I Get Knocked Down, But I Get Up Again, and Again, and Again. . .

Endurance athletes are nothing if not persistent. Stubbornly, incessantly, and even obsessively so. I was just listening today to a story on the news about "rare" people who have had near death experiences and how that gave them a new outlook on life. I could relate, as one of those "rare" people. Just over 9 years ago I had an experience, maybe not near death, my heart didn't stop or anything quite so dramatic. My body took a beating, as did my head, and there was a period of time I was not really present in this world. It took several years of stubborn, incessant, and yep obsessive hard work to get back to functional. And in this season of giving thanks, I am thankful I have the heart of an endurance athlete.

Some of you know this story, and lived it with me. For those that do not, and as the years go by there are more and more who do not, I'll share the key points. Thankfully, I carry scars that are easy to hide and a limp I can usually compensate for, so it is likely that if you didn't know me 9 years ago you would not suspect.

Long, very long, story short, there was an accident. I was attending a teacher conference in another town on a beautiful November day, and between workshops and evening activities, I decided to go for a run. No Michigan runner can resist a run when the weather is good and the sun is shining. On those days I'm thankful to be a Michigander.

I don't remember anything else until days later when I woke in a hospital room. There was a singing birthday card and family, it was very confusing. I got the basic outline of what had happened. Several times. I was in a bit of a mental loop and kept waking up having forgotten what had been explained me previously. I was involved in a vehicle vs. pedestrian accident, I was obviously the pedestrian. Pedestrian always loses in this type of fight. I'm thankful I was a young and healthy pedestrian.

I remember they told me at the hospital that I would probably have to give up running as I now had 3 screws and a titanium rod in my right leg.

"You may have to take up cycling" they said,

"Gross"! I said.

I was a runner, I had always been a runner. Running kept me calm, helped me think, allowed me to be rational. Also, I liked running, I liked being outdoors, breathing fresh air, feeling my heart pump, and my feet glide over the road or the trail. At no point was I interested in cramming my ass into spandex, leaning over handlebars, and pedaling down the side of the highway. Oh, past Kat, if you only knew what the future held. I'm thankful for the awesome surprises the future holds.

Over the next year I worked with my physical therapist twice a week and did my exercises religiously, daily. I made my goal clear, I wanted to run again. It took 2 months to get out of the wheelchair, then another several months to drop the cane. The cane was famous, my art students painted it for me and loving called me Dr. House. My first unaided steps were in the pool. Symbolically, the same local pool I use now to swim endless miles throughout the winter. I'm thankful for the tiny, toasty, friendly little Northport public pool.

I hit the PT like marathon training. I was doing my exercises at my parents' house on Christmas day in an upstairs bedroom while everyone else was celebrating. By May I was running my first steps. I could limp/hop about 400 yards at a time, then I needed a break. That spring there was a man that would run through my neighborhood, with a smooth form, he made it look so easy. I hated him so much. One day while I was out ugly limp-hop-running he went by me. When he was out of sight I sat down in the dirt on the shoulder and broke. I had a big cry, it was the first cry, and just the beginning of the emotional healing from the accident. Then I got up and ugly limp-hop-ran-cried home. I was alone out there, but I was not alone. I had so many people that supported me throughout my recovery. I got back up and kept getting back up because they believed in me. I'm so thankful for the people that took care of me, my house, my pets, provided meals, transportation, therapy, and just believed in me. Shit, if they believe in me, I should at the very least believe in myself.

Most people I meet would never guess I have titanium in my leg and arm. Or that I survived a brawl with delivery van. Because of this experience I do have a new outlook on life. I know there is really no time to waste on bullshit, speak your mind, be true to yourself, stand up to bullies. Laugh, dance, sing, and love, life is short. But the real key is that I have lost fear. Not real fear for real danger, but the irrational fear I used to carry that made me afraid to try things if I was not sure of the outcome, or say something in case someone thought I was stupid, or back down under pressure. I am always fascinated when people try to intimidate me. If a 5 ton delivery van can not take me out, what makes these mere mortals think they can? So when someone at work tries to slow me down, or put obstacles in my path, I can't stop a half grin, I mean really? I am so thankful to be able to live fearlessly.

November 2009