The decision to create this column was terrifying for one particular reason: what if I can’t do it and have to admit to the whole school that I’m a failure? This week, I had my very first glimpse of a future in which I do not finish the marathon, and it scared me more than the thought of running 26.2 miles does.

Running is terribly hard on your body and there are about a hundred things that could go wrong for about a hundred different reasons. But a big toe injury was definitely not the thing I expected to halt my running progress. A younger, more naive Jess might have trained through the pain and hoped for it to go away, but this week I decided to put on my big girl pants and go to the doctor.

The doctor’s visit was inconclusive. There isn’t anything obviously wrong with me — my symptoms don’t indicate a stress fracture or a torn tendon — so they told me to just take the week off, do a short trial run on Sunday and report back to them Monday on how I feel. Post week off, I have to say that not running has been harder than all of my training combined.

I’ve been so caught up in the routine of running that I barely noticed how much I actually love it. Never in my life did I think I would get jealous watching people run when I can’t. Yet here I am, sitting on my porch writing and glaring at each runner who passes because I wish I were in their shoes. All I want to do is say screw the doctor’s orders, lace up my shoes and go. But while the jealousy and yearning has been difficult, I figure it’s better to be miserable without running than to realize my life is better off without it.

Of course, taking a week off doesn’t actually mean taking a week off when you’re conditioning your body for long distance endurance. So for the past few days, I’ve been experimenting with a little thing called cross-training, and it’s been more fun than I had expected.

I’ve been toying with the idea of the triathlon since I started my running journey, and this week sort of sealed the deal. Screw the marathon — I want to be an Ironman. All jokes aside, I made some discoveries this week that I may not have had I not been injured. First, no one should ever bike for more than 30 minutes without butt pads. Second, I might actually enjoy cycling if instead of being inside on a stationary bike I were outside on a real bike … with butt pads. But the main discovery of the week was my prior love of swimming.

I was on the YMCA swim team in elementary school, a phase that ended once my coach assigned me to the 200-yard freestyle event in a meet and I got so nervous that I hid in the bathroom for the entire duration of my heat. It was clear my swimming career wouldn’t be taking the competitive route. When I took the sport back up in high school, it was completely independent of any team. For about three years, I swam one to two times a week at my local gym, a habit that ceased completely in college — a pool full of fit student athletes is much more intimidating than one with just a few elderly folks.

After a two-and-a-half-year hiatus from swimming, I found myself back in the pool this weekend. Initially, I was not very excited about swimming laps for two hours on a Saturday. I figured it would be painfully boring. With running you have music and sight-seeing, but with swimming all you get is a 25-yard stare at the blue line on the bottom of the pool and the sound of your own panicked breaths as you choke on chlorine water. If running is meditation, then swimming is a whole two-week zen retreat because there is absolutely no stimulus.

Fortunately, I think I’m just obsessive enough to be the perfect candidate for swimming long distances. I decided to break up my swim into 500-yard sections (20 lengths of the 25-yard-long pool). At each of the 500 markers, I rewarded myself with a sip of gatorade and a 30-second break. Within the 500s, I alternated swimming freestyle and breaststroke every 100 yards. I was so focused on maintaining the pattern that the two hours were over before I knew it — time flies by quicker than you would think when you’re counting to 5,300 in increments of 25.

I recognize this may sound like living hell to some people, but I honestly thought it was fun. I’ve always loved being in the water — the feeling of it gliding along your skin, the way your brain completely shuts off the moment you go under. Mostly, I was just glad to have a workout that didn’t leave me feeling disgusting and sweaty. Also, I must commend swimming for how much easier it is on your body than running. Usually, Saturday workouts leave me wallowing in a pain cave, but I left the pool unscathed.

Does this mean I will be giving up running for swimming? Certainly not. But I am currently in the process of reworking my training schedule to incorporate swimming weekly. This is partly because I want to believe I didn’t spend $40 on goggles and a swim cap for just one workout, but also because I think I could benefit from incorporating some low-impact cardio to mix up all the running. As for my injury, you’ll just have to stay tuned to the column to find out what happens next.