I am so lucky to have met this guest blogger. Darci has a fierce passion for running, and it has helped reignite my passion for running, which has been a touch and go relationship since an accident last year. Although I am so sorry an injury steered her my way, I am grateful to have been touched by her infectious desire to run. Darci is training for an upcoming half and will run in the mother of all relays, Hood to Coast, in August.
A few weeks ago, well 7 weeks, 4 days and 13 hours ago, I was told by a doctor that I may never be able to run again. I was diagnosed with unexplained, sudden onset peroneal nerve dysfunction. Or drop foot. Essentially it meant that I couldn’t flex my foot up or to the side, so walking was tricky and running, skipping, jumping were mostly impossible. I spent many hours in the emergency room, ruling out things that sound as awful as they are in real life, and was told I was fit as a fiddle…well, except for this one little nerve that turned itself off for some unknown reason. I was handed a boot to help me walk and, with the tip of their hat, they sent me home to ponder my new life.
Let me back up. I am a runner. I am not a great runner, but in my book, anyone who runs a mile, on purpose and not because they are being chased down, is a runner. I run every day. For me, running is my breath. It is my space. It is the beginning of my day. It is the mirror that I hold up to myself every morning. Over the years I have become addicted to it in the way that one would feel addicted to a beloved spouse. I have measured my life and personal development and growth through miles and PRs and number of races run. I have spent hours with myself in the rain and the sun and the darkness of night. I know myself through running and I have found peace inside my own brain and wandering mind as my legs wander the streets and paths that have become a second home to me.
I love running.
And a doctor proclaimed, with a sad shake of his head and eyes that told me that he didn’t understand my love, that it was highly likely I would not be running for at least a year, if not ever.
So home I went to ponder.
And the truth is, even when my foot refused to flex, I just didn’t believe it.
My foot was partially paralyzed for sure. The universe had spoken. It had given me some message. It had taken running from me. But let’s be clear. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t all that dramatic. I could drive, I could clean my house, I could work, I could take the kids to soccer practice. Basically the universe had not taken anything away from me. Except the thing I loved the most. The thing I needed the most. Don’t get me wrong, I love my husband and kids. I need my husband and kids. I also love and need my parents, and chocolate chip cookies. But running. Well, running is me. And it was gone.
But the truth is, even when my toes refused to wiggle, I just didn’t believe it.
I have always had the attitude that if I wanted something, or if I made a plan, I could make it happen. I could will it to happen. I could move forward with my plans and expectations for my life with little regard to the forces at play. I have given up stability and moved to foreign lands on a whim. I have started private practices. I have jumped out of planes. I have run half marathons while injured, while sick with the flu. I have run countless miles with a broken bone in my foot. I can make a decision and will it to be. Mind over body. Mind over matter. Mind over reality. I was, essentially, all in my head.
The truth is that this mirror I was holding up to myself every morning may have brought me a form of inner wisdom and peace, but it wasn’t a full-length mirror. I never looked at the full picture.
It was time to step back. Take a broader look. Actually consider my full self, perhaps for the first time. My left peroneal nerve, one teeny tiny little nerve said “Hey you up there, you, the one stuck in your head. Look down here. Look at your body. It matters.”
So while I didn’t believe it, I also finally found a profound understanding of the fact that my body is real. And it’s connected to my brain. And it will not be ignored. It is complex and complicated and deserves as much love and attention and respect as my thoughts, my heart and my soul.
So this time, I listened to my will and my heart and my body. I knew I would run again. But I knew I couldn’t just will myself to do it. I had to actually become one with my own body. I had to look in the full-length mirror. For real.
So I took a deep breath. I found the right people to work with me. I listened to them. I listened to my body. I trusted myself and my body and my mind.
And I am running again. I did my first run, 2 miles, exactly 3 weeks to the day of my diagnosis. And now, 7 weeks and 4 days later, I am almost back up to my pre-injury mileage. And I feel great.
Running has again become my space, my breath, my respite from a busy life. It has again become the mirror that I hold up to myself every morning, but now it is a full-length mirror. It not only shows me where I am mentally and emotionally, but where I am physically. I am learning to be a keen observer of my body in the same way I was to my mind.
And now I know a deeper truth about my life. I can’t just will things, or myself, to do something. It takes more than that. Yes, will is important. But so is listening to your gut, to your instincts, to your body, to your left peroneal nerve. Drive is important, but so are the people that you chose to put in your life. Heart and soul are crucial, but they are nothing without the body. I need all three. And I need all three, not just to run around the block or run the next marathon, I need all three to be present as a partner and a mom and a psychologist and a friend. I need all three to truly thrive in my life. It doesn’t mean I will always feel great or that all three will be pain free. But the path, the work, is to strive for balance. To listen to the quiet signs (and the not-so-quiet signs) that each part brings to the picture.
I run because I can. I run because I must. I run because I am.
My sincerest gratitude to Beth Trimark, Physical Therapist and Personal Trainer, for listening to my heart and body and helping me do the same.
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