Ever notice when you can’t run that you sweat the small stuff a whole lot more than usual? It becomes hard to even see what’s big and what’s small because it all seems big.
Yesterday’s big went like this: my young daughter grabbed the key for the window locks and ran off giggling. No big deal, right? I didn’t react – I knew that’s what she was looking for, having played such “let’s make Mom shout” games in the past. Just when I was feeling all smug about not taking the bait, while simultaneously avoiding Sunday-at-home-hell by playing on Facebook on my phone, she came running through the house, threw the key at me, and it hit me right on the side of my head. It HURT like hell. Like a little tiny missile, a sharp, pointy missile. I howled in pain, and then burst into tears. And I kept crying, hiding in the pantry while big, heavy sobs ran through me. It was the unprovoked nature of the thing that got me, the shock of it, after walking on eggshells all day because she is prone to such attacks at the moment. I was hurt, furious, angry and hysterical all at once.
Would I have reacted that way had I gotten a good 30k run under my legs this weekend? I doubt it. Should I have reacted that way? Who knows? Who can say what is small and what is big, the size of the straw to the particular camel that is carrying a lot of straws.
Suffice it to say we made up and all is fine twenty-four hours later. But jeez. The small stuff can grow large.
Here’s the good news though – my swollen knee is growing smaller! After two visits with Tim the wonder-physio at http://bayfreedomphysio.com.au/, some taping, a new tibialis posterior exercise, and some self-control, I can now walk down the stairs without pain. Today I ran for the first time in 14 days – a whopping 1 kilometre on the treadmill at a slow pace – but I ran.
And in that run is embedded hope. In the meantime, I’m trying to keep my sanity by lifting lots of heavy things (barbels; dumbbells) as well as entertaining myself on the cross-trainer with Bon Jovi.
Who, I have to tell you, I saw in concert on Saturday night.
It is always worrying to see a personal hero in, well, in person. What I admire about Bon Jovi is two-fold. First is his music, of course. The lyrics lift me when I need it – he writes of fighters, of overcoming odds, of how tough life can be for every single one of us, of the value of staying the course, and of love. Second is his humanity. Of course that may be an act, but, if so, he does it very well. He supports the homeless through the Jon Bon Jovi Soul Foundation (http://www.jonbonjovisoulfoundation.org/), he supported New Jersey after Hurricane Sandy last year, as well as flood relief efforts here in Australia after his 2010 tour, and he fights for the underdog and the downtrodden in his music and in real life.
So to see him in person – well, he has a lot to live up to. The concert was at Etihad Stadium in Melbourne to a full house. I was close enough to see him smile in real life, but also to see that the smile, unlike during his 2010 tour, was not quite reaching his eyes. The passion was there, the music was there (the music was amazing), but I seemed to be seeing my hero in some sort of pain – perhaps it was projection, or jetlag, or a long, long tour, or just my imagination, but it saddened me.
Don’t get me wrong – the concert rocked, and I loved every moment. But Bon Jovi has written in several of his songs about crawling out of the dark to shine the light. He does that for me, and for so many other fans – shines the light when we need it, through his passion and his lyrics. So, if there was pain there, this single fan is sending back a message – sending some of the light he has given to the world straight back to him. Because even heroes sometimes need a hand. As part of my ticket package, I received a leather-bound journal with the words “Because We Can” embossed on the front cover – I think I’ll use it to begin writing my next book, and shine some of my own light for others. Because he helped to spark that flame.
I’ll also be getting back to my own heroic journey when my body has fully healed. I’m not holding out much hope for the Two Bays race on 12 January, but as someone much smarter than me mentioned on my Facebook Page, it is best to heal without aiming for a particular race. Wise words indeed.
Each step is one step closer to healing, if I do this right. I’m glad I have Bon Jovi to remind me on my iPod that “everybody’s broken – it’s all right, it’s just life…”, and to help me get a few steps closer to being unbroken again.
- REVIEW: Bon Jovi, Melbourne, December 7, 2013 (noise11.com)