Little m Long a

The other half is physical.   Yogi Bear said that.

Wait, Berra.  The ball player, not the cartoon.  Anyway, he was talking about baseball – not running – but I think it applies.

Things I realized in no particular order on this morning’s run:  (And I’m using the term run very loosely.)

5 weeks is an awfully long time for a layoff.  Injury or not.  The doc said I ruptured the plantar fascia.  He then smiled and said with all manner of assuredness, “The good news is it will get better.”  There was little offer of a solid time frame for my recovery or how to gauge progress.  I believe the terms increase activity to tolerance may have been used.  He set a follow-up appointment for a month and I’m sure he fully expected that he would not be seeing me again.

Four weeks out and I was still in what I could only describe to him as constant pain.  Not overwhelming, mind you, just ever present.  And certainly significant enough that I was unable to run.  I suppose Motrin may have helped but I pretty much suck when it comes to taking medicine so after the first week of no improvement I quit that course.  He suggested an injection of corticosteriods intimating with the disdain in his eyes that I had brought it on myself.  I’m familiar with the look.  Again he smiled and said, “It’ll get better.”

I suppose the better part of prudence would have had me engaged in alternative forms of exercise over the past five weeks.  Self-pity and ice cream are very poor substitutes for cardiovascular conditioning.  After knee surgery for a torn meniscus this past December I asked my orthopedist when I could resume running.  He looked at me (with disdain) smiled and said, “Get a bike.”

I’ve got a bike.  I don’t like it.  It hurts my ass and makes me numb in places I’d rather not be.  The bike would have at the very least lessened the severity of what was surely a massive coronary suffered after the first 10 minutes of easy running this morning.

I have to listen to music while I’m running.  Must.  The noise of my breathing literally scares me!  A close second on the totally annoying scale is when there’s a tiny, yet ever so perceptible rattle in my ear buds.  The rattle of the cord on my shirt drives me nuts so I tuck the cord under a hat to keep it from flopping.  This morning the actual ear bud developed a rattle and I became so discombobulated messing with the thing that I nearly ran into a tree.  To my great fortune I had the park to myself so that at least some shreds of my dignity were salvaged.

It takes in inordinate amount of time to achieve a comfortable level of fitness.  It takes exponentially less to lose it all.

I ran this morning for the first time in 5 weeks.  It felt more like the first time ever.

It felt good.

Zane bounced into the school office with confidence, a smile on his face.  He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me standing there, red-faced and winded.  Immediately he asked, “What’s wrong?” And taking a step backward added, “What did I do?”

“This is your future, son.  Get used to it,” I thought to myself but only smiled and reassured him that he had done nothing wrong.

You see, I went for a run yesterday.  That in and of itself is no great revelation for I run often.  I had about an hour maybe a tad more before I needed to pick the kids up from school so I figured I could get in a few easy miles.  It was a beautiful day and the change in scenery from by usual route would be refreshing.  I parked the car at a nearby park, stowed my wallet and keys in the center console, gathered by iPod and earbuds, stepped out of the car and locked it.  Our car has one of those coded keypads on the door that enables you to leave your keys and other cumbersome items behind when carrying them — like say, on a run — would be inconvenient.

It’s a nice feature and I use it constantly.

The run was pretty much what I was hoping for on such a gorgeous day.  Pleasant.  Warm.  Scenic.  Refreshing.

Yet, deep down, I had a nagging feeling that something was not right.  Something was off and I couldn’t quite shake it.  Still, I ran on. When I made it back to my car I realized what was wrong.  I had absolutely no idea what the code was to unlock the door.  The code I’ve used thousands of times to gain entry into my car had completely escaped me.  I tried every combination I could think of.  There’s a 3 in it, I just know it.  Yet after each attempt to unlock door the little plunger just lay there.  Inanimate.  Unresponsive.  I was shut out!

Fortunately, the kids’ school was only about a mile away so I started off in that direction.  Zane would know the code.

The school secretary did an admirable job keeping a straight face as I explained my situation to her.  I also thanked her for not announcing over the school’s intercom speakers that reason Zane was being called to the office was because his lunatic dad had forgotten the code to get into the car.

“Dude, seriously!!”

“Yes, Zane.  I know there’s a 3 in it but I honestly have no idea what the code is.  I tried several times but I just can’t remember.”

“Dad!  There’s no 3 in the code!”

He then proceeded to write down the correct code for me.

I’m not sure but I think I may have heard him apologizing to the school secretary and principal as I left the office.  I smiled to myself at the thought that this will probably not be the last time one of my kids will be called from whatever task they may be engaged to help out their increasingly forgetful dad.

Somehow, I thought this was going to be more difficult.

Zander (singing to himself in the back of the car):  It was not your fault but mine.  It was your heart on the line.  I really fucked it up this time….

Zella:  Zander!!  You can’t say that!!  It’s a bad word.

Zander:  What’s a bad word?

Zella:  Fuck.  You can’t say fuck!

Zander:  I didn’t.

Zella:  Yes you did, Zander.  You said, “I really fucked it up this time.”  And you can’t say that because fuck is a bad word.

Zander:  Oh.

(And then after a few seconds of pondering…)

Me:  Zella, do you realize how many times you just said the bad word?

Zella:  Well…..it was Zander’s fault.

Welcome to my world!

The conversation took place about six months ago.  I wrote it down back then as best I could recall, but I never posted.  No good reason.  I just didn’t.  Seems I’ve done that quite a bit over the last several months.  Not posted.

No good reason.  I just didn’t.

Maybe there are reasons….

And the green grass grew all around, all around….

No, that’s not how the song goes.  There is a song.  It’s been a while so I’m not really sure how it goes to tell the truth.  I think it ends up something like — well, the feather on the wing and the wing on the bird and the bird in the egg and the egg in the nest and the nest on the limb and the limb on the tree and the tree on the root and the root in the ground and the green grass grew all around, all around.  And the green grass grew all around.  But it’s what I thought when I saw this little sprig of grass (weeds) growing out of the crack on the side of the building.

Because that’s how my mind goes.