I have never been a runner. I'm kind of a big girl (if I may quote Eric Cartman - "I'm not fat, I'm just big boned.") so I'm completely surprised that I have become fascinated by running. Especially since three weeks ago I wasn't even walking.
I wish I had some sweet story about how I was snowboarding and caught an edge and laid some knarly yard sale all over the side of mountain and crunched my right fibula. Alas, no. I took a digger in a parking lot. While shuffling over ice that I KNEW was there, yet I was powerless to stop it.
Hearing my fibula crunch, however, was true.
But check this out: I fell in front of an ambulance. I don't just slip and fall, oh no...if I'm gonna slip and fall I'm sure as hell gonna break something and make sure I have a nice cushy ride to the hospital. One of the EMTs asked if I wanted to try to walk it off on the scene - it took me all of half a second to remember the sound of bone snapping and I respectfully declined the offer.
A week later I was the proud owner of four medical grade deck screws. The anesthesia was blissful and I was sad to see it go later that day as it was replaced by the sensation of a hot metal poker skewering my ankle like a shrimp on the barbie.
And there I was, broken, surgically screwed back together, and dependent on my gimpy sticks (crutches). I had never broken anything before...never even had a cavity. And I don't have internet or TV at home. Yeah. I know.
For a while I had Stephen King's newest 1000+ page novel to entertain me, but I plowed through that in three days (damn you sir, for writing shit that is so good I can't put it down). Then a friend of mine lent me Christopher McDougall's book Born To Run.
Initially I thought, "What the hell?! I can't even walk, and she loaned me a book about running? Why don't we go taunt zoo animals while we're at it?"
Then I read the book. And yeah, I let a few tears fall at the end. Because it wasn't just a story about running, but a story about getting back to what it means to be human. Hey, I'm human! Maybe I CAN run! And maybe I haven't had running success in the past because I haven't been running the right way!
The clouds parted and the heavens shined down upon my broken ankle and said, "Rise up...and walk again...whoa, I didn't mean NOW. Wait another 6 weeks."
I have friends who marathon. The full ones too, not just the half-sies. I wished I could run and even ENJOY it too, but I grouped running into that category of things I just wasn't meant to do, like be a jockey or Man of the Year.
But the funny thing about not being able to run made me want to run more. And not just running, but minimalist running - barefoot, or anything pretty damn close.
Today I saw my surgeon - an orthopaedic trauma surgeon who has been a bone mechanic over 30 years ("Ice? Eh, I don't think it helps. Where's the study?"). I told him about my half marathon aspiration in January 2011 ("You sure you don't want to take up cycling or something?") and I told him I wouldn't be running with a heel strike, but utilizing the forefoot to absorb shock, etc. He reminded me that I should be as good as I'm gonna get in 3 months, but I might expect some funky behavior from the ankle in the future. But if that's how I wanna roll, then go for it. (I'm paraphrasing, of course).
So there it is. I've got the go-ahead, now I've just gotta go ahead and register. And I've started this blog to chart my adventures, good and bad, on my sneaker-less journey to the Disney Half Marathon in 2011, three days after my 32nd birthday. And also because I need you, Dear Reader, to hold me accountable if I start to park my ass on the couch again.
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