Tao of a Tree Root

This past Sunday I went out for my first 10-mile run in about 9 months. In the days leading up to it, I found myself feeling pretty damn nervous. Now, if you really knew me, you’d know that prior to my hamstring/IT band injury in July 2009, a Saturday with a 10-miler was an ‘easy week.’ I was ahead of schedule training for NYC 2009, and had been getting faster every week. I even clocked an 8:30-min mile pace for a 4.5 mile race around Lake Merced in SF in early July. Hell, even for a while after the hamstring pull, a 10-miler was a reasonable distance, manageable at a slower pace to accommodate my healing hammy.


And then came the weekend after the San Jose Rock ‘n’ Roll Half, and a 16-miler to keep me upping my mileage to be on track (more or less) for NYC. After feeling good throughout the whole R’n’R Half (gotta love that adrenaline… and BioFreeze), I was sure that I was up to snuff and would be fine for the upcoming NYC Marathon on November 1, 2009. I had been diligently attending PT, doing cross-training workouts in the pool, and really being ‘good’ to my body, to coax it back to its fighting weight, so to speak. What could go wrong, right…?




Um, how much time do you have?? That 16-miler was the worst run of my life, worse by far than the run that initially caused me to pull back and start doing PT for my hamstring/IT band. By mile 12, it was all I could do to not burst into tears – I had spasms running through both of my legs and back, I couldn’t breathe (probably the product of the tear-holding-backedness), and was seriously entertaining the idea of having to just stop on the side of the road and hope that someone would come and give me a ride home, since there was no way in hell I could have run back home (my starting point). I started running through who I could call (I did have my cell), but was afraid to call anyone because it was pretty early on a Saturday (looking back now, it had to be at least 10am), and I didn’t want to disturb anyone’s post-Friday, ideally hangover-prevention sleep…. So, I finally just told myself to STOP running. And WALK, for crying out loud! So, I did. It was about 3.5 miles back to my house, and I hobbled back alone, in serious pain, and feeling unbelievably defeated. I can’t remember if I took an ice bath, all I remember is showering, getting ready to head to Sebastopol for the weekend (getaway with the now-ex b.f.), and pushing the growing sense of dread out of my head. The dread that said “there is no way I’ll be able to run this marathon. My body is just not ready to do that yet. I need to just admit that I can’t do it now, if I ever want to run again.”



Fast forward another week, and while on another trip to Sebastopol, I had a "come-to-Jesus" of sorts with my running coach over the phone, where she said, "Honey, you just have to pass on it this year. You CAN run it next year. You HAVE to run it next year. It's just not the right time for you." I cried the whole time, and for a loooooooong while after we hung up, and just had to accept that this was really the only sane choice I could make.



(((cue montage of: me avoiding my friends who were in NYC to run the marathon while I was also in NYC; me breaking up with my aforementioned boyfriend; various seasonal changes; me taking some SERIOUS time off from running.... like, 3+ months; me trying, and LOVING Bikram Yoga; me finally getting up the cajones to run on the treadmill again, thanks to my PIC; me taking the risk and planning a weekly running date with a friend who is faster than me, and asking to run at my pace; me planning out my 10-mile run a few days prior; me doubleknotting my Asics, in preparation for the 10-mile run; me leaving my house...)))

The first 6 miles went off without a hitch. Kept at a 9min run/1min walk training pace, and felt good. Took my Gu (Strawberry-Banana... so delicious) at Mile 5 and felt a new surge of sugar-induced energy. Mile 6.3 or so, I'm coming around a loop, toward a downhill (one that I've run both up and down more times than I can count), and out of nowhere, I kick a tree root and quiet simply, eat shit. I don't even know how I landed, exactly, but the sweaty-dirty-bloody spots on my arm, leg, and (later) my right torso, gave me a vague idea.

In an instant, my Zen was shattered. I felt embarrassed, pissed off, and discouraged. Physically, I was in pain. A couple of people asked how I was, and I grumbled, "well, I think I'll know better tomorrow." In short, I was not a happy camper. I took a couple of big deep breaths, and said to myself, "All right, sister, this is it. It's put up or shut up time. Shit happens AND you still have a run to finish. " So, a la Swing Time, I picked myself up, dusted myself off, and started again.

The last few miles were actually a breeze. I felt proud about refocusing and finishing my run. My post-run cleanup was slightly more labor intensive than normal, but I managed to get my scraped arm cleaned and bandaged (it was already starting to scab!).

I was thinking about "The Fall' later that day, and sharing the story with a friend, and realized that it was a powerful parallel for me and my life. Often times in life tree roots (literal or figurative) seemingly come up out of nowhere, and trip us up along the way. It can be discouraging, disheartening, and downright infuriating, but all those feelings are not productive in moving forward, past the tree root, past the fall, past the blood and scrapes and pain that will eventually fade into a faint and distant memory. The lesson for me, as always, is to focus on what you do with that setback, how you move forward. How you look back at that scab, that torn piece of your shirt, and smile, saying, "Ahhh yes, it's not the end of the world. But rather another opportunity to keep growing."

Given the myriad challenges rearing their heads in front of me as of late, a pesky little tree root is nothing. And frankly, it ain't got nothing on me.