Chronic Pain and How it Changed My Life
If you are familiar with the art of running, then you know how challenging it is. You have to push through barriers of the mind, get comfortable with being uncomfortable, see potential in yourself before you even have it, and simply throw yourself into it with full force. That is precisely what I did. Over the summer of 2016, I woke up every morning at 5:15 to run. There wasn’t a more beautiful feeling than being alone on a small town road chasing the glow of the sunrise while everyone is asleep. The only noises came from the pounding of the pavement, and my slow, even breaths. When I got exhausted at mile 10 or 11, I would smile. I never felt more free, blessed, and challenged all at once in those moments. To me, running was a lovely combination of dreams, goals, and faith. It was both humbling and empowering at the same time. By the end of the summer, I ran over 300 miles, feeling more happy and healthy that ever. I thought I was invincible, just like every other sixteen year old. However, the tables always turn at the most unexpected moments.
Just days into new school year, I felt a pain in my head more severe than a headache. It lingered, and a doctor diagnosed me with a sinus infection, but assured me it was nothing to worry about. The pain persisted, but I kept running in between countless doctors appointments, rounds of antibiotics, and a sinking feeling of sadness. What else are you supposed to do when you’re the girl that became unstoppable, the girl that improved more than anyone ever had, and most importantly the girl who was supposed to lead her team to the school’s first cross country state title? I grew more physically and emotionally weak each day as I saw my grades drop, my times slow, and my smile disappear. The day of the State Championship race, I toed the starting line, knowing it might be the last race of my life. I vaguely remember holding hands with my teammates at the starting line, collapsing at the finish line, and the faint echo I heard from the ground of the announcer saying we won… and of course, the emergency room visit. I remember putting on a lacy pink dress for a banquet meant to congratulate our team. The camera flashes and state champion ring reminded me of the fluorescent light bulbs of the hospital room and the pulse monitor squeezing my finger. It didn’t feel like a celebration at all.
I struggled through indoor track, pills that kept me awake 21 hours a day, and myself. My talent that once seemed natural slipped from my grasp. I was told to not run and not to stress; just take my medicine and rest. It was a catch 22 to be told you can't do the single thing you love more than anything in the world and to “not stress.” After four months off, my coach told me we needed a miracle because we were invited to a big race in California and I had to be there. In my mind, if I make it there it will be sunny, but more importantly I'll be in a sunny state of mind. Most days, it seems like I’m just going through the motions not really living. Today is different though. Today, I went back to that track and put on my running hat that says “Time to Fly” on it; I ran one lap. Tomorrow I’ll run two and the day after that, three until I’m strong and healthy. I learned your journey may be different than everyone else's, but that doesn't mean it still can't be wonderful in the end. Most importantly, I’ve learned that giving up isn't an option.
I am fearless. It's time to fly.
- Anonymous
