And just like that it was gone.
I sat there trying to look unfazed. I maintained eye contact. I smiled. I thought to myself, this is what they mean when they say that the person receiving the bad news is not actually listening.
See, I’m receiving bad news and I’m thinking about Meredith Grey doing a Grey’s Anatomy voice over at this exact moment. What would Meredith do in this situation? Tequila. Ok that won’t work, listen to the doctor Mel.
I knew it was bad when she said “well the good news is…”
The good news was that you don’t have to amputate my leg, I’m not going to die.
The bad news is you have broken your hip in two places.
I’m sorry, WHAT?
Just two weeks ago I ran 56km. It was my last big run before my goal race of the past 12 months, the inaugural Tarawera 100 Mile Endurance race.
I ran 56 km with two cracks in my pelvis. Yep I’m hardcore. Insert not so subtle brag here.
Wait what, at least 6-8 weeks off EVERYTHING?
I can still do Tarawera, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
If it snaps all the way through you can cause severe internal bleeding and damage your pelvic floor.
Did you just say I risk peeing myself for the rest of my life?
Blood. I could feel it rushing through my body. I felt hot and flushed. I could feel my pulse in my temple and radiating through my hip.
Shut up hip, I’m not talking to you right now.
She tried her best, the osteopath, to make everything seem bright and shiny. I try really hard these days to be bright and shiny. As Meredith would say, I used to hang out with dark and twisty crowd but these days I’m choosing to see the glass half full.
My mind darted around the tiny room. This was what I wanted. I wanted answers after being bullshitted by a range of other “professionals” but this wasn’t the answer I wanted. That muscle strain with a two week recovery period is looking mighty fine right now.
I made it to the lift before the tears started to flow. The car forming a perfect cocoon for a peak hour ugly cry.
12 months of training. 2,412 km’s run and thousands of dollars spent. The tears flowed like I was grieving for the death of a dream.
A tub of Ben and Jerry’s and a half decent nights sleep and I can still feel them bubbling just beneath the surface. As I shuffle around work, I secretly pray no one will notice my hobble. Please don’t make me explain it to you.
I feel sorry for my husband. He signed up for the miler too and now his excitement is dulled by my injury and subsequent benching. I’m a planner, he’s not. He has watched me accumulate and test out gear, plan drop bag contents and race strategies. His plan is to wing it.
Maybe my planning and my preparation is what got me in this situation to begin with. There is no one to blame but myself. I’m not looking for sympathy, it is what it is. It is an injury caused by overuse and if I had picked up the seriousness sooner and done something about it maybe I wouldn’t be sitting here bleating on about a missed opportunity.
But to be fair, I honestly didn’t think it was that serious. It was just a niggle. I’d had soreness before in all sorts of places and it just went away. I thought it would go away. I ran Two bays. It didn’t go away.
So now I am here, struggling to use crutches (Umm who knew that was that hard!) and googling what to do next. Yes I know, Dr Google always says you are going to die and it turns out the case of “subacute fractures to the lateral superior pubic ramus and medial inferior pubic ramus” whilst death is not imminent, the worst case scenarios are everywhere.
It’s like looking up a new piece of tech, no one goes online to talk about how good something is only how bad. 6 months, 12 months, 24 months off running! WHAT! How about a good news story people?
Well I intend to be that good news story. You read it here first. I will put my ego in my pocket and hobble around on old lady crutches. I will go and buy more supplements. I will keep on drinking my green smoothie (even though it didn’t miraculously heal my broken bones in a week!). I will be back.
I have my sights set on Surf Coast Century 100k. I’d like to beat my time of 15 hrs 19 minutes. But I’m not going to rush and risk longer without running at all. I don’t run to run races. I run because I love to run every day, the way it makes me feel and sets me up for the day. If I never raced an actual race again I’d be ok with that.
I’ll still be there at Tarawera, on the sidelines cheering and helping where I can. I’ll be the one in the SquadRun shirt and old lady crutches. Come say hi, I’ll try not to bite.