This has been my year to get knocked to my knees. And knocked again and then again. I cannot say I have had a year with as many challenges as this one.
I headed into this year with an Ironman registration, numerous marathons scheduled and a fierce plan to do it all. Although I knew a surgery was out there somewhere in my future I had no idea it was about to become “now”.
In January, less than 48 hours from flying home from Phoenix where I had run a marathon, I went to my doctor’s appointment knowing the news was not going to be great, but knowing I was going to stay the course no matter what. I remember in vivid detail the image on the screen of my spine, the fusion and the doctor saying “broke” and “now”. The reality of his words and his plan did not sink in until much, much later.
I had a plan, I couldn’t do surgery! Let alone a surgery that would put me out of the game for over a year. I tried every angle. “I am registered for Ironman, the surgery can wait right? Well then I can do the surgery right away and then still train for Ironman, right? Or maybe I can just wait again, like I had after China and Africa? No? The pain really hasn’t been that bad, I think I was just exaggerating. Ok but I will wait and we will work something out.” The harsh reality that I rarely admit to anyone is that many nights I woke up screaming, literally screaming from the pain. I really assumed if I could train a little harder or work on my form a little more I would figure out what I was doing wrong and it would be better.
A couple months before, giving a talk at a running club I had referred to the likelihood of a future surgery. I referred to it many times, but I don’t’ know that I really believed it. After all I had been getting away with “one more race” for a few years.
My doctor encouraged me to schedule the surgery before I left the office so I would have something planned. I did, but as I was scheduling it I was thinking there was no way in hell I was going through with it. I asked for the latest possible date they would allow and the scheduler went four weeks. I asked for six weeks, pushing the envelope. I left, drove to my office and by the time I made the 15 minute drive, reality was settling in. I was realizing the impact this may have. Training, races, commitments, work, life…all of it. I was going to lose everything I had planned for this year. I was also feeling a desperate amount of fear that I would lose everything I had already worked for. My biggest fear was I would never get it back?
The surgery was worse than I could possibly have imagined and at my two week follow up, my first comment to my doctor was a reference to his attempt at killing me. The actual recovery was made tolerable and at times enjoyable by an amazing group of friends and family that rallied in a way I would never have imagined possible. This included my little girl, my dog Annabelle. My best friend in the world, the creature that loved me beyond any love I have ever known, was with me for round two. Annabelle was 11 years old and at the time of my surgery was receiving treatment for an aggressive form of cancer. She had been an amazing source of healing through my first sugary in 2004 and she was with me again. She lay in my bed with me, she sensed my needs, and she loved me the way only a best friend can, just as she had the first time.
Annabelle hung in there for me and then suddenly, two months after my surgery, she was gone. Lying by my side in bed she left and finally got some peace. It remains one of the most painful and devastating losses I have experienced and not a day goes by that I don’t miss her desperately. The thought of her is still enough to bring me to tears. But in those tears and pain, gratitude lives by its side that she was here during the first months of my healing and by my side with her love.
I could go on with more major life events that have rocked my world this year, but at this point my life begins to sound like a country song. The summary is that I have been knocked to my knees more this year than anyone’s quota should ever be.
I had such a clear map for my life heading into the year and the outcome was clear in my mind and it was in my control. I feel a sarcastic irony as I ponder how far off course I am. My attempt at drawing my life map seemed to provoke some kind of pissed off karma!
Throughout this year I have heard over and over again how much others admire me and how inspirational I am. These and many other kind words are nice, but they never seem to fit me well. I am never comfortable with the statements so I work to accept them as graciously as I can.
I don’t’ say what I would really like to say, which is I am not inspirational at all. I am really just a person driven by fear and desperation and in my lucky moment’s maybe a bit of inspiration.
Following surgery I had permission to walk a few times a day. The limit was to be defined by my tolerance and pain. The lack of specific limits was a gift. My second day home from the hospital I was quite literally in tears attempting to walk to my dining room and will admit to some pretty fierce anger at my own pathetic state. In the anger at the most basic level I was quite simply afraid.
And so fear was my gift. And fear was my push three to four times a day. It drove me to keep going even when I was so tired and so slow I wanted to stop. Fear of failure, fear of stagnation, fear of losing my strength, fear of never being “there” again, fear of losing my determination, fear of everything! I am driven by the most powerful of motivators. By my 6 week check up I was walking 14 miles a day.
There was one more reason I kept pushing, something other than fear. Bigger and more powerful than the pain and the fear, my goal was clear.
My goal was quite simply to run. You see despite my plan to do Ironman, despite how much I enjoy cycling, despite my crazy desire to be able to do my own vacuuming and laundry again, the one goal that lives within me passionately is to run. Some people will read this statement and if they are a runner they will believe it and they get it. Others who are not runners will read that statement and make the usual comments people make when they don’t get it.
I can only explain that when I run, I am someone different. In my worst runs, in my highest level of pain, in my most miserable moments, I am a different woman when running. I am strong, I am fierce, I am a fighter and no one in this damn world is going to grab one piece of that from me. I am happy, I am peaceful, and I am confident and determined. I am complete and raw emotion and the emotion that lives within me contradicts itself at a rate of speed that is astonishing. Because in all of those things I am the fear, the challenge, the thought of quitting, the self doubt is living in there too. How do all of those emotions live in the simple act of me running? I am not sure except to acknowledge the beauty of a spirit is often in the depth of contradictions we experience and reflect.
In my real life the emotions and thoughts scream so loud I can hardly hear myself think. In the moments of reflection I am like everyone else, and just trying to prove the doubt can be quieted. Running is my gift, my therapy, my way of conquering the world and all of the hurts and pain it brings. But it is also my celebration, and is grateful for everything beautiful it delivers to my door. Running defines a part of me that cannot otherwise be defined and in many ways defines me.
So February 2011 found me once again fighting to walk to my dining room, then to the end of the drive way, then to the end of the block. I had been here before and anticipated I might be angry about being here. Instead, I found a surprising peace in the fight and the moments of fighting to get there are some of my best moments. It was an amazing discovery to feel the same inner celebration in reaching the end of my driveway as I did in reaching the end of a 50k. I realized it was a lesson in the importance of the journey versus the distance. I found a glory in getting back up.
I continue to find glory in this fight back and although I am slow in coming to acceptance, I find glory and pride in the midst of fighting back again. In 2004 I thought I would do this once and I would be “fixed”. I didn’t see the fight coming but I meet it every day.
In Annabelle’s departure, I have two new canine loves and my days are filled with the love of my three dogs. I am secure in the love of my family and friends and although the odds aren’t great I am the proud owner of another Ironman registration. The other things that have knocked me down this year, I will put in my basket of faith and know I can face the challenges.
Every day, every single day, I am grateful for this. I know in my heart as I say it that it is true. It doesn’t mean that I am not angry and that I don’t have resentful moments. Those who know me well have witnessed some of my tantrums which are heavy with profanity and not in the least bit logical. I feel fear thinking of what my future holds as I work to gain strength. I feel all of those things but at the end of the day I am still grateful EVERY day. How can I not be?
The gifts I have received through my journey are so many and so significant. The love and support of my family, my little Annabelle hanging in there with me until just after my surgery. An amazing group of friends who rallied around me in a way I would never have dreamed! And I am grateful because every single adversity I have ever faced in my life, no matter how big had made me better on the other side. I realized a long time ago, I am a fighter. And if I am fighting I am glad to be fighting for health.I am doing my first marathon since surgery in two weeks and no matter what my outcome I will be out there, getting back up.
"The most important thing in life is not the triumph but the struggle. The essential thing is not to have conquered but to have fought well." -Pierre de Courbertin
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