About 12 weeks ago I found myself barely able to walk during my third leg of the infamous Hood to Coast relay. Our team van drove by and saw struggling to hold myself up to complete the final miles, mustering up all the available courage and strength I could. No amounts of courage and strength would be able to save me from the fracture and ligament damage that had just destroyed the very foot that has carried me through life's miles. Amanda jumped out of the van to rush to my aid and carry me off course while Chris readied himself to finish the distance I could not. As the team cheered him on while he barreled off down the road, I buried my head in hands to hide the tears caused by the excruciating pains searing within my bones. This was the beginning of the longest road of recovery I have ever had to deal with in my running career. The emotions sweeping over me consumed everything I was, and once the tears started, they didn't seem to stop.
The next day I found myself being shuttled to and from x-ray, to examination rooms in the shiniest wheelchair my lack of health insurance could afford. "Well looks like a pretty standard Jones Fracture," the doc casually says as he delivers the news. I choked back more tears, and frustrations as I accepted the small boot that was being strapped to my foot, as gracefully as Cinderella would have as her prince charming fit the matching slipper to her foot,. A couple metallic sticks were ushered my direction as I was being lifted from the chair, and placed in their new home under my armpits. It was like test driving a new used car as I learned how to propel my body forward out of the hospital doors with my new support beams. Watching people walk by me with such ease on their feet as I walked down the blocks, humbled me. I never understood how sinfully I had taken even the splendors of walking for granted.
For the next few weeks I did nothing. I couldn't walk. I couldn't run. I couldn't bike. I couldn't even work. I literally sat, and then sat some more. I groveled in self pity, and began to become bitter at the pain the crutches were causing the rest of my functioning body. Friends offered help in every way, and I respectfully refused. Anger consumed me as I began to feel helpless. Getting anywhere had become a challenge. Not bumping the foot into ANY obstacle, or even attempting to put pants on, was nearly impossible. I had tripped a few times on my good foot and collapsed instantly as my bad foot crumbled under the pressure of the landing weight. Sometimes I would just lay after a fall, and look up at the ceiling trying to find some kind of reason to get back up. Everything in me wanted to give up and call it quits. It was just easier that way. If I don't get up, I don't have to face the fact of the matter.
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Ben Howard concert. His music got me through.
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Suddenly, I was being punched square in the jaw with reality. WAKE UP JENN! You think you've got it bad? Look around you! And I did. My foot may have been busted, but I still had it. My mind was battered and bruised, but I was still able to fully use it to be aware and cognitive about my own realities. Everything really was okay. Why had I admitted defeat so easily? Why didn't I look into the eye of this hurricane and face it with ferocity and determination to persevere? Oh, I know! Because that was harder than healing from the injury itself. It would mean that I wouldn't just have to strengthen my body, but I would need to focus inward and strengthen the heart and mind. This was a whole other ball game that I wasn't prepared for other than to strike out in. You see, the body will heal itself when you just get out of its way and let it do so, but the mind? The mind requires a strength training that no amount of time in the weight room would yield. So it began.
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| First bike ride in 8 weeks! |
I forced myself to disregard any thoughts about running. I picked up my guitar again. I opened a journal, I made food, I went to movies, I spent time with friends who lacked my attention because I devoted it to the run, I discovered a passion for art and photography, I found Zumba! I felt a sense of restorative balance occurring. It was only during this time that I was able to see the areas in my life that I was missing out on and needed to spend time nourishing because they are who I am. Sure enough, as time persisted, I found myself able to get on a bike. The happiness that washed over me as I pedaled the trails in Forest Park was overwhelming. My quads burned with each climb, my lungs stung with each inhale, and my mind was clearer than ever. Being able to be outside and feel the very pounding of my own heart against my chest brought me back to life. The rides carried me through when I began to slip into subtle darkness. It wasn't long after this that I was able to dance freely in a Zumba class without babying the foot. The morning I was able to get out of bed and stand on my foot with absolutely zero pain, was one of the best mornings of my life. I stood there in pj's and striped fuzzy socks balling my eyes out, because for the first time in months, I was supported on both legs, and I wasn't collapsing under the weight that had previously forced me to find the reasons to get back up.
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| New shoes with some cushion to protect fragile bones. |
Over the past weeks I have been practicing yoga, spending hours rebuilding the lost muscle mass the months had taken. The cross training I once cursed under my breath is now something I embrace with everything I am. About a week ago I ran. I danced on the trails, I jumped over rocks, and avoided the soggy puddles the rain had given birth to, I hooted and hollered. It was as if I was falling in love for the first time all over again. For days following I was back in the gym elevating my heart rate on an elliptical, building strength with my body weight, and yes, cursing the dudes who spent their time flexing their guns at each other as opposed to actually putting them to good use. Coming back to knowing running has been a slow, loving process. I feel as though I have been reincarnated as an enlightened runner returning to the life. There are days when I want to burst out the door and get lost on the trails for hours on end, but it's not time for that yet. The journey inward has still only just begun, and my physical body must return to full strength before I can allow it to carry me over mountains and across rivers. My initial disdain for the patience I had to implement into practice, and the seemingly never ending tunnel of darkness, has blossomed into a renewed sense of accomplishment and motivation. I am finally learning myself in ways I would have never been able to had I not been hauled off of that course with a busted foot all those months ago. Running will always be an aspect of my life that defines me and allows people to see where I derive my passions for life from, but now I can also appreciate my love for life that isn't running. The simple melodies of the
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| Discovered water color ROCKS! |
strumming on a guitar, the words that flow from my imagination to create stories inspired by others, and the Zumba that has allowed me to throw all care to the wind and express myself in my most primal form. We all go through trails and tribulations in life, and we are who we are and who we become because of them. Embrace these challenges, the obstacles that seem impassable, for they are what define us. It is here, we are able to look within ourselves and to use this knowledge to strengthen our weaknesses, to impact the lives of others, to have the ultimate experience in the ride that is life. For it is when we find ourselves struggling to hold onto our last breaths of hope that we realize, WE ARE ALIVE!
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| Because I can! |
