Tweaks & Niggles

I've been eating, and my weight has climbed.
I've got a history of my body going through irregular periods of weeks or even months where I have little appetite or I eat everything in site. I know my psyche sometimes causes me to eat more leading into a big event. Somehow my body listens and says, "Oh boy, we better stock up - he's gonna do it again!" Kind of like in Jaws when he says, "We're gonna need a bigger boat!"
So whether it's one of my old cycles, or a more recently trained response, I'm not resisting. The hungrier I get, though, the more likely I am to eat healthy stuff like field greens, apples, corn-on-the-cob, nuts, salmon, etc. Less beer.
As far as meat, chicken is what I prefer. For beef, I eat the equivalent of two burgers a week. Not that I actually eat burgers, but that's how much beef I consume in some form or other, whether in Mongolian beef, or any other form. Beef takes a long time to digest, causes gas and indigestion, and FARTS! Since I don't eat much beef anymore, I'm not an old fart - just old.
I used to love lean pork. Hard to find lean pork. BBQ places tend to have the leanest meats. Pigs, though, are scavengers, and even lean pork is not ideal meat.
Fish is awesome nutrition, but I don't love the flavor, and it's expensive in Denver, being so far away from the ocean.
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I've been having a few dreams. They aren't really nightmares. They're boring little dreams. It's raceday (or night) and I'm in agony. I just keep going. My mind is doing its battle with the demons, my feet hurt more than I ever knew possible, my body hurts more than it ever did, but I just keep going.
A pacer is never in these dreams, and there's never any contact with any other racer. If there's another racer, they're a vague entity off to the side.
The agony I endure within these dreams could define it as a nightmare, I suppose. But in these dreams, I'm not even close to giving up. Even though within the dreams I'm at the point of a physical/emotional breakdown, my mind in those dreams is not considering a DNF. My mind is only obsessed with how I can keep myself going, by whatever trick and brute force I can think of.

During the race I'll have Winston Churchill's voice in my mind, ..."We will never surrender."
And other mantras...
"I would walk 50 miles, and I will walk 50 more!!"
"I don't suffer from insanity - I enjoy it. If there's a fine line between genius and insanity, I'm a phuqing idiot."

I have this important goal: No matter how decrepit I get along the way, I want to cross the finish in a full-on sprint. God, I hope I don't injure myself to make that not possible. They like to give you a group hug - starting before you cross the finish, so I may not be allowed to sprint all the way across. As long as I get it going for a bit, though, that would be fun.
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I've been feeling some pains. Below my right knee, either in or on the bone, it hurts. When I bend down, there's a painful pull happening on the inside of my left heel. I've been doing almost nothing the past couple of weeks, so these new pains don't make sense.
Since I've twisted my right ankle Sunday, and my left ankle twice a couple of weeks ago, I occasionally get a hint that my left ankle isn't quite right. The right ankle feels fine, but it too must be less than 100% strength. I think the lack of activity has caused the endorphins to reach a low. No longer can the tweaks and niggles hide behind a cacophony of euphoria.

Eight more days of healing. Five days from now, Lucy works her magic on me the last time before the race. Honestly, she treats you like an alter and she's the high priestess. I could use some more of that.