It was neither long nor fast. It was clunky, awkward and uncomfortable. It was downright painful for some of it. But for two minutes at barely above a brisk walking pace on a treadmill, it was glorious.
So what's the big deal about a little run? To the rest of the world, it's obviously nothing, as it should be. To me, it was huge. You see, those were my first bonafide running steps in almost six months, 171 days and 23 hours since the fateful step that brought it all to a unceremonious halt. No, I didn't count each day during those months, but yes, I did figure it out down to the hour because I wanted to know exactly how long this chapter was so I could close the book on it.
As previously noted in this blog, running is important to me and I've missed it. Being able to run again was always the primary goal, but never a given. My medical help was clear with me that while they were optimistic, the kind of injury I had could get in the way of running even after it was healed. We wouldn't really know until we tried and there was a lot of work to do before we could try. While it hurt to run, it hurt in all of the right places and none of the wrong ones. It doesn't mean I'm in the clear, but it was a monster step.
Over the course of my rehab, I've been able to get back on the bike and build up to some true hammer sessions where I darn near entered the puke zone. It felt so good to sweat buckets again and ride until my quads burned. It's just not the same as running, though. That was my first love in the athletic world and I don't want to have to do without it.
I'd known this day was coming for about the last two weeks and I'd be lying if I didn't admit I was anxious about it. As we slowly increased the pace of my walk on the treadmill at the PT's office, I got a bit nervous. We finally got up 4.4 mph and I knew that was as fast as I could go and still walk. Then the order came to bump it up. Ok, this is going to force me to run. Here we go. And I went. And I didn't die. And my ankle didn't fall off. It hurt, but it was still working and I could actually run. Oddly enough, I pretty much shrugged at first. I thought it was cool, but I was too focused on remembering the mechanics of running to notice that hey, I was running. This went on for two minutes followed by a few balance exercises, some range-of-motion work, some massage, some congratulations and plans for future visits. It seemed like no big deal to me, which surprised me, although my PT was excited. Then, I left the building.
In the 25 feet from the front door to the car came this flood of memories of the fateful step, the endless days in the boot, the physical therapy, the watching friends run races while I watched. Boom. There it was. Holy shit, I just freakin' ran! I felt lighter and I could breath easier. Suddenly, that light at the end of the tunnel was whole lot brighter and it wasn't a train. I had to just sit in the car for a few minutes to collect myself before returning to the office for work. I know this should't be this big of a deal in someone's life, but it is, at least to me.
There is still a long way to go and much more physical therapy work to do, but it finally feels like I'll be able to clear this last hurdle. For now, I've got to go order some new running shoes. After all, runners need running shoes. I wonder what new models have come out since I last looked ...
