Friday Things // 10.28.2022

The one about rolling with the punches, and a running injury.

Oct 29, 2022

Oh hello! Coming at you a little bit later this Friday.

In continuing the trend of newsletter topics I wasn’t anticipating… I started a completely different letter to you all last night, and intended to finish it this morning after my run and send it out. That was the plan. Reality, however, ended up shaking out a bit differently.

This morning, I did, in fact, go out for my run. That part was check, done; I got up early, put on a bright pink long-sleeve running shirt I’ve had for ages, laced up my shoes, and headed out the door listening to a Peloton Halloween-themed run. I’ve been having some tightness in one of my calves for the last week or so but figured it would be fine (I even foam-rolled before going out — gold star!). After the first mile, my calf started to get really stiff, and then, out of nowhere, around mile 1.25, I heard (and felt) a snap. I still don’t quite know what happened, other than my calf felt like it had a nonstop charley horse, and I couldn’t move without limping. And really, hearing anything snap when you’re running doesn’t feel like a good sign, you know? I unexpectedly found myself standing in front of my neighborhood Chick-Fil-A at 8-something in the morning, debating whether or not I could run through the pain back to my house, or if I should call it quits and figure out another way to get home.

For most people, maybe the decision would’ve been obvious and instantaneous. If you’re in pain, in whatever you’re doing, you should stop. That’s probably the sane, responsible advice that any doctor or parent or rational adult would give. Runners, however, often have, uh, creative decision-making when it comes to negotiating whether or not they can stick to their workout plan, and I’m no exception. As someone with an abnormally high pain tolerance and who has had a kaleidoscope of running injuries throughout my adult life, I stood on the curb, watching a truly unexpected number of cars sail through the Chick-Fil-A drive-thru line (they serve breakfast I guess??) and mentally flipped through my options. I knew without a doubt that younger Joelle would have absolutely kept going. (And by younger, I mean even one year younger.) Like it would have taken my calf falling off of my leg or some blood (maybe) for me to consider not just finishing my run as planned, no matter how long it took or how excruciating it was.

Today’s version of me took some time to consider whether running through the pain was worth it this time. Reminded myself that injuries are not trophies, that gritting your teeth through physical pain doesn’t necessarily *mean* anything about your character, and that there was a real possibility of making whatever the heck that snap had been worse. After having taken almost a year off of running because of a (now permanent) knee injury, and realizing that even walking was difficult, I decided I didn’t want to risk it.

I briefly debated ordering an Uber, and then called my husband to pick my sweaty self up. Run officially over, not all that long after it had begun.

As I stood there waiting for my husband, stretching and trying to decide if was overreacting, I felt something unexpected bubble up in my chest: pride. I was proud of myself — that I’d made the hard decision, the one I didn’t want to make, the one that felt more responsible. Proud that I hadn’t just automatically done the thing that felt like my default mode, and that I wasn’t standing there beating myself up about that. And also, proud that I hadn’t let this setback melt me down, despite it feeling extremely frustrating to have hit another snag in my running journey. As seemingly small or obvious as the decision to stop my run may have been, it felt like evidence of personal growth. An example of how I’ve changed in the last couple of years, even as I’ve bent and broken, and gone kicking and screaming into new chapters.

If I’ve learned anything over the last 2.5 years, it’s that you can’t control everything. Or maybe anything, really. You can plan your heart out, white-knuckle it through life with your best-laid-plans and routines, and still, the universe will knock you down when you least expect it, regardless of how physically prepared you thought you were. That’s been the lesson through losing my mom, and the hurdles I’ve had as a runner these last couple years. The only thing that you can prep is your mindset, and your mental strength — how you react when life goes off script.

But, there’s another lesson, and maybe it’s the even louder one. It’s that things always get better. They do. Sure the sun isn’t permanently shining, but the darkness never lasts either. No matter how awful, how soul-shattering — things will end up better than you expected. Maybe not right away and differently than you planned, yes, and maybe not your ideal, but if you’re in the mud, you won’t stay there. You don’t have to let yourself stay there. You just need patience, and maybe allow yourself to believe good things can happen as often as the bad.

I was watching “Abbott Elementary” last night, and there was a scene where the kids — bouncing off the walls on an extreme sugar high — gang up against one of the teachers for a one-sided dodgeball game, and sometimes that’s what real life feels like. You just keep getting pelted, and it can seem like a losing battle against someone with an unfair advantage. I’m not here to say that’s not true, or that it isn’t a fair assessment, but I think it’s up to you how you let life’s setbacks ultimately shape you. You can let them break you, or you can let them fuel and inform your next path. You can choose growth.

So Many Somethings

Discussion about this post