I am having a shirt-on-backwards discombobulated kind of week. I haven’t written much here because it was all about the run and since the run wasn’t happening there didn’t seem to be much to say. In truth, I don’t know why I say that. I ran a few races in 2017, including a half mara while injured. I PR’ed St. Pat’s, ran a new 10K and completed a Thanksgiving to New Years streak of running every day. I finished 2017 with over 350 miles and yet, I still have nothing to say. Let’s face it. I can admit it now. 2017 was a bad, bad year.
It started in early March with intense pain everywhere. Doctors and X-rays and physical therapy did nothing for me. I ended up learning to live in pain. Day in and day out. I breathed pain. What I couldn’t do was sleep with in pain. The nights haunted me. By day I became an exhausted walking zombie, surviving each passing day by rote repetition. One foot in front of the other. Not loving life. Not even liking it.
Now it is 2018 and I am three appointments into an intense chiropractic year. After a two-hour evaluation Dr. Fancy Pants sat me down and urged to think of myself as disabled. Dis-what? Truth be known, my hips, back and neck are so damaged I could apply for a handicap placard no questions asked. I’d get one without argument. One look at my scans and I am special olympic material. I’m that messed up. Bottom line – I’ve been trying to run with a severe disability and it will take a year to get me back on track. It will take all the king’s army an entire year to put me back together again. So, for now I work towards fixing this broken barbie doll body. For now, I forget about the run.
Doctor’s King’s orders.