“You’re kinda prone to extreme activities aren’t you?” The surgeon asks. I’ve come in for my follow up after gallbladder removal and umbilical hernia repair, and he’s just green-lighted me for “aerobic activities,” but I want specifics.
“What do you mean?”
“Climbing and a 15-mile trail run. You don’t think that’s extreme?”
“Well,” I admit, “I have been accused of it before, but I just think of it as having fun.”
The X Games don’t have trail running, easy single-track mountain biking, or bouldering events. They have BMX and snowboard super pipe. My activities are more in the category of adventure sports for middle-aged nerds. Ice climbing is extreme. Going to the gym to pump a few bouldering problems no higher than 10 feet with just a couple tough moves: That’s just a workout for guys who get bored lifting weights.
“If you feel up for it, you should be able to do the run by mid February. There aren’t many problems with this type of surgery and running, but don’t lift weights for a month, and give it at least another three weeks before you’re back at the climbing gym.”
“OK,” I nod my head.
I can live with this. I’ll have to lower my expectations for Spring runs, but at least I’ll be able to participate.
I get home early to meet the kids at the bus. Jenn is there working on an article. I tell her, “I’m clear for aerobic activity,” jumping my eyebrows suggestively.
“Did he give you a note?” she asks and smiles.
The next morning, I’m up early for the Snowman Shuffle. My friend, David, has already picked up my packet, but I won’t be pinning on my number. I’m clear to run, but even a nearby 4-mile event seems like a little much for starters.
We cruise Seneca and Cherokee parks. “Lots of runners out,” David comments.
They’re out in tights and white runner’s gloves, training for Spring events: The Louisville Triple Crown and Derby Half/Marathon, fulfilling New Year’s resolutions, some smiling, some determined.
I shiver when we park and start the trail up through the woods to Hogan’s Fountain where the race starts. I take a few sips of some of the first coffee I’ve had in weeks and watch my breath rise in the cold. It’s good to see all the bib numbers near the start, to listen to the chatter, and to hear so many comment, “Cold one for the first run of the season.”
“I wish I were runnin with you,” I tell David.
“Yeah, no problem,” he smiles and nods supportively.
I’m glad I came out. Being at an event feels good. It gets me motivated to get back to it as soon as I can do so safely.
The whistle blows, and I tell David, “Have fun, Man.”
I walk back down the hill, breathing in the cold dry air. It freezes my chest and reminds me of growing up in Wisconsin, running through the UW Arboretum, watching redwing blackbirds dash among cattails on Lake Wingra.
Twenty minutes later, I’m watching the leaders come in.
At roughly 30 minutes (7:30 pace), I see somebody finishing who looks like either my surgeon or his long-lost twin. He looks strong, behind glasses and under a ski cap. It’s 32 degrees out (about 0°C), and I wonder, “Who’s extreme?”
It doesn’t matter, this morning, whether he’s an apparition or the real thing. I’m glad to be outside and taking it as a sign to get back in a pair of trainers as soon as I’m able.