This is not the way I envisioned my dream dying.
I thought this while staring up at blue skies and puffy clouds, the sounds of country music pulsating through my head.
Of course, not all was what it seemed. Those blue skies were an elaborate decoration covering the florescent light banks on the ceiling. The country music tunes were heading into my ears through headphones while the MRI machine took a reading of my left knee.
It all seemed so cheerful, so relaxing, so peaceful. All masking the solemn facts.
If this scan showed a stress fracture in my left knee, my competitive running career was over.
Within 25 minutes, the scan was done. This trip into the MRI tube was much shorter than I’d anticipated. But the expedience gave me no solace.
It still ached to take a step when it hadn’t two weeks before. I knew that I wasn’t alright. And I fully expected the radiologist’s report to confirm it.
All I could do now was wait.
The room was sterile and uninviting.
Fake wood tiles and three beige walls. The fourth was pea green with a beige stripe accent.
One wall was decorated with anatomies of the knee and lower leg. Another had an oil painting of a man swinging a golf club.
There wasn’t a window in sight, and little airflow to keep the room cool on a scorching summer morning.
I sat in a chair on one side of the room. My hands rested on my jeans while I stared at the patient table directly across the room.
It was quiet within these four walls. But I could hear the muffled conversations from adjacent rooms. Why don’t doctors’ offices invest in soundproofing, I wondered.
Within a few moments, I heard a slight knock on the door. Then it opened and the orthopedist walked in.
Good news, he said. Yes, it is a stress fracture, but you caught it early. So, the recovery time will be shorter. No running for 8 weeks. But then let’s get you back out there.
This update was mercifully short and to the point. But the doctor’s words manifested the death of a dream.
Insanity is doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result.
I’ve heard this adage many times before. And I’ve done my best to avoid succumbing to it.
But this quest has proved challenging, for a couple reasons.
For one thing, this gospel implores us to shake things up. To sacrifice the sacred cows that might be holding us back. As a change-averse person, I’ve found this difficult.
That’s a me problem.
But the other challenge impacts us all.
Maintaining fitness, you see, requires a great many things. But one of them is repetition.
If you want to get stronger, you might turn to a weightlifting routine. But it’s only by repeating that routine that you’ll eventually unlock new levels of strength.
The same goes with dietary choices and other habits. Following them once does us no favors. But doing them over and over can improve our outcomes.
Yes, fitness literally refutes the premise of insanity. It forces us to stand up to that pretentious adage. It’s a stake in the ground for the value of continuity.
Taking all this into account, it’s no wonder why I’ve been so infatuated with staying in shape over the years. It’s helped me get stronger, build resilience, and unlock new possibilities.
My fitness venture started on a dubious note. I showed promise as Cross Country runner during my high school days. But unlike that Corrs song, I didn’t yearn to be left breathless after every practice. So, I walked away from the team after my freshman year.
Soon, I stopped running entirely. And I said goodbye to the balanced diet the team coach had implored me to follow.
These were the dark days. That portion of adolescence and early adulthood where I thought my youth would wipe away my unhealthy behaviors.
But then, things began to shift.
I moved to a new city, embarked on a new career, and determined that staying in shape could no longer be an afterthought.
So, I started taking bi-weekly trips to the gym to lift and to run on the treadmill. I started eating better and stopped drinking soda. Eventually, I gave up alcohol too.
Over time, I noticed the difference these changes brought. I looked better. I felt better. I was better.
And it was only the beginning.
There are many advantages to working out in a gym.
There’s tons of fitness equipment. There’s climate control. There are TV screens to keep you entertained.
But when you take that away, the experience is decidedly less enjoyable.
One day, I arrived at the gym to find all the treadmills non-operational. So, I headed outside to run, for the first time in years.
The rest was history.
I soon exclusively became an outdoor runner. Eventually, I entered 5K races. Then, I joined some local running groups.
It wasn’t long before I was racing at longer distances — surprising myself with my performance at every turn. I had more speed and natural talent than I’d ever imagined. And I had a whole group of newfound friends encouraging me to make the most of my ability.
The unthinkable had happened. I’d shed the shadow of my bratty teenage self and become a bona fide runner.
Soon, I set my sights on a long-dormant dream: The New York City Marathon.
I knew plenty about the race already. Growing up in the area, I would follow the coverage year after year. And I’d gasp in awe at the Kenyan superstars who would break the tape in Central Park.
I yearned to run that race someday. But the thought of running 26.2 miles was so daunting to me that I’d convinced myself I never would.
Now, I was rethinking that stance. I was imagining running the streets of the Big Apple, with friends and family cheering me on. I was picturing myself with that finisher’s medal.
But the road ahead was less than assured. The New York Marathon is both the world’s biggest and one of the 5 toughest to enter — particularly for a distance running neophyte in Texas. My best shot would be to enter a random draw with a roughly 10% acceptance rate.
I put my name in the virtual hat. And it was drawn.
The impossible dream was headed toward reality. Or so I thought.
It started with an ache.
I was out running with a friend one morning when I felt the dull pain in my left leg.
Shin splints, I thought. When we stopped at a water fountain, I stretched my leg vigorously. It didn’t help.
I tried running through the discomfort for a time. I saw a chiropractor and a physical therapist. I bought some new resistance bands and massage balls.
I hoped I’d wake up one day and just feel right. I never did.
A visit to the doctor eventually confirmed what I’d feared. That pain in my leg was from a stress fracture. I’d need to take a couple months off and drop out of that year’s New York City Marathon.
My dream had gone from improbable to likely to life support. But it was still alive.
I had an option to defer my race entry to the next year, and I took it. That would give me more than a year to prepare for my second and final shot at the race.
But the road back would prove rocky.
Within a couple weeks of resuming running, I ran into issues with my right leg. I was hit with a double whammy – a new stress fracture below my right knee and a damaged ankle tendon that would require arthroscopic surgery.
I had made it through all that — the second shutdown, the surgery, the grueling rehab — and was ready for my second go at marathon training when my left knee started hurting. And then, it was all over.
My dream was dead.
It’s hard to take stock of what’s happened to me. It’s been such a strange odyssey, one that bubbles up a mess of emotions.
I am saddened that I failed in the pursuit of my dream. I am angered that my body betrayed me time and again. I am exhausted from navigating all the highs and lows of this journey. I am frustrated that I put in so much work with absolutely nothing to show for it. And I am resigned to the fact that this is how life goes sometimes.
But most of all, I am determined. Determined to move forward from this melancholy chapter.
Dreams can be fleeting. And sometimes our pursuit of them can lead to that token definition insanity — to trying the same thing and expecting a different result.
I’ve lived that experience now. And while I loathe the outcome, I do respect it.
So, running will look a little different for me moving forward. Life will look a little different.
But I am here for it.