It’s all fun and games until it happens to us. We have such perspective on your life, on your self-care, on your temporary situation; but when it comes to our own? We start grappling and pleading and applying different rules than you get.
Damn. I was out running last weekend in Patapsco, going for a hilly and pretty solidly paced workout. I was just over halfway when I glanced up to better assess the hikers ahead whom I had caught in my peripheral and immediately down I went. I can’t even redo it in my mind – it happened so fast and without anticipation, that I can’t rewind and say, “if I just placed my left foot here, or if I had just reached out my right arm there”. It was an accident, and I didn’t plan it.
A few months ago, I had started falling with regularity on the trail for the first time in my running life. As it turns out, my body and mind were desperate for more sleep and that was my body’s way of signaling me to implement that. And I did. And until last weekend, I had not fallen since.
Because my expectations were such that falling was a thing of the past, this was particularly personal. It was embarrassing, humbling and painful. I couldn’t believe that I lost my footing that badly and I really couldn’t believe the blood gushing down from my white kneecap when I picked myself up. I was bewildered and stuck in time, and as much as I blame the hikers for falling, without them I wouldn’t be OK. They happened to have both water and first aid which I did not. They poured water on the bleeding wound and wrapped me with gauze and talked to me long enough to know I was OK. They continued and yes, I jogged the 2+ miles back to my car with a gimp because frankly walking would’ve taken way too long and I knew I needed stitches.
Fast forward to my 5th day of not running and I can report that I think this is bullshit. I have been full of self-pity, major fear of missing out and terror that I will lose what I have (peaking fitness) and not get what I want (continued strength and fitness gains). It feels permanent and ominous. I just started to put it all together: proper running form, cadence, joy in watching my fitness change and freedom from having no pain as I pound my legs mile after mile, week after week. It’s been amazing, and hard.
When you’re sidelined and the Universe asks you to take a step out, it’s easy for me to tell you that it’s OK. When you have a temporary setback and momentary pause, it’s easy for me to tell you that it’s temporary. When you are nervous and scared and not trusting God to take the best care of you and work for you, it’s easy for me to tell you to rely on all of your previous experiences to know that it will be OK, and if you don’t have your own experiences to lean into to borrow mine. You know, the ones that I’m not using for myself right now.
But this is me, and because it’s me, it feels damning. It feels big. It feels unfair. I have no real pain, and I am lucky – I could’ve broken my patella and been out for the rest of the year. I could be a professional athlete with no other resources or hobbies. Instead, I have 8 stitches holding my skin together that have asked me to take a few days to heal. I can’t bend my knee so I can’t run or do anything that requires flexion in that joint. Because I am extremely resourceful and perhaps a little stubborn, I have worked around it. I have made it work, just not in the way that I want.
I’ve also allowed this to stress me out. I am gaining perspective again (sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly). I have slowly let go of the workouts I’m missing and let go of the need to make up for them. As hard as I am on myself, I am happy to report that despite the old stories and behaviors begging for my attention, I have stayed true to the woman I have learned to be. Perhaps my foundation to be vocal and talk about how I’m feeling has allowed me to process more quickly and move forward. I know that my foundation of acting my way into feeling better has allowed me to eat my normal feel-good meals that nourish my body and soul instead of yielding to the incredibly sexy and tempting voice to either slash my calories in half or to start gorging out of martyrdom. But experience has taught me that restricting myself or eating a pizza won’t bend my knee any faster or bring me the comfort I’m seeking. I have been feeling particularly needy and lustful and feel like I’m not getting any attention. I don’t feel special. I don’t feel powerful. I don’t feel as connected. As a result, my brain has been creating scenarios which would inevitably place me in a greater position to be hurt. Thank God today it resides in my mind and not in reality, because not that long ago it was my reality and a lot of people would be getting hurt.
I’ve stayed the course of dignity and respect. I’ve pulled my tribe closer and shared with a few that I need them to be more thoughtful. I’ve thanked those who have checked up on me and have stayed honest about my pesky brain. I have shown up every day and taken it one day at a time. I have allowed my humanness to show up without letting it overtake my actions. I have allowed myself to feel everything at face value, without letting it take away my grace. My want to run is at an all-time high, and each day I wake up I ask God to show me if it’s time and I promise to listen to my knee. As it stands, we’re not ready. I don’t know why we’re not ready, but we’re just not.
There are always silver linings, regardless of your situation and searching for them has been a well learned practice that works in even the most desperate of times. I have a big ass career job (that I will one day write about) keeping me busy. I have my Bam Bizzle to take on super slow walks to let my blisters heal from all of the running I’ve been doing. I have a fully functionally body that can do modified workouts that my own mother is deprived of having – I’m sidelined by a week of no knee bending. I’ll take it. I have my fingers to type these words. I have my eyes to recognize the gorgeous sunflowers sitting in front of the screen that Mike gave me “because I’m not special.” See how that works?
The brain … don’t get too attached to her. She’s probably clouded and diluted and pissed off you’re not paying more attention to the things she doesn’t think she has.