For Christmas, I received a "Runner's Diary and Calendar" from friends of mine. In addition to several inspirational stories about runners who overcame severe mental and physical challenges as well as numerous quotes intended to inspire and encourage one in his or her regular running regimen, the calendar provides space to log one's daily running total and comment on the successes and/or obstacles one encountered during the run.

Today, like yesterday, like the day before yesterday, and every day since the beginning of the calendar year, I left my running log entry blank. While others were embarking on resolution-inspired workout plans, I was marking time in a holding pattern, sidelined from running by a bout of iliotibial band syndrome (ITBS), which, in short, is the overtaxing of a long muscle that runs from the hip down past the outside of the knee and below.

Fortunately, I can pretty much participate in any form of exercise other than running, so all is not lost. But over the last 13 months, I've grown to love running in and of itself. Originally a means to an end (losing some weight and generally getting back into shape), running became a part of my (nearly) daily routine. Many times, I'd run to wake up in the morning; sometimes, I'd run to wind down after a stressful day at work; but most of the time I ran because I simply enjoyed the feeling of running.

Running is, I believe, a great gift given to me, one that has provided me the benefit of improved health and (more importantly) has been a means of building friendships and relationships.

Unfortunately, running has also been an outlet for my competitive side. My entre into running was folowed hard upon by my entrance into the world of road racing. I ran my first "real" race (i.e., the first one after I'd begun to run regularly) in February of last year, and then proceeded to run in more than a dozen over the course of the year, ending with a full marathon in December. But though competition is probably OK in and of itself, it can also be one's downfall, especially to the extent that competition ceases to be with oneself and becomes a vehicle for pride--trying to do something in order to impress someone or, in my case, the world at large.

Hence, I ran the marathon at a pace faster than the one at which I'd trained. In the last few days leading up to the race, I started thinking, "You know, if I were to increase my pace just a bit, I might be able to qualify for the Boston Marathon--in my very first marathon, no less! I'm gonna go for it--" Long story short, I ended up with ITBS.

Now recovery from ITBS is as individual as the symptoms that people endure (some folks can't even walk without pain, so I'm fortunate there). But the ITBS common ground includes overuse as the source and abstinence from running as part of the cure. How long one must go running-free is not definite, but I've been advised that I'll need roughly 8 weeks off the road.

Not quite 2 weeks into the "cure," I have to say that I really, really miss my regular runs. I see people jogging during my commute to and from work, and I immediately need to stave off envy; at the gym, even the treadmills have taken on an enticing quality--"Come on. Just a little jog. No one's gonna get hurt!" But cold turkey is the only safe way back. I know this in my heart, even as I eat my heart out.

But if any benefit is to be had in this forced exile, perhaps it's that I hardly think about the races at this point--about increasing my speed, lowering my times, beating out others in my age bracket. Mainly, I just miss getting out there, alone, with friends, even just among the many friendly strangers at Shelby Farms whom I pass as we make our respective cycles around the nearly 3-mile loop and then circle back again. With hindsight, and from the sidelines, I can truly see running for the gift that it is to me--one that will reward if cherished but that can vanish if abused. I hope not to make the mistake of doing the latter again.