Catt Scratches

I tore the meniscus  of my left knee some time around Memorial Day weekend this year. On the Monday of Memorial Day weekend, I started a run before heading up to Milwaukee. I planned to run around the triangle (I don’t live on a block, with four streets; I live on a triangle, made up of three streets) four times then over to the park and five miles around the park. Seven times is five miles, one time around the park is .7 miles. So It’s a nice run.

I got around 100 feet then, and I felt sharp pain in my left knee generating out from the inside. I thought, is there any chance that this will improve? And I kept going and the pain amped up with every step. I thought, I’m not going to run today.

I stopped running, stopped my training dead even though I planned two marathons: the North Country Run in Michigan in August and the Mount Desert Marathon in Maine in October. My knee got no better over the next few weeks. I kept thinking, one more week of rest, more emu oil, more krill oil, ibuprofen. I could play softball, I kept up with strength training but I didn’t do any running. Two people who’s opinions I respect told me in no uncertain terms that I should see a doctor.

My doctor told me I should try some therapy; I went to sports doctor/chiropractor. He sent me for an MRI and diagnosed the tear. It’s not a bad tear, just a little sliver of a rip. He gave me a program and I’ve been following it and I’m getting better. Before starting treatment, he gave me a choice. He said, “What do you want to do? Run a marathon or finish the softball season?”

I said, “You say that, like the answer, ‘Both’ is inappropriate.”

He smiled. At least he gets me. I said, “I gotta finish the season.”

I had to finish the softball season. I had to be loyal to my teammates. It’s not like I was indispensable to the team. I was in a batting slump and I was just learning how to play the balls that came into right field. But the women on my team had accepted me; they were giving me a shot at joining them. Fighting spirit is the thing I do best so I wasn’t going to let them down.

And I worked hard to get out of the slump. I took a softball lesson at “Frozen Ropes”; I practiced at the batting cages three times a week. I went to every game. I watched baseball games to see how the hitters positioned their feet. And on the last game, the only playoff game we were in, I got the hit and scored the run that sparked the rally that brought us within one run of winning. It was as good as winning for me because I contributed, and I was the clutch hitter.

That was August, this is October. I’ve been working out and was just cleared to run short bursts of 30 seconds with a minute of walking. I had resigned myself to not running the marathon but II came to Mount Desert Island because that’s what I do in October. I planned this vacation with my daughter; the hotel and flights were booked and I love it here.

We went to the marathon expo to pick up my racing packet. Even though I wasn’t racing.I told myself, I was only coming for the MDI 2013 Jacket, which I already paid for. I looked on the wall for my number. It’s a really cool number, 787. I mean, it sounds Secret Agent-ish and whispers style and grace. It contains the notion of gliding into the finish line in a glorious fiery sprint. I said to the guy who gave me my packet,”I was supposed to run, but I tore my meniscus.” He said, that’s a shame, maybe you could do a half or maybe walk it.”

I felt it instantly, the uplift, the fulfilling feeling rising up from my stomach. “I can still do that? I can still switch?” He said, sure.

We walked around a few minutes looking for stuff. I talked about it with someone else who said I have time to make up my mind if I want to switch. I told myself that I would think about it. A few minutes later we were out the door and I knew I was going to walk it. Gina and I talked about it and decided that I should call some other people to see what they thought. I called my sister and left a message. I called my sports doctor, he called back a couple hours later and I asked him if I could walk the marathon. He said go for it, “Forward, not Backward.” Gina texted my trainer who said “let her walk,” with winking emoticon.

I went back and set it up. Then my sister called back, somewhat worried about the prospect. I reassured her that I would dress appropriately, including a hat. I felt great. Then I suddenly realized that I was unprepared. I was assuming that I could walk 26.2 miles because I’m in good shape and had historically run two marathons and trained for three months before my knee gave out. But I really have not trained to walk for 26.2 miles. I’m pretty sure I can. But it wasn’t planned.

So it’s good. I have some apprehension. It’s not a slam dunk so I won’t be overconfident. I’m not exactly sure how to pace a 26.2 walk. I am half convinced that I am going to out walk my previous run records. It’s a different kind of challenge.

Yesterday, Gina and I did a five mile walk to Witch’s Hole, (get your minds out of the gutter) and back. Today, we did the “Fun Run/Walk” to breakfast and back (four miles) and then went up and back down Champlain Mountain. I bought ibuprofen and chocolate covered cashews. We had the traditional pre-run pizza. I pinned my bib onto my racing top. I’m still nervous but I’m going to do it. It’s my third marathon and I tried not to do it. But I just can’t stop dancing. I’ll probably do a bit of running, a lot of walking, some John Cleese Silly Walks, some skipping and a whole bunch of dancing. Can’t stop it. You got to ride life, fill it full of joy and smiles and challenges. Otherwise, like the man said, you might just as well be a vegetable.