I hate being sick or incapacitated. In any form. I’m pretty sure no one likes being sick; but if you ask me what is top of my hated list: it is being sick / injured. And I’m not sure why, maybe it’s a very heightened sense of self preservation or maybe a reluctance to be vulnerable.
Being sick makes you lean in to people. People support you by virtue of being in your life and because they care about you. Accepting and being open to gestures of care and concern from people you love is a way of accepting their love for you. And obviously everyone does not offer the same level of love. I have been fortunate with having people in my life who care about me and it was a warm feeling of comfort having people care for me and check on me while I have been recovering from my surgery. It feels nice. But I always find it super hard to have people care for me. I just like to do everything myself. Which is obviously not a great idea most times. I do need help, and sometimes I just find it hard to ask for it. But I’m working on myself to be ready and open to ask and accept for help. Work in progress. Always.
I said I was recovering from a surgery. What surgery you ask? Recently I injured both my knees. I tore the ACL ligament, in both of my knees. And after meeting the doctor, the diagnosis is that both knees require surgery, and the total recovery time will be about 2- 2.5 years. Yeah, doesn’t sound like fun. And for someone who absolutely loves being outdoors, this diagnosis left me quite sad.
I love running and football. I just absolutely love the two. And I train at the gym so that I can get better and keep improving. Anyone who has played any sport at any level will be familiar with injuries. So am I, clearly.
By no means this is good news. I can’t play or run for a fairly long period of time. And it is entirely possible that I won’t be able to play football, given I would be over 32 years, not the ripest of ages for playing serious football. And in London, I was playing with a local club in the lower divisions of the local leagues. It might not seem like much, but the football is serious. And it’s good. It’s aggressive, physical, technical and almost everyone on the pitch is more talented than I am. And most people are about 5-7 years younger than I am (if not more). Which always made me push myself harder, during training and in the gym. But right now that reality looks fairly distant for me.
It will also be the longest time I have ever been away from running. Properly. I love running. I love the idea of just me and the road, the infinite distance and my finite energy. I love that I can push myself, by just being with myself, without any validation of medals or social media kudos. Running an occasional race where a finisher medal and the instagram post makes me feel good? Sure, I like to do that. But I love being with my thoughts, with a steady drum beat of my feet pounding the ground and the stupid feeling that I am unstoppable.
I love the sweat drenched clothes, and I love the fact that I am ready to do it again the next day. But I can’t right now. And it makes me sad. It just is a long road to recovery, and I need to do it right if I am to do this again. And I do have all the resources that I possibly need. I have a great doctor and I have a great physio. But the mountain in front of me looms large.
In any kind of long run, there always comes a moment, where the body feels broken and you are engulfed in a fog of pain and fatigue, and you feel like stopping. There is a conversation that happens that instant. You don’t know between who. But it happens. That what if I stop here? what is going to change? who am I doing this for?
And in that moment you dig deep in the pockets of your resolve and you surprise yourself when you continue on. You power through the pain and fatigue and reach an arbitrary goal set by yourself. And in that moment you have won. You’ve won against the doubt that you had for yourself about achieving the goal you had set.
And then you are happy about this momentary achievement. But it’s momentary. You reset your goal, and you go again.
I love running because it’s humbling. No matter how much I practice or train, there will always be someone running ahead of me. A faster, stronger, better athlete. And it helps me realise that the goal is not static. The goal is not do a particular time or distance. The goal is to be better than yesterday. And some days, you concede defeat to yourself. When your legs arent carrying you the way you expect, or the breathing seems a bit heavy or the body just isnt responding to the commands you give. And those days you swallow your pride, and be humbled. But then you try again tomorrow.
This recovery process is my marathon now. It is not going to be fast, but every step adds up: I just need to take one step at a time.
