Not My Year

After months of hard training and many long runs, I officially flew the white flag of surrender last night. This is not my year to conquer the Bridge Run after all.

It was a quiet little project that Joe and I were focused on. We set the goal in January and have been working hard at it ever since -- we were ready for 6 miles of running tomorrow morning bright and early. Our goal had absolutely nothing to do with finish time - it was simply a goal to RUN all the way and to just FINISH the race TOGETHER. It was our little secret for quite a while, we told a few folks but for the most part, it was something we wanted to do as a team, without any fanfare and unnecessary attention. Frankly for things like this, I prefer to work quietly and diligently; the less attention on it, the less likely I freak myself out.

Last Sunday I left for a 3 mile run; my week looked light with a little bit of training but mostly lots of cross-training and rest time - I 'd done a 6 mile run successfully and was confident. I was ready. What I wasn't ready for was the Sporty Black Mustang coming straight for me; to avoid getting hit by the car, I ran up a bank on the golf course and my ankle turned on the uneven terrain and that folks...was all she wrote.

X-rays showed no broken bones but a very severe ankle injury. I stayed completely off of it for almost 2 full days. I've been wearing a gel cast and hobbling on crutches. I have followed Dr's orders and kept it elevated and iced for nearly a week. I have been hoping against hope I would simply wake up one morning (preferably by Tuesday!) to no more swelling, no bruising and no pain. Clearly God had other plans for me. I joined my friend Linda on a trip downtown to pick up our running packets yesterday and felt like maybe, just maybe, I could do it. After a few hours on my feet, I can home to find new swelling, more bruising and a required trip back to the "Land of Lortab" pills to ease the pain. I did too much...way too much...way too soon.

To say I've had a few crying fits and tantrums over this injury would be an understatement. I have worked so hard to get here and in a flash, my little Bridge Run Dream died. Bless the man's heart, Joe knew on Sunday when I hobbled back in the door and my ankle was the size of a grapefruit that my Bridge Run hopes were dashed this year - he has delicately tried to be the voice of reason for many days now but it was only last night after fresh waves of pain and swelling washed over me that I knew it was time to concede. Midway through tantrum #45 I conceded....not my year.

As much as I want to do it, I can't. I can't even walk on it much less run for 6 miles, including up a 4 degree incline and back down again. A full recovery is quite a few weeks away and I have slowly (and bellingerently) come to accept that. Joe snapped some pictures of it yesterday and clearly after 5 days of rehab; it's not even close to where it should be for 6 miles.

So....I get to cheer for my man when he crosses his first finish line and cheer for my friends tomorrow too. Joe and the girls will drive off at the crack of dawn tomorrow and conquer the bridge.

As for me...I get to stop acting like a 2 year old who isn't getting her way, find some grace to be okay with God's plan for me and cheer ever so loud for my man and my sweet friends when they cross that finish line....

while I wait, ever so patiently for my year....

And I couldn't end this without a great big giant THANK YOU for your prayers, email messages, phone calls, help with my children and listening to me kick and scream about the unfairness of life! For the most part I have this in the proper perspective but make no mistake -- I've had some childish, stubborn moments and they were not pretty!!

I saw a sign yesterday at the Bridge Run Expo...it said "Bridge Run - Get Over It".....clearly this year that message means something else for me!!