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The Red Turkey Day

January 13, 2018

I experienced a travesty on Thanksgiving morning. And no, I’m not talking about my outfit (below), I happened to think I nailed that part of the day.

 

 

 

 

I’m talking about the injury I incurred around mile 2 of the 4.something mile Manchester Road Race. At mile one, I was hopping nimbly amongst the race participants, sniping a shot of mystery liquor from a stranger on the sidelines & getting pummeled by an oversized inflatable turkey leg (it’s really a joy to run with family).

 

And then suddenly, at mile 3, I was crying, bleeding, limping, cursing my Christmas cat sweater & mourning my 2018 race calendar. Somewhere in the middle, some sh#t went down that goes a little something like this:

 

I, having decided to punch the gas on the back half of the course (stupid), was happily giving some smiling children high fives along the sidelines, while careening down the notorious hill about half way through the course. All of a sudden, some lady with notably poor judgment & an insatiable desire for high fives (that, at least, I can relate to), realized she had missed a prime opportunity and decided to hard stop right in front of me. She reached back for her own high five, stooping low to connect with the last kid in line. It all happened so fast that it’s hard to provide an honest play by play without a little help from my imagination, but I’m pretty sure Miley Cyrus was singing “Wrecking Ball” while I kneed her in the face at approximately 10mph . I freed my foot from her tangled  limbs (don’t worry, she was fine) just in time to take one giant step in an attempt to catch myself on the way down. I almost managed to stay on my feet too, but having no ACL in my knee, I subluxed the damn thing, tore both my lateral & medial meniscus and went crashing to the pavement. My elbow took the brunt of the fall, as I bounced over my turkey-encompassed head. If there’s anything I’m thankful this year, I guess it’s plush turkey legs. Had it not been for my ridiculous hat, I may have broken my race finishing streak & DNFed. And then my life would be over like Eli Manning’s.

 

     So that’s the story & now here I am many weeks later & several weeks post op. I’m grounded for 9-12 months, thus ending my 2018 season before it even began. I can’t risk pushing to return earlier, since I’ve already had 8 knee surgeries on this thing with a long history of complications. So, the options here are slim:

 

  1. I can sink into a deep depression and stop bathing.

  2. I can quit running forever, move to Indonesia, live next to the erupting volcano & let the ash & lava encapsulate my useless, immobile body for future excavation, in a grandiose, poetic display of symbolism.

  3. I can write a blog about it, experience life as a non-runner, be my team’s biggest fan, drink a bunch of wine & try to do some other cool sh#t

 

Admittedly, I waver between my options based on the day. It’s honestly been tough to even write this blog. You can thank the complex storm of emotions rolling through my head at every beat for the raw, choppy prose. But I know option #3 is what I truly want for myself. And so I will try to channel all of my energy to a productive, fulfilling, run-free life. More on how I plan to do that next time.

 

     If anyone has any ideas on non-running hobbies/distractions to try, comment below. I’ll give them a go & maybe even write a blog about it. I will require 1 free hand for wine & we should probably avoid power tools for safety sake...

    

        

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