On November 19, 2012 I sustained a running injury that has benched me for an entire year. After running my usual route for (at least!) the bazillionth time, my right knee painfully protested even one more step. My left knee shortly followed suit and, since that time, I have been condemned to the stationary bike.
Oh, the shame of pedaling and pedaling and never getting anywhere.
As November 19 rolls around this year, I find myself reflecting on the one year anniversary of my running tragedy. After insisting on working my body to the breaking point for the three months following my injury, I felt that God was nudging me to stop obsessing over working out so that I could focus on some other areas of my life that needed work. No longer was I to obsess over food (well, I still do, but not to the same radical degree as before) or the number of calories burned on a 13-mile run (over a day's worth - think of the pancakes I could eat with a day's worth of calories!!!), but on more important issues that required spending time each day in God's Word.
I won't pretend that I did so willingly. In fact, as I sat on my couch this past February, moping over stiff, achy joints, I begrudgingly agreed to giving up one week of the gym. And guess what....
...I didn't die.
After I saw what I could accomplish (mind you, this was a big deal for me!), I found myself more willing to accept my injuries. I felt a sense of peace in knowing that, even if I couldn't run four to five days a week, I wasn't any less of a person. Of course, there are days when I still want to sob over being on the bench for this long, but I have found other outlets for physical activity that -although they do not leave me with the same sense of accomplishment as running did- they provide me with a meaningful way in which to mark my progress and overall sense of well-being. Furthermore, my goals were beginning to change; I no longer felt compelled to run competitively. In fact, I found myself pining to run for the reason I began running in the first place: for the pure pleasure of it.
My knees (let's face it, they are their own character in this story) have had good and bad days since then, but something else happened in the months following my injury: I got pregnant. Since I began growing a human being inside my body (something Usain Bolt will never be able to do), I have continued to work out six days a week. Granted, I don't work with the same vigor that drove me previously, but I still find myself doing a combination of strength training and cardio for about an hour and a half for each workout. I even found that, during my second trimester, I was able to jog for short periods of time. This is something that I had not been able to do for the previous nine months (most of which were non-pregnant months) because of knee pain.
Since my third trimester began in September, I have found it more difficult to jog - not surprising. My knees often feel stiff, swollen and sore as a result of edema and the increased weight load they are bearing but, I have hope that this long hiatus from running will do me some good when I decide to take it slooooooow and hit the pavement again. Of course I hope that my body will be able to endure the gradual re-introduction to running (after what will amount to over a year-long absence), but I am even more hopeful that my spirit will not forget what I have learned in my forced bench time: Even something as simple, healthy, and beautiful as running can become a detrimental addiction if you let it.
While I am eager to renew the sense of pleasure that comes from a peaceful run, I am more eager to meet my baby next month. This week not only marks one year from my last real run, but it marks 34 weeks of pregnancy.
We're almost at the finish line.
Oh, the shame of pedaling and pedaling and never getting anywhere.
As November 19 rolls around this year, I find myself reflecting on the one year anniversary of my running tragedy. After insisting on working my body to the breaking point for the three months following my injury, I felt that God was nudging me to stop obsessing over working out so that I could focus on some other areas of my life that needed work. No longer was I to obsess over food (well, I still do, but not to the same radical degree as before) or the number of calories burned on a 13-mile run (over a day's worth - think of the pancakes I could eat with a day's worth of calories!!!), but on more important issues that required spending time each day in God's Word.
I won't pretend that I did so willingly. In fact, as I sat on my couch this past February, moping over stiff, achy joints, I begrudgingly agreed to giving up one week of the gym. And guess what....
...I didn't die.
After I saw what I could accomplish (mind you, this was a big deal for me!), I found myself more willing to accept my injuries. I felt a sense of peace in knowing that, even if I couldn't run four to five days a week, I wasn't any less of a person. Of course, there are days when I still want to sob over being on the bench for this long, but I have found other outlets for physical activity that -although they do not leave me with the same sense of accomplishment as running did- they provide me with a meaningful way in which to mark my progress and overall sense of well-being. Furthermore, my goals were beginning to change; I no longer felt compelled to run competitively. In fact, I found myself pining to run for the reason I began running in the first place: for the pure pleasure of it.
My knees (let's face it, they are their own character in this story) have had good and bad days since then, but something else happened in the months following my injury: I got pregnant. Since I began growing a human being inside my body (something Usain Bolt will never be able to do), I have continued to work out six days a week. Granted, I don't work with the same vigor that drove me previously, but I still find myself doing a combination of strength training and cardio for about an hour and a half for each workout. I even found that, during my second trimester, I was able to jog for short periods of time. This is something that I had not been able to do for the previous nine months (most of which were non-pregnant months) because of knee pain.
Since my third trimester began in September, I have found it more difficult to jog - not surprising. My knees often feel stiff, swollen and sore as a result of edema and the increased weight load they are bearing but, I have hope that this long hiatus from running will do me some good when I decide to take it slooooooow and hit the pavement again. Of course I hope that my body will be able to endure the gradual re-introduction to running (after what will amount to over a year-long absence), but I am even more hopeful that my spirit will not forget what I have learned in my forced bench time: Even something as simple, healthy, and beautiful as running can become a detrimental addiction if you let it.
While I am eager to renew the sense of pleasure that comes from a peaceful run, I am more eager to meet my baby next month. This week not only marks one year from my last real run, but it marks 34 weeks of pregnancy.
We're almost at the finish line.
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