Ok, so it was not very long, and it was on a treadmill, and it was broken up by walking. But I will take it; This is the closest I have been to a run since July.
See, running is in my blood. It's an addiction that started 20 years ago with a painful 1-mile loop around a canyon with my junior high track team. In the time since, I have rarely taken more than a week off. Sure, over-use injuries and time commitments have kept me away for short bouts, but this time, it was different.
 |
| credit: St. Helens Chronicle |
One night last summer, I decided to do a little beach bouldering instead of my standard evening run and ended up pulling a hand-hold down to the crash pads with me. The remainder of the year has been a haze of squeaky crutches, brightly colored casts, and rehabilitation. And no running.
At first, this was really tough. It is very hard to suddenly shift from the routines of a working, running, "strong and independent!" (complete with fist pump) woman, to being weak and dependent, unable to work or run.
But then I started to learn a few things. I learned how to ask for help. I learned how to be pretty darned self-sufficient, from crutching down the sidewalk with my giant, laundry-stuffed pack, to navigating the Muni on one foot. I learned how to be alone with myself. The biggest thing I learned is this: I don't have to run every day. I won't fall over and die without running. This was a pretty big revelation for me.
 |
| credit: Tim Guffin |
Even so, I still consider myself a "runner," and I have used the ability to run as a gauge for my rehabilitation. When I can run again, free of any limps or hitches, I will be healed. Of course there have been many forms of healing in this process, and my run today simply signifies the strength I have gained throughout.
No comments:
Post a Comment