Maybe it's just not about me

The last couple of days have felt like wasted days to me.  I get to the end of them and think that I’ve accomplished nothing, failed to rejoice in much or make any sort of difference on the planet.  Nothing really rotten has happened, but nothing very inspiring either.  Just basic everyday survival, and what’s the point of that?  Well, maybe there is a point that has not yet revealed itself.  Perhaps every little thing we do and say matters to someone somewhere.  Today’s blessing was the knowledge that on a throw-away day I barely remember from a little over a year ago, something I said and subsequently forgot lived on and changed someone’s life for the better. 

One issue on which I have spent a fair amount of semi-wasted time the last few days is whether or not I should have surgery this coming Tuesday.  I have had foot pain for a number of months.  I ran for a few low mileage weeks in late fall, but otherwise I have not run since the marathon in mid-October.  That’s a lot of weeks of not-running for me.  And as a result of all that rest…  nothing changed.  Sometimes I even felt like the problem was getting worse, and so I was finally ordered an MRI which revealed a “loose body” in the big toe joint under the ball of my foot.  Apparently, that explains the pain.  A relatively minor surgery should fix me right up, and I should be back to normal in a month or two.  I am tired of having a sore foot and of having it restrict my running and biking and yoga and going on walks and hanging around my house barefoot and wearing pretty shoes to church, so I agreed to have the surgery.  I saw the doctor on Monday.  Of course, my foot didn’t hurt on Monday, but I suspected that was temporary.  I’ve been faked out by it before.  Then it didn’t hurt on Tuesday.  I went running on Wednesday, and it hurt for a few minutes but then was not all that bad.  So I ran a little again on Thursday.  Still pretty good.  I ran this morning in the rain.  It felt fine.  Gah!  So my resolution is deteriorating.   I will have to make a decision by Monday.  Part of me really hates the idea of surgery if I can possibly avoid it.  Part of me says I should just get the darn thing removed and have done with it and not have worry about it every time I run or bike or walk or try to lunge (yes, I like to know I could lunge if I wanted to do so.)

Anyway, in order to have the surgery, I had to have a routine physical, and since I was a bit overdue for my annual exam anyway, this morning I saw the nurse practitioner I’ve been seeing for a few years now.  I like her, and she’s been very sympathetic and helpful.  In the process of being my caregiver, she has learned a fair amount about my athletic endeavors.  Last year she confessed to me that she is secretly a little envious of my athleticism, even if it does bring on the occasional medical issue. 

In my experience, secretly being envious of someone else’s job or hobby or sport is a pretty good indication that you secretly want to and ought to do that thing.  I used to secretly envy teachers, even as I outwardly and even inwardly declared I had no intentions of teaching.  My inner teacher was a secret even from myself until finally I listened to my envy and tried it out.  My repressed inner teacher was thereafter liberated, and even though I am not currently teaching, she doesn’t bug me nearly as much as she did before I admitted her existence.  The same thing happened with triathlons.  As much as I truly love running, a little voice used to whisper to me that triathletes are cooler than runners.  “Yeah, well, good for them.  No way I’m doing that.  NO WAY I am swimming across a lake,” I used to respond to my repressed triathlete.  She was devious enough to cause a neuro-muscular malfunction that ruined my running and forced me into the pool long enough to think a triathlon was worth a try—as a last resort.  I’m not sure I’ve ever had more fun than I did in that first triathlon.  Plus, I do not know how many times this winter, foot aching, I’ve been thankful to have become a swimmer, to have that to fall back on when the road are iced over or when, say, an unidentified loose body is lodged in my first metatarsal joint.  Those quiet voices of longing, envy or discomfort are worth listening to on occasion.

So I told Sarah, my CNP, that her secret little envy means that she is really a runner at heart, and maybe she should just try it.  Just for a few minutes.  Just to see.  And then I forgot we even had that conversation.  I went home and put off coming back until I was forced back. 

When Sarah walked into the room this morning, I almost did not recognize her.  Her hair was longer, yes, and had been highlighted.  Interestingly, since I had lowlights put in my hair this fall and also grew my hair out, we have almost the same hair, but that is not my point.  I was sure that the difference was not just in her hair.  I thought she looked thinner too, especially in her face.  I almost said, “Wow!  You look great!”  but I don’t really know her that well.  Maybe it was a sensitive issue.  I might have been misremembering.  And who am I to say such a thing anyway?  After we discussed my needs and my foot situation, she told me to change and that while she was examining me, she had a good story to tell me.  It was a lovely story, actually.

Last spring, not long after my last visit, she started walking.  She thought about what I said; she thought about the possibility that there was a runner somewhere inside.  So she ran for one minute at a time.  Just to see.  It went OK.  So she decided to try three minutes.  Then five minutes.  Then she ran a mile.  I saw right where this story was headed, and you probably can too.  She ran a 5K at the arboretum and beat her goal time.  She lost 30 pounds.  She lost enough weight that she had a gall bladder attack, which apparently sometimes happens to people who lose a lot of weight.  She sprained an ankle running.  She had gall bladder surgery.  And the worst part of recovery?  After about a week of not running, she starts to go crazy.  She is a runner.  And now she knows it.  She will be running the Shamrock Shuffle 8K this spring.  8K!!  She says she has no marathon ambitions, and quite honestly, at this point, I rather think that’s good for her.  But more good for her is that she went out and tried it and changed her life and has one more thing to love, one more way to enjoy her own body and her time on this planet.  She looks wonderful and feels good about herself.

So these last couple days were perhaps not as wasted as I have been assuming they were.  I may feel that I have very little show for them, but maybe, just maybe, it’s not all about me.  Maybe, hopefully, someone else has something to show for them.  Maybe, hopefully, it doesn’t really matter if I serve leftovers several times in the same week and my house is a mess and I didn’t get anything “done.”  Maybe, hopefully, God is in the details and the moments/hours/days that are, to me, not worth remembering are very memorable to someone else because I was in them.  Maybe, hopefully, when I’m not doing much, I’m still doing good.