SLOG

Slog- V.
         1. to work or progress with a slow, heavy pace. Plod.
         2. to work diligently for long hours.

This. This was me tonight.

About a month ago, I pulled my hamstring. Sheer stupidity, and I knew the exact moment that I did it. I ignored this, tried to tell myself that it was just a sore muscle, but I knew exactly what I did.

Cue the countless trips to the chiropractor-doctor-massage therapist. Throw in numerous ice packs and some wicked menthol-eucalyptus-magical ingredient salve. All of this, and I still hurt.

I normally have a very high tolerance for pain, or a high pain threshold, if we must dip into semantics. I can give birth with nary a tylenol in sight. I can have four impacted wisdom teeth removed, with only a local anesthetic and some classical music to distract me. Stitches- I take mine with no anesthetic, thank you very much.

This hamstring has been a different story.

I hurt. Twenty-four seven. I hurt when I sit, when I stand, when I sleep. Mostly a low-level buzzing ache, but with a wallop of knock-me-sideways hurts just often enough to keep me on my toes. (Literally, keep me on my toes, because this takes some of the pressure off of my hamstring. Go figure....) I have become a whiny woman who complains about my arse hurting to anyone within hearing distance. I have become the kind of woman who walks around wearing Eau de Icy Hot, with an ice pack attached to my backside.

This fact annoys me more than Jimmy John commercials.

So, tonight, I ran. Or slogged. My time was embarrassing, but I did it. Three and a half measly miles, with my hamstring hollering the entire time. I may have told her to shut it- she protests whether I stay still or move, so I might as well move. My other muscles were loving me. My calves were stinging. My quads were aching. My lungs were burning. My feet were anticipating aching.

I did it. My hamstring does not hurt any more than the normal at this point, but I did come right home to an ice pack and Old Lady Salve. Any pain that I feel in my hamstring cannot best how good the rest of me feels from my slog. I may well return for more tomorrow.

Kind of like life, if I over-think it while on the trail. Even when it hurts, you move forward. Might as well move, because you are going to hurt either way. Why not be moving forward, in that case?

Peace and Menthol Rubs and sore muscles moving forward, my friends. XOXOXO

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