My Knee My Knee My Knee

As I've said before (and will again!) I really love my job. Love it. Today, however, I had a wicked strange realization. I do not love it more than I love to run. How the hell did that happen? When did this happen!? I am the anti-runner! The hacker! The why-run-when-you-can walk questions asker! The person who runs just so she can justify buying new shoes every few months! I just can't believe it. When did I morph into a real runner???

My knee started hurting on what should have been a six mile run this morning. I made it three. And I'm not a weenie-girl, quite the contrary. I ran longer than I should have considering the significance of the knee pain. And now, today, at this job I so love I could only halfway pay attention to the resident who told me she needed to go to the bank so she could wire money to Costa Rica**. I didn't even get excited when a confused resident accused me of putting laxatives in her food because she had an embarrasing accident. And when I overheard Snarky Resident say she couldn't believe how fat another resident was, I didn't even snicker. And this is all because I can't stop thinking about why my knee hurts! Do I need new shoes? (no) Did I run the hills too hard last night? (hell no) Will I be able to run my 15-miler this weekend? Will I be able to run next week? Will this affect the marathon training schedule that Husband/Coach, Partner, and I labored hours over, revised, and revised some more? Will I be able to run the marathon? WILL I EVER RUN AGAIN?

I'm slightly preoccupied today, no?

*It pisses me off beyond belief that cruel, mean, horrible ogres actually try and do this kind of thing to old people. I would have no qualms what-so-evah about getting into my Jeep and running down some asshole if I knew they had done this to one of my residents. And then I'd back up. And drive forward. And back up again.