A Step Forward..

I’m doing everything I can to not completely lose my mind. This morning, instead of my usual coffee and hard-boiled egg, I made a smoothie—oats, chia seeds, flaxseed, frozen berries, protein powder, and creatine. Something to feel full, something to at least try and take care of myself in a way that feels like forward progress. Since I can’t run and I can’t do much of anything for exercise, my headspace has taken a serious hit. I figured if I can’t move, I can at least fuel my body a little better. Just changing my morning meal might not be a huge deal, but it was better than mindlessly snacking through the morning and eating double helpings at every meal. I’m wallowing, I know it.

I didn’t sleep well again. The pain kept waking me up, forcing me to shift, barrel-roll, and constantly adjust my position, trying to find a spot where I could be still and comfortable more than a couple minutes. But there’s no way around it, this is going to take time. I know that. I just don’t like it.

As usual, I trudged upstairs to my office, already feeling unmotivated before the workday even began. Sitting in my chair made everything worse, the dull ache in my back intensifying as I responded to emails and knocked out a couple of small tasks. I knew I needed to get outside.

Since surgery, my daily movement has pretty much consisted of a single 30-minute walk around the block—barely enough to give me a taste of what I so desperately need more of.. time outside. I threw on a sweatshirt, a jacket, gloves, and a beanie, and headed out into the cold. The sky was overcast, the kind of gray that lets you know snow is coming.

Halfway through my walk, I couldn’t stand it anymore.

I had to try.

So I started slow. Just a shuffle. Then I picked up the tempo until I was moving at a slow jog. Pain shot through my back every few steps, reminding me why I shouldn’t be doing this, but I adjusted—lighter on my feet, more careful with my form. My heart rate climbed, and suddenly, for the first time in weeks, I felt like myself again.

It didn’t last long. A quarter mile, maybe. Then I slowed back down to a walk, feeling the familiar pulsating ache in my back. But I didn’t care. For those brief moments, my body found its rhythm, my breathing settled into the cadence of my footsteps, and I felt free. A far cry from where I want to be, but a massive step forward from where I’ve been.

I know I need to be careful. I know I can’t make this a habit. It’s only been a little over a week since surgery and the doctor’s orders were clear—no twisting, lifting, bending, or any kind of strain for six to eight weeks. But I needed that. My head needed that.

Now, back at my desk, watching the snow start to fall outside my window, I know I’ve got a long way to go. My back is starting to throb, and I know I’ve got another six or seven more weeks of this. I don’t know if I can make it that long without testing the limits again. But for today, I’ll take it for what it was—a small, much-needed release. And a reminder that, even in recovery, I’m still a runner.