The Stages of Injury (AKA Panties Behind the Furnace)

Today was symbolic. I returned my crutches.

I didn’t mean to keep them for so long, but there was a part of me that kept fearing I would re-injure myself and need them again. I am now confident I will not need them again, at least not for this injury. If I fall out of the ceiling of my Southwest flight to Boston next week, I might need them for that.

I noticed on the form I filled out at the grocery store when I “rented” the crutches (yes, you can “rent” crutches then go buy milk all in one fell swoop) that I indicated I would have them for ten days. Upon their return, I had had them for 177 days. So I was a little off. Truth be told, I only really used them for 45 days or so. But I kept them as insurance. As a fall back if the unthinkable happened.

I’m about to get a little deep, so hang on for the ride:

When we get injured it happens to our physical bodies, but it’s really our mind that takes the beating. The stages of injury tend to follow the stages of grief, which makes sense considering that being injured represents the loss of being able to function how you want/need/have to.*

1. Denial – Are you f*cking kidding me? My marathon is in {insert number} weeks and I’ve trained my ass off. There is no way I’m not running this thing, even if I have to crawl. It’s just a pain in my hip. I’m sure I just pulled a muscle dancing on the pole. Or maybe this pain is a figment of my imagination, part of tapering madness. I’m sure I’m fine.

2. Anger – Are you f*cking kidding me? This still hurts, might be worse. Why me? I didn't do anything wrong. Everyone else can run and not get injured. Hell, Dean freaking Karnazes is running across the United States and he never gets injured. This sucks. I don’t deserve this. I pay my taxes, I follow a training plan. I bought the stinking $100 shoes that they told me to buy at that damn store.

3. Bargaining – You are not f*cking kidding me. I’m hurt. I get it. But, I swear if I am healed enough by marathon day to at least complete the race I will never {insert vice: cuss, drink, over train,  do meth, run with scissors, yell at my kids, hide my dirty panties behind the furnace, lick a knife} again. Once I complete this race, I will rest for a really long time and go to the doctor. I swear. Just let me run this race.

4. Depression – (warning: here’s where it gets really ugly). I’m f*cked. I’m out of the race. Hell, I might never run again. I hate swimming and biking and most of all running in the water. I want to run. I only like running and I am nothing without running. I will get fat. I will get lazy. I will lose all of my fitness. Why bother getting out of bed?

5. Acceptance – I can’t race. I can’t even run right now. But, it’s going to be okay. I am still an athlete, I am still a runner, I am just recovering. I will be back. Stronger than ever. Even though I can’t run, there are other things I can do to maintain my fitness. Even though I can’t run, I am still worthy. There is more to me than being a runner.

We all move through these stages at different rates. I wasn’t allowed to be in the denial stage very long because my pain was too intense and an MRI showed the fracture immediately. I also moved through anger and bargaining pretty quickly because the injury was so black and white. I was pissed as all get out, but that just made me more tired. And there was no bargaining to be done. There would be no race, no running.  For quite a few months.

I got stuck in depression for awhile. I’d have good days and bad days. I don’t think I really reached the point of acceptance for about eight weeks. And even then, I ping- ponged between depression and acceptance quite a bit. My acceptance wasn’t just based on knowing I would get better. It was based on knowing I would be okay even if I didn’t.

A theme of this blog is acceptance – not resisting what is. A theme of this blog is also pooping in bushes. I like variety.

One of my most very favorite things about life is that it is constantly changing. If you don’t like it, it will be different soon. If you are flying high, you might crash next week. The only thing you can count on is that things are temporary.

Now go back up and look at that muscle in my arm. There ARE upsides to crutches. And I’m wearing a mask because we are paintballing. Duh!

And, yes, I did hide my panties behind the furnace when I was five (and don’t pretend you didn’t),

SUAR

*For those who want to blast me for even comparing injury to loss – spare me. I know an injury is not the end of the world, and certainly cannot be compared to the loss of a loved one or a serious, life threatening illness. I get that.

Lets Go Deep

Today I’m thinking a bit. I know, weird. But, before I think too deep, I need to let you know I’m making cake balls. Ever had a cake ball? Or just a plain ball? Cake balls rock the universe. Cake with icing shaped into a ball and dipped in more icing. Could also be called cake testicles if you prefer.

Remember that post I did a few days ago about finding your fire and fighting your demons? That post got a lot of response and resulted in amazing emails. Some of you all candidly shared your personal challenges from relationship breakups to cancer diagnoses. I think the theme resonated with people because our pain gets so big and all encompassing that sometimes we can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. I guess we all need to be reminded that there is a light, there is hope, regardless of the circumstances.

That’s why I was surprised to get this comment on that post:

To which I kindly responded:

This brings up a good discussion point.

The intention of the post was not to minimize the chaos, trauma and pain in the world. The intention was not for me to focus on just me and to have a pity party. This post was initially about my experience that day, and the 120 preceding days  I have struggled with this injury. The post then became about the universal experience of suffering.

My question to you is this: Do you believe that because there are people much worse off than we are, that we are never allowed to talk about our pain? Does sharing our struggles mean that we don’t sympathize with dire and devastating challenges that so many people face? Why does one have to exclude the other?

Sometimes I talk with a friend who has lost both of her parents. While their deaths occurred years ago, her grief lives on and can be incredibly painful. She will inevitably apologize for feeling sad and say, “I know it could be so much worse. There are people who suffer so much more than I do.” True. There will always be greater suffering. But, I let her know that just because someone else might have it worse, doesn’t mean she has to feel guilty about sharing her pain.

I believe that if we are compassionate and kind, not overly self focused, and can reach out to one another with good intention, sharing our struggles builds beautiful connections and lasting bonds. I’m all over it. What do you think?

‘Nuff said,

SUAR

P.S.: Don’t forget to enter my giveaway to win a free entry to this year’s Boston Marathon!! Ends tomorrow at 5pm Mountain.