I wish this was an anniversary of a good note, like the anniversary of your first kiss, or a milestone of how long you have put up with -- err -- dated someone, or even an anniversary of having your pet - you know, something joyful that makes you all warm and fuzzy inside while you skip around in a field of sunflowers on a sunny day while you sing about your happiness in a tune that is perfectly pitched ... but it isn't. It is the two month anniversary of when I foolishly was walking up the bleachers at a minor league ballgame and stepped on a bat ... that was just casually hanging out on the ground.
There was no crying, no tears, no screams of pain - just shock. It wasn't until I looked down to see myself standing in a pool of blood did I even realize something was wrong. But in that instant, heat rose up though my body, boiling every limb, and I found myself breaking out in a sweat. I instantly felt nauseous. I looked up and even though the words weren't needed, the first, and only, thing I said was "I just messed up Florida didn't I?". I didn't care that my foot was pumping out blood, or that it had instantly grown 3 times its size. I couldn't tell you who talked to me when or what words were being said, I couldn't even tell you that I stepped on a bat. Everything was a blur, nothing is remembered ... all I knew, and I all I cared about, was my race season was now gone.
..... and for the 2nd Fathers Day in 4 years, I was yet again - back at the hospital (sorry dad).
Even though I have known all along what this meant for the rest of my race season, I still held onto hope, that is, until yesterday. After all, I have always been an over achiever, a wonder woman, nothing could ever keep me down - not strep throat, not pneumonia, not rhabdomyolysis. I am even his first patient to have extremely high Vitamin D levels, not that that is a good thing, but still - take that, one-up. I'm unstoppable. Obviously my bones were going to heal faster then they broke and my high tolerance of pain was going to get me back out there, ready for Ironman Florida - even if it was to just finish. But what was originally a 6 - 8 week healing process, turned into 7 - 10 weeks... and now I have learned that I am going to go at least 12 weeks in this fancy robo-boot.
If you are searching for advice on how to deal with an injury, I am not the one you should come to. It has been tough, and I haven't coped well. Every time I step foot (my good one) in my basement I feel the deflated tires of my bike, which hasn't graced my lady bits with any pain for over 2 months. Any money I saved on races, is now being spent on bigger clothes, and my goal is no longer a strong Ironman Florida finish, but just to look halfway decent for my cruise ... which I feel I no longer deserve.
Although I do suppose every dark cloud has a silver lining... it is a saying, so it must be true. There must be a positive, although more often then not it doesn't seem like there is one, and that is - it has breathed a new sense of passion into my triathlon world. I actually envy every person I pass who is running on the street, and I miss the daily feeling of accomplishment I had when finishing up a workout. I look forward to training once again, and I know eventually I will. I'll train faster, I'll train stronger. I'll eventually lose these extra pounds and fit back into my old clothes, I will eventually feel better about myself, I will eventually accomplish the goals I set out to do - just not now, and just not this year.
"Failure should be our teacher, not our undertaker. Failure is delay, not defeat. It is a temporary detour, not a dead end. Failure is something we can avoid only by saying nothing, doing nothing, and being nothing"
I didn't fail, no. It was a freak accident. (You jokingly say, who brings a bat to a ball game ... but really, who does?) It has me down now, but I certainly won't stay there.
When I first started to swim in January of 2012, someone told me you have to slow down to great stronger. So whereas I am sure they don't remember a girl stepping on their bat, and there is no way they will ever know the impact it has had on me, thanks for making me stronger ... even if I am bitter about the thousands of dollars I have lost and that I have to feel like crap most days to get there.
The moral of the story? Don't bring a bat to a ballgame.
Kidding (or not?)
(rated G) Things happen
(rated PG-13) Crap happens
(rated R) Shit happens
You'll be okay.
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