If you’ve run into me in the last few weeks (or if you perhaps see me twice a week for physical therapy) you may have been surprised (disappointed) at my lack of enthusiasm for my recent recovery progress. I’m off the crutches finally and coming back little by little, getting to slowly reintroduce my body to lifting, cycling, and swimming, and regular mobile life things. In the last week I was even cleared to start running on the alter-g (anti-gravity) treadmill. And yet, other people are more excited about this tangible, visible progress than I am. Like every stage of this thing I’m now waging a new mental war, this time against the most devious foe yet: Apathy.
I had big plans for 2019, but obviously plans change. I’ve been fully off the crutches for four weeks as I write this, and while I’m so happy to put those horrible ten weeks behind me and get some of my life back, in a lot of ways the hard work is just beginning. This part of the journey has more highs than the previous chapter, but the lows are more complicated – physically and yes, mentally. Yeah I’m still a total head-case. (There’s something comforting in consistency!)
As the mental steeplechase rages on, the biggest of (many) remaining hurdles is simply, what’s the point? What is the end goal here? I’ve heard a lot these last few months about how the best stories are comeback stories, but I’m still not sure I want to come back.
This “comeback” has been a battle of competing personality flaws: fear and ego. Twin faults feeding off each other, arresting my progress and hijacking even my desire to progress. There is of course the literal fear with each new bit of physical exertion that that the hip won’t be able to take it and I’ll be back on the crutches or under the knife. And there’s fear that even if the hip technically holds, my old abilities won’t come back. That more insidious fear triggers my ego, which barrels over every other thought and impulse shouting to shut the whole show down before I embarrass myself. Whether swimming, spinning, or lifting, it’s painfully apparent with each workout that I’m woefully out of shape, miles away from the person I was six months ago. I’m embarrassed by who I’ve become, I’m afraid I wont get back the old me, I’m afraid that others will laugh at me and my middling fitness, I’m afraid I won’t know myself or how to be happy with myself if I can’t at least be the mediocre athlete I used to be, and I’m overwhelmed by the work ahead. And it’s a battle not to let those narcissism-born fears overshadow my will to keep going and to keep having goals.
On top of being a scaredy baby, this is a lot of work. It might be years of work, just to get back to where I previously was. Not gonna lie: doing it all over again feels in some (a lot of) way(s) like a waste of time. It took years to get to where I was, who wants to spend years retracing those steps?
I can’t stop comparing myself to where I was and where I am too. I was going to have another go at Boston in a few weeks; I was going to do it right this time and train hard – go for a marathon PR even. My current best time of 3:26:41 has stood for a few years and I was feeling that sub-3:20 I am so sure is in these legs was ready to come out. And other PRs too. Before the fracture my swim times were finally dropping and I was pulling out more sub-7s in my runs and holding steady 20+mph on the bike over more challenging and longer rides. I felt like I was on the verge of a break through and I felt hungry to put in the work to get there. Now I’m not running Boston or even the Cherry Blossom Ten Miler, and my whole season is a question mark: What will I be allowed to do when? What will I even be capable of?
Since I’m airing my arrogance I’ll just say it: I am terrified to have to go slow. Because who am I if I’m not in the first corral? If I don’t BQ? If I don’t qualify for Nationals? Will it even be enjoyable if I’m not performing the way I can – or used to can? I ran a 10 mile PR in Cherry Blossom last year and in April 2018 I felt like I was just scratching the surface, just finally starting to inch toward my full potential. If and when my body can physically handle ten miles again – I’m not even cleared for the Cherry Blossom 5k this year – how will I mentally handle it if I’m running 30, 60, hell 160 seconds/mile slower than I used to?
After making your mind up to go for big dreams, to prioritize those dreams, to get down and dirty and uncomfortable and sacrifice for those dreams, how do you take, ‘no,’ or ‘not yet,’ or maybe ‘not ever’ as an answer? How do you scale down your hopes and goals to match your reality? And how do you content yourself with smaller victories?
On the heels of 5 months away from running, ten weeks away from everything – even walking – I am trying to be happy about the baby steps and take nothing for granted. And I’m disappointed to not be the ecstatic person I thought I’d be at this point. Teaching spin again has brought me joy, and I am savoring every bit of walking, so it’s not total doldrums over here. I just expected to be overjoyed at each activity I got back in my life. I thought for sure the first minute running on the alter-g treadmill would bring happy tears and euphoria – I craved and looked forward to that overjoyed feeling. Instead I felt and feel mostly numb, which is at least an improvement on actively miserable.
Add to that indifference the fact that I’m completely terrified to return to my previous hustle and demanding routine. While I never became comfortable in my sedentary crutchlife, getting back to twoaday workouts, strenuous Capitol Hill job, and my normal, physically-demanding up-early-home-late life is intimidating. How do I resume the old routine that took years to establish? I resorted to my natural night owl sleep-late tendencies while on the crutches which was probably a mistake. It took a lot of time and effort to reset my internal clock to go off early and I’ve undone all that time and effort in a few months. I was proud of who I’d become before this injury but it took the better part of a decade to go from wanting to make certain changes and pursue certain goals to actually living the life I was living a few months ago. How hard will it be to reestablish that routine?
Perhaps none of this would seem so insurmountable if I could reclaim the fire I had back in October to do this season and this sport right. But I don’t feel as much as a spark. On that first crazy night I wrote here that I wanted to give it all up and walk (limp) away for good. Ellen and others assured me it was normal to feel that way at first, but that I’d soon be chomping at the bit to come back. I believed them; even in that most fatalistic hour I myself expected I’d eventually regain the will to tri. Since then I’ve been waiting for the fire in my belly to reignite, and it just hasn’t. Maybe race season will do the trick; maybe seeing people get out there and get after their (our?) dreams will reawaken something. The few races I’ve watched from the sidelines so far though have only left me sad, not motivated. Worse, they’ve made me feel even further behind and unable to catch up.
I’m thinking very seriously about pulling the plug on Iromans Lake Placid and Arizona now, while I still can. I’m not excited about them at all. I can’t imagine that Placid in July is a physical possibility let alone look forward to training for it. And I don’t think half-assing an Ironman (or two) is a great idea. So…I’m leaning toward not even trying. Who knows, maybe the desire to give it all up is that ego-fear combo getting the best of me.
Am I a quitter? I think I might be. I quit acting, and I quit music, and while I think I had good reasons to do so and I don’t exactly regret it, I’ve long considered myself someone who gives up since I never gave those things a real go. I’ve been blown away by friends who’ve reached out and told me, so confidently, that they know I’m the type of person who doesn’t quit and fights her way back. It has warmed my heart to hear that people see me in that light, but I think they might be wrong. I fear I’m an impostor and that these kind, faithful friends have given me too much credit. I want to be worthy of their faith in me, I want to be the person they think I am, but I don’t really feel like her.
Maybe I’m just too far removed from anything resembling race-ready or real training. Maybe one day I’ll be cleared to run for real and I’ll rediscover my love for it. But right now it feels pretty far-fetched. I look at old training and race day pics and stats and wonder, ‘was that really me?’ I admire that girl but I don’t identify with her in any way. I want to see myself in her. I want to care. Is wanting to want it enough right now? Am I putting too much pressure on myself to feel a certain way? Do any of these questions have real answers?
In anticlimactic conclusion, if we do happen to cross paths in the not too distant future – online, in person, wherever – and you are surprised or disappointed to find that I’m not as enthusiastic about my progress as you expected, if my ambivalence seems out of place, now you know why. I thought I’d be all elation now, I’d counted on it, and while I’m less unhappy, I’m still just treading water. (But now, at least literally treading it?) I want to be as excited for me as some of you are, so please keep the good feelings coming. Maybe some of your happiness for and faith in me will rub off.