Life on hold

            Injuries suck.  Once you’ve become addicted to running, which can happen fairly quickly, getting an injury seems to put life on hold.  All you want to do is get back out and run again, but you know that doing exactly that will result in a longer hold on life.  Since I started running, I’ve had my fair share of injuries—some as a result of running, others not so much (Seahawks tailgating + sneaky curb = sprained ankle…apparently).  Like everything else with running, being injured is a mental battle.  It puts you in a funk, makes you want to hide away and pretend running never really existed until you can get back out there.  When I experienced my first running injury, the epic life-changing tailspin I was in suddenly halted.

Somewhere between 2-3 weeks after I first started running, my body fought back for the first time.  It was just a run or two after I discovered the culprit behind Lucy’s refusal to run as I was trying to convince her that the beeping wouldn’t ever happen again.  She had begun hesitatingly running after the first few cycles of run/walk when she didn’t hear the beeping.  Things were going well: I had a plan for building my stamina, I had solved the defiant dog problem, and I had bought some running gear to make me feel like a real runner.  I was determined, I was ready, I wanted to be a runner.

            I was about ¾ of the way through a loop around the cemetery when the Achilles tendon on my left foot suddenly tightened up.  I thought it was one of the typical “aches and pains” of running that will momentarily appear and then disappear just as quickly.  But as I continued running, it got tighter and tighter until I had to stop running.  By the time I got back to my apartment, I was hobbling, unable to bend my foot more than a 90 degree angle. 

            I’d like to say when I got home that I iced my foot, but to be honest I have no idea.  It wouldn’t surprise me if I didn’t.  I didn’t know the value of ice then.  So to no surprise, I woke up the next morning and it was just as tight, if not worse.  I limped to work and tried to make it up and down the 4 flights of stairs at my school all day, kids laughing at me as I used the stair railing as a crutch.  By the end of the day it sunk in that this wasn’t going away.  The teachers I worked with looked at me like I was crazy and told me this whole running business was ridiculous.

            My foot continued to be stuck in that awful tight position for a week.  If I bent it too much, I got this bone-chilling feeling that the tendon would just snap.  Once it started loosening, I was afraid to jump right back into running.  All my online research told me that even though injuries might feel better, that doesn’t mean that are better (yes…I researched online instead of seeing an actual doctor…do not judge me).  So I decided to take a full 6 weeks off.  I was going to be visiting Seattle in mid-April to scope out my soon-to-be new home and decided I would start running again when I got back. 

            And so, life was put on hold.  I can honestly say that I have very little recollection of the things I did in that 6 week period.  It was as if my brain shut off.  I was just waiting to be able to jumpstart my new life again.  Lucy and running had done so much to change everything about me already, and now I had to ignore them both.  My roommate walked Lucy with Jackson for me for the first few weeks, because I couldn’t even do that.  I started watching my food intake during this time in an effort to start losing a few pounds even if I couldn’t run.  But it seemed pointless.  I wanted to run and I couldn’t. 

So, because life is on hold at this point in the story, I’ll put the story on hold too.  Instead, here are a few interesting facts about Lucy to brighten your day:

1)  She eats her own eye boogers.  Once, when she was a puppy, as I picked away a little chunk of black gook from the corner of her eye, she reach out and licked it right off my thumb.  After the initial feeling of gross shivers down my spine, my immediate second reaction was, “well, that’s convenient.”  No wasting tissues to throw the boogers away every time I have to clean them.

2)  She likes to smell my breath first thing in the morning when I wake up.  She puts her head up on the bed, sticks her nose about an inch in front of my mouth, and gently sniffs.  It seems intriguing to her, as if she’s asking “What happened in there?”

3)  She has been beaten up by a cat named Bob more times than I can count on 2 hands and 2 feet.

4)  When she sleeps, she curls up into the tightest, smallest ball one can imagine for a dog that size.  People who have never seen her sleep before look at her dog bed and ask me where the cat is.  I promise she fits in the bed, despite what you may think.

5)  She has eaten poop on more than one occasion. 

6)  When we’re running or walking together, every now and then she’ll reach up and poke me in the butt with her nose.  When I look down at her, she is smiling up at me as if saying “Remember me?  I’m still here!”  I have to reach down and let her lick my hand before she’ll resume normal leash position (although she doesn’t get to do this if she’s eaten poop).

7)  When I say she smiles at me, I mean this literally.  I can remember 2 times in the past few months alone where people have randomly stopped me on the street during a walk to tell me that my dog is smiling.  That she looks so happy.  This makes me feel good.

8)  She’s a talker.  She has lots of different barks and whines for many varied situations.  She can do the most pathetic whine when asking to come up on the couch or sleep on the bed.  She’s also got a whimper that is a little more forceful when her bowl of food is sitting up on the counter and I’ve forgotten to put it down for her.  There’s also the pleading whine and stare at the toy that’s rolled just a little too far under the couch.  Then there’s the panicked “HELLO!!! I NEVER THOUGHT I’D SEE YOU AGAIN!!” welcome whine, where the whine even gets this sort of trilling quality to it. 

9)  She also has a moan.  This occurs when she’s just settled into a comfy position and is ready to fall into the deepest of sleeps.  She takes in a slow breath and breathes out the deepest, longest, most despairing sounding moan I’ve ever heard.  It’s as if she’s letting out every trouble from her tough doggy day so she can rest in peace.  Sometimes I wish I could do that.  One deep breath and you exhale all your troubles away.  Injury or no, life on hold or not, for this moment everything is OK.