Tom said this recently, not that I haven't seen it before, but he's where I recently heard it. I almost dislike hearing and reading these things, because it's just a reminder of what I know but don't do.
I've been writing a letter to Tom in my head for weeks. Things I want to say, but I really have nothing to say. There's no question, I think I just feel the need to update him. Update him on what? We cut communications in ... 2017...? Rather, *he* cut communications, for reasons I'm not entirely clear on. I was going through the motions of texting him every wednesday, I'm not sure what I was texting him for at the time, he asked me to. Afterwards, I got the sense of a miscommunication or an expectation that wasn't being met. And being cut off from it was a relief at the time.
He claims to be able to do this - and he can - he can see right through you and into your head. The space between the ears. He just has a way with that. But at the same time, he's harsh. Instead of leading you down a path, he sort of pushes you down it and almost like he just expects you'll catch yourself instead of falling. Is that good, or bad? I dunno.
But I have the urge to email him again, here on the cusp of change as I move to Michigan. What would I say?
Dear Tom,
You may remember me from years ago, I'm Melly aka Tracy. I was an endurance athlete going through a lot of mental stuff, and I listened to your podcast as a way to learn to walk your path, to buy the water you sell. In the time since we last emailed, so much has happened! This is sort of an update, along with a congratulations for the 400th episode!
Since last talking to you, I've fallen out of my canoe a few times. This happened day after day, week after week. Briefly, I've had one health issue after another. 2017 left hip surgery. 2018 heart attack. 2019 right hip bone stress fracture. 2020 recovery from 2019. 2021 ankle fracture and neurological symptoms. I have surgery later this month, and an brain MRI on Monday.
Throughout all this, I kept thinking ahead to when I would be able to swim, bike and run again. I stayed positive, focused on gratitude and slowing down to enjoy the moment. But since the heart attacks, I've fallen into a depression of sorts over the delays of recovery. I'm not depressed overall, but depressed about being unable to be active. On the one hand, I'm alive and healthy, I have great doctors and health care, my job has given my time to recover. But yet I'm unhappy, stressed, disappointed at my body.
And I confess, through most of 2019 and 2020 I couldn't listen to your podcast. I felt like I was failing myself by not being grateful enough and not fixing the space between my ears. I felt like I was failing the Mental Tom, the Tom in my brain that spoke from the podcast speakers.
I haven't been able to put a finger on *why* I was so disappointed. There wasn't any one thing I did to cause all this damage, it's not like I'm living recklessly and making stupid mistakes. Or maybe I am and I'm in denial. But the recent Cognitive Dissonance episode finally may have put a name to how I'm feeling.
My identity - from my way of thinking to my clothing, to my home decor and my gear (shoes, bikes, etc), to my friend group and how coworkers and other people know me -- has revolved around my being an endurance athlete. It was the driving force for me to get healthy years ago, to be less reclusive and make friends, to get out and explore the city I'd just moved to. Becoming an athlete changed who I was at the core. I'd found what I thoroughly enjoyed and a way to challenge myself. I became the person I wanted to be. Finally to myself, I was a Somebody. I was proud of myself - I could set a goal race and train and work towards it, overcome doubts and problems, and it wasn't about the race but about the training itself. I didn't care if I won the race, I cared that I tried my best.
Now I can barely run at all, due to the ankle injury. My bikes have flat tires. The pool is a distant memory. I drive around my city and see memories of where I used to run, used to ride, used to meet friends. I fall asleep and my brain replays trail runs and races and bike rides. My cruel mind will randomly flash back to an event from years ago, like opening a book to a random page for me to read. I enjoy these memories, they were happy times, but at the same time it strikes me to the core to know that those days are maybe gone forever.
Back to the cognitive dissonance. It's like I'm living two lives - my hopes/dreams vs reality - and both are real but discordant. I'm still that person at the core - I still want to run but all I can do is rest and wait for my surgery in 2.5 weeks. I see another runner or cyclist as I drive to work and in my body I can feel the road because I've biked or run that path so many times myself. I talk to my doctors about procedures and they refer to me as "a high performance athlete", yet I haven't trained in weeks or months.
I'm going through the stages of grief, mourning the loss of who I used to be. At first it was denial, as I pushed through fatigue and injury to keep being an athlete even after I was injured. Then I was angry, angry at my body for betraying me and angry at my mind for being unable to control things. Then I'm bargaining - if only I can run a little bit, then I'd be happy enough.
Lately I've fallen into acceptance, a sad acceptance. A realization that I may never again be an athlete. Why do I think this? I'm young, I'll recover, and I may not be the long course athlete I used to be, but I'll still be an athlete! But no, that's not what my mind is saying. My mind is saying Give Up. Stop. You've Lost. You'll Never Do That Again. Sell The Bikes.
The dissonance of a surgeon saying "your a high performance athlete, I'll do this procedure differently for you" so you can get heal faster.
The dissonance of seeing my beloved bikes parked in the basement with flat tires.
The dissonance of my mind playing a memory of a trail run, while the ache in my ankle and hips that say I may never be strong enough to run a trail again.
I drive my my favorite park, and I feel a physical pain of loss. As if something has died and I'll never get it back.
This is all shallow, I know. As you said in the 399 podcast about no straight lines - I haven't been shot or attacked or sick from COVID. My life is pretty good (I haven't even mentioned all the other changes yet!!) so why am I bitching and moaning about this?!
So the dissonance, my question, maybe not really a question that has an answer, is how do I know if I'm giving up because it's the easy thing to do, or if I'm giving up because that's the reality that I need to just accept.
The quote that "The only time we only truly suffer is when our minds disagree with reality" hit me hard.
So did: "sometimes you have to let go of the picture of what you thought life would be like and learn to find joy in the story you are actually living".
How do I know?! How do I know what my reality is now? Am I still an athlete who will recover, or am I trying to hang on to the "glory days" I enjoyed so much. Am I giving up and taking the easier road because I'm afraid the work or being disappointed? When will I know to let go, or to keep trying? What if I was trying so hard, too hard, and that's why I accumulated injuries? Does my body have one reality, and my head another? Is this the cause of my suffering?
How do I sort this out?
