After re-reading my entry yesterday, I realized how silly some of this sounds to a non-runner (or maybe even to a runner.. I don't know). I mean, GRIEF? Really? You are experiencing grief because you cannot run? You can bike, use your elliptical, lift weights and walk, but you can't run so you are seriously grief-stricken? Do you even know what grief is? I mean, have you ever lost a loved one suddenly? Now that is grief. Having a stress fracture, a mild one at that, is not.
Well yes, I have lost a love one suddenly. Not just once, either. I've been front and center during two very tragic losses of two very young people, both of whom I loved very much. That kind of grief is hard to put into words. There is no comparing that grief to what I am experiencing now. It's like apples and oranges... both fruit, but very different. Of course that grief is much worse! Of course I'd rather have 2 full-blown broken legs, a fractured pelvis and be in traction with eyebrows that need to be waxed (that will just keep getting bushier because I'm in traction... with people visiting me... yikes!) than to ever experience something like that again. But here are the lessons I've learned about tragic grief... this is not just my opinion, it's what I've actually seen happen.
When you experience horrible loss, one of two things happen. You grieve (for a long time), you start to pick up the pieces a bit, you heal and you become happy again. OR... you grieve and just simply become numb. Numb to any other strong feeling... happiness, sadness, anger, whatever. You just shut down. It is a defense mechanism for sure. It is how you cope with loss and how you protect yourself from future devastation. My husband lost his only brother and my sister lost her young husband. Both deaths were shocking and unexpected. Both deaths were gut punching, pull the rug out from under you, knock you on your ass and beat you to a pulp kind of deaths. In the beginning, both deaths made my husband and sister think they would never get over it. Ever. And to say they "got over it" is the wrong choice of words. But they have healed. With the support of a loving family and the grace of God, they are both happy. They both enjoy life to the fullest and are able to experience all human emotion fully again... happiness, sadness, anger, whatever. And yes, even grief. Even grief that is not as bad as what they experienced in the past. John was grief-stricken when he did not get into dental school the first time he interviewed. Was that grief as bad as losing his brother? No, but he still experienced grief. And he chose to go for it again. And making that choice was hard, but so worth it. And when he was accepted, he was elated. Yes, ELATED! Even though there had been a time when he never thought he'd be happy ever again.
I swear there is a point here. I'll try to get to it. Even though to many, I am perhaps over-reacting to my inability to run right now, there is a bigger picture. I too, experienced tragic grief along with my husband and sister, and I too, have healed. And the bigger picture to my grief right now is not just that I can't run. It is over, once again, the loss of a goal that I have worked so hard for over the last two years. It is over the fact that I KNEW qualifying was going to happen in Columbus. I was going to achieve something that three years ago, I never would have imagined possible. I don't think three years ago anyone that knew me would describe me as "Boston Marathon material". Not my parents, siblings, husband or friends. I'd run a couple of marathons, but they were to finish only. Didn't break any speed records there. Two years ago I made the decision to find out just how good I could get (I'm still workin' on it) and the fact that just one year later I missed a BQ by 4 minutes and 10 seconds is amazing to me. So one year later, with a much broader running base, harder training and much fast times, the expectation is that I can blow that 4 minutes and 10 seconds out of the water. The build up and anticipation to that event was incredible. And the fact that it did not happen has yes, produced grief. The week following the marathon was not as difficult as I expected. Perhaps because I knew that finishing the marathon under such extreme duress was a huge victory alone. But as the weeks go by and I am still not running and I begin to reflect on my training and what "should" have happened, I am experiencing grief. My IPOD still has all my running songs on it, including the one I was going to play during the final mile of the marathon (for the record, it's Queen... "I want it all".. great song. I'm weird, I know) When I hear it, I cringe.
So now, like John, I have the choice of what to do. Well, I can hang it up. Third time was supposed to be a charm, but it wasn't. I "earned" a spot in Boston by my very training and it is not my fault that my calves didn't cooperate. Looks like dumb luck follows me to the starting line every time and I am just sick and tired of putting myself out there and setting myself up to fail. I can't take the roller coaster and the anxiety that seemingly is always followed by let down. Game over. Not trying this again. I am just going to become numb. After all, there is speculation about Boston lower their qualifying times to make the field "more competitive" and if I can't even reach their standards now, I certainly can't if they toughen them (as my brother Jack puts it... that time is an artificial barrier... that is for another entry though).
OR...
Like my super cool husband, I can grieve, get over it and get back out there and finish what I started two years ago. I have already made my decision.
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