Just What I (K)Need

Picture this. You are in a wonderful, caring, fulfilling relationship with someone who you think is "the one." Sure, there are ups and downs, but for the most part, your relationship makes you feel sustained and content, happy and accomplished. All is right with the world. Then one day, out of nowhere, the one you love breaks your heart. There seems to be no rationale, and all of that happiness, contentment, and satisfaction are ripped from you without warning. You dread leaving home each day because you are afraid you will see the one who broke your heart on the streets of your town, in all your favorite places, and you know it will hurt all over again. 

We've all been there at some point in our lives, felt the heartbreak, lived in fear that it could come rushing back. That's how I felt today. Because of my knee. 

For the past 10 years, I have considered myself a fairly consistent runner, and we started out just friends. For years, running is what I did to prepare for field hockey and lacrosse try-outs, a method I used to lose weight, a tool for socializing with my best friend, Kate, with whom I'd jog our neighborhood trail nearly daily. But slowly, we took our relationship to the next level. Soon, I was signing up for races, testing myself, testing the strength of the relationship. First 5Ks, then 10, then 10 milers, half marathons, and finally, the ultimate potential deal breaker- the marathon. And as you may have read in previous posts, that's where the heartbreak set in. 

My left knee (LK) is noncommittal. It tortured me with a pain deep and strong enough to keep me from running, but not intense enough to warrant surgical correction. Running and I broke up at sundown on May 24, 2008. 

To sum up the loss and sense of incompleteness with any other concept than heartbreak would be unrealistic. Running had gotten me through some incredibly challenging times; it helped me to see myself, to be confident, to challenge myself, and to grow. I wasn't quite the same without it. Gradually this summer, however, we started to see each other again. LK did not protest, did not interfere, and blissfully I slipped back into the high that comes from running, which I honestly believe is hard to find anywhere else. 

Tonight was a night like any other, just me, my iPod, and Audubon Park, meeting for our weekly 40 minutes or so. I felt particularly awesome, moreso than usual. Dusk was falling, the breeze cool against my sweaty forehead, my pace steady, in fact, faster and more determined than usual. I was even doing that thing where I smile to myself, at other people, and just in general because I felt so good. You get where this is going, of course. LK came to town. 

I rounded the corner of the park at 25:07 on my watch and felt completely in the zone until I started to feel a creeping sensation on the left side. I brushed it off for a few seconds, but then the discomfort grew more steady, and threatened my pace. The sensation gave me goosebumps and stopped me in my tracks. 

I felt (and am feeling) pain in my LK tonight, the same kind that plagued me last year. And I'm scared. I walked it off, I'm icing it up, but it still hurts, and for the first time in months, I'm feeling uncertain. I don't want my love affair with running to end again, especially on LK's terms and not mine, which  means I'll play it safe for a few days... I don't want to lose it again. 

Runner's High

This saying may already exist out there in the annals of famous philosophical quotes, but today, I kept thinking about it, so I wanted to share it with you; Every day offers unique opportunities for great things to happen. 

It is nearly mid-July here in south Louisiana, and I have to say, weather-wise it has been a weird week. I have been in New Orleans for one month as of today, and yesterday was the first day of legitimate rainfall since my arrival. It has rained on and off since Monday, accompanied by a radical drop in temperature. When my family visited over the holiday weekend, 100-degree temperatures plagued us daily. The day they all departed, these rains came, and it's been cool ever since. 

After work, I laced up my running shoes and headed outside, intent on taking advantage of the fact that it is indeed mid-July in south Louisiana AND at 6 p.m. it was 79 degrees. I have run on and off since I've been here, and blogged about the experience, but today was different. As I got started, I couldn't help but think that today may be the only 79-degree day I experience in this place all summer. And that could not be wasted with a quickie run around Audubon Park... today's weather offered a unique opportunity of which to take advantage. 

Approximately 14 months ago, I ran a marathon. Crazy, right? I was wildly unprepared for it, my longest run only reaching 14 miles (for non-runners, a full marathon is 26.2),because about 3/4 of the way into my training, I sustained a knee injury- perhaps the worst kind of injury one can have, because it was by no means debilitating, but hurt me just enough to not be able to push myself as far as I would have liked in training. In short, it was not enough to quit running cold turkey, but it probably was unwise of me to go for it. But, I had plane tickets, family flying in, hotel reservations. And I am no quitter. 

I crossed the finish line at the Bayshore Marathon in Traverse City, Michigan after 4 hours and 45 minutes. The pain was intense, in my knee and everywhere else. Though I completed a major milestone (good pun, I know) in my life as an athlete by sheer virtue of crossing that line, I have never experienced more self-induced pain and suffering in my life. By that evening, I could not move. I could not get out of bed on my own. I could not stop crying. Terry had to dress me. I could not sit, I could not walk without wincing. It was terrible. 

And the knee was pissed. When I returned home, I could not do anything athletic for more than a month. I gained back all the weight I'd lost in training. I felt miserable. I had MRIs and x-rays, and the injury remained the same- not debilitating but ever-present. I was diagnosed with a small lateral meniscus tear; too small to operate, too large to function. I was resigned to hanging up the running shoes indefinitely. 

But this year in Lansing, I've slowly been working my way back. All high-impact cardio stopped and was replaced by biking, yoga, and pilates; all good things, and things that kept me healthy. Substitutions. 

I only ran a few times during the school year, afraid of my knee and the incessant pain therein, so transitioning into running again in New Orleans has been daunting. Today, however, I wanted to test things out. I mean, really? A 79-degree, breezy summer day in the flattest city I have ever lived in? Somebody upstairs was issuing me a challenge. 

With a new iPod mix blaring in my headphones, I worked my way through the city. Somewhere around the 20-minute mark, a cramp in my stomach threatened to end my unique opportunity, but thanks to MJ's Man in the Mirror and the beautiful St. Charles Avenue sites, I pushed on through. The next time I checked my watch, 48 minutes had passed. Not a whisper from the knee, mind you, not even a twinge. As I crossed the entrance of Tulane, a broad grin drifted across my face; this was the Ashleigh who signed up for the marathon, the runner hidden behind the pall of knee pains and fears. 

I reached Loyola at the 60 minute mark, dripping sweat, tired, but so incredibly happy. I laughed aloud, people stared at me on the sidewalk, I sang aloud to Justin Timberlake. I could feel every muscle in my legs, the pounding of my heart in my chest, and a deep sense of accomplishment for the six miles behind me... I could have gone further, miles further maybe. 

Unique opportunities happen every day, to do something good, maybe even

something great, that makes life more sweet. As I came down from my runner's high, free of knee pain and full of satisfaction, I vowed to not hesitate when I recognize opportunities to do more, to venture beyond the norm. I could have not run, could have gone to the gym and whiled away some time on an elliptical, stayed afraid of knee fragility, stuck with routines. But not doing so, though tinted with risk, was much more inspiring. 

Negotiations.

Nothing makes me feel more accomplished than surviving a hot summer run. I had forgotten how much this weather is the reason I love (and sometimes hate) running. Around 3 p.m. I decided to lace up the running shoes and go to the gym. I put my headphones in, started rockin' out to get myself pumped for it, and exited the front door of my residence hall. On the grassy quad, a group of guys was playing baseball, there was a decent breeze blowing, and even a few passing clouds. Observing this scene, I thought, "hmm, maybe I should just stay out here. So I took off toward parts unknown in Uptown New Orleans. 

Running when its hot is a test of what you're made of. You have to start, which is half the battle, get into something that resembles a pace or rhythm, and then you have to keep going until you can't go anymore. Things started off relatively well, as I leapt over sidewalk cracks in front of enormous Southern mansions draped in shade by old oak trees. For probably the first 15 minutes, you might have seen me and thought to yourself, "wow she's sweaty, but it looks like she is enjoying herself!" I would have agreed with you. 

But then I turned a corner. I reached Magazine Street, made a right, and all that lay ahead of me was blazing sun, cars, and open stretches of treeless sidewalk. I could have stopped. I wanted to. But instead, I turned up my iPod, wiped my brow, and dug in. Sweat dripped mercilessly into my squinted eyes as I looked for a place of refuge. I hit the corner of Webster Street and found myself in shade again, though I felt as if I had just run through Dante's ninth level of hell. By the time I made it to the corner of Calhoun and St. Charles, where Loyola is located, every part of me was screaming to stop, so I walked the last block and entered my hall again, soaked in sweat and feeling as though I had just won Olympic gold. 

I forgot about these runs, these negotiations with my body and mind to keep going, which first began in Richmond, the birthplace of my love for the hot run. Questions rip through my brain, can I keep going? Can I make it one more block? Can I keep this pace? And, when all the answers to those questions are yes, the world is my oyster. When the answers are no, it can be downright depressing, but all the more encouragement to go out and try again.

As I struggled through the 90-degree, unforgiving afternoon today, I thought about how much of my life is about negotiations right now, some literal and some mental. In the literal sense, Amy (my co-intern) and I negotiated with our supervisor for some additional compensation yesterday, as we came to realize the staffing changes and workload in the office were going to differ from what we anticipated. It was nerve-wracking and challenging, but the conversation went great, and I am happy to be part of the minority of women, according to research, who ask for more when they think they deserve it. I am also mentally negotiating what I want for myself, my life, and my career. Student affairs has had its ups and downs for me over the past four years, and I am coming to a crossroads where, next year, I will be making important decisions to shape my path toward the next phase of my life. I don't know what that will look like yet, but I do know that I am not willing to negotiate my quality of life, happiness, or expectations just to "do" the next job in the march through this profession. I will be looking for a rounded package of things that will make me happy at work, and allow me opportunities for growth, challenge, and development, but also a place that won't require me to negotiate who I am as a person or professional. As I grow older, I have realized that these things are off the negotiating table for me; who I am, what I need in my career to be satisfied, and happiness in my life. 

It's likely that the next year or so leading up to graduation is going to be like one long, hot summer run to the finish line, where I'll be mentally battling all of the questions that plague my overly analytical mind. But I plan to keep pushing to the next block and going as hard as I can because a) I know I can make it and b) I always feel better and happier when I do.