The Run is Dead. Long Live the Run.

Me on the last day that I (semi)successfully ran.  I've made attempts since then, but none got past about a mile

I love running.  I love the euphoria from working my muscles hard, the sweat as it cools from a self-made breeze, and the way I can eat because I've burned over 500 calories that day.  I love the way it clears out the cobwebs in my cranium, and how it helps me to untie the knots in my thinking and feelings.  I love the ability to call myself a runner...something that I never thought I could say about myself!

And, because I'm just a little too stubborn and a little too competitive, I have not been able to run since the beginning of March (I pushed myself too hard at the half-marathon in Feb. because I wanted to beat my time from my half-maration in January--which re-injured my tendons).  After resting for close to 8 weeks, I finally realized that I wasn't getting better.  So, I went to the Orthopedic Surgeon, and then scheduled an MRI.  The diagnosis: partial thickness tears in the Peroneal tendons of both feet.

What I have...

It means that I will not be running any time soon, and I will probably need surgery to fix it.  My appointment with the foot specialist is on June 10th, and we will see what happens from there.  I'm really missing running, and am having a hard time finding exercises that don't use these particular tendons, but I'm also willing to do whatever it takes to work up to being able to run again.  At the same time, I realize that I will likely never be able to run a full marathon, and I'm actually ok with that.  I'd rather be able to be a middle distance runner than not a runner at all.

If I can't run, at least I can spend time with friends at Chihuahuas baseball games!

In the process, God is teaching me patience and, while I don't like the lesson, I'm pretty sure that I need it.  I've always known that I am not the most patient of people, and I even prayed for patience for most of my high school years.  Then I realized that "tribulation worketh patience" and stopped at the first real lesson God gave me....not because I suddenly became a paragon of patience, but because the lesson was just too painful.  Either someone is praying that I acquire a little more of this virtue, or God has decided to answer the prayers I prayed way back in high school.  Either way, learning to wait and to dial back my exercise has required that I develop a measure of grace for myself, whether I want to or not.  Now that my body has gotten accustomed to moving on a regular basis, this enforced inactivity makes me feel antsy and out of sorts.  I've found that bicycling doesn't hurt as long as I rest a sufficient number of days between exercise, but it isn't the same thing.  All I have to say is that, the Lord willing, I will be back pounding the pavement someday.  I'm willing to put in the work if it means that I can run another half marathon.  Until then, I wait and I pray.  And that is a blessing all its own.