Monday, September 13, 2010

self-pity and loathing, your table is ready

There's a lot of happy crap I'd love to talk about this morning.


I'd love to tell you about my solid Saturday long ride, and how I ate right and rode fairly well, even though my legs were wiped from stuffing a week's worth of riding in 4 days.


I'd love to tell you about taking G to the pool and tossing him in the deep end and how fun it was, or great night we had, cooking out with friends and generally enjoying life, or even how the poet decided that night that instead of pacing Lauren in the second half of her 13.1, to run the entire thing with her and did amazingly well for not training at all or ever running even close to that distance ever in his life.  I'd even love to tell you about walk/running the last 2 miles of that race with them, telling loud stories about boyfriends that dumped me when I got my wisdom teeth out or boyfriends with huge dicks (everyone in a quarter-mile radius enjoyed that one) or boyfriends that did other ridiculous things to distract Lauren from the deadly puke & rally spiral. 


But I can't.


I've spent the past 8 months doing a pretty decent job distracting myself from the fact that I can't run.  Cycling, lifting, swimming, pool running, and just generally ignoring the giant dark place in my heart where running used to be because if I look directly at it, it will suck me under.  But lately, this has gotten more and more difficult.  I have a TON of friends who are rocking the fucking hell out of their fall marathon training, and I am so thrilled for them, but secretly, inside, I am burning with jealousy every time I hear about an amazing track workout or a 18-miler that went just right or any other huge milestone that they managed to climb on top of, plant a flag of awesome in and roar with triumph and beat their chest with joy at tearing up the miles.  And that's NOT WHO I AM.  Yesterday the poet ran a 13.1 on basically no training plan and he did amazing and I was so proud of him but I couldn't stop crying because walk/running the last 2 miles of it brought what I'm missing into very sharp focus.  I came home from brunch and canceled my pool running plans and got in bed with a half gallon of ice cream and a puppy and cried and felt sorry for myself for a few hours.  I. Am. Done. I'm in the darkness and I can't get out.  


And after a few hours I felt well enough to text two awesome girls who came and joined me in the pool after all and let me vent and cry and just generally be incredibly self-absorbed and I felt better.  And then I came home and drank beer and ate more ice cream and talked to another awesome lady who let me go through it all again and talked me back off the fucking ledge and then I felt better some more.  And this morning I called my ortho and left a message on his PA's voicemail saying.  My name is Katie and I am calling to schedule IT band release surgery on my right leg.  Please call me back.  As soon as you can. 


Because I can't take it anymore.  I am not strong enough.

12 comments:

  1. Katie--No question, it just plain old sucks. You are entitled to wallow for a while. The only thing I will say is that it really will pass, and you really will run again. When you do, you will come back stronger than ever. I promise you that--nothing motivates you more than an injury. I had one that sidelined me for 6 months two years ago and I came back and PR'd just about every distance afterwards. Hang tough girlie!

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  2. Hey, you did everything you could on your own, and now you need some help. I'm kind of sorry I missed the pool running, but I'm glad the girls were there to help you out. I really thought I'd never run another marathon again. This time next year, you'll be in my place. I know it seems like a long ways away, but it'll be here before you know it. And we can all plan to run one together next year :)

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  3. A couple of weeks ago, your kindness helped me out of a dark place and while I doubt knowing that takes you out of yours, you can add "doing good for others" to that list of happy crap. I hope that making the surgery decision and going from there brings you some light. It feels like the lowest of lows right now but you have conquered more than this.

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  4. Sorry you are feeling so down. It does suck. Saturday I hiked the Rock Creek trail route I used to run every week, and about halfway I decided it had been a bad idea, because it was especially tough walking those sweet downhill sections.
    It doesn't make you less tough for having a weak moment. It just makes you human.
    For the record - I'm actually glad I got injured, because gaining you as a cycling partner and friend is 100% worth not running for 6 weeks.

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  5. Aw lady... it's not about being "strong enough." I think it's a more difficult decision sometimes to "do the right thing" and take it one step at a time. Try to work back from an injury? Do what your doctors and PT tell you to do? Stretch? Do other types of exercise? You did it ALL RIGHT. Not your fault it didn't work, and in this case, being strong enough means admitting that sometimes you just gotta grab the knife. But um... let your doc do that part.

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  6. I'm sorry I missed the pool running too! I was about to send you a message after hearing about it from Beth this morning, and then read this. I get it. And, it sucks. But as you said the other day, your other one is flawless post-surgery, which means this one will be too and you'll be rocking the running soon. And you'll always have lots of pool running (and road running!) buddies there with you!

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  7. Honey - wallowing in self pity is a god-given right. So is eating ice cream, puppy cuddles & crying with friends. The important part of the story is that you wallowed a bit but are moving forward!

    If it's any consolation to you, my fall marathon training runs have been anything but perfect. Unless you define perfect as puking while completely the last 6 miles :)

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  8. I am so sorry you are walking through this hardship with your ITB. Being injured sucks big time. It's not fair, it hurts and you feel like your body let you down. No fun.
    But you are brave to know when to say when and take the next step. Surgery is a big one, but if that is what will make you whole again, you are smart to do so.
    Plus, think of all the attention, get well cards, flower and balloons you'll get while recovering! :o)
    Hang in there girlie. You ARE strong. This I know for sure about you. No ITB is going to keep you down for long. You can overcome this!

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  9. I completely understand how you are feeling - this post reminds me of my posts during my fracture. Its very normal to wallow in self-pity when something you love is taken away and you have no control over it. Hang in there girl. And with surgery on the horizon that means that you will eventually be back to your old self!

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  10. You say this is NOT who you are—but it's who everyone is. We all have fits of self-pity, self-loathing, self-flagellating (usually in that order, for me). What sets you apart is your will to act to pull yourself out of that. I'd offer my sympathy for your pain, but I'd rather offer my congratulations for your guts.

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  11. So does that mean that I can now call you and you can come talk me off the ledge because I'm right there, giving up and over it all too. This post seriously hurts my heart because I know exactly how you feel only you've been dealing with this far longer than I have. 8 months? Sorry girl. If you ever want to commiserate over cocktails over the phone I am so game! Just shoot me an email with your number and we'll schedule a long distance cry fest!

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  12. We've talked, we've cried and now you're moving on and fixing it. I'm proud of you ;)
    Tell the Poet I think he's da bomb for finishing yesterday - hardcore!
    Have a great evening - as you can see, my power can on right before my run!

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