I had a randomly jarring experience last semester. Very suddenly and casually, one of my class buddies turned around and asked, “You’re on the cross country team?”Â
I was taken aback by the question and glanced at my black sweatshirt, which advertised my spot on the team. “Kind of,” I said.Â
“I never knew.”
There is a very good reason for them not to know, despite us sitting together in class for the past 2 semesters –- I haven’t raced in over a year.
In October of 2024, I got a stress fracture in my femur, which was diagnosed two painful months later. After four months on crutches, which I admittedly sparingly used, I was able to start physical therapy.
After discovering that my quad was grossly atrophied and refusing to engage, I started on daily stim therapy, which I still do and hate. Eventually, once my quad built up enough, I could start actual physical therapy, which included biking, but something wasn’t right. I was still in pain.
So, when I got home for summer break, I got another MRI to make sure my bone was healed. To my and my doctor’s surprise, the original fracture was healed, but a new one had started to form. Oh, and there was now a labral tear, which apparently had been there the entire time.Â
I am the antithesis of an injured athlete. I am neither hardworking nor determined to get back in good health. I am lazy, stubborn, and defiant.Â
So, I decided I would go and do my really cool internship working in concert venues across the city despite being put on crutches. Great idea, right? Well, that ended in a month of bed rest.
And then finally, in early September, a new MRI showed that my femur was healed, but the tear was still there, and I could start physical therapy, which was just stim again. So, two months after that, I could start to bike, but that still hurt. And I’m lazy, remember? So, I quit biking.
Upset with myself for giving up, I started again through the pain, and worked my way to begin the ever-so-elusive return to run plan in December – 15 months after the initial fracture.Â
Because I am heavily deluded, I didn’t think that returning to run would be incredibly difficult. I knew it would be a little painful and slow, but I always had the idea that I would bounce back. Of course, this is an incredibly stupid sentiment considering that I was entirely sedentary for a year.
Boy, was I wrong. Starting to run again is horrible. My heart rate is through the roof, my legs ache, and I gasp for air while running paces that wouldn’t even raise my heart rate two years ago.
As you can probably conclude from my long-winded story, running used to be the bulk of my identity. I was good at it, and I was known for it. So, my peer casually asking if I was on the cross country team unexpectedly reminded me that running is no longer a part of my life, or at least my identity.
I wanted a triumphant return, and that opportunity isn’t gone. I just don’t think that it’s my goal anymore, probably because running is no longer the crux of my ego.Â
In the almost two years I’ve been off the track, I became irrelevant and out of shape. And truthfully, I don’t really care. While it’s extremely humbling to be running at maximum heart rate at paces more than two times slower than before, I think running at the end hurt me more than I enjoyed it.
The most difficult part is fitting back in with a group of girls whom I mostly cast out during the past year. Not in a necessarily mean or definite way, but more in the sense that we just weren’t – literally – running in the same circles anymore.
So, I’m slowly and a little begrudgingly trudging my way back into shape. I’m not quite sure who it’s for. I’d like to say it’s to prove it to myself that I can do it, but I’m also inclined to do so just because I feel like I should.
I’m trying to return to the thing I loved most for 10 years, but I have changed so profoundly in the last year that I’m interested to see if that love is still there. I hope it is, but even then, I suspect that the love will be very different.Â