Social media is a highlight reel, including my account, but being honest and candid is really important for me. I don’t think honesty about hard realities dampens the occasions we celebrate. If anything, it enhances them. Embracing reality in all its wholeness– ugliness, difficulty, and all– gives our victories meaning, depth, and even greater satisfaction. In the name of Candidness, and embracing The Whole I want to share a little bit of where I’m at in what athletes like to call “the Process” (as in, “Trust the Process”).
I write this quarantined in my bedroom, positive for covid. On top of that, I, a college track athlete, haven’t run in two weeks. I strained my anterior tibialis and posterior tibialis, and only recently was able to walk without pain.
Even so, somehow, I’m doing okay. I can’t stop being grateful. I’m grateful for the fact that I have an athletic trainer who is helping me heal and return to running even stronger than I was before. I’m grateful I have a team with enough depth that my injury isn’t detrimental to their rankings or morale. I’m grateful that my university has amazing facilities where we can ride stationary bikes overlooking the track and aquajog in a heated, indoor pool even in the middle of winter. I’m grateful for supportive teammates.
And while I have covid, I’m grateful for this: roommates and friends who are willing to grocery shop for me, a window with a view of trees upon trees, a heated house, fast internet, Zoom, and phone calls. Even in isolation, I get to talk on the phone with my aunt, my friends, my mother.
I’ve been thinking a lot about my response to my injury in the past two weeks. At first I was frustrated because we didn’t know what was wrong with me, only that weight-bearing dorsiflexion brought me pain, and I didn’t like that we didn’t know what to do. But once we had an answer, I had peace. Two years ago, my word of the year was “Peace,” and over time I created this whole manifesto about discipline as it relates to peace. Part of that was, “Acceptance is the first prerequisite to action, and action is the prerequisite to peace.” So once we diagnosed my injury (acceptance) and had a rehab plan (action), I felt at peace. I’ve been committed to this rehab plan like an honest man is committed to his wife, and everyday I feel at peace knowing that I’m doing everything I can to make my foot better.
Another part of peace for me is accepting my limitations. I’ve spoken with injured teammates many a time throughout the year, advising them not to worry and not to panic. “Panicking won’t change things. It won’t make you heal any faster.” And, “You can’t make decisions about whether you can compete in February when it’s only November. You don’t have enough data yet.” Getting injured feels like a test of my ability to listen to my own advice. If I may say so myself, I’m passing! I’m doing everything I can to get better: going to rehab, icing, staying off my foot, resting. In the mean time, (before contracting covid), I was keeping in great shape cross training twice a day. I recently asked my coach what I could do to be easy for him to coach, and he said, “Be positive.” My previous coach at my old school had a motto which was, “Be positive, be optimistic, be grateful.” Dear reader, are you seeing a trend? This has been good for me not just as an athlete going through adversity but as a person. I see that everything I can do– rehab, cross training, and staying positive– is enough. The healing process takes time, which I can’t control. And I can accept that.
Of course, I would rather be running. This past Sunday, it was sunny and clear, and every fiber of my being wanted to wear shorts and romp around on the trails. Instead, I sat on a stationary bike for two hours and covered the equivalent of 32 miles without actually going anywhere. But it’s part of the process. And I know I need to not only trust the process, but love it for this to work. — Not loving it in the sense of liking it, necessarily. But loving it in the sense of committing to it, even when it’s hard. The same way I’ve loved this sport for 14 years. Through losses and plateaus and almost-wins; isolation from my team; injuries; waking up at 5 a.m. for practices; ice baths even on cold days; cross training, literal uphill battles, disappointments and heartbreaks and lactic headaches and fatigue. I didn’t always like it. But I stayed committed, and that’s love in an even truer and deeper sense than loving something or someone just because it’s easy.
I didn’t always like it. But I stayed committed, and that’s love in an even truer and deeper sense than loving just because it’s easy.
Which brings me full circle to my original point: the victories are sweeter when you haven’t forgotten the bitter taste of defeat. And the love is deeper when you know the sacrifice that love often requires. Sometimes you’re on the mountaintop, standing on a podium, your name the first line on the all-time list. And sometimes your butt is a little bruised from too many hours on a stationary bike seat. It’s all part of the process. Be positive, optimistic, and grateful. Love it. And trust.
The More the Marianer 