A New Road

I used to be a runner. A marathoner. Running—in addition to being enjoyable exercise—was a metaphor for life. Now I’m a cyclist. And just as I saw deeper meaning in the act of running, so too in the transition to cycling.

Life means change.

We grow; we age. We’re healthy; we’re sick. Things work; things break. We hope; we hurt. We love; we hate. Chapters start; chapters end. We learn; we languish. Circumstances smile; circumstances stink. We’re joyful; we’re sorrowful. We’re born; we die. 

Is change the only constant?

As I wrote here, “Part of maturity is sacrifice. Part of maturity is transition. Part of maturity is change. Nothing lasts forever. Everything has a season.” Life means change. We may not want to surrender to it, but we may be forced to.

Guess what I discovered in this change?

As much as I loved running, I thoroughly enjoy cycling. I feel a bit like a kid again every time I start a ride or pedal as hard as I can to top a hill or race down the other side. It’s fun. There is joy in the new road. Of course, cycling is not life, but it shares lessons that apply to our greater life concerns.

How can we better handle change?

Have the funeral. Mourn your loss. Write the obit. Offer your eulogy. Seriously. Whether it’s a job change, relationship change, health change, ability change, or whatever. Mourn as fits your personality and situation. If it’s not coming back, then celebrate what it was and close the chapter. Go at your own pace, but engage the process. God made us to grieve. Grief serves a positive purpose.

Share the experience. Again, as it fits your personality and situation, invite family and friends and anyone else who can help or cares to listen into your change. Change is a common denominator of all people. You’ll be surprised how folks step up to contribute to your recovery if you let them in. Folks want to help, they just might be too shy to volunteer; give them an invite. We need one another. We’re always better together.

Get moving forward. I’m not a cyclist unless I get out there and cycle. What about you? You’re not truly alive unless you are out there living, right? Don't die before you take your last breath. Get moving. In your own time, pursue some new dream, new relationship, new you, new whatever. Get yourself moving forward to get yourself healthy. Life is change. Roll with it. Even down your new road.

Thanks for sharing the journey, Friends. If you haven't, please subscribe to continue along the way together. And, of course, share the story by clicking Share below. Thanks again!

Never

As you read in my last post, I was to have arthroscopic surgery to repair a cartilage tear and flap in my right knee. 

My doctor had stated,”We’ll know more once we get a look inside.” Even though a MRI offers great diagnostic ability, it’s not the same as seeing the real thing.

A few days ago I wrote, “I may not, however, ever run the same again.” That was then. This is now.

Surgery was quick; I woke up just about an hour after I’d been put under. Still woozy from the medicine, I don’t recall if my wife told me first, but I will never forget what my doctor had to say.

“Other than running around with your kids, you should never run again.”

Bam.

There it was.

Something that has been part of my life for a decade. Something that is part of my identity. Something that kept my physically healthy and mentally sane (at times). Something filled with such sweet memories. Something I enjoy just for the simple pleasure of propelling myself over space through time. Something I could never imagine not being. Is now something I will no longer be: a runner.

A friend wrote something like, “Once a runner, always a runner. No one can take that away.” Although the sentiment is kind, I think the best I can do now is “former runner” or “retired marathoner.” It’s a simple syllogism: Runners run. I can no longer run. Therefore, I am no longer a runner.

My doctor was surprised by what he found: forty plus pieces of floating cartilage in my joint; deterioration of every cartilage surface in my joint; even the flap that was to repaired had totally ripped off leaving a gapping finger nail sized hole to my femur. He cleaned it up. I’ll only have four weeks on crutches instead of eight; that’s good. But I’ll never run again.

Friends are kind with suggestions. Elliptical. No offense, but gag me. That’s fine for others, but it’s never been my thing; I love the outdoors. Swimming. Alright. Involves other muscle groups, nonimpact. But in Nebraska it’s mostly still indoors. Cycling. Yes. That’s where I’ll probably turn. I’ll enjoy learning new things, the distances, the training, the people, and the speed. All good, but still not running.

Again, as in my last post, Ever, I’m not whining. I’m a healthy guy who can no longer do what so many despise. It’s just running! But I’m a healthy guy who can no longer do one thing I love no matter what anyone else thinks. It’s running. I’m not whining. I’m coping.

Part of maturity is sacrifice. Part of maturity is transition. Part of maturity is change. Nothing lasts forever. Everything has a season. You deal with it. You suck it up. You adapt and overcome. You find a new normal. Doesn’t mean you have to like it. At least not a first.

Four marathons, each with their unique memories. Seven Market to Market Relays with a varied cast of characters making up my teammates. Adventure runs in travels to Colorado, Pennsylvania, Texas, San Francisco and Western Nebraska. A year’s worth of fun in running my neighbor’s spirited English Pointer. Countless daily runs around my part of town all alone and loving it; passing miles and thoughts and prayers.

Over 6000 miles. Over 900 hours. I am thankful. Most thankful.

I will never run again. Yet I will never regret that I did run. All that running gave me. All that running made me. Never.

Ever

Ever.    

Short word. Long time.

I’m the positive sort; optimistic, even idealistic at times. I’m also realistic; not naive, but pragmatic. Call me the Pragmatic Optimist. But I’m facing something tomorrow that has me concerned. I want to be optimistic, yet I’ve got to be practical as well.

I’m a runner. Or, possibly, was a runner.

I do not know if I will ever run again. Ever.

Ever.

Small word. Great import.

After running a fast and fun Market to Market Relay with my team October 11th, I set a personal goal of pursuing a new half marathon PR. I was excited by the relay and energized by my goal. Then something was wrong.

On my next three runs—each standard, three mile jaunts—I felt a pain in my right knee unlike any I’d ever had before. I’ve run 5000 miles and four marathons over the past seven years, so I’ve experienced a little of every setback a runner might face. This was different. Following that third run it hurt so bad I fought tears of pain. And despair.

Instinctively, I knew there must be a cartilage tear. I knew it’d mean surgery. I knew it might mean I’d never run, or run the same, again.

Tomorrow I'll have arthroscopic micro fracture surgery. My doctor will cut the cartilage flap off the anterior medial condyle of my right femur then drill into my femur to cause new cartilage to grow. It’s a common procedure. It does mean eight weeks on crutches. I should recover well. I should be able to run again. I may not, however, ever run the same again.

There's that word again: Ever.

Don’t quite reading yet and misjudge my intent in writing. I’m not looking for sympathy—“Poor fella may not be able to run. Bless his heart.” I’m not complaining—“What a whiner! Deal with it.” I am desirous that you and I ponder a different perspective—“How amazing? What a blessing!”

Everything we have—our abilities, talents, possessions, friends, and family—is on loan from God.

Everything we are—our personality, character, thoughts, goals, and dreams—is through God.

The realization that everything is by God’s grace is humbling. Humility is liberating. Stewardship is empowering.

I may not ever run again. And that’s okay. I said it. Why can I say it? I have so, so, so much more to live for and be thankful for. Don’t we all?

Ever.

Consider everything. Humbled evermore.

“For who makes you different from anyone else? What do you have that you did not receive? And if you did receive it, why do you boast as though you did not?”

— 1 Corinthians 4:7

What do you have that you did not receive?

Leave a comment and use the Share link below. To subscribe, follow the link in the nav bar above.