Keep on running
I started running about six years ago and despite being the person picked last in school sports - much like the rest of you on here - found I loved it even though I run, as expected, like a girl. I signed up for a half-marathon and stuck rigidly to the training plan, except in the final weeks where I had strained a muscle and was a little sore so cut back a bit on the preparation.

The race was wonderful, my first experience of being swept up in the crowds of runners, the cheering spectators and the excitement of a shiny medal and a goody bag containing instant pasta, a newspaper and an energy bar at the end. I set off at a good pace, determined to get my sub-2hr time. By the eighth mile my strained muscle was aching but I kept going, fuelled by adrenalin and free Lucozade Sport. By the tenth mile I was still running but trying not to put pressure on my now rather sore leg. The last mile stretched for ever but I pushed on at the same pace, gritting my teeth, and crossed the finish line in less than two hours, though once I'd actually stopped I had to spend a good five minutes contemplating whether I was going to shit or vomit or both.

I got my shiny medal and the goody bag and I walked a mile and a half home, limping slightly. I stuck an ice pack on leg and put my feet up. I went to bed happy and exhausted. And then I woke the next morning, swung a leg out of bed and nearly screamed as the pain shot through me like an electric shock.

I couldn't walk. I was also a skint PhD student so I couldn't afford transport of any sort other than my bike, so I whimpered my way round the house getting dressed then swung a leg over my bike, draped myself across the handlebars and set off to the doctors at a pace much slower than my eight minute miles.

My GP was awesome. He carried me from the waiting room to his surgery. When I explained what happened I was expecting a complete bollocking for running on an injury but instead he asked me my race time, informed me I had beaten his brother's time by five minutes, and sent me off to hospital for x-rays and an MRI scan. Turns out I had a stress fracture - I broke my leg during the race and kept running on it. I was on crutches for a month. Despite it being my own fault for not quitting, none of the medical staff I encountered made me feel bad about it - in fact, they were really encouraging about getting me running again, only now I know to stop when I'm pain.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Tue 16 Mar 2010, 10:10, 1 reply)

Ouch
that must have hurt. But I guess medical types are happier seeing people interested in their own health and trying to push themselves in that way, rather than the endless queues of the overweight, drunk and depressed. (ie most of us).
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Tue 16 Mar 2010, 11:04, closed)

i resent that
I'm only two of things (right now).

I'll let you guess which
(bamboozled Can hear you getting fatter, Tue 16 Mar 2010, 11:20, closed)

!
"I'm only two of things". Drunk and depressed I guess.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Tue 16 Mar 2010, 12:23, closed)