hate on

I haven't posted in awhile. I was really hoping that my mind would snap back to stokedness.
I spent my days after the big half just reveling in not running. It seemed like I had so much more time. Each day it seemed a week farther away that I'd run that thing, and I'm still recovering. My brain was fried on endorphins, I was a grinning fool the whole week through. My body was sore and achy, heavy and hungry. Workdays felt long and difficult, and I just kept looking at the blue sky and driving past the skatepark with longing in my heart. When this week is through, I told my board, we are going to rip it up!
Well, come Friday I couldn't wait any longer, and out I went for a rip around the park, whee! Whee! Whee! Whee! Ow. Ungnngrunt. Ow. Ugh. And limped away after about twelve minutes. My ankles became increasingly hot and bothered. They seemed to ache more as the evening progressed. It occurred to me that I might have been putting undue strain on them with all of this running! I had happily thought the whole time that I was making them stronger, "Look Ma, no cankles!" But no.
Oh shit, this is lame.
I went for my Sunday run. A six. First thing in the morning. During the run it was okay. Afterwards I felt like never walking again. My ankles are not happy.
Yesterday was a break for running, but I busted my ass mowing, weeding, on the feet all day, working my back to its breaking point just before stopping. Ankles.
Today I didn't want to go. But I went. The entire first one and a half hurt like fuck in the feet.
I told myself it would go away and it did eventually, but I am not stoked on running right now.
I want to stop.
I'd rather be skateboarding.