Moving on

I just took down my big board of race numbers and medals. I moved into this house a few weeks after running my second marathon, and hung that medal and number with those I’d earned so far on a board in my office. Between 2000 and 2009 I earned medals running 6 marathons, 2 50ks, a bunch of scavenger hunt/adventure races and countless half marathons. My board was the focal point of my office. I saw it every day. I was very proud of transforming myself from a couch potato who hated exercise to someone who finished ultramarathons with a smile on her face. I was a runner.

In early 2010 I took one wrong step, popped a bone out of place in my foot and everything changed. That step first resulted in a stress fracture, treated by months on crutches and an air cast, then months of physical therapy, then the realization that it wasn’t better and the bone, now no longer fractured, kept popping out of place. I had surgery in December 2010 to fuse the problem bone to it’s neighbor and spent that winter on crutches, slowly starting to walk again in an air cast, and then months more physical therapy. By the end of 2011 I was able to run a little, and back to most of my normal activities. 

Because I’d been bitten hard by the endurance activity bug I decided to do a 100 mile bike ride while I was rehabbing. I got a bike early in the summer, started training, and rode the North Shore Century in September. Basically I trained for the equivalent of a marathon in under 3 months. I didn’t (and still don’t) love riding like I love running, but it’s better than nothing.

I did the bike ride again the following year, this time in the rain. I got into yoga and pilates. I occasionally tried to get back into running, but found that it didn’t feel right and that something always hurt. I missed running a lot. I ran a 5k in 2012. And another in 2013. I got up to 10 miles that summer, then started hurting again. I changed my diet, got healthier. Changed my job, got happier, and tried running again.

My board of medals greeted me every day when I walked into my office, and that greeting turned to mocking a few years after my surgery. I started to feel like that old guy who kept telling the same stories about the touchdown he scored in his high school football championship game. Twenty years ago. I decided that there was a five-year limit on medal display, and I either had to get a shiny new marathon medal by 10/31/14 (five years after my last one) or take them all down and move on.

Once spring 2014 hit I started running fairly regularly. Just a quick loop around the neighborhood, or a few miles on the treadmill before yoga. Then I signed up for a 10k and trained with a bit more discipline. That race was fun, and I found a half marathon a month later. I trained for that. Nothing hurt. I was slow but having fun. The half was hard. But I finished with a huge smile and added another medal to the board. I signed up for a marathon 12 weeks after that (and just a week after my self-imposed deadline – I gave myself an extension). I trained conservatively. If my foot bothered me, I pulled back and rested. I was slow. Still having fun. The day of the race came and I was as nervous as I’d ever been. I was hoping for a 5 hour run, about as slow as I’d ever been. I just wanted to finish. The first few miles felt fine. Then I felt off. Then I felt something very wrong. Then I quit.

Turns out one of the staples holding together my fusion had worked its way out and was pushing on nerves. (yeah, ouch). I got into the doctor 2 days after the race and confirmed that I’d have to have another surgery to fix the same problem. I had surgery the following week. The only thing I remember coming out of anesthesia is the doctor saying “no more marathons”.

It’s now 16 weeks after surgery #2. I’m still in pain. I’m still walking with a pronounced limp. I haven’t had a full week in two shoes yet. I'm trying to extract life lessons from all this crap. I’m still healing and still have weeks to go before I start therapy to improve my range of motion. I will never run another marathon. I will never do the 50 mile race I wanted to do before I turn 50. I may run half marathons. I will run shorter races. I will be a runner again. But I won’t be the same runner. I need to redefine myself and a part of that is taking down the board.

I don’t want to forget what I accomplished so I kept 6 medals out:

• Chicago 2000 - my first. The one I never thought I’d do.
• Urban Challenge, year unknown (they reused the same medals, so I had a few) – the adventure race series I did for a few years with my husband, coming in 3^rd in Chicago twice and going to the national finals, where we finished in the top 10.
• Chicago 2005 – my favorite. I had such a great time that day. Great weather, nothing hurt and it was fun pretty much the whole 26.2
• Lakefront 50 Spring 2009 – my first 50k. I did a 50k!
• Chicago 2009 – my last marathon. I ran it with my husband and two of my best friends. And PRd. 
• Lakefront 50 Fall 2009 – my last race before I got hurt. I ran it with a bunch of people from my marathon training group. I cut 15 minutes off my time from the spring. It was fun. It allows me to say “I ran a couple ultramarathons”

I put a few in a box in a closet including the medal from the half marathon I ran a few months ago. I have another pile that I’m going to donate to Medals4 Mettle. I’ve certainly learned that there are far harder things to put your body through than running for a few hours and I’d like to celebrate those who fight these battles every day. I know what I’ve been through is nothing compared to what many face. These medals represent small victories I’ve won, and I hope they can do the same for others.

I’d been dreading putting them away since I gave myself the ultimatum. I feel like I’m admitting defeat. I feel like I’m losing a part of myself. And actually taking them off the wall was as hard as I’d imagined.

It’s a beautiful spring day here in Chicago, the perfect day for a run. I’ll take my dogs for a long slow walk and be thankful that I can take my dogs for a walk (between the crutches and the awful winter it’s been quite a few months since I could even do that). I’ll take my bike in for a tune up and start training for another century and potentially a big bike trip. I’ll keep thinking about taking swimming lessons again. I hate swimming, but maybe this time lessons will help me turn the corner. And in a few weeks I’ll get a piece of paper from the doctor that outlines the return to running program. And I’ll figure out who I’m going to be. And keep growing and keep changing. But today, honestly it kind of sucks.