My left leg never liked me. I sprained its ankle too many times, ran too many left circles during track & field, and clocked too many miles on cambered suburban roads. For all its aching and complaining, it never gave me the chance to suffer a "real" injury that could at least result in having some "real" mettle (a-la Paula Radcliffe still running Beijing after a stress fracture and poisonous spider bite).
No, instead I'm confined to ellipticals and stationary bikes and manically painting the bathroom walls until the leg finally stops hurting long enough to starting counting miles again without limping around like House.
Ok, in reality, I guess it's not all that bad. I can still enjoy almost the same pre-marathon caloric intake thanks to a super-revved metabolism (helloooo Ben & Jerry's), and it's a lot less stressful trying to get things done around the house when I don't have to worry about reserving energy for a 15+ miler. And it goes pretty much without saying that the husband enjoys when I have a little energy left at the end of the day as well.
Still, I'm anxious to get back out there. To find out how much more I can do, how much faster I can go. But I guess for the time being it wouldn't hurt to get used to this freedom for a couple more weeks.