Limits Suck


Over the last several, as many as 25?, years I’ve used various athletics to break into new communities. Softball, volleyball, beach volleyball!, biking, running. Great memories of 48 hour sand volleyball tournaments and softball road trips. Even a couple city league ball trophies! These large team sports helped me crack into group circles—probably because they usually involved plenty of team (and league) parties where everyone was generally incredibly inviting.  These have been the one constant every time I’ve moved into a new city or neighborhood to break from ‘the work crowd’ and slip into a new one.  

During the 25 years I’ve suffered the usual variety of aging athlete injuries; couple of broken pinkies, sprained and strained ankles, feet, elbows and wrists. Each time recovery has been relatively quick requiring minimal time away from the sport or the team/s. However, once the hand-eye coordination left and I’d pivoted and dived one too many times sacrificing my body I figured I’d reached my limit. 

So I turned to what I thought would be the –more safe– activities that would carry me the next stretch of moves and years: first riding a ‘bike’ to mingle with other beach-bums then picking up ‘jogging’ to get me through a couple of life things. Upgrade the bike a couple of times, graduate into actual running gear and I started feeling as if I belonged in various groups. Safe, solo or with groups, relatively low-cost, competitive or not and seemingly no limits.  That was about 19 years ago; a pretty good run (and ride) by most accounts. I’ve been able to see urban, suburban and rural terrain covering dozens of cities in a dozen or so states via two wheels or two feet; how fortunate is that? 

Two years ago the pace slowed dramatically after I felt an excruciating pain on the last 200 meters of a casual Sweetwater loop. Down our hill I hobbled, unable even to do more than make eye contact with the guy walking his little pup heading up the hill. Hit my limit. Seven weeks later I started post-op rehab. 

During the course of about twelve weeks I felt as if I fell off the map. Working through lunches, sleeping in on Saturdays, sitting on my can in two states. I felt as isolated as I had in years; perhaps even more so than during my divorce. This time I didn’t need more time to reflect, to find peace. This time I needed to get off my a@@ and move yet couldn’t. 

Toward the tail end of rehab, April ’11 in fact; I realized my time in the Midwest would soon be drawing to a close. While I hadn’t told a soul, I knew. I knew enough that I joined a local running group that would eventually open the doors (as anticipated) to full assimilation into town. It felt great to feel myself getting stronger and the group was large enough that someone was always pushing as I was getting back to where I belonged. In fact the group was indeed large enough —-two former Olympic Trials, several IMs, a couple 100 milers(including Western States), a couple pursuing 50 States badges, the resume goes on. I was able to pick and choose training partners at will depending on what I needed. No limits. Until last fall.  Spending another set of days on on my rear with my leg propped was not what I had in mind when I first felt a little pain several weeks ago. 

This is a large city. Geographically gi-normous even. I’ve logged seven running miles since the first week of November of last year. For those counting that’s over the span of nearly 18 weeks. It’ll be a few weeks before I’m able to get out again. Without the several-times-a-week routine workouts I scarcely run into my still new running mates. It’s during this time I’ve fully come to resent physical limits. My biking has suffered through that stretch as well—while I’d been able to ride it’s not to the level of the groups (or events) with which I’d normally ride.  Fortunately riding chews up more time which has helped the days, weeks and months pass by relatively quickly. Unfortunately I’ve missed running through the best time of the year. 

My first post-op surgeon’s visit was earlier this week. News could not have been better. He threw out some 3-4 month ranges contingent on a number of things. Staying on the upside I can hop on a bike as long as I’m firmly braced up and keep the torque to a minimum. Two years ago rehab was virtually 100% indoors. Cold and ice made it unrealistic to get on a bike and mush and patchy ice made it unwise to even walk outside much. Not so this time around–sort of. As Dr. Prickett talked through rehab I mentioned my upcoming change of geography and he casually, yet with purpose, pulled a notepad near and (legibly) wrote me the name of former associate in the DC area. Yup, recovery will continue within the Beltway as we’ve been cleared to travel! Time for another pack-n-move to make trax and set new limits in a yet another new zip code!!