"Pain is weakness leaving the body." v. Pain

The scene:

After a 7 mile hills workout across the Ben Franklin Bridge and into Camden from South Philly:

Redhead sitting on carpet typing, legs straight out, back against green couch, hair soaked from run 2 hours earlier, faithful terrier at her side (on couch spooning large stuffed chicken) while she practices RICE on her aching achilles with frozen peas.  [Operative word is "aching."]

Three days ago, after a 4.5 mile run through Center City, Philly:

Redhead limping from elevator to office door, struggling to open door, shoes squeaking across clean marble floor in lobby, padding over new carpet and resting in doorway to office-turn-dorm-room-turn-office.  Deep exhale.  Having no cause to go any further, Redhead stretches in doorway; Achilles indicates through numbness that it may snap if pushed further.  Redhead backs off and focuses on hamstrings.  Peas, Carrots, Advil and a Flexor Patch later, there is relief.  [Operative words are "limping, snap, numbness and Flexor Patch (super allergic to NSAIDS in high amounts - this is a large tradeoff for me)."]

Two days ago, rest day, redhead tentatively walking in heals:

Wobble, wobble.  Heals off, 3 inches shorter, slippers on mid-morning.  Peas and carrots.  20 on, 20 off until you forget the off and end up with mushy vegetables.  Repeat.  In the middle of RICE, Best Friend kicks Redhead in the shin, hard and makes her focus (ok, not so much a kick as a very stern talking-to).

Gist of conversation:  Until you understand the difference between the spirit of "Pain is weakness leaving the body" and pain, you are not an athlete, you are just a girl that runs a lot and is, no doubt, injury-bound.  Not every day is game day.  Not every day is brilliant. Some are just pure pain.  Being an athlete, presumably, is the ability to sideline your emotion (and yourself) when you need to - all for the greater good (for me, the Marathon).

5 Minutes later:

Redhead gets over herself, gears up for MRI #4, makes appointment at Rothman Institute and begins holding her breath until March 22nd.

Today, my body said "keep going."  Last week was more of a screaming, "Are you kidding me? Stop!"
Lesson:   Listen. Relax. Trust.