There are five stages of grief.
Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.
I call bullshit. It’s mostly anger and depression. Over and over again. There may have been fleeting moments of denial and bargaining but they happened so quickly my anger and depression barely skipped a beat.
There are moments of “it could be worse”, when you see someone without a leg or in a wheelchair, but that disappears as quickly as it arrives and the anger fills the void.
It’s been nine days since I’ve ran.
The last time I ran it was a Wednesday. I cried. I remember the sun and I remember the pain. I remember how desperately I wanted to just run.
I knew something was wrong and despite all the wishing and hoping it was still wrong.
So I’m angry. I’m angry at everyone. At myself for being stubbern or “hard core” or “so crazy” to run Two Bays and make it worse, at the physio for telling me there was nothing wrong and to take anti inflams and run, at myself for listening to that stupid physio. I’m angry at my husband for getting to run the race I have thought about every day for a year, at the race organizers for making a run so epic that I would think about it every day for a year. I’m angry at every single person who gets to run and takes it for granted.
I can’t count the amount of times I’ve wanted to throw my phone across the room. I’m so jealous of everyone on instagram with their run brags.
I’m angry because I did this to myself.
I’ve run almost everyday for the past 7 years. It’s part of who I am. I buried the person I was before I started running. I didn’t like her. She had issues. She was weak. Every step I have run I have gotten further and further away from her and with every day I don’t run I can feel her creeping back and bringing her insecurities and doubts with her.
She’s also bringing the fat and taking away the muscle. She’s taking away the body and the fitness I have worked so hard for. I dislike her more and more every day.
In three weeks I should be able to do some exercise again. I’ll be doing it differently this time.
I’ve had some interesting relationships with my body over the years. From loathing it and starving it, to treating it as a machine to get me to my running goal, I’ve never really bothered to treat it as I should. I’ve always eaten pretty well (I always get my veggies then add the crap on top, not no veggies and lots of crap) but it’s usually been about fueling my body or trying to ‘loose weight’. I’ve never pampered it with massages or any sort of treatment. I’ve never really even committed to consistent strength training or cross training to support my running.
Well this time will be different. My body cracked it (literally) and I am listening.
Don’t get this confused with acceptance, we are not accepting this, we are so damn angry that we are making sure it won’t ever happen again.