On Being Visited by the 10th Daughter of Zeus

Running is who I am. Regardless of what my leg is doing. Regardless of how much weight I’ve gained. Even regardless of whether or not I am doing any running, it is the running life that I most associate with. I stare at runners on the river, I critique their form and choice of footwear. I am a runner. But I no longer look like a runner. I no longer run. The hardest and saddest aspect of being diagnosed with pyoderma gangrenosum is that there is not a lot of information available on how to live day to day with it. Additionally, the treatments are often shots-in-the-dark and are fraught with their own long-lasting and negative effects.

Over the last couple of weeks, I have been attempting to get back into running. Clearly, even if I exacerbate my PG, I need to at least begin getting back into shape again. One of my favorite runs is on Heartbreak Hill in Newton. It is not the best place to get re-started on a running program as basically this leg of the run is 1.5 miles uphill and 1.5 miles down. Rather boring as well as somewhat demotivating as you are inevitably going to be running next to some very hardcore runners as this hill is part of the Boston Marathon route. But I love it simply because it has always been my guide to the shape I am in. Making it up that final hill without stopping is something I have not done in over a year. In order for me to feel like I was back on the wagon, I needed to conquer the Hill. 

Well, I am in no condition to run 3 miles yet, but I accepted that fact and promised myself a combination of both running and walking. Even if total distance running was only a couple hundred yards, I would accept that as long as I did the 3 miles somehow.  I began running and within seconds already felt like my legs and my heart were not into it.  I kept my head very low so that I would not see the runners pass me. I could no longer tell if I were running uphill or downhill. The air was already steamy and smelled like iced tea, without the ice. It wasn’t long before I began walking. Meanwhile runners were passing me. Some were the pretty BC coeds trying to lose their Freshman Fifteen and others were the hardcore runners with their zero-percent body fat, graceful strides and glistening skin. I did my best to ignore them. Instead of motivating me, they were poised to make me very self-conscious. Any excuse NOT to be out there was a good one.

I managed to keep my mind off how I looked. When I approached the bottom of the last portion of the hill, I convinced myself that I had the strength to run, without stopping, to the top. I went into an almost Zen state where my shoulders were relaxed, my gaze was fixed and my legs were on atuo-pilot. As wonderful as that feeling was it quickly turned to chaos as my breathing became labored and my legs physcially hurt. I was practically flailing my arms as I approached the half way point. I maintained my gaze upon the stop sign up ahead that signaled that I could at least stop for as long as it took me to turn around and start back down the hill. I also began to get angry with the state of me. I quit with an audible “F*ck, f*ck, f*ck!” I put my hands on my knees to catch my breath and ponder the body I’ve become; a body unrecognizable to me.

Then magic happened. At that moment, a female runner passed me. She was one of every runner on the hill to have passed me. In my opinion, the perfect runner. She was combination of Kara Goucher with her fierce intensity and Tara Stiles with her litheness.  She was clearly focused on her run and making it up the hill  She was probably running at a sub 7 minute per mile pace and did not need to be distracted by anybody. She deserved to own the road and have everyone give way. She passed and was about 50 feet in front of me, when she stopped and turned around. I couldn’t even fake it (as I normally would). I was in pain and disappointed and frustrated with me.  Practically in tears. I mean I have 5 marathons under my belt! I have run this hill NOT at mile zero like I was today, but at mile twenty as it is was when I ran Boston three times.

She walked back and though I was dripping in sweat, I am not sure if she even managed to glisten. But instead of being grossed out by the image of me, she approached and without flinching, put her hand on my wet shoulder and bent down to my level. Looking me right in the eye, she said “No matter how you feel right this second. No matter how frustrated you are – just remember that there are millions of people who are NOT out here in 90 degree heat. They are not even trying to do what you are doing. We can both celebrate that. Don’t be angry with yourself.” She ended it with a perky “Have a great day!” and continued up the hill as if she had never stopped. Then she crested and vanished from view. All I managed to say before she darted was an impotent “Thank you.” 

I would love to say that she motivated me to sprint up the hill, but that is not what happened. I sat down on the grass and just thought about what happened. Here is someone who had no reason to stop. Here is someone who had no reason to even acknowledge my existence and yet, she did. She took the time.. She broke her stride and her concentration. She stopped. She stopped because she sensed that I needed an “attaboy.”

I simply walked the rest of the way.

I doubt I will ever see her again and even if I did, I doubt I would say anything to her if I did. Just imagine how awkward it would be if I were to scream out “Excuse me! Excuse me! Remember me? You held me and made me feel good?!” I would assume she has some pepper spray on her holster of Goo.

Whoever you are, I thank you.