I love to run. I’ve loved to run since I was allowed to run outside around the block just like my dad. Running was always a hard workout, and I was never “the best” at it, but I got by. I ran track in middle school and high school… correction: I tried to keep up with the real runners in middle school and high school. Once I graduated high school I loved to run even more because it was a physical activity that I could do anytime and anywhere… just pack running shoes. Truth be told, I would run around my college campus in the middle of night just ‘cause.
At any rate, running has always been a part of my life and has consistently been a way for me to burn off energy, work through my thoughts, and enjoy some music. In my older age I competed a bit and did well… basically because I had the endurance and could keep a consistent pace.
When my knee started hurting back in March 2016 I knew that I needed to figure out the issue. Having just moved to Dallas there were so many good races to run! I changed shoes. I ran less mileage. I ran flatter, straighter routes. Nothing. Over the next few months the pain got worse… but rarely before mile six.
Week over week I would go out for my beloved run and find myself in pain. It felt like something in my knee just needed to “pop” and then I would be good to go. At one point I thought pushing through it (running harder and faster) would help me… it didn’t… pushing harder was a run-ender. On more than one occasion I would limp back to my house cursing this mystery pain.
On February 11, 2017 the love of my life and I went on my first run since being diagnosed. We ran four miles. I was pain-free… and paranoid.
Though in constant fear of a flare-up, I’m committed to not allowing this condition to keep me from one of my favorite activities. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?