Shut In
I used to run.
A lot.
It was common for me to go out into the world with nothing but a hydration pack and ambition. One, two, sometimes four or five hours I’d be out on the roads and trails, chasing a dream.
That dream was to be an ultrarunner, that rare condition that afflicts those with an addictive personality. I fit that bill.
Running any distance longer than a marathon is considered an ultramarathon. A marathon is officially 26.2 miles. 42.195 kilometers.
My objective was to run my first ultramarathon in 2021, although the pandemic threw a wrench in that; it was uncertain if and when organized races would resume.
The universe — God — had a different plan for me.
In August of 2020, August 16 to be precise, I had a transient ischemic attack (TIA), a mini-stroke, while driving southbound on US-23. The TIA caused me to black out.
An eyewitness later told police that I swerved and then veered off the road, hitting a tree dead-on.
The accident report estimated that I was traveling at 60 mph. Talk about a universal smack in the head!
But I’m not here to write in detail about the accident.
Long story short: I’m permanently disabled. No more running.
It took me a year to learn how to walk again. I live independently, but something changed in the wake of the accident. I stopped going out.
It wasn’t a matter of desire: I wanted to go out. I had moved from Ann Arbor, MI, to the beautiful mountain town of Asheville, NC. There is so much to see and do here.
I had spent a year in physical rehabilitation, housed with others also acclimating to the disabled life.
It occurred to me that I’d been in a bubble. Traveling to Asheville was my first extended experience as a disabled minority in an ableist world.
People move fast! And I’m slow. Turtle slow. Add to that my subconscious guardedness because my balance isn’t the greatest, and you can perhaps imagine…
Chicago’s O’Hare airport was my journey to Mordor.
Such experiences imbued in me a subtle dread of the idea of going out in the world.
It’s exhausting.
However, I’m starting to rediscover that part of me that loves doing the unthinkable.
I can’t run marathons anymore, but maybe I can hike a mile or two.
Or maybe I can even take my wheelchair somewhere that’s ADA accessible and spend an afternoon.
I’ve become too comfortable living in my apartment for weeks at a time: Amazon and Instacart take care of most shopping needs. My certified nurse assistant helps with household chores and meal prep.
It’s easy to be a shut in. It’s something most people would be surprised to learn about me.
But I was NEVER about doing the easy thing.
Some parts of me died in the accident. I’m learning that my marathon attitude isn’t one of them.
That’s a part of me that, apparently, took longer than my body to heal. Many have said a marathon can be a metaphor for life. I understand that now better than ever.
It’s all in the mind. I’m grateful for that.
