Don't Call It a Comeback

Just kidding, that's exactly what you should call it.  Although I have been here for years, I keep running into these annoying obstacles (aka surgeries).  But every time I get knocked down, I get back up again.  (Did everybody catch my clever LL Cool J references there?)

So, my knees aren't great.  Spending most of my life at an unhealthy weight wasn't great for them.  But I lost the weight- good! yay!  And I started running- good! yay!  Except for my knees weren't as enthusiastic as the rest of me.  Actually, they moved way past unenthusiastic all the way to straight pissed.  So in an effort to calm them down, surgery.  I wrote all about that here.

Recovery was lengthy.  There were a lot of baby steps.  Two baby steps forward, followed by one baby step back.  I spent hour after hour either in PT or doing my assigned PT exercises (or in water aerobics with my oldster pals).  Waiting, waiting, waiting for the "all clear" to get back to my normal activity level (which is obviously code for running).

I finally got the go-ahead around Memorial Day.  More baby steps, but the strides were a little longer and a little quicker.  Running for one minute then walking for two, then running for two minutes followed by three minutes of walking.  Working my way up to a full mile of running, then two, then three.

For the entirety of the summer, I struggled through the oppressive heat and humidity to put miles in.  Slow miles, to be sure.  But I was running.  The summer was filled with these slow, miserable miles.  Every weekend I'd add a quarter of a mile onto my "long run", which had been 10 miles prior to surgery.  Slowly, slowly, slowly, I was trying to make my way back to six (which is the max I'm allowed now).

My pace was similar to a snail's when I started, but I didn't care.  I knew that once the heat and humidity of the summer had passed, my pace would pick up.  A few weeks ago I ran my first 5k of the fall.  When I felt the buzz of my watch at the end of the first mile, I looked down and saw 9:05.  I literally thought that my watch was broken.  When it buzzed after the second mile and the screen read 8:51, I realized that all that of the pep talks I'd been giving myself through the hot and miserable summer miles were true, and that the hard work was indeed paying off.  I was getting my speed back.

A couple of weeks later, I added the final quarter mile onto my long run.  I plotted a course and set off for a run all around my town.   I thanked my lucky stars every time I came to a red light and had to wait for the crossing signal because it meant that I had a moment to catch my breath.  But I finished those six miles.  I felt exhausted, and also like a million bucks.

This past weekend, feeling confident in my comeback, I organized my first group run.  My beloved "Sleep In Saturday", six late morning miles followed by beer, because let's be honest- sleeping in, running, and drinking are three of my most favorite things.  I was positively giddy in the days leading up to the weekend, because organizing my first Sleep In Saturday meant that my comeback was complete, and that for the fist time in almost a year, I was just going out for a normal run, and not working toward getting back to where I used to be.

I used to be a runner.  I am a runner again.  I've come full circle.  Life is good.