Completing my first marathon...after giving up running.

If you told me 5 years ago that I would swim 12.5 miles around the island of KeyWest I would not have believed you (and probably would've declared you insane). Now, about two weeks out from completing this epic swim, I am reflecting on the achievement. Yes, I trained hard. But it wasn’t the 5 months of the swim workouts that got me here, it was the culmination of 5 years of personal growth at work. And yes, giving up running.

In 2013, after my 3rd knee surgery, I turned my attention to chasing challenges that were well outside my comfort zone when my doctor gave me the “real” talk- “no more running”. I cried. And I mourned it as though I lost my best friend, because running had been my anchor and my lifeboat since I was 12. As a replacement, he recommended I buy a bike or to take up swimming. So with great reluctance I did both. I had a hard time accepting I would need to surrender my runner-self to a surrogate sport. And I was also terrified.

But I bought the bike and learned to swim. I threw myself into the literal deep end and with these two new skills in place, I felt the tickle of excitement stir in my gut. "I would tackle a triathlon". If I did a sprint distance (I reasoned), I wouldn’t need to run that much, after all, its a short run ("just a 5k"). But I got a taste of the podium in my first sprint triathlon and the competitor in me felt a spark that I hadn't felt in a long time. I knew for athletes north of 40, its often endurance that trumps speed, so it occurred to me I might be suited to longer races and dove headlong into longer distances. It felt so good to cross the line and my knee felt pretty good. So first to olympic distance, then to half-iron (70.3). It was tantalizing to think about a full ironman. And by now I had met so many inspiring athletes that were positive and encouraging, I believed it was within my grasp.

Until it wasn't. After completing my first half-iron distance triathlon (run portion 13.1 miles/half marathon), I lay in bed with the sharp piercing pain of what felt like an icepick wedged into my tibia under my knee. The truth of my doctor’s warnings crashing down on me. Tibia plateau stress fracture with bone marrow edema -and the ibuprofen wasn’t touching it. Literally bone crushing pain. For the first time I was scared I had done irreversible crippling damage. The fact that I wasn’t invincible was no longer a theoretical idea or concept that would meet me in the future. It was in my face now, and was screaming at me via a throbbing knee. I had to let go of some ambitions, and again, quit running.

Through tears of pain and sadness I made false promises to myself. “I will not run again, I promise. Just let this heal. Let me walk without a limp. Make the pain stop.” I knew the lump sump of a teenage skiing accident (that lead to multiple ACL reconstructions and meniscectomies) left me tread bare, but I was fierce in my denial, and didn’t care for restrictions. And now I was paying the price. For weeks the pain was gnawed at me. Weeks became months. It was a loud and clear message from my body that I had limitations and I hated that so much. I loathed any sentence that begins with “I cant…(run anymore)”. Yet I knew I wasn’t “done” as an athlete. I had more I wanted to do. I had more in me. You don’t spend a lifetime as an athlete and one day decide you’re not. Doing so is a denial more dangerous than the denial of limitations. Accepting and embracing that I am a competitor and an athlete that needs an outlet and goals takes practice. It can also appear selfish. But I’ve learned I don’t need the acceptance of others to embrace who I am. If I fail at that self-embrace, I might as well be buried in the ground.

In all things, my best self is the self that keeps pushing and driving. With this injury, I felt lost and rudderless, without a mission to ground me. I felt stuck, defeated. I needed to pivot. I needed to find and name new goals, but avoid defining myself by them. I needed to learn I am embodied in the pursuit of them. The more challenging the better. I had to find challenges that wouldn't be destructive to my body (despite being “healthy” activities). I needed to find new things to pursue that would be productive and additive. I needed new goals that would set the competitor in me ablaze. I just knew I wasn't done.

A small pivot turned out to be a remarkable shift internally, and it liberated me. For the first time in my life I wanted to compete in things but I didn’t feel the need to "win"- and I didn’t want to compare my performance to anyone but me. While aiming to be the best version of myself, it became important to choose things that didn’t make me draw comparisons to the athlete I used to be, but offered a glimpse of the athlete I would become. I made a choice to focus on things that looked impossible, but were attainable with some sort of consistent effort. I needed stakes. There has to be a chance I could fail. My job was to dedicate myself to a training plan that would tip the odds of success in my favor. I break down the goal in smaller chunks and ask: What it would really take? What would be the the price I need to pay in terms of commitment? In terms of time? In terms of actual training and sweat?

The last few years I've identified events that give me a personal "high stakes mission" and do the calculus to decide if the pursuit is worth the price. And so far, every time, it has been. From competing at the US Nationals Skydiving last fall, to riding my bike up Mount Washington the year before.

From swimming around KeyWest on one Saturday and then riding 149 miles from Massachusetts to Vermont the next, it is all worth the price.

After my injury in 2015, my overarching goal in everything has been to make it to the starting line uninjured. Secondarily, for the Key West swim, I wanted to enjoy the swim and complete it- after all, it was a celebration of more than my training. It represented the athlete I am aspiring to be. And damn it, the competitor in me was determined to cross the line within the 8 hour cut off! She was aflame and brought me across at 6:36. She kicked my ass and it felt awesome. I may not be invincible, and each day I am getting a little older. But I’m not done. I'm just not done. In many ways I’m just getting started and am embracing my health as a gift. One too precious to squander.