Each day this week I felt like not running. My right leg was bothering me a bit and I was even hobbling a bit at work from a sore something-or-other (foam rollering was "productive"). Lunchtime would come, my usual running time, and I couldn't go out: too tired, too much work to do, yadda yadda.
But then I'd take a not-too-late evening train, despite succumbing to temptation and eating first thing after riding my steep commute route from the train to home, put on my running clothes and trot down the hill.
And after a solid weekend running in the Marin Headlands, every day I did this: Mon, Tue, Wed, and Thu, my legs magically felt better and I got a wonderful run in, taking advantage of daylight time's later sunsets, and running into the night if necessary.
Today was going to be the day I for the first time ever made it to 7 consecutive days of running.
On Tuesday a 9.5-year-old crown came loose, taking a piece of 18 with it. There wasn't much left. The verdict: it had to go.
Tooth extraction is an ugly business:
So all through Thursday and into Friday morning it was with a sense of growing dread that I anticipated my appointment with doom,
I entertained thoughts of running to the dentist/butcher to get my Friday's ride in, but was still tired from my Thursday night 15 km, so I bicycled there instead. This was perhaps my mistake (although running in the morning after an evening run is much more difficult: every hour of recovery is precious). It was with the grimness of the condemned that I pedaled to the office, each pedal stroke one less remaining in the life of the tooth I'd grown to know and like all of these years. It will be replaced by something shiny and new, but not me.
The procedure was quicker and easier than I expected. Local anesthetic, some rather unpleasant manipulations, and then it was out. A few stitches and then I was ready to leave. Don't exert yourself, I was told, as elevated blood pressure is bad for healing. Even though I'd skipped the general sedation chosen by apparently 70% of the patients at the clinic, mostly to avoid the after-effects, anesthetic alone wears me out, and the trauma of the whole thing didn't help. I was exhausted.
I walked with my bike to a local Whole Foods market where I worked remotely for a few hours. Then I went home, partly walking, partly riding, and took a nap.
Post-nap, I took an ubuprofin to temper my throbbing head, ate some yogurt, and then did some more work. Eventually I started to feel better, and ran to Trader Joes for some more carrot juice: 3.2 km total. So the streak goes on.