May 17, 2005 The Hand You're Dealt By Laurel Park :: Views- 1190

In running as with everything else, life isn't always fair. The spoils do not always go to the victor, and playing by the rules doesn't always ensure success. Some people can run a marathon every other month with no ill effects while others end up in physical therapy if they exceed thirty miles per week. Call it fate or the luck of the draw or whatever. Aside from common sense and good medical treatment, there is little that the less fortunate souls can do other than be patient and make peace with their limitations. Understandably, that's often tough to do. But sometimes you're given little choice.

I know four people, all national-caliber athletes, whose running careers were cut short by serious injury. Two of these people were barely out of college when the axe fell, while the other two had enjoyed a decade-plus of competitive success. In all four cases the transition from runner to spectator was sudden, unexpected, and absolute. It wasn't just an issue of backing off on mileage or giving up racing, it was the end of running as they knew it - period.

Many runners, myself included, have a hard time imagining what life would be like without running. We've all gone through phases where we've taken some time off or cut back on mileage or stopped going to races, but to have the activity snatched away completely and permanently is something much different. It requires a psychological disconnect as well as a physical one. For most of us, running is something that has been woven into the fabric of daily life. It wasn't until injury forced my husband into premature retirement that I realized the extent to which running was integrated into our lives. It wasn't just the myriad of shoes, shirts, trophies, photos, and coffee mugs which filled our closets and cupboards. Many of our weekends were spent traveling to races together. The vast majority of our friends were fellow runners. Consideration of future employment and retirement locales had taken into account potential running environments. We had even scheduled our wedding around the local road race calendar. Fortunately his injury did not destroy the foundation of our lives - we do have other talents and interests - but it did require a period of adjustment and a little bit of soul-searching. In addition to mourning the end of the actual activity, we found we also had to spend time mourning some of things that were associated with it.

While it's easy (and probably tempting) to sit back and demand "why me?", I think most people faced with this situation quickly realize that there is nothing to be gained from banging their heads against the wall. Some people do refuse to accept the diagnosis and soldier on as best they can, looking for any treatment or therapy that offers a glimmer of hope. And, sometimes that works. Sometimes treatments do come along that reverse (or at least temporarily halt) progression of the condition. But nine times out of ten, all it does is extend the frustration and delay the inevitable. There also comes a point where the ends no longer justify the means, and it's better to quit while you're still slightly ahead than risk permanent disability or continuous pain. As hard as it is to give up an activity you love, it can be much harder dealing with a lifetime of the consequences if you don't.

One of the most useful pieces of advice I've ever heard came from a friend of mine when I was in college and agonizing over some seemingly momentous academic dilemma. As I sat at the kitchen table in our dorm, on the verge of tears, she sat across from me, looked me squarely in the eye, and said, "Listen to me: You have choices. If you don't like a class, you can drop it. If you don't like where you're living, you can move. If you don't like this college, you can transfer. It might not always be easy to act on those choices, but they are yours." The simple truth of that comment hit me like a rock, and I've drawn on that advice countless times in the (many) years since. The choices don't always involve "tangible" circumstances. Sometimes they are as simple as accepting a situation without bitterness and moving on. Sometimes they require making accommodations when you don't really want to but realizing that it's the smart thing to do. Sometimes it means stepping away from an activity where you had elite status and starting all over as a beginner in something new, with the intent of working your way back to the top. The bottom line, of course, is control - even if the only thing you have control over is way in which you deal with the situation.

All four of my friends have moved on with their lives, and while they are no longer runners themselves, two are still involved with the sport. The other two have found other activities that keep them happy. Life does go on, and in the long term it's probably better to accept the hand you're dealt and focus on what lies ahead, rather than lamenting what is left behind.