Tomorrow, I will have what I hope to be the last surgery on my veiny legs, for at least another decade. In mid-December, I call my physical therapist to see if I need to continue therapy to strengthen my left leg and in January I see a neurosurgeon about my back.
I told you I was only 40, right?
Do I feel sorry for myself? Sometimes. Do I think I’ll get better and be able to run soon? Sometimes. Do I still *want* to be a runner? Absolutely.
But….for now….I’ve had to limit any running “talk” I read or listen to. I’ve unsubscribed to some running blogs. I haven’t been on dailymile.com for a while. I haven’t bothered to order Runners’ World via interlibrary loan like I usually do and I’ve taken myself off of a few Facebook running groups I was a part of. I didn’t do this all at once, but after my boss hugged me on “Hug a Runner” day (and I got all teary), I decided that I needed to distance myself a bit from any kind of running reading material. I know I’ll go back to some of it (especially reading Runners’ World) but I’m realizing now how much of a love/hate relationship I’ve had with running these past three years. I’ve gone through 3 bouts of physical therapy, have been unbelievably sad and depressed when my body is unable to run, and have been frustrated with my apparent unreasonable expectations of my body.
Maybe I’ve really had a love/hate relationship with my *body* and not running.
Wow. Ummm….I am *just* realizing this. Seriously. For the past few weeks, I’ve been very angry at not only my body, but at my running body. Even though my PT told me that running did not cause this herniated disc and my varicose veins have always and will continue to always be there. Yet….I started to hate running because I couldn’t be a part of it anymore. I guess it’s like when your boyfriend breaks up with you and afterwards all you do is bad talk him and hate him with every fiber of your being, even if the breakup was actually a good thing.
You know what though? I don’t want to break up with running. I love it. There are times when it does hurt me, but the times it makes me feel (and look) good completely overshadows anything that is even slightly “bad” about it.
I want it back. Desperately.
Unfortunately, I just have to wait. And do my exercises. And hope. Some more.
Meanwhile, I should probably get started on the “love” part of my relationship with my body, eh? She’s not all bad. I know that. I just need to accept her faults and her gifts and stop bitchin’ at her.
Easier said than done, but what else do I have to lose?