Feeling Awesome is Dangerous to My Health
Yesterday, I had a spectacular run. Two or three times a week, I decide to run up the biggest hill around here (not that it is that steep but it’s bad enough). Usually, partway up, I wonder what possessed me to do this and have to work hard to distract myself from feeling sluggish, slow, and old. Okay, so I always make it to the top. That doesn’t make me feel any better. (Incidentally, since my freshman year in high school I’ve had a jogging “rule” that states I can stop running whenever I want so long as I’m not in the process of ascending a hill.)
But Wednesday’s run was completely different. I actually felt energetic, for a change. Not only did I race up the hill faster than usual, but I did it two times!
Throughout my life, hills tend to wipe me out in a hurry. This time, however, I felt great. The farther I ran, the more it occurred to me that I had reached a new level in my running. I felt (gasp!) young, for perhaps the first time in the past ten years. Feeling old had seemed just a part of trying to jog again. For once, at least, I got to experience the opposite. I felt young, energetic, and much faster than ordinary. It was about as good as a person can feel while jogging without experiencing a runner’s high. (While training in the off-season in high school, this happened to me once. It was as though I were flying down the street. Running was effortless and wonderful.)
I felt incredible. This was bad, though, because I forgot I was injured. At one point, near the beginning, I sat on a curb to get some debris out of my shoe. Afterwards, I just stood up, as though I wasn’t having knee problems. The curb was so low to the ground that both knees yelled at me for that stunt. (I should have supported myself with my arm, as I stood. If only I had a friend to jab me in the gut every half hour to remind me that I’m not okay. I wondered if writing, “Hey, I’m still injured,” on the backs of my hands would work, except I frequently jog in the dark, so that would be pointless.)
Now, my left knee has been bothering me all day. In fact, it hurts more than the one that is scheduled for an operation. This bums me out. I think knees should take turns having problems and not gang up on me like this. I don’t want to get done with one knee surgery--only to have to start all over again with the other knee. My husband and orthopedist assure me that my left knee will stop hurting once it no longer has to compensate for my right. The problem is I don’t believe them. I’ve been hurt for just over five months, so it’s starting to feel like a long-term, hopeless situation. Not a good time to be pessimistic, I know, but it’s the truth.
Actually, I’ve been pretty moody lately. I keep oscillating between very happy and quite sad. Happiness seems to accompany creativity and Live Journal connections, while I plummet into sadness whenever I think about my medical problems and upcoming divorce.
Even if surgery fixes my right knee and my left knee recovers by itself, as I have been told it will, I still get to look forward to more surgeries to remove spots from my skin. Who knows how many scars I will have? That reminds me. The other day when I was feeling down after I found out I would need knee surgery, my husband piped up with, “Not only that, but you’re going to be scarred,” or something to that effect. I replied, “Thank you, that hadn’t even occurred to me.”
When I lived in Wisconsin, an unbidden voice in my head would often say, “I expected more.” Now, it just keeps telling me, “My life sucks.” This does little but make me feel worse. How do you tell yourself to shut up?
The worst thing isn’t my body failing on me or the possibility of dying in surgery. Surprisingly, what has me most upset is the thought that no woman has ever wanted me, and none ever will. Me getting a divorce won’t change that. I feel insane for walking away from the one person who at all wants me. I keep asking myself if a relationship I’m never going to have is worth losing medical insurance, the chance to do what I want on any given day, and whatever financial security I have being married. Basically, I feel scared.
If you have friends and family who love you in a real way, i.e., you actually see them, they care, and you can count on them, then that is a reality far distant from mine. While Live Journal connections have been a source of hope to me, it isn’t the same thing as having friends who can help you move, talk with in person, or do things together like see a movie. And if you think I haven’t been trying for years to find a friend, then you are mistaken.
It’s just how many times do I have to be kicked in a soft place before I can be justifiably hesitant to get up again? Meaning, the more I get hurt by people, the less eager I am to rush out to find someone who cares. If this seems cowardly or like something a whiner would say, then no awards for empathy for you, I’m afraid. I think there is a certain rationality in stopping something that hurts you. That is why I don’t try harder to meet people. Plus, I need a rest (for years) every time I try and go down in flames.
I’ve been trying to place this me that has been activated by Live Journal. It was unrecognizably bold, but I finally figured it out. This is the me that appears briefly the month or so before I move away. If I know I will never see people again, I can be uncharacteristically brave about speaking with others. While this is not the full truth, because I am also shifting over time, it is the only answer I have as to who this person is that has been interacting with all of you.
But Wednesday’s run was completely different. I actually felt energetic, for a change. Not only did I race up the hill faster than usual, but I did it two times!
Throughout my life, hills tend to wipe me out in a hurry. This time, however, I felt great. The farther I ran, the more it occurred to me that I had reached a new level in my running. I felt (gasp!) young, for perhaps the first time in the past ten years. Feeling old had seemed just a part of trying to jog again. For once, at least, I got to experience the opposite. I felt young, energetic, and much faster than ordinary. It was about as good as a person can feel while jogging without experiencing a runner’s high. (While training in the off-season in high school, this happened to me once. It was as though I were flying down the street. Running was effortless and wonderful.)
I felt incredible. This was bad, though, because I forgot I was injured. At one point, near the beginning, I sat on a curb to get some debris out of my shoe. Afterwards, I just stood up, as though I wasn’t having knee problems. The curb was so low to the ground that both knees yelled at me for that stunt. (I should have supported myself with my arm, as I stood. If only I had a friend to jab me in the gut every half hour to remind me that I’m not okay. I wondered if writing, “Hey, I’m still injured,” on the backs of my hands would work, except I frequently jog in the dark, so that would be pointless.)
Now, my left knee has been bothering me all day. In fact, it hurts more than the one that is scheduled for an operation. This bums me out. I think knees should take turns having problems and not gang up on me like this. I don’t want to get done with one knee surgery--only to have to start all over again with the other knee. My husband and orthopedist assure me that my left knee will stop hurting once it no longer has to compensate for my right. The problem is I don’t believe them. I’ve been hurt for just over five months, so it’s starting to feel like a long-term, hopeless situation. Not a good time to be pessimistic, I know, but it’s the truth.
Actually, I’ve been pretty moody lately. I keep oscillating between very happy and quite sad. Happiness seems to accompany creativity and Live Journal connections, while I plummet into sadness whenever I think about my medical problems and upcoming divorce.
Even if surgery fixes my right knee and my left knee recovers by itself, as I have been told it will, I still get to look forward to more surgeries to remove spots from my skin. Who knows how many scars I will have? That reminds me. The other day when I was feeling down after I found out I would need knee surgery, my husband piped up with, “Not only that, but you’re going to be scarred,” or something to that effect. I replied, “Thank you, that hadn’t even occurred to me.”
When I lived in Wisconsin, an unbidden voice in my head would often say, “I expected more.” Now, it just keeps telling me, “My life sucks.” This does little but make me feel worse. How do you tell yourself to shut up?
The worst thing isn’t my body failing on me or the possibility of dying in surgery. Surprisingly, what has me most upset is the thought that no woman has ever wanted me, and none ever will. Me getting a divorce won’t change that. I feel insane for walking away from the one person who at all wants me. I keep asking myself if a relationship I’m never going to have is worth losing medical insurance, the chance to do what I want on any given day, and whatever financial security I have being married. Basically, I feel scared.
If you have friends and family who love you in a real way, i.e., you actually see them, they care, and you can count on them, then that is a reality far distant from mine. While Live Journal connections have been a source of hope to me, it isn’t the same thing as having friends who can help you move, talk with in person, or do things together like see a movie. And if you think I haven’t been trying for years to find a friend, then you are mistaken.
It’s just how many times do I have to be kicked in a soft place before I can be justifiably hesitant to get up again? Meaning, the more I get hurt by people, the less eager I am to rush out to find someone who cares. If this seems cowardly or like something a whiner would say, then no awards for empathy for you, I’m afraid. I think there is a certain rationality in stopping something that hurts you. That is why I don’t try harder to meet people. Plus, I need a rest (for years) every time I try and go down in flames.
I’ve been trying to place this me that has been activated by Live Journal. It was unrecognizably bold, but I finally figured it out. This is the me that appears briefly the month or so before I move away. If I know I will never see people again, I can be uncharacteristically brave about speaking with others. While this is not the full truth, because I am also shifting over time, it is the only answer I have as to who this person is that has been interacting with all of you.