When I found out that I injured my left hip a month ago (my second severe hip injury in the last 12 months), I honestly acted calmer and more mature about it than I expected. Despite having to cancel four fall races and shelf my goal of finally running a full marathon in the springtime, I accepted the fact that I had another fracture with a quiet resignation (literally, I said nothing at all when I left the doctor’s). I couldn’t change the facts – I simply could control my response to the fact that I was down-and-out…again. Don’t get me wrong – I cried…a lot. But, I also looked at the silver linings: I had a lot of practice with crutches, I could drive and I could function without pain medicine this time around and I had friends who I could call on (though a pride complex still bugs me…).
This was a pretty stark contrast to my last injury – I cried a lot, I lost a lot of weight, I was constantly sore from crutches and I was in the midst of a quarter-life crisis where I really was trying to evaluate who I was and what defines me.
Then, this weekend came around…and it hit like a semi-truck all over again. I watched from my bed as my friends adventured and traveled, as they made it through long runs and as they splashed and played in the ocean.
Last time around, when I watched this, I was constantly sad, frustrated and envious…but I was saved by the fact that there was an eventual end date – a light at the end of a very dark tunnel.
When I went back to the orthopedist this time around, the doctor sat me down for a very serious conversation – claiming I should pick another sport as my body is really just not coping well with running. The doctor told me that I really needed to prepare myself to give up my goal of running a full marathon, of Boston Qualifying, of breaking 1:30 on my half marathon. While I’m still evaluating how seriously to take this advice (sorry, doctor friends…but this is a really hard request), there isn’t so much as a concrete light at the end of the tunnel this time. Which…makes the injury, the sadness and the breakdown of this past weekend worse.
The world isn’t fair and there’s definitely bigger problems and issues than one girl’s string of injuries. I get it – and I don’t love when people ask “why me?” But hypocritically enough, I find myself repeating that question over and over and over again. Why is this happening…again? Why couldn’t this happen to someone who hates running? Why can’t any doctor find a conclusive cause? Why am I 22 with two fractured hips? Why am I going to have start over…again – my breath, my pace, my endurance, everything? Why can’t I find something that I’m equally as passionate about to pursue in the meantime? Why can’t I adventure, have my own agency to do things and even carry things?
I’m trying to practice what I preach – and I am maintaining positivity, but right now, here’s the honest breakdown…just a few weeks delayed. And…well, it sucks.