A Soggy Ride

Soggy weather or not, I found heaven.  This morning I shed the glances from other moms at the carpool drop off at my boys' school.  I wore 3 layers on top and bike shorts on the bottom.  I'm sure they were thinking, "That lady is nuts!"  But a little rain never stopped my running.  Who cares if traveling at 18 mph forces the water droplets to pelt my face and leave a constant stream of water running down my glasses?  The roads were empty and the animals were out en force.

I've never seen the Platte River this high.  It was spilling over the edges by a good 6 feet.  The water lapped the edges of the bicycle underpass.  But the sound of rushing water provided peace and serenity. 

The best time to enjoy a wildlife refuge is in cooler temperatures, when you can actually see animals.  The rain drizzled constantly, cooling my body efficiently, and finally proving to my husband that my $100 cycling rain jacket I bought two years ago was a great find!  I rode 17 miles around Chatfield State Park, keeping to the paths and roads that hugged the reservoir.  All of the clouds hung low and because I was one of a very select few weirdos who braved the weather, it was utterly silent.   

Those are vultures.

At one point, I rode along a dirt path atop the dam, admiring the 100 foot drop to either side of me.  Swallows swooped daringly in front of my bike by the dozens, greedily grabbing at the invisible insects.  They didn't seem to notice or care about my presence and instead protected me from a constant battering of bug juices on my handlebars.   

Several deer hunkered down in the woods, enjoying the peace, standing erect and proud like statues.

For once I wasn't rushed.  I didn't feel like I had anywhere to be or a speed to conquer.  Because of the quiet, my competitive spirit slept, finally leaving me to enjoy the ride.  I stopped often, watching the herons, vultures, deer, bunnies, and song birds.  My mind drifted and I had some time to process the news from last week.  My life is complete.  I can do everything except run, and while there may always be a hole begging to be filled, I am not in any hurry to undergo another surgery.   This decision needs more time.  I'm not giving up on running, just taking a planned break; and this time it will be my choice.

FYI clipless shoes aren't ideal for hiking.

Meet BlueBelle.  Today, I christened my road bike as a cyclocross bike.  She took it like a champ!

For one full year I have done physical therapy every single week. I've been in constant rehabilitation mode and not had the opportunity to enjoy activities.  Throughout the healing process I kept telling myself, "When I get back out there, I won't take it for granted."  By constantly wanting to run, I'm taking what I can do for granted.  I've worked hard to get to this point.  Last year I couldn't ride a bike or sit in a car for any period of time as the pain was unbearable.  I have my life back and I want to enjoy this summer filled with cycling, mountain biking, hiking, camping, Pilates, and swimming.  Surgeries come with risk and rehabilitation, no matter what a surgeon says.  They don't have to live with the consequences of their words.  I do.  For now, I am going to make my own adventures and ride on, rain or shine.


~Roadburner 

My Surgery Officially Didn't Work

One year ago I ran the Colfax Marathon for the second time.  Fourteen miles into the race I felt a strong pull on the inside of my leg.  It started in my groin and shot to my knee.  Each additional mile it pierced through my muscles growing worse, until finally around mile 21 everything went numb.  Crossing the finish line, the pain revived and walking became increasingly difficult.  I thought it was simply due to the race and things would recover after some much deserved rest.

I didn't run for three weeks.  When I returned to running, the pain returned.  Eight weeks went by and I couldn't run for more than a quarter mile without pain shooting down my groin.  So I sought the help of a physical therapist who did everything in his power to strengthen the muscles around my hip and groin.  Nothing worked.  Physical therapy seemed to make things so much worse, increasing the pain and inflammation to the point that I took on a strong limp just walking around the grocery store.  By August I'd seen two separate physical therapists and underwent a series of tests.  Everything led me to August 28, 2014 where I surrendered all doubt and let a surgeon reshape my entire hip socket and give me a new labrum to cushion the bones.  For a full month I was bed ridden.  I read my boys stories and helped them with their homework from my bed, while a machine moved my leg and a brace supported the structure.  Neighbors and friends brought us food and cared for our kids.  I was humbled and grateful.

Six months later I was supposed to be fully healed and able to attempt running again through a couch to 5K program, but the exact same groin pain returned every time I attempted running.  In every way I was stronger than ever.  All of this weight lifting and strength work defined new muscle in my legs, swimming kept my lungs fit.  But my groin still shot arrows of pain.  I went to a new physical therapist hoping a new set of eyes and hands were what I needed.  It helped a lot for two months and brought a lot of the inflammation in my hip down, but I still can't run.

It's time to face the facts.  The surgery didn't work.

If it worked, I wouldn't have the EXACT same pain every single time I returned to my sport.  So I started researching again and found other runners like me who'd gone through very similar events who had a sports hernia.  Essentially it is a tear in your abductor muscle that won't heal and every time you return to the sport that originally injured you, it will come back.  It will come back 90 years after the injury.  It never goes away.  Ever.  The only option is a quick 5 minute surgery where they cut the abductor away from your body.  Within 10 days you are back to a normal life.

I saw a sports hernia specialist yesterday.  "Your hip surgery was a waste.  You never needed it.  I'll put money on that.  What you have is a groin injury.  Not a hip injury.  I see this all the time in runners and it is really sad because you give up so much for nothing."  The doctor looked me straight in the eyes as he said this.  It's been a long year.  I've been patient and open-minded.  I've tried new things and put myself in new situations hoping it would make me stronger and better.  I've put faith in people that perhaps didn't deserve it.  And here I sat looking at a man with pitiful eyes apologizing for another man's mistakes.

I'm angry and so tired of this nonsense.  One full year of physical therapy, 8 months of rehabilitation and pain, and a false hope this would ever work.  But it wouldn't work.  My hip wasn't the problem.  So now here I sit with a new set of questions.  The doctor asked me if running is worth it.  "Have you considered never running again?  If you just don't run you won't need this.  If you want to run, I can fix you, but I fully understand after everything you've been through why you may want to wait."

Yes, I've considered never running again.  I've considered it every day for a year.  But I miss running.  I miss it so much it is stupid.  Running is after all, just a sport.  There are lots of replacements out there to get your buzz, why does it have to be the one thing that seems to reject me?  I love biking and I have 2 beautiful bikes.  One is a road bike that took me 21 peaceful miles yesterday along a beautifully paved river trail.  The other is a mountain bike that handles bumps and curves like a jaguar eager to pounce.  And while I love biking, it isn't the same as running.  Running is pure and transparent.  It isn't about technology and gears, it isn't about how big your tires are or how much your components weigh.  It's about you and a simple pair of shoes.  What is more pure than that?  When I run it is only my two feet carrying me places and nothing more.  It is independent and uncomplicated.  This time away for the last year has brought me to fully accept and appreciate that purity more than anything else.  I've worked long and hard at trying to find a replacement, but nothing exists.  Nothing is as simple as it is to run.

I ran 1.37 miles today.  I wanted my groin to hurt; perhaps as some sick sadistic punishment forcing the pain out of me, or maybe just to make sure I still enjoy it.  I ran fast and hard, making a point of passing another runner 100 yards ahead.  Screw taking it slowly and easing into things.  I don't know if I want to take my chances with another surgery.  The doctor told me I have a 90% chance of a full recovery.  If the surgery works, and he thinks it will, I will be able to run again with no limitations.  Have I come this far to quit trying?  Or am I so desperate for an answer that I've become childishly gullible and will accept any cure?  Either way, I miss my sport.


~Roadburner

Runner's Purgatory

Having an exercise addiction sucks.  The suck ratio multiplies exponentially when injured.  Most normal people would embrace the time off the hamster wheel and proudly show off the pounds gained while they continue to squeeze into their now useless Lulumon pants.  (I've gained 6 pounds by the way.)  But everywhere I look, I am assaulted with beautiful images of happy people frolicking through the gorgeous countryside.  Why is Fall so much more beautiful this year than ever before?  Because I can't run.  That's why.  It taunts me as I gaze longingly from the window of my recreation center as I hammer aimlessly at the cumbersome pedals of my elliptical. 

Ellipticals are purgatory.  They are the closest thing to mimicking what running actually looks and feels like without applying the real pressure to your joints.  I lunge my foot downwards and around in aimless circles pretending I am somewhere else.  Anywhere else but here, listening to the Treadmill Kicker snorting away, throwing his sweat all over my elbow.  Somehow he manages to kick the front cover of the belt drive every time he takes a step.  How does he not notice that?  It jolts him awkwardly and punches everyone's ears from across the room.  I've starred at him at least 10 times and I've been here exactly 3 minutes, 8 calories. 

I can't ignore the impulse.  I need to compete, to feel the blood pulsing through my brain, sweat seeping from my dry pores.  I pick an easy target.  Sorry lady, you might be 85, but that level 2 resistance won't hold up today.  You are going to loose.  Elliptical victory is mine.

Somehow the flat screen positioned in front of my machine is stuck on cartoons.  I try not to watch.  How ridiculous, a 30-year-old injured woman finding delight in the Sprout Network, but I can't look away.  Chica's singing and dancing are so flamboyant, my iPod Shuffle easily fills in the gaps.  My elderly competitor enjoys the ease of a woman's cooking magazine.  Highlighter in hand, she is armed to multitask, preparing for a Fit-Family Thanksgiving.  How does she do that?  I can't read when I bounce.  Am I bouncing too much?  Maybe that is my problem.  No, that's not my problem.  That is Treadmill Kicker's problem.  He ricochets, clashing violently with the machine.  At some point he will over-kick and things will deteriorate.  Chica pulls me back.  Oh, isn't that cute?  She is wearing a squirrel costume!  A chicken pretending to be a squirrel, nope this will never get old.

Click here if you want to dress Chica...

To my right are huge plate glass windows, 50 feet high and over 40 feet wide.  Straight ahead are men pumping iron admiring their pulsing flesh.  I can see myself in the mirror from afar but I look away.  I never see myself when I run outside, unless I steal a glance in the windows of a parked car or store front.  That's okay though, everyone does that.  I am only checking my form...  I try to pretend to be somewhere else, somewhere far away from the new guy that took residence on the rowing machine and thinks perpetual grunting creates power.  I direct my attention back towards the windows.  The wind rustles the remaining leaves on the trees and I wish I had wind in my hair instead of a fan that is never on. 

Thirty minutes later my competitor put up a good fight.  She circled 8 recipes, burned 127 calories and lasted 20 minutes.  I on the other hand, put in the extra ten minutes, burned 311 calories, and watched Chica transform from a squirrel to a mountain lion. 


~Roadburner

This is not enough. This will never be enough.

Crutching around town with a cumbersome brace attached to my right hip causes a lot of attention.  I've never had so many random strangers approach me before.  Multiple times a day people ask, "What did you do to yourself?"  Everyone has an opinion and most people are kind, offering me prayers for a swift recovery, or words of encouragement. 

Sleeping in this thing is rough.

At the gym this Saturday an older gentleman pulled me aside.  "Can I ask how this happened?"  I joked it was a hang gliding accident, but finally came out with the truth.

"Genetics mixed with overuse left my labrum crab meat."  He wanted more information on my hip joints and I told him the bones were shaped funny in the socket, combined with a nasty bone spur, and my tendons were rendered worthless. 

"You are a runner?"

"Yeah.  How can you tell?" 

"I don't know, you look like a runner.  I watched you ride the bike.  I could tell it really hurt but you pushed through that pain.  What really amazed me was when you were done, I could see it all over your face how disappointed you were when that ride was over.  You longed for more even though it hurt like hell.  You are one strong woman.  I don't know you, but I do know that you are going to be stronger than ever when this is done.  You'll get back out there and you will enjoy it so much more this time around."

He shook my hand and walked away as my husband helped me to the exercise mats where I finished up my physical therapy exercises. 

A few days earlier, a guy following me into a restaurant called from 20 feet back, "Labral tear?" 

"Yeah, are you a doctor?  How'd ya know?"

"Been there.  I did the surgery on both of my hips when it was still experimental about 20 years ago."  He laughed.

"Did it work?  Are you good now?  Any arthritis?" I didn't want to pry but it isn't often you meet people who have gone through the exact same thing and are decades down the road.

"Sweetheart, I'm old.  Age will always catch up with you, so in that, yes.  I have osteoarthritis in my hips and knees.  But I believe the surgery worked.  It bought me time that I otherwise didn't have."

"So you went back to exercising afterwards?"

"Yeah, and most people told me I was stupid.  Why continue doing the things that put you in that brace in the first place, right?  But they were stupid.  The surgery fixed my imperfections and I rode a bike pain free for a long time.  I could have hunkered down and given up like so many people told me to do.  But I'll tell you one thing, that's a waste of your life.  Take your time healing from this.  Get strong and be really patient.  When your body is ready, get back out there and run like mad."

I've been pondering this dilemma for a long time.  I won't lie, I am afraid to run again.  Is it the running that did this to me or genetic bony bumps?  If I run another marathon, will I re-tear my right labrum, or worse yet, tear the left one?  I do not want to go through this again.  My surgeon said I have a congenital defect in both hips.  Therefore, my chances of tearing my left labrum are 50%.  He fixed the bone abnormalities in my right hip and promised falling down the stairs was the only way it would tear again.  My left hip is a different story.  Those defects will be there until they are surgically fixed.  Could it tear from running?  "Yes."  Could it tear from tripping on a curb?  "Yes."  Could overuse be considered walking my boys to and from school everyday for a half mile?  "Yes."  Can strength training build up the muscles around the joint enough so that it stays healthy?  "Absolutely."

Riding the stationary bike for 20 minutes this weekend, all I could think was, "This is not enough.  This will never be enough."  I need to get back out there.  We are all running on borrowed time.  At some point or another age will catch us.  You can't defy the clock.  The day will come where I can't do what I once could and I don't want to stand on that mountain regretting missed opportunities wrought with fear.  Not exercising, not running, has a whole host of much more dangerous repercussions. 
 

For one, since I haven't been able to exercise like usual, I feel depressed. Those endorphins and mind clearing hours are good for my mental state.  Second, dying of heart disease, a stroke, obesity, alcoholism, etc... caused from lack of exercise would be a grim way to age.  I refuse to make decisions based on a what if.  There is a strong chance that my left hip will degenerate whether I run another marathon or not.  When I was told I couldn't run for at least 6 months I cried.  My doctor said he didn't know the chances of me running again period until he went in there.  The idea of never being able to run endurance events again was a blow to my stomach that I wasn't ready to accept.  Post operation I've been informed that my hip is healthy and will handle the impact.  I have unfinished business. 


~Roadburner

Aging Gracefully From the Back of the Pack

My husband and I met really young.  We are high school sweethearts and he has been my best friend for over 15 years.  During that time we always promised each other that we would age gracefully.  What the heck that even meant, I have no idea.  I think we were aiming at the beautiful ideal where you don't fight the aging process, you accept it as it comes and whamo, you are old people smiling at each other from your front porch rocking chairs. 

We were young and so naive.  I think part of aging is learning to fight it.  The older I get, the more I find myself trying to prove that I am better than my age.  I must remain invincible, untouched by wicked wrinkly fingers and gray hair.  I found my first gray hair a few years ago, plucked the imposter immediately, and soon after found a few more.  I have yet to break down and color the bastards, but one day I will.  Until then I age gracefully, while my hair thins with a sturdy pull at each white strand.

On my 30th birthday my friends told me these would be my golden years.  My thirties were supposed to stand for knowing who I was, not having small babies in the house, having a strong career path, and money finally in the pocket.  Finally, I was old enough to enjoy the spoils of life, but not too old to feel burdened by pain and popping joints.  That's why I feel betrayed by my defective hip. 

For months now, I've embarked on a journey deep within my head.  I'm soul searching in a last attempt of a quarter life crisis.  If my body shows signs of aging, wearing away at the joints at just 30, what should I do with my remaining time?  At first I thought I should hide in a corner and protect the precious moments I have left with my working limbs, but that's a waste.  Why would I fix my broken pieces if I plan on letting them collect cobwebs? 

My husband and I discussed moving somewhere new.  Maybe a small town would do it for us.  No more over-crowded suburbs.  Our boys could grow up under the stars, climbing trees, riding bikes in the forest, and learning to kayak down mountain rivers.  That sounds like a peaceful existence.  Every morning, I could wake up to the rushing stream, hop in my canoe and enjoy the silence.  Maybe I could run a couple days a week, but I wouldn't need it anymore.  I could avoid further injuries by falling in love with my hollowed out tree trunk and a paddle.  Better yet, I could finally become a cross country skier, and plow new paths on rolling hills. 

Sadly, we need money and that lifestyle is not conducive to a paycheck.  My husband has a very specialized skill set and I like food on the table and a roof over our heads. 

Honestly, I don't know where this leaves me.  I'm not invincible.  It sucks, but someday I am going to get old.  My right hip is "50% healthy," which isn't a great score when I plan to live another 60+ years.  My left hip has the same condition as the right, but hasn't reared its ugly head yet.  I've watched my mom struggle with arthritis for a good portion of her adult life and I always thought, "Man that is horrible.  Good thing I won't have to deal with that."  I assumed I got other genes or something.  She was unlucky, while I knew I would remain untouched.

Instead of adjusting my life's trajectory, I am making small changes which I think are making me a better person.  I completely jumped outside of my comfort zone and learned to swim.  At first I was terrified of being judged by the lifeguards and natural swimmers, but throw on a swim cap and goggles and no one knows who I am.  The safety of anonymity is exciting.  I enjoy the water and monotony of laps.  It is the same action over and over, lending itself to a beautiful repetition that creates a meditative state. 

Now I live at the back of the pack.  Walking with a group, I am always last as I can't keep up, but I have more time to observe my surroundings and for the first time in my life, I enjoy simply walking from one point to another.  It is nice to not train for a race, the pressure of certain paces and distances are obliterated.  My old calendar was organized from month-to-month from one race to the next.  Now, I am looking forward to trick-or-treating with my boys this Halloween.  Small goals don't have metals and praise, but I am learning to appreciate their merits. 

Unexpectedly, I've improved through this process.  I know I have a lot of great healthy years ahead of me and it is now that I must take the time to decide how to spend those precious moments.  I took my body for granted, expecting it to age without much wear and tear.  I thought I could pound out thousands of miles without consequence, but luckily I now see it is about balance and enjoying the effort.  With a healthy and strong body I can challenge myself in ways I've never dreamed.  I thought I was a runner.  That was it, I ran.  But I am not just a runner.  I am a mother, a wife, a friend, a marathoner, a swimmer, a biker, a hiker, an adventure seeker. 


~Roadburner

I am scared. But I am stubborn and lucky to be so loved.

My entire life has been turned on its head.  Typically I run every morning for at least an hour before my children awaken, but I haven't run in months.  The range of motion in my hip degrades weekly and while I have put off this surgery to the very last moment, the time has come.  It isn't like I haven't tried to talk myself out of it.  I got 3 surgical opinions.  I trained with two physical therapists.  I neglected all exercise except walking for 3 weeks, hoping my hip would miraculously regenerate a new labrum and cartilage.  Instead, the injury has gotten much worse.  At first it only hurt when I ran, now it hurts if I sit for more than 10 minutes, or stand still for more than 5.  Walking hurts, biking hurts.   This is necessary and I know that.  I can't live with this pain and I am one lucky girl that I have the opportunity to fix it.  My surgeon said I have a 50% hip.  He promises he can give me a 95% hip.

I met with my surgeon one last time for the preoperative discussions.  I quickly discerned the meaning of preoperative, "Fill out a crap load of paper work, sign your financial and physical life away, and sugar coat the operation one last time so I don't run at the alter." 

"Can you give me something for the morning of?  Just to take the edge off?"

"No.  We need you fully aware and able to sign your leg beforehand.  Once you do that, we will give you a nice dose of Valium."

"Wait, what?  Sign my what?"

"Yeah we will mark the incision sites and you need to sign your hip next to my marks to show it is the proper location."
 
Next they fitted me for my $1,900 brace (WHAT?), handed me 7 pain and anti-inflammatory prescriptions, and a pair of crutches.  We went over the expectations for the various cold water circulating machines, passive movement machines, and calf squeezing equipment that will be strapped to me 24-7 for two weeks.  The reality struck.  "When will I be normal again?  You know, walking without a limp and pain free?"

"I can guarantee you will be walking without a limp around 7 weeks from now.  You will be pain free in 3-4 months.  Jen, this is a long recovery, be patient."

As the doctor readied himself to leave, I laughed, "You know I am letting you cut me open, shave down my bones, put screws, pins, and someone else's cartilage in me, all so that I can eventually run again.  Is that just stupid?  Should I have my head checked?"

The doctor smiled, "Yeah, we can check that too if you'd like."


My husband and I went to dinner afterwards.  We needed time to clear our heads.  As we sat at the table in near silence I told Randall my biggest fear is letting go of control.  When they put you under, you put all of your trust into a total stranger.  My doctor is one of the best in the country, but he is still a stranger.  He doesn't know me.  He doesn't know my boys.  Afterwards I will be relying on so many people to get dinner on the table, and my kids to and from school because I can't drive or walk for a month.  I take pride in caring for my kids and always being available.  This won't be easy stepping back.

Ethan, my oldest son, wrote a story in school yesterday that his teacher wanted me to see.  They read a book about worries and how to make them go away, their task was to respond to the story with their own experiences.  He wrote about me.  He said, "My mom has a full plate.  I can tell she is scared and worried, but she won't tell me she is because she is strong like that.  But I am worried for her.  I don't want her to hurt or not be her anymore.  Running makes my mom happy.  I want her to be happy and run again, but I am worried."

This broke my heart.  And all I can say to my son is that he is right.  I am so strong and so damn stubborn that I will be fine.  I have amazing friends and family surrounding me.  I took them for granted as I had no idea how lucky I was to be loved so much.  I never knew how my loved ones would step up and offer their support and service.  We will be okay because of them. 


~Roadburner

Some goodbyes are just not that easy

I eat healthy.  I take care of my body.  I avoid medications when possible.  I don't drink too much, I have never done drugs or smoked.  I run and exercise religiously.  I plan to not only see my great-grand kids run around my back yard, but I plan to run around with them.  I am made of tenacity, grit, and perseverance.  But my body is wearing down at age 30.  Or as my surgeon eloquently stated today, my "body is a tire and all of the tread has prematurely worn away."

Last Wednesday I had an Arthrogram MRI.  I walked into the imaging office thinking it would be like any other MRI.  They give you an IV which makes you feel warm inside, like you peed your pants, and send you through this tube for a few minutes which buzzes, clicks, and sends you on your way.  Easy.  When the technician sat down very solemnly next to me I was at a loss of words.  "Do you know what you are having done today?"

"Well, I did.  Until you got that look on your face..."

"Yeah, this isn't a normal MRI.  We can't just inject you with dye.  We have to inject the dye into the joint space of the affected area.  In order to do that we will have to inject you with a series of pain relievers and saline solution to separate the hip joint before applying the dye.  Once you're bone and joint are appropriately numbed, we can inject the imaging solution which we will use to enhance the MRI pictures."

"Okay, so you use a lot of needles in my groin area and it won't be pleasant."

"Yeah."

I revisited my surgeon today to go over the results of the pictures.  Here are his findings, "...a slightly elevated alpha angle of 57 is calculated and may be accompanied by a mild caliber broad-based 'bump'.  The majority of the anterosuperior quadrant segment of the acetabular labrum displays pathology, particularly along its inferior 2/3, suggesting prominent chondrolabral separation which may include a component of dissolution of the labral substance as the gap between these surfaces measures 3.5mm and exhibits degenerative signal and mild morphologic distortion..."

Let me translate: "Her hip hurts because the ball part of the hip socket (the femur) should be shaped like a sphere.  Hers is shaped like an egg.  We need to shave the bone down to make it the right shape.  Next, the nice slippery pillow of cartilage called the labrum that cushions the ball and socket joint are disintegrated.  Gone.  That is leaving a gap between the ball and socket that is about as wide as my cell phone.  This bone on bone rubbing is leaving a lot of gross debris.  She has significant osteoarthritis in the joint which will only get worse."

Here's the surgery in a non-graphic nutshell.  They will put my leg in a traction device that will separate my joints manually so that they can get their tools in there.  (AKA a torture devise used during the Spanish Inquisition.) Then the doctor inserts a camera through an incision so he can see my insides.  From there, they will cut more holes and take a piece of my IT band from my thigh and insert that as my new padding between my joints.  They will screw that into place in multiple areas and clean up their mess to make it look all nice and tidy.  The procedure takes about one hour to perform and 6 months to heal.

I won't be able to bear any weight on my right leg or drive for at least a month.  Four to six weeks after the procedure, I will have to learn how to walk again.  Stairs present an entirely different obstacle. 

I asked the doctor if this will allow me to resume running at my previous training routine and he said that was very doubtful.  Chances are my other hip socket is a ticking time bomb and the more impact I apply to the joint, the faster it will fail.  He said in 6 days of training, I could run maybe 1-2 days a week after a full recovery.  The other days will be spent weight lifting, swimming, biking, and using clumsy machines like the elliptical.

What if I say, "Screw it?  I don't want them to cut away my IT band and re-purpose it."  Simply walking in the near future will become very difficult.  I already have pain just driving my car and walking .25-.5 miles.  My hip clicks, catches, locks, aches, and stabs constantly.  At 30 years old, do I retire from an active life and give into the osteoarthritis that has already taken residence throughout my right hip?

I originally thought the surgery would be my opportunity to run another marathon.  Sadly, that ship has sailed.  The damage is much worse than I anticipated and the recovery much harder.   I'm crushed.  I have unfinished business.  Before the Colfax Marathon #2, before my hip joint gave up, I was in the best shape of my life.  I was so strong and getting faster every day.  I was ready to try to qualify for Boston.  At this point I will be lucky if I can run a quality 10k again.  I've spent the last 10 weeks really analyzing my priorities.  I didn't know how much running contributed to my happiness and sanity until it was taken away.

When I fall asleep for my surgery I want a positive image in my head, a tangible goal.  My doctors have all warned me the recovery will be difficult.  I need something to hold onto to get me through this.  I thought that image would be qualifying for the Boston Marathon.  Now, I don't know what it is.  Maybe I can train for a triathlon next summer.  Hopefully I can go sledding with my boys this winter.  The down time, rest, and rebuilding of my muscles will offer me a lot of time to priortize.

I think the worst part, the scariest thing that I struggle with the most is how much this will affect my kids.  Running isn't most important.  Walking my boys to school everyday is.  



~Roadburner