What's a Runner to Do?

They say in New York that you can get anything you want any time of day.  Sure, if you are the partier needing sex, drugs, and alcohol, or the new mom needing diapers, formula and alcohol, I can see it.  But I was a bit taken back when the MRI clinic told me they were open until midnight.  My doctor had asked me to get an MRI on my right Achilles on Thursday.  I waited until 4pm to call the clinic expecting to be told that sometime next week would work.  Instead, the overly perky receptionist asked me if I wanted to come at 10 pm that evening.  The only place I ever want to be going at 10 pm is to bed.  Unfortunately, I wasn't scheduling the MRI because I love the loud banging noise the machine makes.  My Achilles has had me nearly crippled.  It seems to be "ok" once I get it warmed up, but the first few steps out of bed, or even out of a chair after a minute or two of sitting, are excruciating.  My main motivator for going to the doctor is KZ, my three year old daughter.  After sitting on the floor reading bedtime stories to her, I cannot stand up to walk out of the room.  I crawl out.  She thinks mommy is being funny.  We makes jokes and even play horsey back rides to bed.  She doesn't know I cannot walk. 

I want to walk.  I want to run.  I want to run fast. 

This Achilles thing is chronic.  Ever since I was a little girl I had problems with my right ankle.  It was just "weak".  I couldn't ice skate or roller blade.  My ankle always turned inward, sometimes even touching the ground.  It hurt like hell, but didn't bruise.  I could walk, or stumble, at least enough to be mobile, so I just went on.  My final undoing was nine weeks ago when I ran a 10K in Central Park.  At about mile 5.5 my Achilles shot a pain though my body that should have stopped me in my tracks.  Should have, but my stubborn ego kept me going.  I was on pace to break 50 minutes which would have been my fastest 10k since having KZ.  I hobbled across the finish line in 51:11.  Not bad on time, but bad enough to put me in an emergency care clinic that evening.  Did I rest?  No!  I had plans to go hiking the next day in Utah for two weeks.  I wasn't giving that up.  The doctors said not to run, shot me in the arm with NSAIDs (I didn't even know they could do that), and prescribed a massive dose of NSAIDs to take daily for the next week, which they said, should get me through Utah.  It did.  Of course, the NSAIDs didn't cure my Achilles, just masked what was going on.  Even if I wasn't running, I did sixty miles in two weeks.  These were Utah hiking miles not NYC street walking miles.  I'm not sure how much damage I did in Utah, but I'm sure I didn't help the situation either.  By the time I made it into the doctor, I was back to running my 25 miles a week and beginning my NYC Marathon training.  I could run, but not being able to walk afterwards was beginning to terrify me.  I'm 45.  I want to be running when I'm 75.  I sensed I was on track to permanently ending my running career, or even my walking career, if I didn't take care of this soon.  The pain had become constant, nagging, and causing me to be depressed.  I wanted the pain to end.  I hoped the doctor could make an adjustment or two, and I'd be fine to go.  Ok, maybe add some massage, that is always nice.

When I went in for my appointment on Friday morning, the doctor already had the test results.  Only in New York can you get a MRI at 9 pm one night and the doctor has the results by 9 am the next morning.

"This is worse than I expected," he said. 

He had originally told me three months minimum.  What can be worse.  In summary, the "Impression" (results) from the MRI read that two different tendons have tears, plus marked plantar facilities.  They can do surgery to fix to fix the tears.  I looked that up.  YouTube is such a lovely invention.  You can watch singing cats, dancing babies, or surgeries being performed.  Once I saw the surgery, I decided to do everything I could NOT to have that done.  Feel free to look it up, but only if you are into that kind of thing.

"When was the first time you sprained your ankle?"  the doctor asked. 

"Sprained my ankle?  I don't think I remember doing that." 

"Oh, yes you have.  Many, many times." 

I guess all those inverted ankles over the years added up. 

For the foreseeable future, six months minimum, I can only do a stationary bike and upper body weights.  I can "walk", but I am not suppose to go out for three hours without breaks.  He must also be a mind reader knowing that is exactly what I was planning to do.  On a good note, after approximately a week of not running and two treatments, I am feeling better.  It still hurts to stand up after sitting, but I can now do it without the aid of furniture. 

He asked me why I kept running myself into the ground when clearly I've been in pain for years.  Good question.  I could say I don't want to get fat, which I don't.  But I also know that I don't lose weight by running.  If anything, I have to make sure I don't gain it because I'm so hungry from all the training that I eat everything in sight.  I really just love the long runs.  When I'm out there for over an hour and half to two hours, my mind clears.  I'm at peace.  I can think new and creative thoughts.  All the stress finally melts away.  It is a reset button for my mind, body, and spirit.  I'm a bit terrified of not having a way to reset.  I'm not sure what to do, or how to react.  I'm relieved that the constant pain is lessening and that I'll be healthy enough to run again.  The doctors promises that I'll run again if I want to. 

I've always identified myself as a runner.  I feel as if that identity is being put on hold in order for the next opportunity to come into my life.  They say that if you hold on too tightly to one thing, you'll never be able to open up to something new.  Maybe this is the Universe's way of bringing something new into my life.  Or maybe just giving me a chance to heal.  In either case, I do plan to run again.  When I can, I'll break that 50 minute 10k.

This morning, KZ noticed that my ankle looked as if it had a boo-boo.  I had been wearing a very fashionable Strassberg sock, which looks like a straight jacket for the foot.  She took my hand and said, "Come with me, Mommy."  We walked to the bathroom where she asked for one of her Hello Kitty Band-Aides.  She carefully unwrapped it, placed it on my ankle, then kissed it to make it better.  She is the sweetest girl in the world.