I am what some would call “fat” and others would call “fluffy” or perhaps, “plus-sized.” Some would say, “you are athletic” or “don’t you have the prettiest face.” Regardless, I am a woman plus more. Only, I’m not really plus-sized, because I can sometimes wear jeans from normal stores. So take that! Anyway, my point is: I am not some “oh isn’t she just darling in her running skirts, flitting all over, running!?” No, I am not like that when I exercise. I am a large, tough, sweaty mess who has been working really hard to make these triathlon dreams happen.
Triathlon? Oh yes.
I have really been busting my tail training for my next big race. I have been training for this long triathlon–in addition to other things, like oh, you know–life, work, kids, spouse and the like. The next big race is kind of a big deal–an “iron” distance race of 140.6 miles of swimming, cycling and running. Training for that kind of insanity is pretty tough. But I have been feeling awesome and strong and ready to go with about eight weeks left.
This morning, as I was sneaking out of the quiet, dark house in the wee hours to get my long run accomplished, I fell down the stairs. KA-PLAT. Fell. Down. I landed on my toes. But not like a cat. More like a Buddha. My poor toes smashed under me.
Suddenly, I knew that I was not running that morning.
The pain was intense, yes. I was mad that I had fallen (how stupid of me!). But mostly, I found that I was ticked off because my divine plan, had been thwarted. My big plan of running and being awesome was no more.
I didn’t cry until I realized that my schedule was messed up. No cry at the first landing on the ground? Nope. No cry as I cringed trying to walk? No way. I only cried when I learned that my day was not going as planned (X-rays? Who has time for that?!). I cried because my training schedule would have this scarlett “A” on it for the missed workout.
But most of all I cried because I didn’t know how in the world I would plan what was next. I couldn’t control the “next” part–because I didn’t know what was happening in the present.
Learning to relinquish control of the uncontrollable has been a huge struggle of mine for many years.
After my sob-fest this morning, I realized that I was once again standing , looking out on something important–the ability to get my act together and make the best of the situation.
As I hobbled to the car to go to the doctor, I decided that I would make the best of the limping, non-running scenario.
I might not be able to run with the gnarled foot condition, but I could hug my kids, do my work and kiss my husband. In light of my ephiphany, I decided that I would eat a really bad-for-me dinner, not feel guilty about, then hug my family and start anew tomorrow morning.
Only the next time, I vow to turn on the light and watch my step…