A Runner's Way

(Minor warning! Small references/thoughts of possible suicide!)

"Oh." My voice came out dull and numb, sounding strange to me.

Oh? Was that all I could say? Even as the pain rose up in me and my blood seemed to pulse through my ears, resounding through my head, all I could say was a simple 'Oh'? My world had almost just crumpled and--

"I know this is hard to accept. Learning you have angina is one thing; we have many patients and known athletes that still do it even with that problem, so if it was angina alone it would be fine." The doctor's voice was sympathetic as if she knew my pain. "However, we also noticed some...other problems. Your leg never quite healed from the injury and some bones have been slightly shifted. We'll need to perform surgery on it. And I'm not saying that you have to stop being an athlete completely. Just...change. You're not going to be able to run as much, or as hard, and you'll have to tone it down a whole lot on the swimming as well. I wouldn't recommend competitively running anymore. And if another leg injury occurs after the surgery...well, you won't really be able to run nor should you at that point."

How am I supposed to react to this? My lifelong pursuit, my career, my hobby, all of it--gone.

The doctor gave my mom a prescription or something to help with the pain, a note of some sort, some GTN spray or whatever, and lots of tips. Not that I really paid any attention.

Everything passed by in a blur. I heard Mom saying something in the car, saying we would get through it and work out some way, but it all just really fell on deaf ears.

It wasn't until I got to my room did it really hit me. I shut the door to my room and walk over to my bed, almost in a trance. I drop my phone on the mattress as a choked sob escapes me.

I was a runner. How was I supposed to live now? What was I supposed to do with my free time now? What was I supposed to do with my life?

All the times and PRs I'd gotten in track and cross country, all my 5Ks and miles of running and training...it was like they were never there now. My career was over after it barely began.

I slide to the floor, leaning on my bedpost as I put my face in my hands, sobbing. The tears leave me, and I can't hold them back as my body shakes, the pain in my chest nothing compared to what I was mentally going through. Why? Why did this have to happen? What had I ever done to deserve this?

After what felt like hours but was most likely no more than half an hour, I stand up, only to immediately flop on my bed. I groaned and wrapped as many blankets around myself, trying to forget it. Maybe it was just a bad dream.

It wasn't a bad dream. It was a living nightmare. I woke up sometime at like 7:30 AM--the time I would normally be getting up at to get ready for a team run. A team run that I would never be able to go as fast in, if at all.

I cursed to myself. Don't think about it and the pain will numb. That's how it always works.

Dragging myself out of bed, I get ready, brushing my hair and teeth as I try to look presentable. For what? I'm not sure. The death of my future? My career? Maybe.

When doing so, my eyes drifted to the bottle of pills at the rim of my bathroom sink.

Hah, I thought bitterly, my gaze on the bottle labeled Omeprazole, wasn't that supposed to do something? Weren't those supposed to help with the pain or whatever? For acid reflux?

I scowl, thinking about the process that all this had happened through.

If only. A wistful thought now that I thought of it all. If only it had been acid reflux. Maybe then I wouldn't be in this situation.

Leaving the bathroom, I try to shake those thoughts out of my head. The results had come in, it was undeniable now. All that was left was to keep moving forward.

I shuffle back over to my bed, picking up my phone and grabbing my earbuds off the desk. I don't even flinch at the sudden flare in the pain in my chest, used to it. Not that it mattered anyway. Even now that it was normal, it still ruined my life.

Placing my earbuds in my ears and going to Spotify, my eyes immediately go to my running playlist and I wince. Would...would I even need that playlist anymore?

I scroll down to my 'Negatives' list and hit play, muffling a bit of the world around me. Making a move to exit my room, I stop at the sight of my running shoes.

Blinking at them for a second, and then my mouth crumpled, a broken sound coming from it again. Tears welled up in my eyes as I just stood there, hand on the doorknob, gazing at the shoes I normally wore regularly.

I would almost never wear them again, would I?

Wiping my eyes, I hesitate. Would...would one more jog possibly hurt? Going at my normal speeds? Could it really be that bad...

The rational and logical part of me argued with my emotions as I walked over, bending down and placing them on my feet. I tie the laces for what feels like the last time.

I was probably overreacting. But my life as a runner was never going to be the same. Running wasn't just a hobby--it was going to be almost my whole career. Now it would just be a...an occasional activity.

Exiting my room, I look around the house from where I was. It seemed relatively empty, so my brother must have gone to the run, my dad to work, and my mom and sister to swim team. Nobody was home to stop me. Nobody would have to know.

Just one run. That was all.

I open the front door and take a step outside, only to almost immediately flinch and almost keel over. The normal aching in my chest increased tenfold, becoming a burning suffocating feeling. It was stronger than any other time something like this had happened, and it was on both sides.

Gasping for breath, I press my hands to the areas that radiated the most pain, knowing they would be useless. It throbbed, it burned, it stabbed, it was heavy, it ached it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt it--

Slowly the spike in pain faded, going back to the regular aching. I curse under my breath as tears well up, not from the pain. I couldn't even go on one simple jog?!

I don't even go back inside, I just sit down and lean against the closed front door, resting my head on it as I look up to the sky. I sit there silently, tears dribbling down my face again.

This despairing feeling. The way it bubbled up in my throat and seeped a hopelessness in my bones. I hated it. And there was nothing I could do. My career really was over.

I laugh dryly, scrolling through the running app and giving congratulations to everyone's runs. It was so stupid. All of this was just so stupid. It made me want to laugh and cry at the same time from the cruelty of it all, and so far I had done both at different periods.

Being a runner wasn't an option anymore. I acknowledge that fact once more while skimming over it, knowing that if I stayed hooked up on it again, I'd be a sobbing mess once more. I would never get a PR in my two mile again. I wouldn't be able to go to as many practices. I wouldn't be able to improve.

Staring at the bottle of pills, I wearily smile as I toss the mostly full bottle into the trash can.

They had proven useless in helping me with my condition. And while I was still broken and lost and wishing none of this was real, I still knew that was not the way to go.

A runner's way is step by step, never stopping. One foot in front of the other. That was all I had to do...Just one foot in front of the other.

I wipe my eyes, ignoring the tears. How many times would I repeat that sentence? How many times would I regret throwing away those pills?

Just as many times as a runner would ponder why they're still running instead of taking a break and walking. This...was just another cross country race, one where I could still run at my best. One foot in front of the other.

My life would never be the same. And was that okay? Not really. Yet I would deal with it, no matter how many times it broke me.

Step by step.

Never ending until I cross that finish line.