The Little Engine that Can

This morning offered the first hint of fall: a dry 60 degrees.  There’s only one thing to do on an August morning as surprisingly wonderful as this: a 10-mile run before heading off to work.  And what better day to do it on than the day I’m going to see a neurosurgeon about my back problem, one who just might give me the same advice given to Paula several months ago: Stop running.  So if I’m going to go out, I’m going to go out in a blaze of glory: 10 miles faster than I’ve run the distance in a couple of years.  The run felt comfortable, but more importantly the run felt familiar.  In fact, it almost felt fun again.  Maybe there was hope for me after all.  Let’s see what the neurosurgeon has to say this afternoon.

Once I signed in at Atlanta Brain and Spine Care a nurse practitioner took my vitals and asked me a few questions about my back problem.  I told her how I had experienced numerous and various pains below the waist for the past couple of years, but that the pains were now gone but the numbness in my right leg had gotten worse.  I made sure to answer every yes or no question with ‘ma’am’ at the end; I’ve made it a practice to do so whenever I’m in the room with someone who has the authority, power and/or ability to stick me with a needle.  I figure if that person is on the fence about whether or not I needed an injection, some blood drawn or a friendly poke in the arm simply to prove I shouldn’t be messing with them, my polite demeanor might steer them away from doing so. 

Before long the neurosurgeon entered the room and immediately called me into the room across the hall to view my MRI with him.  Two thoughts immediately came to mind: (1) He may as well be inviting me to interpret a page or two of hieroglyphics, because I have no proficiency whatsoever at interpreting MRI’s, X-rays or any other photographs of me taken on the inside and (2) this can’t be good. 

His very first sentence was (and I quote) ‘I see an MRI of a spine like this about once every six months’ and then added he couldn’t wait to tell others about it.  In fact, he was a bit giddy when he said it.  My very first thought was ‘This must be the first time he’s seen a problem like mine and now he will be able to write another article for a medical journal and add it to his collection of framed articles I noticed hanging on the wall in the first room I was in.’

But then he went on to add several phrases that fueled the fire my grandson Krischan helped light several days ago when we went for a simple yet wonderful two-mile run together:

·      The spine of a 35-year old (Interestingly enough I heard the EXACT same description of my spine from my orthopedic surgeon three years ago.  I had my doubts back then, but now I have to believe there must be some truth in it).       

·      Pristine condition for a 58-year old man.

·      Body has held up amazingly well for someone with 35 years of running under his belt.

·      Genetically-gifted.

Pretty flattering stuff for a first date.

He admitted that as much as he liked to fix people, he was absolutely not going to recommend surgery for me.   As I had spent some time torturing myself on WebMD prior to my appointment—imagining what horrible fate might be in store for me--I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t incredibly relieved to hear him say that.

He said he was a runner himself at one time and had run more marathons than he could remember, so he completely understood my frustration at not being able to run at 100%.  I told him I stopped running marathons last year when I ran my 200^th in Honolulu.  We talked about running ultras, runners that both of us knew, races that both of us have run, ‘the good old days’ when we were fairly fast, how once upon a time our common goal in races was to beat the fastest woman (not because we're chauvinists, but because there were some really fast women runners when we were both in our primes) and that we had the University of Florida as a common denominator (me as a student and him as a medical instructor at UF’s Shands Teaching Hospital).     

  

His recommended course of action came next.  Yoga.  Stretching*.  Pilates.  Physical therapy wouldn’t hurt.  I asked about massage and chiropractic treatments.  He said he would try anything and everything, emphasizing yet again he would not recommend surgery.  (Cue the dream sequence: I gave him the hugest man-hug of all time, lifted him up in the air, twirled him around in circles and promised to name my next grandson after him.) 

*He asked me to touch my toes at one point during our conversation.

My feeble attempt—I barely could reach halfway down my shins—resulted in him

making mention of my limited flexibility, a commonality in the runners he has treated.

I told him the last time I touched my toes was after a hill workout in March of 1994. 

I wasn’t kidding: I remember the day like it was yesterday, since it was also the ONLY time I’ve ever touched my toes in my entire life. 

So now it’s up to me.  I CAN get well again.  I CAN run another marathon.  I am the little engine that CAN. 

I remember a slogan we had at JCPenney many, many years ago: If it can be, it’s up to me. 

I want to run well again.  I want to run another marathon. 

There is a marathon in Fort Worth.  Fort Worth, where Krischan lives.  Could there be a better marathon to launch my comeback? 

As fate would have it, this year’s Fort Worth Marathon is on November 10, the same day as the Peachtree City 50/25K that I direct.  Being an optimist, I interpret that as Karma’s way of saying it might be better to make my comeback at Fort Worth in 2014. 

That way Krischan could be there to see me cross the finish line.  There is nothing I would enjoy more than seeing his smiling face as his G-Pa drapes the finisher’s medal around his neck.  That way I could promise to be there when he finishes his first marathon and earns a medal of his own.    

And if Karma opts to hang around for another 15 years or so, maybe I won’t simply be waiting for Krischan at the finish line; I’ll be running his first marathon with him.

But first things first: I have to find a yoga class.