Gloom and Despair

I finished the Prefontaine movie "Without Limits" yesterday.  I really enjoyed it.  I thought Billy Crudup did a great job at capturing the passion fires that engulfed Prefontaine.  Equally good, I thought, was Donald Sutherland as Bill Bowerman.  It was cool to watch him make the Nike shoes with the rubber waffle pattern from a waffle maker in his kitchen.  The movie left me feeling like I had to get out and run, but I'm still in a holding pattern.  
I also finished the book Once A Runner by John L. Parker Jr.  It was a great read.  Although I was never even close to being as fast as the runners in the story, I could still relate to the team camaraderie as well as the wild range of emotions that competitors experience.  Again, I feel like I need to get out and run.  Last night, my legs were twitching when I tried to get to sleep.  They weren't twitching from a hard or long workout, but rather from the opposite.  They are growing restless from inactivity.  My body is now physically revolting at my static lifestyle while my mind is in panic mode.
My feet are at the point that I could physically run, but I'm not sure for how long or how far.  I remain disciplined, even if several times throughout the day I am tempted by "the voice" in my head to just go out and run.  I might have succumbed to that voice, but I recognize that voice all too well.  It's the same one that, when lungs are burning and the legs are swollen with lactic acid, hostilely demands to STOP.  You never get personal bests if you listen to that voice.  Like in a bad marriage, runners have to tune out that voice or they might as well quit.  
In case you can't tell, I'm feeling angry and depressed that I can't run.  For someone with tendencies toward emotional extremes, I need to run.  Running levels out my moods.  Everytime I log on here, I see that L.A. Marathon countdown.  Every disappearing day takes a long run, conditioning, and confidence with it.  That timer mocks my current state.  A mere three weeks ago, I was toiling with the decision to go for 3:20 and qualify for Boston or sit back and get in under 4 hours.  I figured that 3:40 to 3:45 was realistic at that point, and I still had three months of training and all my speedwork ahead of me.  Now, I'm not sure if I'll even make it to L.A.  I know that, if I do, Boston is out of the question.
For now, I sit and wallow in my misery longing for the day when I can feel the earth sliding easily under my shoes, the air filling my lungs, and the potential to explore wherever my eyes can see.  I'll leave off with a short passage from Parker's book Once A Runner.   
              Running to him was real; the way he did it the realest thing he knew.  It was all joy and woe, hard as diamond; it made him weary beyond comprehension.  But it also made him free.