Gratitude has been on my mind, and it's not even Thanksgiving.
Gratitude to move. To throw my kids in the air. To wrestle. To run. To breathe deeply. To earn the sweat dripping down your face.
I often run on the same trail, mostly because it's conveniently close to my house, but also because it is exactly 3.2 miles round trip. Take that for convenience my 5k runners. You get to know the regulars on the trail, and see the history of those that walk it.
Two years ago I used this trail to train for my half marathon, and I noticed a man who would "walk" the trail in his wheelchair, his wife beside him as he took one little step after another. Near the end of my training he was carefully walking the 3.2 miles on crutches. Just two weeks ago I saw him limping along the trail with nothing other than determination, slowly but surely. I couldn't help but stop and give him a high-five, massively impressed by his determination to keep on moving despite whatever put him in that wheelchair in the first place.
I'm greeted like an old, nameless, friend by many on the trail who recognize me as a regular and I'm so proud of that status. I love running. I love the freedom I feel. I love pushing my body to do what I don't think it's capable of doing. I run without music, using the time to clear my head and push myself to a new plateau.
Now I'm sounding like I eat grass and chant at 5 a.m.
About 6 months ago I challenged my parents to do a triathlon with me and I have been REALLY excited to hear of their progress. I wanted them to feel the thrill of being active, and I have loved hearing how they are biking 11 miles, or swimming for an hour, etc. and it makes my heart flutter like a crazy teenager for some reason. Perhaps in some way I've always wanted to repay them for all the care and love they have given me all these years, and they are being kind enough to let me push them a little to be healthy. I love it.
But despite my parent's progress, my body is not cooperating. I may be pumped mentally to take on this challenge but I have been met with too many setbacks to make this a reality and it is driving me nuts. After pain shot through my knee about a month ago, I hobbled through the end of my trail and decided it wasn't worth compromising my knee to push it past the breaking point. So I was good to my body, took a break, and went to see a doctor. X-rays revealed that not much was happening, so off I went to start training again after getting over an illness. With only 3 weeks left I knew that I had to push myself hard to make it happen.
Last Friday I began not feeling well, but I pushed myself through the run and was really proud of myself to finish 3 miles. Not with a great time, but I finished and that was enough. As the week progressed I felt worse and worse, but I just continued to push myself through it, trying to get past the plateaus that were slowing me down (including not feeling well). Then on Thursday a rash spread throughout my body. By Friday night I was feeling rather ill and decided not to go for a run Saturday morning.
Sunday morning I woke up, unable to even walk. My joints throughout my body had swollen to a point where I couldn't pick up sweet Sawyer and I cringe when people touch me. Something is wrong. Everything hurts. The doctors can't figure it out. Blood work has been ordered.*
But this I know. I know how grateful I am for my body. I am grateful to pick up my children. I am grateful for a husband who is stepping up to the plate for me right now. I am grateful to know that my body has the capability of healing itself if I'm patient, even today it's just a little better and more bearable than yesterday.
And someone give me a dang wheelchair and I'll do that race one painful step at a time.
*Update: It's viral they think. I'm feeling much better every day too! Hooray!
