Why Knee?

Snap, crackle, pop. That's what I hear each morning when I get out of bed. The sound of my waking bones after sleep. Yesterday, I was seen by an orthopedist for chronic pain I've been experiencing in my right knee.

This is not a new injury: I did not all of the sudden experience a "pop" or snap and start limping. I have been living this pain for ten years plus and was diagnosed years ago with osteoarthritis in my knees. Multiple X-rays and MRIs over the course of 15 years show the standard course of deterioration. I continue to run because I refuse to accept the inevitable. I've added knee braces, moved to trails and gravel, taken more days off in-between runs, cycled, swallowed ibuprofen and glucosomine chronindrin and swam. By strengthening my quads I took pressure off my knees so the pain was fortunately reduced. However, the arthritis continues to progress and last spring when I was committed to running each day during the 40 days of Lent, my knee said, "No".

Since then, I've been nursing my knee back to a level of mobility I can tolerate. I rest, ice, hot tub, swim, sit, and try to alleviate what I can during the day through stretching. I cannot seem to tolerate the level of running I did just 5 months ago and that is frustrating. No, that is beyond frustrating. It is depressing and has stifled me. I have felt like the victim of a cruel crime. Stripped of my moments of peace out with nature, my fitness regime, and mental well-being. Running has never been about time...or miles....or speed for me. I run when I can fit it in and sure, I have some knowledge of how far I go but whatever I accomplish on the road or trail is satisfying and helps me handle the stress of the rest of my day. Now I feel robbed of the one thing that keeps me healthy and present.

While this internal strife feels selfish for me to confess here--I realize so many worse things could have happened to me. I do not have a death sentence. I did not lose a family member. I still have most of my mind and body as a healthy unit. But I cannot belittle the effect this change has had on me. Some have witnessed it from a distance wondering why I don't walk with a kick in my step or why they don't see me tackling miles on the highway anymore. I'd prefer that they don't ask. It hurts emotionally for me to have to admit I cannot do it anymore. I've suffered a loss.

As I start to accept my diagnosis I am also trying to maintain some grace about the whole thing. There are some positives. One is that I swim. Two is that I have a good sense of humor. Three is that I won't become sedentary and will still run some until basically, I cannot do it anymore. And four, I know it doesn't take someone who's an athlete to do great things in this world. 

However, I still have to take care of myself. I am strong in the water and enjoy the monotony of laps and the silence underwater is soothing. I gain confidence with each stroke--unlike when I'm upright and trying to push through miles with large shoulders, heavy legs, and giant weighted balloons strapped to my chest. I knew I'd never win any road races. I don't have the wiry physique of my friends who are natural athletes and compete in marathons. On the up side, I do have a large, muscular Amazonian build similar to the first woman who swam the English Channel.  So, yea, I got that going for me.

My ideal swimming situation is this: A giant pool that heads out my driveway, around the valley here and back home. No laps, just miles of swimming right out my door. Swimming isn't convenient. And here in Oregon it is not an outdoor activity most of the year so the fresh air and wide open spaces that clear my mind disappear when trapped in a muggy, steamy environment.

The orthopedist pointed to the film of my knee and said, "Look. The damage is there." He was referring to the picture of my knee and the lack of space on one side of the joint. It looked pretty much like this image--bone resting on bone. He added that it was most likely happening to my other knee as well based on his analysis of my walk and physical examination. I'm a candidate for knee replacement. But we both said if I can continue managing the pain I would get about ten more years of moderate exercise before we'd be to the point that my daily activities would become difficult and it would be time to consider that option. And once my knee is rebuilt or replaced, no running. 

Ten years isn't a long time anymore like it was when I was in my 20s. It is in my near future now. So off I go. A vigorous walk, ibuprofen, a swim, and then ice or hot tub. I'll research other options to help alleviate my pain. I'll mix up my fitness options and add the mental exercise of pushing beyond the reality of my inabilities to living with my diagnosis and discovering new avenues of release. And yes, I'll continue to run.

Often towards the end of a hard run I create a chant to push through exhaustion, such as, "no pain, no gain",  "work it, breathe, energy". This new journey of acceptance and fitness requires its own motivating words and they are simple, "Keep on truckin'."