Two weeks ago I said out loud what mattered most to me in the world, “I just want to run.” Overdramatic? Cliched? Naïve? Sure. Honest? Definitely.
During the current state of unrest our country is drowning in right now, I believe there is one indisputable fact we can all agree on, we are all experiencing unexpected daily challenges. The tricky part is that our familiar methods to cope with such challenges have disappeared. Dashing off to bars to meet with friends after work, nope. Dropping our kids off to school after a chaotic morning, not an option. Strolling the mall to shop for shirts we need, and shoes we don’t, not for a while. Gossiping to our hair stylist, not in California anymore. Sweating out frustrations in a Zumba class, again… no. Fortunately for me, the number one way I cope with stress, running, has never been cancelled by the government, rather it's my own body that has made it difficult these past few months. And for someone who coped with a ⅓ life crisis by running 16 marathons within 2.5 years, I have found not being able to run a Groundhog’s Day’esque challenge of heaping proportions.
The day after I said, “I just want to run,” to my sister, Mary, and brother in law, Jim, I endured my second of three Acoustic Wave therapy sessions, in a Dr’s office two hours from my house, because I knew I would do anything to try to repair my hamstring and be able to run like myself again.
Was I hobbling along okay for a few months? I guess so? Did it hurt 39 out every 42 minute run? Yes. Was I running slower than usual? Yes. But it wasn’t speed, or mileage I was after, it was simply that perfect feeling of my legs floating evenly, my arms bouncing gently, head bowed slightly, and my heart pumping powerfully that I wanted desperately to feel for more than 3 minutes of every run.
Flying NUUN, AKA, a metaphor for trying to grab ahold of my run fitness again.
“Your leg is hurting you, right?” My step mom Sally said as I passed her and my Dad along a dirt path during our 4 mile 4th of July race last week.
“Yeah, a little.” I yelled back while gimping hastily in pursuit of my sister, Sarah.
I really hoped no one would notice. That made it real. And really embarrassing.
Later that morning during the drive back to my house over the hill, from the cool coast to the hot valley, what finally landed in my head and heart was a resounding "thwomp" of faith that this injury will eventually heal. At last believing that my gait will return to the magical equation I typed above, and that beyond the never-ending jogs of dread, I had something to look forward to.
Feeling better than usual after a run last Sunday.
I had a similar feeling driving through my neighborhood yesterday afternoon. Every house looked still, quiet, except for the incessant buzz of round the clock air conditioning units, and I thought, we will make it through this incredibly hard time.
In the meantime, we need to get creative with our coping mechanisms.
Minutes before the temps reached triple digits during a bike ride last Sunday.
Truthfully, running will always be my #1 stress release, but not having it readily available has opened me up to a wide swath of options I am grateful to explore. For example, I write, ride my bike, swim, shoot and edit mini-movies, talk and listen to friends and family, do a lot push-up’s, read about and absorb the horrific racial injustices that have been pulsing through every part of our country for its entire lifetime, reach out to people I admire and tell them how they positively impact my life, share their message, eat a lot of vegetables, drink a lot of water, and a little bit of wine, dream big, plan meticulously, stay humble, love unabashedly, be patient, and believe that I am here for a reason, we all are, and accept that every unexpected challenge is an adventure worth living, and story worth telling.
The song and video choice is kind of out of left field, but I watched the David Foster documentary the other night on Netflix, and this song, well, again I think we can all agree it’s really special.