Shoulds / Shouldn'ts
About 11 years ago, I had back surgery. It was really traumatic, and in the weeks before the surgery, I remember thinking that I would never take walking for granted again. Or sitting or sleeping or moving. It was the kind of pain that made me see stars. I remember being very sad and miserable.
After the surgery, I was told I shouldn't run anymore. I was active and athletic then, and in good shape. I had been on the track team all through high school, and continued to run some in college. It was the best, and really only, way I knew how to be fit. The way I felt about running was similar to the way I often feel about writing: I didn't necessarily like to run, but I liked to have run.
For the past decade, I have not run. The little voice stayed in my head. "You can't run. You have a bad back." And I've gotten increasingly unfit.
I realized this morning that it didn't really matter anymore what the doctors or my parents said. My back had begun to hurt again in the last few months, and I think it's probably because I was/am out of shape and sedentary, and about 30 pounds heavier than is good for my medium-sized frame to handle. Not running has gotten me here.
So I'm trying something new. I'm running again, not pushing myself, but running enough to see how my body feels and what hurts and what doesn't. Day 3 of running seems to be going well enough, and my body feels better than it has in at least six months. For now, I'm chalking "not running" up to a long line of "shouldn'ts" that I let myself follow unwittingly for far too long. It's right up there with "You shouldn't shave your head," or "You shouldn't date girls" or "You shouldn't quit your lucrative-but-unsatisfying job to go to law school." Next time someone tells me I shouldn't do something, I hope I remember all this.
After the surgery, I was told I shouldn't run anymore. I was active and athletic then, and in good shape. I had been on the track team all through high school, and continued to run some in college. It was the best, and really only, way I knew how to be fit. The way I felt about running was similar to the way I often feel about writing: I didn't necessarily like to run, but I liked to have run.
For the past decade, I have not run. The little voice stayed in my head. "You can't run. You have a bad back." And I've gotten increasingly unfit.
I realized this morning that it didn't really matter anymore what the doctors or my parents said. My back had begun to hurt again in the last few months, and I think it's probably because I was/am out of shape and sedentary, and about 30 pounds heavier than is good for my medium-sized frame to handle. Not running has gotten me here.
So I'm trying something new. I'm running again, not pushing myself, but running enough to see how my body feels and what hurts and what doesn't. Day 3 of running seems to be going well enough, and my body feels better than it has in at least six months. For now, I'm chalking "not running" up to a long line of "shouldn'ts" that I let myself follow unwittingly for far too long. It's right up there with "You shouldn't shave your head," or "You shouldn't date girls" or "You shouldn't quit your lucrative-but-unsatisfying job to go to law school." Next time someone tells me I shouldn't do something, I hope I remember all this.
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