This is day 20,261 of my life. That’s a lot of days.

I recently broke my left 5th metatarsal while running on a treadmill. That’s the left mid-foot on the side of the weeweewee little piggy bone for non-medical folks. I felt it pop. I know exactly when it happened, and despite that, I denied needing help. I happen to be the proud owner of an orthotic boot, as this particular foot has been bothering me for…….. wait for it…….. 6 years. I bought the boot six years before when my left foot no longer fit in a regular shoe due to the swelling. Fast forward a couple of weeks, the pain had, and swelling subsided. I could exercise. I was ‘healed’. This exact scenario ebbed and flowed periodically over the following six years. Each time, my brain would mumble quietly, “Really should get someone to look at that.”

The day of the actual break was December 27, 2021. Limping and right-footed hopping, I slowly made the trek to the closet that housed the boot. In all honesty, I figured that it was only an incident that I could pussyfoot (I had to) through. But with time, I found it wasn’t progressing in the typical fashion. I had to face reality, something was different. Mind you; I was still exercising ritualistically. This is to explain that I was cycling 20+ miles a day. Besides, I stand on my feet at work 8+ hours a day.

I took that agonizing bounce of asking for help. Reluctantly, I talked to a professional with the appropriate knowledge and resources to help me get back to running and cycling. When I saw the X-ray, I was honestly shocked to see the apparent displacement of the bone. How can I get out of this horrible situation the quickest? Flash to my default setting, “Escape, Escape!”

“Who wants to admit complete defeat?” This is a quote from The Twelve and Twelve. A recovery book about the 12 steps and 12 traditions of Alcoholics Anonymous. I love this quote. It slaps me right in the face. I mean, does anyone ever yearn to concede? Admittedly, I love to quit, but that’s another blog. However, as far as my physicality goes, I am relentless. Amplifying the experience with a high pain tolerance creates quite the paradox. It allows me to endure yet facilitates my denial. Seeing the break, I waved the white flag, surrendered my control, and did what I was told to do. In truth, I’m slow to affirm. I had surgery three weeks and three days after the fracture occurred.

Life is just chock full of absurdity. I can spew forth with 100% conclusiveness that rest builds strength (paradox #2). Yet, I can also concede with 100% assurance that I have not ever, to my recollection, followed that logic. At the time of my second surgery (same fracture- long story), I had consistently closed my move ring on my Apple Watch for 413 days (remember, physicality- relentless). Sidebar, I did moderate, said movement during the post-op period.

A physician once told me, “even olympic athletes take a rest day.” I needed to be informed, yet I didn’t adopt the wisdom. That was 16ish years ago. STOP.

Now, I’m not pursuing an olympic medal. I’m not training for any athletic event. I don’t even have a goal! There is no endgame here. I’m punishing myself, my body unremittingly. Why? Because I don’t like my shadow. I don’t care for my reflection. Something has to go.

I have been on this carousal (also the carousel) for 20261 days. In all sincerity, I don’t know what I will look like when I’m not on it. I don’t know who I am, who I’ll be, or who/what I’ll become if I walk away from it. A change becomes necessary when the pain of continuing the behavior evolves into a state of personal fracture. The mere imagery of s-t-a-y-i-n-g is far more agonizing than the fear of taking a side step onto a path without a past. My next move is listening. Listening to my body instead of the obsessive rituals that shackle me. Listening to the professionals that offer me the tools and wisdom to heal. Listening to the people who speak from their hearts. Listen, absorb, and practice. This is the absolute perfect place to start. Exactly where I am.

xo,

S