The day I was fitted for a walking cast, I published a brave blog about game changers, and goal shifting, and all sorts of uplifting things.
Six weeks later I posted an even braver blog about skipping the Spanx at my high school reunion, still convinced that the setback was temporary, still riding high on a metabolism jacked up on 7x/week workouts (pre-injury, that is).
October 2 was the last time I ran. And what a run it was! Four miles through the foothills of Los Angeles. A run I had sooooo looked forward to, a run alongside someone you definitely want to do your last run with. If, you know, there is the acknowledgement that it's your last run. Which of course I refuse to acknowledge.
If someone forced me to look back at the last 12 months (oh look at that, I'm forcing myself), to find a common thread, the only word that comes to mind is humility. Pretty much every day of the last year, as I climb out of bed to sometimes-grumbling, sometimes outright-hollering tendons - both left and right - I have been deeply humbled.
|scene from one of those quick easy runs|
But here's the funny thing. It's been far easier to think about this most physical of lessons - the humbling that comes from not forcing my aging body to do what I want it to do. Because oh, the humility that life has handed out with relentless enthusiasm this year. The ankles have been the mere tip of the iceberg.
Maybe I have more to say about humility. Maybe I have more to say about well...anything. Maybe its time to start saying some things again.
Tomorrow's February 29. A day I didn't have last year. Maybe tomorrow breaks the spell.