Returning to Running

The orthopedic surgeon pointed to a spot on the computer screen, where MRI images of my knee were displayed. “The location of this tear, combined with this,” he said as he pointed to my age on screen, “means you will likely not heal from this on your own. The only option is surgery to remove the torn tissue that is closest to the center, and to try to repair the second tear.”

I felt the tears well but tried to keep them at bay with my usual sarcasm. “Rude, doc. Using my age against me like that.” I was hesitant to ask the question that had really been plaguing me for the past 5 months, which was whether I would be able to run again after surgery.

He saw the look on my face, and tried to placate me with assurances that he was my age, and that if it were him, he would do the surgery. I was crushed. After months of pain coming and going at seemingly random intervals, all the physical therapy, sports medicine massages, ultrasound treatments, and rest had led to the same conclusion. I had a double meniscus tear and did not have youth on my side for it to heal itself. He explained that one of my tears was in a place that allowed the tissue to pop in and out of place, which was why I’d feel pain one day, and be fine the next.

“It’s like a Lego brick locking into place when you’re pain free. When that pops out, though, is when you feel it,” he said. “I’ll do my best to preserve all of your meniscus, but if the tear is as bad as I think it is, I’ll likely have to remove some of it.”

He told me I would be able to get back to running, though my ultra-distance days were likely behind me. He also told me that with my genetics (thanks, Dad), it was likely that I would have 5-10 years of running left before I would have to have another surgery. It was also possible that I would have to have the knee replaced in my 50s.

The force with which the emotions hit was surprising. For most of my life, I had only run when forced to by coaches as a punishment. My frequently told joke was that I would only run if someone chased me with a knife, and even then, it depended on the size of the blade. I grew up as a swimmer and an ice hockey player. Running was not my jam.

For almost 10 years though, I had been pounding pavement and dirt both alone and with friends and family and had considered myself a runner. To have all of that taken away without a cause I could pinpoint was frustrating to the point of tears.

The Lake Sonoma Marathon was scheduled for Easter weekend in 2023. Instead of flying to California for a race weekend, I spent the weekend with my running bestie, Ali, in Denver with she and her kids. We hiked a few routes, and I soaked in as much time in the trees as I could, knowing I was about to be stuck at home for several weeks. She assured me that we would be running together again in no time, and I tried to remain hopeful.

Surgery happened later that week, where my doctor removed a small portion of my meniscus and repaired the larger tear. I was in a brace and on crutches for 6 weeks where I was to bear no weight with my right leg, and my mobility was limited to only unlocking my brace during physical therapy. My family set me up on the couch, where I had yarn for crocheting, a remote for TV watching, books, watercolors, and a whole lot of time while the kids were at school to sit. As most of us would, I tried to do too much too quickly and fell 3 days after surgery while trying to maneuver around a carnival at the kids’ school. The fear of having done all of this for nothing scared me into behaving myself a little better for a few more weeks.

Over the next few months as the kids finished up school, we leaned heavily on family and friends for transporting myself and the kids around as I was unable to drive. As a perpetual busy person, being forced to take a break from almost everything felt torturous. Having no outlet for my frustrations in the form of physical movement meant emotions ran high, and I spent many a moment crying in frustration and fear.

What if I couldn’t run again? What if the repair did not hold? What if that fall 3 days in ruined the repair? I wouldn’t know for at least 2 months. What if I injured my other knee while trying to compensate for not being able to use the surgery side? What if this active lifestyle we enjoy was forever limited because of this injury? What if I could never pin on a bib and toe the line at a race again? What if my relationships with running friends could not be sustained without trail or road miles together? The spiraling worries were overwhelming some days, and the darkness threatened to overwhelm.

Luckily, I have a hearty support system in my husband, kids, friends, and family. My kids and husband hiked with me when I could not run and let me sit and paint while they added some distance on several treks in Colorado. My friends met me for breakfast and conversation instead of trail miles before I could walk more than a short distance. Other friends took me to PT and walked around the store with me while I rode a scooter to reserve energy. I started swimming at the gym again, and my kids lent me their practice plans from their own workouts.

With hard work and consistent PT, I was able to return to weight bearing and walking. In month 7, I hit the goal of recovering 70% of my quad strength and was cleared to start working on running. That first day of slow jogging on the treadmill was terrifying as much as it was exhilarating. My brain had been conditioned to protect my knee for a year at that point, so it was difficult to convince my body to allow my leg to bear the impact of a jogging pace.

I’m grateful that my PTs are patient, kind, and skilled at what they do. They let me rest when I was at my limit and gave me the tools to continue my recovery at home when I was denied more sessions by insurance. In January, I was able to complete a 10K race alongside my husband for our 16th wedding anniversary. I gave myself a generous time goal, and he gently encouraged me to continue when I struggled and got frustrated at the pain and pace. The surge of confidence from finishing that race led to registering for the Lake Sonoma Marathon once again. It will take place one year almost to the day from when I had surgery. My training plan is ramping up, and I am confident that I will be able to finish all 26.2 miles. I was never a fast runner, so time isn’t my goal. I aim to finish, to enjoy the views, to soak in the sun, and to smile. Though my time with a healthy knee could be limited, I am going to take advantage of the opportunity to explore the outdoors for as long as I am able in whatever way I can.