“It’s me, hi, I’m the problem it’s me”

Taylor Swift

I’m bad a recovery.

Probably because I’m also bad a training.

I like running, the cruisy, shuffle kind with stops every few trees for one of my dogs to pee, poop and sniff.

Races involve the other kind of running, the relentless climbs, the punishing descents, the technical terrain and stairs that punish your toes and hip flexors and remind you in the most impolite way that you were meant to train for this.

So when the torture is done, the medal is hung around your neck and the humble bragging begins, so does the awkward, angry recovery phase.

I’m not a fan.

The first few days post ultra the complete inability to function is kind of funny. Never mind stairs or anything arduous, getting off the toilet is an achievement. Toenails are angry, chafe lines aggressive and your generally, despite all efforts, dehydrated as fuck.

But after the novelty and amusement has worn off, all the emotions that you avoid due to your constant supply of post run endorphins start to creep to the surface.

And since your body still doesn’t work, there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.

Sassy was how I was described by a colleague this week. I think what she actually meant was I was being a short tempered, snappy bitch. She probably wasn’t wrong.

It’s been three weeks post UTA.

My knee that causes me trouble during the race still feels underwhelming. It doesn’t hurt anymore, for a few weeks the pain would kick in 3k, then 5k into a run.

I paired back the running, adding in some days on the elliptical and weight training in the gym. This week I went hiking twice and the knee held up fine.

My Oura ring and Garmin are finally starting to look up and suggest I can handle more training.

Whilst I’m determined to not have this sort of reoccurring injury type problem happen again, the prolonged recovery period makes it hard to refocus especially when I don’t have another goal on the calendar. At least not yet.