Out of the Loop
I have a special treat for all of you this week. A gifted writer sent me this story and gave me permission to share it here. Enjoy!
Out of the Loop
by Kelly Winters
I live in a running town. It's a small fishing village, smaller in winter when the beachfront cottages are empty--but every morning a steady stream of runners circles "The Loop," a scenic 2-mile circuit that winds past beach and salt marsh and bay, around our narrow peninsula here on Long Island Sound.
The Loop passes my front door, and as soon as I moved here I was in it, out there with the runners, weight-loss walkers, mothers jogging behind souped-up strollers, wheelchair athletes, bikers, and in-line skaters.
Old and young, we shared that special runner's kinship: even when we didn't know each other's names, we waved as we passed each other, congratulating each other for being active, being out in all kinds of weather. And even when it was so early that no one else was up, I had plenty of company on my morning runs: ospreys, herons, gulls, terns, and more songbirds than I could name.
The Loop was a big part of my life until, several months ago, I was struck by crushing chest pains, irregular heartbeats, and leaden fatigue. "You'll be up and running again in no time," the doctor said. "It's just a mild case of pericarditis--the membrane around your heart is inflamed. Nothing serious, probably caused by a virus. I'd give it two weeks--but don't do anything aerobic until the symptoms are gone."
Just like that, I was out of the loop. No running! I couldn't imagine it, but my heart was adamant: no running--not even walking! or you'll be sorry! Any activity resulted in increased pain, and a relapse. Several months of bedrest and a few complications later, there's no end in sight. Now I watch from the couch as my friends and neighbors run, walk, and wheel past.
At first I was envious. I mourned all the muscle mass and conditioning I was losing, I grieved about not sweating, I fretted about being stuck inside, I berated myself for being out of shape and lazy, even though I couldn't help it, and I dreaded the day I'd have to start up again: from zero.
Then, gradually, things changed. I realized that after running for years, sometimes you forget why you do it. You start competing with yourself or with others, looking for constant improvement, forgetting about the moment. You get caught up in fat percentage, max VO2, aerobic capacity, cross-training, running shoes, PRs and power bars.
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