I have always been a runner. As a child we lived outside of town on wetlands blanketed with ferns, cypress trees, and longleaf pine. Our driveway measured just over half a mile. Isolated and with nothing much to do, I ran up and down the driveway. Up and back, up and back, through the fields and along the wetland.
In elementary school I ran the two mile Gator Gallop Fun Run with friends from school. As a teen, we moved to town just blocks from a large lake, and I ran the paved lake path, miles along the waterfront. In college I ran around the track, sometimes late at night. I also ran along a wooded path known as “rape trail” for the occasional reports of sexual assault on the quiet and isolated path leading to campus. My college sweetheart and I ran the winding paths of the University and clear across town to the manicured lawns of the capital buildings. In medical school I ran shady paths along the river with my faithful Australian Shepherd at least three times a week. In residency, after moving to New Orleans, I ran the loop at Audubon Park, the trails of City Park, and along the Mississippi River in the French Quarter. In fellowship, back near the coast, I ran the many mile sidewalk along the bay, watching dolphins, fish, and rays swim along the seawall.
In my mid thirties, after three decades of running, I developed wear and tear on both knees. I wanted to avoid a double knee replacement so eased back on the running in favor of lower impact brisk walking and slow jogging. I did this twice a day to make up for the lower impact.
Then just after my 39th birthday, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I went through months of painful procedures and two major surgeries. Both breasts were removed and reconstructed over the course of four months. My body went through a metamorphosis. First no breasts, then expanders slowly increasing in size over two months, then implants. I went from a natural A to a reconstructed C. Between the surgeries and their long recoveries, the procedures, daily pain, and my constant fatigue, I watched my runner’s body melt. My yoga-tight muscles slackened.
I spent months struggling to do simple acts of daily living like cooking and cleaning. Even walking the dog was out of the question. I felt trapped, a prisoner in my own body, unable to do the most simple of activities. Ten days after my final reconstructive surgery with a tiny glimmer of hope that the worst might be behind me, I decided to try to walk to recover from breast cancer.
I stared at the door for two days before I worked up the energy to try. I realized during those two days I was scared to walk. The fear was shocking…this brave bold woman who ran across the world was scared to take a walk around the neighborhood. But after forty eight hours of working myself up to it, I set my jaw, wrapped my Australian Shepherd’s leash around my waist (my arms were still too weak post operatively to hold the leash or resist if she pulled), slipped on my flip flops, and slowly walked the 2 ½ block long alley behind my house, down and back, five blocks in total.
I walked the alley because I dreaded running into a neighbor and wanted to take this emotionally difficult walk in private. Back at the house I collapsed on the couch, overwhelmed by how draining a once-simple activity had become.
The next day, a cloudy and brisk February morning, I slipped my dog’s leash around my waist and put my sneakers on. I started down the alley. At the end of the alley instead of turning for home I went around the block, facing the now intimidating world of neighbors. On the third day, dog in tow, at the end of the alley instead of turning home I walked across the church parking lot, crossed the street, and then walked the four blocks to the bay. There I stared out across the water and down the sidewalk I used to run so easily.
Back home, I sat and wrote this entry. I have a thousand miles to go to get back to where I was but the journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step. So today I walk and take my first step towards recovery.
I would love to hear from you. What was your first step towards recovery after your illness or trauma?
Read Today I Walk…Part 2 here.
