Revived

No matter how much I grow to love running, there are times when it's hard to keep running. The reason I skipped running for one whole month was that I'd been recovering from a knee injury.

As most runners know, such a break is, in effect, wrestling with addicts' withdrawal from coming off drugs or alcohol. Shakiness. Emptiness. Crankiness.

After doggedly following the ups and downs of a professional examination for the Membership of the Royal Colleges of Physicians this week, I felt like I should learn to get back up after falling down. That's what I told the examination candidates. Somehow, it had never occurred to me that I should more or less follow the same advice. I checked my kneecap, trying to figure out how much the discomfort resulted from twisting injury and how much from ice burns. Pray tell me - not too loudly please - I'm not the only dimwit who burns his own skin after applying ice pack to the knee.

The rain was not too heavy and should get me ready to run for 10 km, I thought. I braced myself for the challenge once I put on my running shoes. Blood rushed to my brain; I felt an animating surge of adrenaline, of picking up my speed, of running at my lactate threshold. It was in this state of mind that I finished my run with shoes all soaked and myself drenched by the rain. And, yes, rejuvenated.