Long-Limbed Baby Deer

My feet hit the floor in the morning, landing on a soft carpet. Immediately my knee buckles, just in case my foot hurts, as it had every morning the first two weeks post injury. Even though I have been walking and moving normally for over a week, that initial distrust each sunrise takes longer to resolve.

Understanding that my foot is good once again, I trod toward the bathroom rubbing sleep out of my eyes. I put on my training gear and begin to foam roll, working out sore muscles that are tender and cracking my back which though probably not great for it seems to provide a sense of satisfaction that everything is in place. I put on my shoes, now reinforced with an insert and take steps down the stairs from the room I rent toward to door. Today, I decide, I’ll try jogging again. It is Christmas after all, and if the healing threshold I desire has not been achieved, walking painlessly is also a win. It means my body is responding and headed in the right direction.

God damn I want to run.

I take the first few steps outside and gingerly make my way over melting sheets of ice surrounding my house. I walk for about fifteen minutes getting over the slush that the homeowner association seems to want to keep on the roads. I assume they think it looks aesthetically nice but I could probably do without it. My legs are stiff and sore from the biking I’ve been doing in recovery made worse from the lack of strength training I’ve done due to my foot instability. Sure, I could have tried to maintain it, but when one part of me could break in half, I just don’t see the sense in adding excessive load. Bruh.

I make it to a clear sidewalk that descends a slight grade going to downtown Boulder. I picked the right day to struggle bus my way back to running because most sane people are not driving on the roads at 7AM, even in a town such as Boulder. Really, I don’t mind others watching me struggle but if I do not have an audience when the possibility of failing is made more obvious by a potentially comedic gait…I’d rather keep this special moment to myself.

Deep breath in, I begin to jog. My foot immediately wants to go toward the altered gait pattern I developed when it was hurting. To get through work and life without pain, I changed placement to put the loading force on the outside of my foot. This made me walk with a limp for a few days until it healed enough to return to a more regular (but not perfect) gait cycle. I don’t want to use that gait when returning to run so the first jogging interval looks and feels really weird as I find my correct footing. I tried to do this a few days ago using a treadmill instead of sub-zero temperatures and ice outside. It was unsuccessful because a treadmill doesn’t feel like a natural gait pattern for me. It doesn’t allow for a few wonky steps to feel it out and get back to my normal pattern. I left the gym a bit disappointed but knowing that a few more days of rest wouldn’t be the worst thing. Attempting again on Christmas, with gyms closed, people gone and a whole day to rest if I did something wrong, seemed a good consolation prize.

The first jog interval was messy. I’ll admit that I stopped it after 30 seconds for the walking interval. In addition to my foot being unused, the muscles that stay strong an limber by trail running have atrophied. Dancing on ice just ain’t as fun with weak ankles and limbs.

I started walking and going in between lamp posts. 15 seconds. Ok, that felt alright. Another one. Is that a pain? No…don’t think so. Gait normal? Yes, I think so. 15 seconds. Gratitude. Run to the light. Walk, assess, am I delusional? Is this right? Run to the Pearl Street sign. That felt alright. Man my legs are kind of wobbly. I am really living up to my gazzellie nickname. A long-limbed baby deer; that’s what I feel like. Maybe that’s what this will be for a while. Trusting the roads again. Trusting my feet and limbs, hoping I won’t break…again. Wobbling and walking, shoes with inserts, PT exercises and stopping runs a mile or two before my comrades. If that’s what it takes…

I turn around about 45 minutes in. I’ve gone approximately two miles. The wind pushes against my face and rips my hair in the wind. I love feeling my hair slap my back. When I suffered from an ED my hair fell out like a cancer patient. Really, was I any healthier than someone terminally ill? These days I don’t cut my hair often because it takes a while to grow and it is one of the only things about my appearance that makes me feel feminine. Today I let it fly, enjoying the slap on my back, the tangles I know await my brush, the happiness I feel looking in the mirror and seeing a womanly body. Getting on the bike changes my figure. I am astonished to say I like it. Curvier, less definition, bigger thighs, stronger, meatier, more. More Ellie. The wind that would have knocked a younger Ellie off the sidewalk seems to have less effect. I take up space now. It’s harder to push me around.

I make my way back up the street, intervals dependent on stop signs and street lights rather than lamp posts. I make it all the way to the icy patch I walked to begin the run. I dance slowly across it’s surface once again not wanting to be done with this slow, rhythmic process. I decide to run in the road a bit, where the ice has melted to get in one or two more jog intervals. I have officially broken a sweat. I am home.

I did it.