Yesterday I went for the longest run of my life -- 9 miles. If you had told me before January 2005 that some day I would run 9 miles, I would have laughed my ass off. If you had told me that some day I would run 9 miles, then climb into a tub of freezing cold water and marinate in it for 10 minutes, I would have started to cackle till I fell over mid cackle and continued cackling as I rolled around on the ground for a while.
In case it's unclear, that's exactly what I did yesterday (only after having swum for 45 minutes at 7 a.m. on a Sunday and only before an hour and a half of yoga and in between consuming three times my body weight in food).
It's torture. Just look at this gnarly rugby player who is clearly struggling with the overwhelming urge to jump out of his ice bath, chase down his trainer and beat him/her to a pulp. I decided to endure the torture simply because getting out of bed the day after a long run was even more torturous. I was going to try icing all my joints (knees, hips, ankles) instead, but that just seemed like way too much of a pain. It does seem to make a difference, even if every child within a three block radius has been corrupted by my copious amounts of swearing during the immersion process.
Besides, if Runner's Magazine says it's so, it must be!
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