A Dream Deferred

A Dream Deferred

by Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.Or does it explode?


A few years ago, I made a list of things that I wanted to accomplish in the coming years--personally, professionally, physically, etc.  At the top of that list, I wrote that I planned to run a full marathon.  This idea was not new to me in any way.  I have been a runner for the past 10 years (sure I ran in high school, but now I NEED to run--for my health, my happiness and my sanity!) and have completed my fair share of races, even placing in a few here and there.  The hubby and I started running before having kids, completing local 5K races for fun.  Once the Reporter came along, I needed running to keep me sane, fight off postpartum depression, and shed the baby weight.  While the hubby was away in residential training for his employment, I trained for my first half-marathon--pushing the jog stroller 3 days a weeks and logging as many miles as he was in his PT classes (if not more!).  At the completion of that training program, I decided that as much as I enjoyed running, I should test myself, up the anti, take on a bigger feat. . . yes, I wanted to run a full marathon--all 26.2 miles.  I located a race not too far away and decided to begin training, but life with a kiddo got in the way and I stopped training about half-way through the plan.  I kept telling myself that "there would be more races" and "I could train another time".  I was not about to give up on this dream of running a marathon.  
Life happened and eventually kiddo number two joined the party.  Running ceased during my pregnancy, but I picked right back up as soon as I was cleared for take-off.  The Little Guy gleefully (and sleepily) rode in the jog stroller for a round of half-marathon training and in March 2011, I completed my third half (with a nine-month old nursling waiting at the finish line!).  On the way home from the race, The Hubby and I agreed that it was once again time to entertain the idea of a full marathon.  
After a summer of triathlon training and traveling, returning to work was a shock to my system.  My running time was slashed due to meetings and after school obligations (You don't really think that school employees finish their day at 3:30, do you?).  October brought my lowest mileage of the year (and a few extra pounds) as well as a conversation between the hubby and I about tackling this big goal we had--training for and running a marathon together.  
Training started the second week of November and things were going great.  Slow, but great (remember those extra pounds--yeah, they slow ya down.).  As training progressed and weekend runs got longer, I hit my stride and enjoyed my training.  I looked forward to "date time" with the hubby on our long runs and even asked for "running babysitting" for Christmas to ensure that I could get all of my training in and keep the kiddos entertained.  We were committed, excited and registered.
Over Christmas, we spent a few days at the beach and got in some good miles.  I faced a big fear head-on and ran over the "Big Bridge" that leads to Emerald Isle.  But soon after (like the next day), I started having unbearable pain through my Achilles tendon.  It didn't stop me from running 12 miles to ring in 2012, but at mile 6 the pain was throbbing and I knew something wasn't right.  The Hubby suggested taking a week off from running.  A WEEK???  What was I going to do if I couldn't run for a week?  My neighbor (a PTA) agreed and gently told me to lay off the running.  Swim, bike, Pilates, but NO running.  At the end of the week, I decided that I was feeling good enough to attempt 13 miles--alone.  I survived, but was in pain for most of it.  The next day, I had "crunching" through my Achilles due to inflammation.  My PTA neighbor said again, "no running", and this time I listened.  And called an orthopedist.  
I was scared.  I had read and heard horror stories about Achilles tears and ruptures.  I was sad.  Was this the end of running for me--for a while. . . forever?  
Luckily, I have great friends with great doctors and I was able to see an orthopedist (who is also a runner, an Ivy League Track star and a friend of Hal Hidgon) within 2 weeks.  They were the LONGEST two weeks ever. . . no running, lots of questions, tons of uncertainty, occasional tears, and terrible sadness.  This was my dream, my plan, my goal.  I needed answers, direction and guidance.  I needed to run.
My appointment was the evening before my 35th birthday, and I got an early present--the green light to run. Only after THREE different doctors checked out my feet and legs (yes, I painted my toenails for the appointment), an ultrasound was performed on BOTH ankles in a room full of med students (both Achilles measured normal and NO tears were evident), my running gait was analyzed (terrible) by 4 people, heel lifts were inserted in my shoes, new inserts were added to correct my overpronation, and I was given exercises and instructions on an ice bath (ouch).  The verdict? Classic Achilles tendinitis.  The cause?  Possible overtraining?  Maybe.  Overpronation?  Um, yeah  And believe it or not, the "Big Bridge" could have likely been the puzzle piece that threw it all over the edge.  
So then the question remained. . . "Can I run the marathon?" I asked with a lump in my throat.  The answer for now is "no".  Unfortunately, my injury came at a point in my training that demands mileage increases each week.  The doctor was advising me to cut back on miles for a few weeks to aid in further healing.  Since I would not have a chance to get longer runs (18-20 miles) under my belt prior to the race because of my step-back, he advised me to transfer my registration to the half.  
I'm ok with that.
Sad, but ok.
Ok because it means that I CAN run again.  I was so afraid that he would say "no running for_____ (6 weeks, months, years)" that when he said "yes" to the half, I felt like I had won.  But I couldn't and still can't deny the sadness that I feel about having to put my dream on hold for now.  I know (hope) that my time will come. I am following doctor's orders to ensure that I make a full recovery (ice baths and all) so that I can enjoy many more miles in the years ahead.  There will be other races, but only one ankle. . .
So I will keep running.  Not as far (right now), but with as much energy and enthusiasm as always.  However, I will also add a new spirit of thankfulness.  Being injured was humbling (and frustrating) and made me realize that I won't ever take my gifts for granted again.  It makes you look at running in a whole new light.  It makes me less obsessed with time and distance and more focused on why I run--because I love it.  I love the way it makes me feel. . .I love to feel the wind against my face. . .I love the way it gives me time just for me and my thoughts.  And I love that I can share that journey with someone I love--the hubby.  And I will continue to cheer him on as he reaches toward his dream of running a marathon. . . and I will meet him at the finish line.
What happens to a dream deferred?  In this case, it waits.  And grows.