Many people who have known me for years know that I trained for all 20 weeks less one run for the 2016 Indy Monumental Marathon when I toed down and tore a tendon in my right foot dashing my chance of even starting the race. It has taken me until this year to get my running speed back and I’ve taken on other athletic endeavors along the way.
Yesterday, Judy came over to my house so we could do 6 miles before my husband needed to be somewhere with one of the kids. Halfway through the run, I was warning Judy about how shitty the road was in the spot where we crossed. I looked up to check for traffic, sunk my foot and turned it all the way sideways. I briefly stopped and stretched before declaring I was fine and that that type of stuff just scares me because my prior injury.
By the end of the run, I was feeling it and I could see swelling. I took both of my shoes off to do my stretches, but I started getting scared that I was injured. I grabbed my prescription anti inflammatory gel and rubbed it all over my foot and ankle, got an ice pack, and grabbed every ankle brace and wrap I could find. I dragged it all to a spot on the recliner with a pillow to prop my foot on and I treated it gently all day long. I went through sobbing about how long it took me to get where I was from my 2016 injury to comparing photos from that injury to this one. I was not okay mentally.
I thought that everything I’d been working so hard on was just ripped away and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. I looked around at all the things I needed to do around the house and I was just annoyed I was mostly helpless because…. rest [eye roll here]. I don’t do rest when I don’t want.
Leading up to yesterday, I’d been questioning why I bothered with functional fitness if I’ll only be mediocre at best and never great. I struggle with gymnastics skills that I feel like I’m working on with little progress. I can’t even do a pull up without assistance. I have been feeling like no matter how hard I’ve tried, I’ll never be as good as I aspire to be and I don’t do well with accepting being average. It seems odd to say because there is not one thing I can name that I’m exceptional at doing.
Thinking that I was injured enough to be taken out of doing the things that I enjoy to keep myself healthy and bring me peace showed me how far I’d come from the things that I CAN do. I learned how to do different lifts over time and I wouldn’t lose that knowledge. I’d have to work my strength up again. I finally figured out 20 inch box jumps on Saturday morning because of a quote I’d read in passing: If you can’t beat fear, just do it scared (Glennon Doyle Melton). Even after landing the jumps multiple times, it wasn’t good enough for me because I was using the foam box. Sure, there is shit I can’t do, but I’ve done the work to try and learn them and maybe I’m not giving myself any credit for that. I learned handstand push-ups in my garage when the gym was closed down. That’s something.
I took today off from functional fitness class, which was tough because it was deadlift day and I totally love trying to get a new maximum on that. I went in and did the power workout with Judy after the class cleared out. I got in some pressing, so I didn’t feel completely useless. As the day went on, the tinge of pain is very slight. I can use the stairs in my house normally, which yesterday and this morning were more challenging.
I’m still a little uneasy that something so quick could set me back again. I’m sure I’ll get to the point where I wonder why I try if I can only get so far, but why not just do something I enjoy doing? *Yes, I still want to be the best ever at everything.
Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy it. If you ever have something you think I should write about, drop me a note. I’m definitely more experienced at running than functional, but I’ll do my best.
*EDITED TO ADD: I’m actually feeling fine enough to work out again on it. Not even close to my 2016 tumble. Thank God.