Walk This Way

On Thursday when I bought my Cho-Pat knee brace, I was sure I had found the cure to my ailment. Until, of course, I got to mile two. The pain came back as quick as Nestle, and I could actually hear the disappointment in my heart. The elevated beat dropped, along with my hopes for a running finish. Walking back to my apartment, I could hear her words as clearly in my head as when first spoken a week before, "Be patient."

This advice, given to me by a former cross-country runner with past knee injuries, was ignored a second time when I decided to try running again this afternoon. But, like the pain, the words worked their way back into the forefront of my mind. Why wasn't I being patient? Why am I so hell-bent on running this race?

Not being able to run because of an injury is like being late for a departing flight with a gate on the other side of the airport, having to stand on an escalator and wait instead of using the adjacent stairs to get there. The rest of my body is at war with my knee, and my mind is its only ally. I have to be patient and surrender this race tomorrow to self-preservation. My knee needs me.

When I take the time to think about my stubbornness throughout this entire injury process, I realize that I have learned a valuable lesson. The Rolling Stones knew it all along. You can't always get what you want; sometimes you get what you need. For some reason, if nothing more than to help me understand my definition of success, I am not supposed to run right now.

So, I will keep on learning as I lace up my shoes tomorrow, strap on my knee brace and pin on my race number to walk 13.1 miles to the finish line. And, with each step, I will enjoy the experience simply for the fact that it is mine. I may even take a stab at speed walking. If it's good enough for the Olympics, it's good enough for me.