OH, SNAP!

Since the conclusion of the 2024 Summer Olympic Games, I have envied the mind-blowing ability of everyone who participated. I especially admire those in the artistic dance (water) category.

Although there wasn’t an event titled Dog Paddle to the Deep End, my signature moves in the water, I coveted the sleek muscles and the swimmers’ ability to hold their breath underwater for, it seemed, forever.

My sporting life consists of a varied activity. I tried a stint in a summer tumbling class when I was nine or ten. I learned basic technics in floor exercises like backflips, round-offs, and stunts like an ariel cartwheel.

I imagine my mom watching my sister and me with a couple of girls from the neighborhood flipping, flopping, and mostly crashing around our backyard and deciding, ‘Nope … not spending any more money on those lessons.’

I joined the volleyball team in junior high where I enjoyed the teamwork but wasn’t tall enough or athletic enough to jump above the net.

Next was basketball. I loved shooting and passing the ball. But the speed and pressure of the game plus remembering which play to execute when the coach hollered ‘Fast Break 1’ was disconcerting. I was neither fast nor a good breaker.

It was in the fifth grade I found my joy in a sport – softball. I appreciated the pace, the analytics, relying on individual skills, and the teamwork. I would describe myself as a solid player. I played a bit of third base, wasn’t fast enough for outfield, not coordinated enough for pitcher, but I was very dependable at second base. I completed clutch plays, and was a solid batter who could hit consistently to right field. I assisted in multiple double plays, threw to home plate to tag many runners, and relished a line drive.

I played softball in one form or another for over three decades, coached various age groups for 15 seasons from t-ball to high school to women’s leagues, played a lot of co-ed seasons with my husband, and even played when I was pregnant with my kids.

I’ve never tired of being at the ballpark. I still love to hear the slap of a caught baseball.

After I gave up softball, I hired a fitness coach because I was losing my motivation for any exercise. As part of my regime, my fitness coach insisted cardio was essential.

Around the same time, we adopted Chloe, a beautiful yellow lab puppy. When she was old enough, she and I developed a routine of running at least five days a week. After work, we would jog three to five miles depending on the lateness of the hour, responsibilities to my family, or the weather. I love a good rainstorm during a jog or better yet there were multiple sessions of running in a snowfall. I’ll never forget a particularly warm winter evening, a halo of streetlight beaming through the onslaught of huge white flakes as we cautiously ran through snow deep enough to cover our feet.

The exercise afforded me mental space – a release from work tension, creative contemplation, and a wonderful time of peaceful prayer playing to the rhythm of my footfall on the pavement.

About a year after I began running, Greg, my husband, joined me and we embarked on brilliant adventures running various trails and paths in our hometown.

We started running 5k races and worked our way up to half-marathons. He became a triathlete. I couldn’t because of my lack of swimming skills. In celebration of our 20^th wedding anniversary, we ran a half-marathon in Huntington Beach, California then, exhausted, watched the Super Bowl from our hotel room.

My jogging goal wasn’t speed but stamina. I knew I would never win a top qualifier medal. My goal was fitness and sanity.

During my running sessions, my mom worried mostly about me being out in the dark or getting hurt. “You’re going to wear out your knees with all that running,” she’d joke as I was heading out the door with the dog.

I’d dismiss her with a laugh and a kiss on the cheek.

After losing my motivation to run during the pandemic – yeah let’s blame it on the pandemic – I’ve become lazy in the past few years.

A new puppy from my family and friends for a milestone birthday brought renewed reason to get outside. This spring Holly and I began going for longer and longer walks – mostly to wear out her puppy energy but also as an added benefit of getting back to at least a walk/run.

As Holly grew in strength my anticipation of jogging again also grew. We started to walk/jog a mile path at our favorite local park – beautiful with trees, flowers, deer, and other small creatures.

Our jog sessions would be very short and scattered throughout our walk. We were slowly increasing speed and distance as my stamina grew. My knee was achy but by the evening would be back to normal. I felt a renewed vigor. Visions of half-marathons danced in my head.

The ache in my knee would flare and return regularly. My self-talk said I needed to push through the pain. I reasoned I was getting old, and my knee pain was an excuse to hang it up. But inevitably I would wake the next day feeling great. I never stopped except when the pain was too bad, and Tylenol became my best friend. I explained the pain away as laziness.

Then about a month ago I stood up and my knee absolutely exploded. The simple act of standing took me down. I felt and audibly heard a snap.

Diagnosis: Torn Meniscus.

Treatment: Six weeks of knee brace, pain meds, ice, elevation, crutches, and even a walker. Will evaluate for possible surgery.

Mental State: OH SNAP! Mom was right!

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Photo: Franco Antonio Giovanella on Unsplash