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Before the beginning of my senior year of track in high school, I found myself grinding out miles on a stationary bike while staring at a predictably bland-colored wall in the backrooms of West Fargo High School. I honestly can't even remember what the injury was, but I came into the season far less prepared than I wanted to be. My first individual race came at the Bison Sports Arena in Fargo (an indoor track that isn't used for indoor track anymore), and I was able to stick with the leaders for a little bit, but my lack of strength caught up with me and I tanked the second half of the race, finishing with a disappointing place and time. It was devastating. I had aspirations of being a conference champion, and here I was sucking wind against guys who I had beaten before. My coach, fine-tuned to high school athletes in a way I have yet to ever see bested, assured me that I would be fine once I got back into shape, and furthermore that it wouldn't take as much time as I thought. His words attempted to lift me out of a pit and set me someplace that I could see clearer and breathe easier. Well, the short version of the story is that two weeks later at the same place and running the same distance against the same competition, I won a convincing victory at the indoor conference meet with a time that even surprised me. My first injury had been endured.
As luck would have it, the week leading up to the outdoor conference meet that same year, I found myself in the empty hallways of my school, head resting against a locker, sadness pulsing through my body. I had sustained a small strain in my calf a few days before, and it was the day of conference and I wasn't 100% healthy. I had been stretching and foam-rolling (well, I was using a rolling pin my parents borrowed me, isn't that a North Dakota family for ya?), but to no avail. When nobody was looking, I would bounce on my toes a few times to see if the pain had completely subsided. Nope. We were hosting conference, so I sought refuge in the school, where I continued to stretch and try jogging to see if the pain would go away. Nope. My races that day were terrible by my standards.
Less than a year later I found myself sitting on the floor of the UND locker room, stretching after another boring pool session, wondering what I was doing with my life. After getting handily beaten in all my cross country and track races, I sustained another injury, and this time I was told it was simply because I was weak and inflexible basically everywhere: hips, quads, back, etc...It was tearing me apart. I recall writing in my math notes one day: "Where would you be right now if not for running?" The question teased me for weeks. Did I really have a place running for a university when my body continually gave up on me? Could I not be doing much more good someplace else? I was still doing that thing where when nobody was looking, I would try jumping or jogging slowly to see if the pain had gone away. Nope. (By the way, I know that other athletes do that too- torment themselves by constantly testing their injuries when they KNOW it's not going to be healed, but they hang on to some sort of false hope. When they realize it still hurts, it only adds to the mental pain)
But then I became healthy enough to run a couple laps as part of my rehab exercises. It was only a few laps, but it was a huge mental relief for me. I literally felt the weight lift off my shoulders. You know, an injured athlete is quite an interesting creature. Sports and training are what they know, and teammates/training partners are their social groups; both of those disappear with injuries. The athlete is no longer in the 'in' group and likely doesn't understand inside jokes among teammates anymore. Their method of exercise and physical well-being is taken away from them, and they can torment themselves in many ways. Their appetite will lessen, their sleep patterns won't be as fluid, and their head will be filled with questions that had never taken hold there. It's especially worse for scholarship athletes, because those signed papers represent something that can't necessarily be filled when injured, and that can contribute to the helplessness they feel. For me, the worst is when I'm injured but go to a meet to cheer on my teammates. I get to field questions about why I'm not racing, and simply walking around in street clothes is enough to make me feel like everybody is looking at me, knowing. Sometimes it makes me just want to leave, because I feel so uncomfortable. I hear the gun go off at the beginning of every race, and a part of me simply dies. That could be me on the track.
Soon I was running more and more, and I even did some workouts. Unfortunately for me, I came back too quickly and re-injured the same spot, but I wasn't crushed as bad this time: I had remembered the joy of hobbling around the track when I had been waiting in want for months. The oft-quoted cliche held true: I didn't really know what I had until it was gone. Injuries can be a source of increasing sadness and discontent. Separation from team, long and grueling rehab exercises, and an unchanging full-time class load are all weighing down heavily on the athlete. The athlete may watch teammates perform outstanding, and have trouble being truly happy for them, because it was their absence that created the void for the teammates performance to even happen. But all that is wiped away when the sport can be experienced again. The joy of reliving the dreams of your past weeks can overcome any previous sadness. Being able to smile with teammates again is a truly wonderful thing.
I have still had other injuries in college, and each time I feel the same way: my world around me seems to crash down and crush my body with it. Smiling becomes harder, and joy becomes less. But I have gotten better over time. I now recognize injuries to be a blessing in disguise. Nothing in athletics can refocus your attention quite like having athletics taken away for awhile. You get to go back to the basics and start loving the game/sport again. In fact, I've started considering myself a lucky person to have had as many injuries as I've had, because every time I learn from it. I learn how to take care of my body in a new way, I learn something about training I had never thought about, and I learn how to endure seeing opponents crush out fast times while I watch. I've even learned how to be truly happy for teammate's success while I cannot run.
Above all, I have a solid foundation. With each passing year I realize how important it is to have a base in my life that isn't running or anything else. I have learned from reading the Bible how unimportant individual success is, and how important loving others and being there for their success is. My life isn't fully invested in running, and it does not serve as an idol for me, because I recognize that the most important part of life is to serve and live and Jesus did. In my most recent injury, it bothered me for a couple hours, but after that I said 'you know what, I know that God has a plan, and good can eventually result from this, whatever that may be'.
Injuries have always been a major stress for me, because it takes away something rapidly becoming an idol and forces me to refocus. It hurts mental and physically, and it truly tears some people apart, but if you keep the big picture in mind, you can actually thrive through them. Don't ever let your self-worth be tied to your success that depends on you staying healthy. Self-worth comes from knowing that you are fearfully and wonderfully made.
Blessings,
Nate
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