Stress Fracture

Back in September '10, I was almost ready for my first half marathon.  I had worked so hard, going from someone who could barely finish 3 miles to someone very close to running 13.  My foot started hurting...  Shooting pains in the foot near my ankle.  I had it x-rayed, and the inept doctor told me nothing was wrong...  That maybe I needed a wedge in my shoe.  So he put a wedge in my shoe and told me to run.  "Ice it if it swells."  What a doctor that was. 

I did, however, complete that October half marathon and two more, the Dallas White Rock Half in December and the Renaissance Half here in Ridgeland in April.  I have had some minor issues with the foot - hurting and swelling after long runs.  But nothing debilitating. 

And now, as I finished up the first two weeks of marathon training, my foot starts swelling.  Not so much hurting, but major swelling.

I made an appointment with a NEW doctor at the sports medicine clinic and saw her Monday.  She looked at the x-rays from September and the new ones and pointed to the stress fracture in both x-rays.  The new ones with a worse case than the September ones.  I don't understand why the first doctor didn't see this.  So I have an MRI tomorrow to see what I'm looking at as far as running goes.  Could be as little as several weeks of no running to up to 6 months. 

I was devasted by my swollen foot back in September and the possibility of not completing this first half marathon that had become such a reachable goal for me through all the hard work.  This time, I wasn't as devastated.  There will be other races... other marathons.  And I'd really love to get this foot fixed before I start a marathon training program, obviously.  I had only completed 2 of 18 weeks.  It could have been SO much worse.  I could have been a week away from the marathon.  For that I am very thankful.

Even though I know all that, and I can surely see the good things about finding this out now, I still have my moments.  I realized today I couldn't run the Watermelon Classic on the July 4th with my kids (they were excited about it.)  That was a sad moment. 

I went into the bedroom and saw that the power light was on on the treadmill.  I went over and turned it off and wondered when would be the next time I turned it on.  That was sad.

And I was folding clothes tonight and folded up my running clothes from the last time I ran and put them away in my running clothes drawer.  That was the saddest I've been so far.  My mind started wandering... What if the MRI shows something bad and I'm out of the running game for the whole next season of marathons?  What if running a marathon just isn't in the cards for me?  As I shut the drawer, I wondered When will I open this drawer again?

I've never been an athlete.  Never.  I was a cheerleader, but I wasn't even a good cheerleader.  I can't jump.  I'm not flexible.  I'm scared of things flying in the air towards me.  I get motion sick worse than anyone I've known.  I'm not even really a fan of sweat.  It's just so ironic to me that I actually find this sport I love and this happens.  I asked my husband tonight, "Can you believe I actually have a sports injury!?  HA!"  He said, "That is pretty unexpected." 

I know running has become my thing.  It was so hard to do for me.  It does not come naturally.  I have to work so hard, but I can work hard.  And I can do it.  My training was going so easily.  I really thought this marathon was going to happen.  I thought that 13.1 sticker was going to be replaced with a 26.2. 

It will.  I'm doing everything in my power to make it happen.  I have a great doctor now... The foot specialist at the sports medicine clinic.  I have an awesome God who answers prayers and knows my heart and its desires.  So... I guess this is a to-be-continued situation.  And it will be continued....

Second week

It's just the second of 18 weeks in this process, and I'm ALREADY a little demoralized.  I'm not quitting.  Not a chance.  But I'm thinking that maybe I don't have the kind of time I thought I had.  These have been relatively short runs this week.  Nothing more than about an hour of running.  But it's going to get agonizing.  The day before my church's 5K race that I'm directing I will have run 18 miles.  I run 18 miles on Friday and am up super early the next day directing a 5K.  Really? 

I keep thinking I should have done this with my friends last year.  How much easier would it be with a team of people who are training with you?  Encouraging you.  Telling you (or screaming at you, in my case) to "Move your ass and don't stop running!" (Thank you Ali.  I needed that.)  But last year, the mere thought of a half marathon was an impossible one.  And it was for me.  There is no way I was ready or had the natural ability to run a full marathon after only completing a few 5K races.  So my friends trained for the full while I trained for the half.  And we all succeeded.  I was so proud of them.  And I was proud of myself.  It was an unreachable goal for me.  And for them.  And we reached it.

But here I am.  I was kind of counting on either Lenny or one of my friends being there with me to run the last 5 miles or so of each of my long runs.  I thought that I'd be able to make it that way.  But I don't think that's going to happen.  People have their own lives to live.... responsibilties.... schedules.  I can't possibly think that everyone around me should just stop what they are doing and go run an hour with me.  When I realized that, I was sad.  Could I really do it?  Alone? 

And then I thought back to my first half marathon (the one I blogged on here about).  I ran that race alone.  Just me and God.  And it was in the top 5 most amazing things I've ever experienced.  I need to always remember that.  I'm not doing this marathon for anyone else.  And honestly, if I had no encouragement or support at all, it would be hard, but I would still do it.  But I will have support.  It's a personal journey for me.  It's an impossible feat.  It's not about weight loss or fitness level.  In fact, I strangely care nothing about that.  It's about self-discipline and reliance on God.  It's about seeing this unreachable goal and reaching it.  Just me.  Just me and God.  And I have no doubts whatsoever that He will be there for me every single mile.  I look forward to that time together. 

How I Know I'm Getting Old

Age is a strange thing to me.  I know I'm a little bit obsessed with it.  But I think it's because on the inside, I feel absolutely no different than I did when I was 15 or 25.  Sure.  I have learned things and may make different choices now, but really, I kind of doubt it.  The only thing that has really changed for me since I was a teenager is my knowing that I'm not always right.  I'm so much more inclusive of people who are different than me.  I relate to just about everyone on some level.  I know I am no better than any person in the world.  In high school, I'm sure I thought I was the best one.  Regardless, I still feel young inside.  Really young.  And I just recently started thinking When did I get older?  When did that happen?  I promise you I see a 23 year old and think they are my peer.  And they really kind of aren't.  There have been a couple different occasions or events in my life that I will never forget as being a turning point in my age.  Or others' perceptions of my age.  So I've created a list of these different moments or events that I recall as standing out in my mind as reminders that I am in fact growing older.  And they all sucked.

1.  The first one was when I was 24.  I went to a Mary Kay party and they were talking about skin care products.  One girl said to me, "You should try this that I use.  It's great."  The leader of the Mary Kay stuff said, "Well, she probably needs to start using our Timewise series.  That that you use is for teenagers."  Timewise?!  I need to reverse time on my face already??  Yikes. 

2.  The second was when I was 25.  I was cast as Mrs. Cratchit in A Christmas Carol.  I had a daughter who was probably 20 in real life.  Um... I can seriously pass for a woman old enough to have a teenage daughter?!  I was a teenager myself just a few years ago?!  That event doesn't bother me much now bc it WAS theatre.  And age range is vast.  If I can still pass for 20 on stage NOW, yeah, I could pass for 35 when I was 25.  But, regardless, it was an eye-opener for me back then.

3.  The third.... Turning 30.  Enough said about that.

4.  The fourth one happened soon after turning 30.  I realized, according to Urban Dictionary, I was in the age range of someone who could be a COUGAR.  That's right.  I was cougar age.  I wasn't a cougar.  Don't misunderstand.  I wasn't after a college frat boy, but I was the right age for it.  I cried that day.

5.  The fifth was also when I was 30.  I took some mother/baby photos with my newborn son.  When the pictures came back, my skin looked different.  Like saggier or something.  I blamed the photographer.  Seriously.  He totally could have said, "That's just what your skin looks like."  But no.  He was super nice and said he'd see what he could do.  I realized after that that it wasn't the photographer's fault.  That woman in the photo was just me. 

6.  The next one happened about a year or two ago.  I don't know what we were talking about as far as casting goes, but all I can remember is my friend who casts lots of shows at New Stage saying something like, "You're not that young anymore Jess.  You can't play those 20-something roles anymore."  That kind of stunned me a little.  I mean, I was barely 30.  I was closer to being 20-something than being 40.  That comment sent me to Dr. Blackledge for Botox.

7.  The next one happened just this year at my yearly physical.  I had gained a solid 8 lbs.  I had been about the same weight for 12 years... give or take a pound... not counting being pregnant, of course.  I didn't understand.  I had become a full out runner in this last year.  Before, I was pretty much a NON exerciser.  How could I have gained weight?!  Age.  That's how.  Metabolism.  Hormones.  I'm getting older.  I have to work harder.  Ouch.

8.  Then last week at the beach.  A busboy who was in his mid-twenties answered a question I posed to him with "Yes M'am."  Oh. My. Gosh.  Please no.  I was NOT old enough to be this guy's mother.  Why would he say that?!    I told him to never do that again.  To anyone around my age.  But, then, how old did he think I was?  He apologized, and I told him I'd be okay after I went to the bathroom and cried.

8.  And last... Tonight.  I was just thinking about how I wish Lenny would take me dancing somewhere.  Or either one of my gay guy friends (which Lenny probably wouldn't have a problem with).  Then I thought Does Jackson still have dance places?  Then that led me to think about that old place The Dock.  I remember as a college student hating to go to that place.  It was just the worst.  The music was bad.  Those "dock rocker" drinks gave me brain freeze.  And, most importantly, it was full of old people.  And standing in my kitchen today, I realized that those "old people" were probably about my age.  That one was painful.  So painful it made me start blogging about this stuff.

And now I'm approaching my scariest age to date.  Scarier than the big 3-0.  Scarier than the Jesus age.  It's the age that women start having increased birth defects in their children... the year your skin goes to hell... the year the doctors tell you you shouldn't take birth control pills anymore because of the risk of blood clots.  I'll be in the next age bracket in track races. 

But you know?  What's the alternative to growing older?  I love my life.  I'm thankful for my kids.  My husband, health, talents, opportunities, and on and on.  All I can do is try my best to keep a youthful energy and outlook and appearance.  I guess it's important to me, whether it should be or not.  I love my life.  I wouldn't change a thing.  Except maybe those forehead wrinkles of mine. :)