(Almost) Back on two feet

July 1st. The middle of the summer, the midst of the heatwave. A gorgeous morning, the sun already up. I laced up my running shoes, took a deep breath of fresh morning air, and set of down the driveway, starting my run. So ordinary, something I’ve done like clockwork for the last four years. No matter where I’ve been, put on my shoes, the day barely underway, jogged off for an hour. Birds were singing, the sky was azure, little rabbits hopped across my path. This was the life, I was so happy to be out there, free.

I didn’t see the hole. The path was uneven, but I’d ran it so many times before. I was still looking around, not down, my right foot went one way, my body the other. Another injury, nothing new, to someone who has run through everything from bleeding, cut feet to a fever. So I continued running, for three weeks, ignoring the nagging pain in my ankle. Until one hot afternoon I stumbled back from a walk with Prune, and even for me, it was too much. No number of icepacks helped, and I finally realized, no, I would not be running tomorrow. Or walking, or even standing too much. None of which would have mattered to most people. But for the last few years, I’ve barely missed a run, much less a walk, and have always taken it for granted that I could be as active as I liked.

      

I did some research, and decided I’d take up aquajogging, which was apparently what all sports people do when they’re injured- they run in a pool. So I became well-known in the local sports center as the one with the foot taped in pink, who moved up and down the pool disalarmingly slowly. It sure wasn’t the same as running, but it was something, and I grew used to it. The dry heat of the summer made sitting outside with my feet up easy, and everyone helped me out by getting me what I needed. It was odd to be the slowest one around, to have to rely on others for the smallest things. Hard to watch the dogs go on walks with someone else. To be left behind, with my feet up on a chair. To be dropped off at the pool when I would have been running. The summer wore on, I got used to my immobility, and learned to relax. To appreciate the sun on my legs, the sound of the birds, the endless blue sky. That I could still have these things without a walk, or a run.

       

Late August, and I started to panic, a few weeks and I had to start teaching. At this point, it took me at least ten minutes to get something from my room and get back to the kitchen, so I didn’t know how I would manage. I remember being afraid to walk any faster, knowing the pain would start again. I grabbed dad’s arm to try to walk across the lawn, tiny, little steps. I practiced every day, and it went from taking 40 minutes to walk to the shed and back to around ten.

Along with the challenges of the first job, I had to deal with my foot. Playground duty, boisterous kids, long days without rests. I spent most weekends at physiotherapy, getting exercises to strengthen my foot, but still not feeling up to trying most. Slowly, my physio gave me more confidence, believing that things would get better, slowly.

      

I took up biking, and it gave me back what running used to bring- being outside, fresh air, a space to organize my thoughts. I slowly became as confident as the locals on two wheels; until I could hold an umbrella, take tight turns and pedal against 40 mile wind gusts. Its not exactly the same as running, but its saved my foot and allowed me to see a lot of Bergen and sometimes still work up a sweat (headwinds are hard work).

By Spring I started to build up how much I walk, tentatively, like the first buds of daffodils and crocuses emerging. I could walk about half an hour; enough to explore Alkmaar, or visit the center of Zierikzee with mum. Slowly getting back some freedom, all stuff you don’t realize until its gone. And at work, now the kids are running to keep up with me, I can join the others strolling around the playground, and I don’t have to curse if I forget to photocopy something, because I can just walk back, like a normal person. I even played football with the kids in PE (“Miss Kuijper’s playing, yay, and she’s on our team!”) On our recent school trip I could enjoy the sights without worrying about my foot. I looked out over Amsterdam, watched the kids playing and the tulips growing, the greyish skies breaking to blue in parts.

      

Small steps, I know, but for me, right now they feel pretty big.

Its been close to a year since my dramatic exit from my active life, but like the name says, there is some hope. My plan is to (very slowly) start running again this summer. And to one day be back to climbing and jumping and running like a crazy person. But not quite as crazy as before. Lesson learned. Hope you all enjoy Easter and I’m looking forward to two weeks of putting my feet up 🙂 Love to everyone, and thank you for being patient and for (continuing) to believe in me xxxx