A Runner Who Can’t Run

This is not a happy, chipper note.

So what does a woman do who has been told, “Do not run.” What is left when your only personal solace is the few minutes or an hour that you get a couple of times a week, with shoes gently slapping the pavement or dirt, and eyes turned skyward with the rising or setting of the sun, has been taken away from you? What does a woman do when she is told to go to physical therapy but can’t find one who understands athletes and is geographically close enough and who takes her insurance? For more than six weeks now I’ve been waiting for a diagnosis and last night it came in: Some people aren’t meant to run, Leah. It was a cruddy thing to hear, but hoping to persevere, I called the only physical therapist near my office, who is also an athlete.

We talked, discussed, shared and then scheduled a time for me to come in, only to discover that he doesn’t take Blue Shield HMOs. Oh…I held back my tears and said, “Thanks anyway.” To which he replied, “Good luck.” And that’s that. Good luck. With all the insurance and resources, it’s left to “luck” to heal me – to make me whole enough to run again. Well, luck hasn’t always been on my side and since I am not omniscient enough to know God’s plan, I think I’m at a standstill. My doctor said to give it six months. But what do I do until then? What happens after six months with no PT and muscles that have atrophied? What happens if it’s not better? What then, I ask?

What other sport besides running accepts all shapes, sizes and abilities, is social and allows you to chat and get to know people while exercising? Cycling? Nope. Swimming? Nope. I’m a runner who can’t run. My despair and frustration runneth over.