Tuesday, April 17, 2018

Acceptance: Finding Aloha in Grief

Me:  There's a 90 year old guy checking me out.  I'm pretty sure he's jealous of my donut pillow. 

The BFF:  He's jealous because you look so young for 80. 

I was fully in denial.  I arrived at camp with my bike on the back of my car because I'm wasn't willing to let go just yet.  It sat in the casita while my teammates rode all of my favorite routes, laughing, and bonding over the suffering.

There's also been anger, bargaining, and a more than a few moments of complete despair, or depression, if you want to use the correct terminology for the stages of grief.  I cried on the phone as the doctor read my MRI results.  (depression)  It doesn't hurt.  Please can I ride my bike?  And I can run, right?  I pleaded with him over text message later that day.  (denial)  OK no running or biking,  but what about hiking?  I can hike right?  (bargaining)

And then, finally, my last text message to him... I need a letter from my physician stating why I can't race Ironman, for the insurance company.  Can you email that to me?  (acceptance) 

Acute, traumatic fracture of the sacrum at S4-S5.  That's my official diagnosis.  The trauma had nothing to do with swim, bike or run... nothing to do with training or over training...  Once it's healed here in another couple of weeks, I can get back to the business at hand.  Not like a stress fracture or a soft tissue injury. 

It was a tough decision to not race Oceanside.  Knowing what I know now, I'm glad I didn't.  The nerves that come off the spinal cord and travel through the S4-S5 region control bladder and bowel function.  I don't think I need to explain the repercussions if I fuck up recovery.  I still rode my bike and ran that weekend.  Monday morning after the race we drove home and that evening I went in for the MRI.  In fact the morning I got my results I rode my bike for 90 minutes with intervals, and ran 5 miles at race pace.  My doctor called me 2 hours after I finished.  I just couldn't believe that it was even possible that there was a fracture.  I only had the MRI because Hillary insisted. 

And I guess I wasn't going to say anything, because there's nothing TO say.  But there are a couple of reasons why I decided to: 

1.  Because everyone is asking.  Living in my own little world, no one notices what I'm doing.  No one cares.  But when you proclaim that you're going to defend your title at a race and then suddenly don't show up on the start line, people start wondering... and asking.  I've basically just ignored every inquiry, mostly because I just don't feel like talking about it.  But sometimes, the stories that people are willing to make up are so much worse than the actual truth.  So I wanted to put the truth out there so no one feels the need to make shit up. 

2.  Because I am 100% fine.  I'm not in pain.  I can still work.  I can still swim (with open turns), and walk, and even do a bit of strength training (with some limitations).  I believe that everything resolves to good.  And no matter how disappointed I am that I don't get to race Texas or Santa Rosa, I know in my heart that something good will come out of this.  Something better.  Why this happened to me, I may never know.  But it's not my right to know.  For whatever reason, the universe decided that I needed healing and presented that opportunity to me.  I am taking my recovery seriously-- like it's my full time job.   

3.  Because I want my athletes to see this and know that life happens, moment by moment, and we improvise, adapt and overcome.  Sometimes it's injury.  Sometimes work gets in the way of training.  Sometimes it's a family member and you drop everything to be with them in their time if need.  Triathlon is a hobby, and a passion, and a lifeline for a lot of us.  It helps us make friends as adults, and relieve stress from real life, and burn a few extra calories from the beer we like to enjoy at dinner.  But if you can't be flexible, and change the plans when you need to, you will drive the enjoyment right out of the sport and it'll die a slow and painful death.  And I intend to be in this sport for the rest of my life, so 6-8 weeks to heal is a mere pine needle on the trail I'm walking. 

I called Hillary with my MRI results an hour before I was supposed to drive to Tucson for a long weekend training camp.  Come to camp, she said.  It will be good for you to be around your teammates.  And she was right.  It was good to be around people that were in good spirits and hang out and talk to friends I don't see often.  I met one of my athletes from the East coast who has given me so much joy in my coaching job over the last 6 months.  And she made me laugh every single day.  I got to watch her grow in courage and confidence over the 5 days.  And I got to witness another athlete, who had previously struggled with self esteem, tackle workouts with grace and confidence and strength.  So even if I wasn't riding or running next to them, I was still in the presence of greatness.

I walked a lot.  I joined in on swim workouts.  And I sat back as an observer and watched my teammates work hard.  Giving more when they thought the tank was empty.  And my passion grew.  My desire grew.  My willingness to work hard for my dreams grew.  With every step they took. 

I am pulling out of Texas and Santa Rosa.  God-willing, I will be on the start line in Boulder, not racing, but using it as a long training day.  And I am planning a late summer Ironman as the new start to my racing season. 

I am grateful that my best friend is on speed dial and she doesn't let me wallow in my shit.  She makes me laugh and reminds me that I'm 40 going on 80, and that things could be so. much. worse.  And she's already agreed to join me on my next adventure...

I got to walk along a 9 mile section of the Arizona Trail last weekend while everyone was running.  It was so amazingly beautiful.  I stopped to take pictures of all the flowers blooming and the changing landscapes as I traveled along on foot.  Things I never would have noticed had I been running.  And it inspired a new dream, a new desire, a new goal. 

I want to thru-hike the AZT. 

 

 




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