I Dreamed a Dream I Could Run

I’ve been told my whole life, in some shape or form, that I’m not really allowed to run…

Or be active… Or physically express myself…

Doctors and physical therapists told me outright. I have knock-knees, ligament laxity, mild scoliosis, weight maintenance barriers and a host of other body issues that made it difficult to run, jump, swim and climb trees like all the other kids.

My entire body has been in some sort of pain for as far back as I can remember, which is why I can’t tell the difference between pain I should push through as opposed to pain I should pay attention to and have a doctor look at. They ding me on a bone or squeeze a muscle and ask me if it hurts and I don’t know what of sort answer to give. Yes? More? Less? It’s always kinda hurting. I think it’s hurting more now but I can’t tell.

I tried playing football in Middle-school and I’ll never forget the strange sensation of feeling all my strength suddenly dissolve the instant I needed it to push someone back. Still don’t know what caused that.

Then there was all the bullying and emotional torment. I’ll never forget this kid in the locker room at Helix High School that could not get over the shock of how fat I was when I took off my shirt. He was either in sincere shock because of how well I hid it with clothes or that was just his pick for a running gag. Either way, it went on and on.

I’ve always been huge so it always felt like my every move was being watched. When I tried to run, the other kids would make fun of how awkward I looked with my uneven hips and jacked up knees.

I’ve always been energetic and excitable. I’ve always had a zest for life (or at least a desire to have a zest for life) even through my darkest times. I always felt like an athlete trapped in an obese body. I’ve struggled with food addiction, dissecting every bite and desire, trying to figure out why I can’t stop myself from inhaling chocolate as if it was meth.

Through a cycle of bullying, trauma and physical challenges, I’ve been told I’m not allowed to run my entire life.

In the past couple of years, after some psychological and spiritual shifts, I started running. Discovering November Project opened a whole new world of activity to me. I started bicycling more. I quit smoking. Every little climb was suddenly an exciting opportunity at a mini-workout rather than a reminder of all the flaws in my bones.

I’d developed the (correct) attitude that I can do this for a while, till my knees give out (which seemed inevitable) and then I’d pick up swimming or something.

Then my knees gave out.

I’m in a lot of pain. They crunch and crack. I start having to use my arm strength jus to get in and out of the car. They throb. This pain is most definitely not something I can just push through.

So… Goodbye Friday afternoon runs. Goodbye Wednesday morning workouts. I stayed positive though. Much ado about nothing. Waiting for the doctor’s appointment. Waiting for the doctor to tell me I’m not allowed to run. Waiting for the inevitable. I’d already started swimming lessons and bought a kick-board to practice with. It’s ok. That’s life.

During this time of readjustment, I’d started gaining weight. Not a whole lot but enough where clothes were getting tighter. So I’m forced to really observe my diet. I’m cornered into asking questions about what I should and shouldn’t be eating. Long convos with friends culminate with that light-bulb moment. At 34, I suddenly finally understood some of my behaviors; my inability to stop inhaling food due to many psychological factors. It’s all making sense in a way it didn’t used to.

I start preparing snacks and watching my intake. I’d been eating generally well for a while but the portion thing didn’t make sense till now.

Life throws you lemons. That’s why I never stop sketching ideas for lemonade stands.

Today I see the doctor. They do x-rays. He smiles as he explains that I’ll need some physical therapy and medication for the pain… But that I can run.

I notice my body language as I’m walking to my car. I’m hunched over a bit and feeling vulnerable, like I kind of wish I could hug and hold myself. This happens when some childhood wound has been touched.

As I drive away, I begin to weep. Tears of joy. Tears of relief. Tears for the wounded child inside. Tears of the wounded child inside.

I realize why my knee problems happened: The universe was trying to teach me some big lessons about the energy I put into my body. I was cornered into epiphanies. It was as if God knew I wouldn’t listen without being put in a timeout. And God was right.

I feel loved. I feel rewarded.

I am grateful, over and over, for everything that happens as it happens. It’s all part of a plan. I’m logical enough to see that this could all be my delusion; that I’m reaching for connections in order to justify my patchwork of spirituality.
And I’m OK with that.

There are a million delusions I can buy into… And I’m choosing to engage in the one that makes me feel like I’m only in the second act of this amazing play… One where I’m only setting up the story for that explosive ending.

Tomorrow I might lose my knees again. That’s life. Lemons happen. But the lessons I learned during this period will stay with me. I heard them loud and clear. There was a reason all this happened the way it did… And I’m grateful for it regardless of what tomorrow brings.