I’ve had a lot of time to myself lately to do some thinking. Not that I’ve really asked for it, but I’ve acquired myself a lot of free time after developing a Jones fracture in my right foot after a particularly high-volume period of training. For six months I had been training for a marathon, only to acquire the stress fracture in the last two weeks of training and get it diagnosed merely days before the race.
There are several ways to slice this, but in the end, I’m sidelined and there’s no way around it. It has been an honestly frustrating season of life for me; hobbling around in a walking boot. I’m grumpier these days (just ask Annie). It’s a miniature grieving process, and it’s not easy.
On the upside, I’ve had these incredibly vivid dreams, just running on lush trails, flying through the mountains. I’ll be cruising up Coastal Trail on Mt. Tam, or bounding through the pine needles that blanket Redwood Park’s French Trail. Another time, I’ll be descending through the clouds on Mount Baldy, postholing through some gnarly snow, enveloped in total silence.
I had a moment this morning, wondering, when will I be healed? I had considered myself pretty healthily dealing with this well, but I’m feeling caged at home and angry at my foot. I notice myself propelling myself into random side projects, little programming escapades that take me far into the night and early in the morning, anything to avoid the thought that I’m hurt. I’m angry that I’m separated from the sacred silence.
At times in my dreams, I’ll be joined by Nate, Yusef, Eric, or Justin, friends from home. We’ll be exploring; I’ll be huffing and puffing behind the pack with only my headlamp to guide the way. Our packs will be damp on our backs, filled with the scraps of what we’ve taken earlier in the morning. The air will be crisp and moist. We will make ourselves dizzy with talk and hopes of a cold Coke and a beer at the end.
Annie prayed last night for me; both for healing, but to have more of these dreams. I slept heavily, and slept well.