It Wasn't Supposed to Be This Way

Today was supposed to be my day.

My triumph. My victory.  My proclamation of overcoming MS, my social anxiety, and a long-fought intractable battle over a personal goal.

It certainly wasn't supposed to be like this.

I was going to run the Atlanta Half Marathon.  After ten races over 7 years, I was finally going to hit the 1:45 mark I've been working towards since I started running.  I was going to feel triumphant, having scored a victory over both multiple sclerosis and Father Time.  Locally, this is the biggest race of the year, and I imagined running through the streets of my new city, absorbing the support of the crowd and feeling the affirmation that I belonged here.  Moving is hard, and this was to my first heartfelt connection I was to forge with my new home.

I was looking forward to basking in a lazy afternoon satisfied in my accomplishment, reflecting on what it took to get here.

I broke my knee three years ago, and it was inexplicably slow to recover.  My orthopedist gave up on me, and my physical therapist told me that I'd never walk again without a limp. He thought my knee was mostly healed but my nerve connections just didn't work anymore, what with the MS trying to destroy them.  I refused to believe him, because I just couldn't.  And eventually, he turned out to be wrong. 

Today, I was going to not only prove that, I was going to be faster than ever.

And the thing is, I was actually going to do it.  I had run up to 11 miles and was already hitting the times I needed a month before the race.  By race day, today, I was going to be trained and ready to own the course. I was going to blow my goal away, having overcome MS and a debilitating injury to do it.

But that today didn't happen.  I got this today instead.

A month ago my ankle turned in a bad direction and I fell to the ground.  I completely tore my ligament off the bone, and I've been in a walking boot ever since.  I was able to ditch my crutches fairly quickly, but the doctor told me I would take three months to heal.

I'm going to miss a whole lot of races until then, but none bigger than today.  The race is all over the papers, and the local streets are mostly shut down.  I was supposed to be out there as part of Atlanta's annual weekend running festival, not inside on a computer.

Life while injured is hard.  I've been mostly stuck inside, unable to do much except get overly worked up about the latest political news.  It's been rainy and gloomy all winter.  February is the worst month of the calendar, with little excitement and lots of cold, and this year it even had an extra day.

I went to church this morning, because I had some free time that opened from the race I couldn't run.  In an act of defiance, I left my house without my walking boot, a day before I was scheduled to be done with it.  I drove to church and then hobbled from the parking lot to the auditorium.  If I couldn't run the race I wanted, I could at least limp toward God.

It was a good service--one that spoke of counting our blessings even in seasons of loss, and making sacrifices to help others, rather than the empty gestures that come more easily.  As we took communion near the end, I remembered that Jesus was once physically broken just like me, and modeled how to do it.  Eventually, he got back up again, and he overcame.

I will too.

I fell, but I will get back up.  My ankle, my knee, and my fiberglass body will all hold up for another shot somewhere down the line.  MS will let me will run another race, and if I got to my desired pace once, I can get there again.  It will feel ever better having overcome one more thing to do it.   I will feel settled and at home someday, somewhere.

My day will come. I just have to believe that it will.

I wish it were today.  Instead, I settled for a slow but successful walk back my car after church had ended, one day ahead of my recovery schedule.  I smiled a little smile at the small victory.  It was all that was in store for me today, but a victory nonetheless.

And I noticed the sun had finally come out.