not a Share-athon!
When Mr. Wonderful and I signed up to do the Healdsburg Half Marathon, both of us were concerned that his knees might not be up for the task. He experiences pain just about every time he goes more than a couple miles or tries to run downhill. I, on the other hand, haven't had any issues with my knees during any of the training for my four prior half marathons. Which is why I was shocked when my leg decided to gimp out on me this past weekend.
We had just passed the mile 7 marker when the outside of my right knee started to ache. I figured it was just tight or a little tweaked from some of the rolling hills. But with each mile we completed, it hurt more and more. By mile 10, it felt like there was a dwarf running my my side, hammering it with each step I took. Sounds like a new show on TLC—The Little Hammersmiths. Anyway, the pain was sharp and constant. I was literally grunting with each step.
When I saw the mile 13 sign, I was beyond done. Mr. W, trying to lighten the mood, said, "At least we can go in for double knee replacements together!"
"Can you not talk to me until we're done?" I said back.
I'm pretty sure he wanted to respond with "Fine beeyatch!" but instead he just went silent.
As we recounted the story to some friends the next morning over breakfast, the wife shared a similar story with us about a time she was sick. Lying on the floor, she called out to her husband (who was sleeping) to tell him she felt ill. He rushed to her side and began rubbing her back.
"Don't touch me," she told him.
"Can I get you anything?" he asked.
"Don't talk to me," she answered.
Defeated, he got up to go back to bed.
"Don't leave me!" his wife cried out.
I was thinking about her situation and mine on the (very) long drive home from Napa and I think I came up for a reason why we sometimes need silent support.
This may be a woman thing, or maybe just a me thing, but when someone talks to me I feel like I have to answer. When Mr. W touches me, I feel compelled to respond. So when I'm in pain or grumpy or starving, it's not that I don't want him talking to or touching me—it's that I don't want to have to reciprocate in any way. Because I'm hurting and pissed about it.
Fortunately Mr. W forgave me after we crossed the finish line. Still not sure if it was my improved attitude or the free wine tasting that prompted that...