In the time approaching my fiftieth year, I had discovered a great pleasure in running. I would get up early and do a 6k run before work.
I enjoyed the crisp chill on my arms as I walked to the park, the rhythm that my body settled into as I broke into a run, the air in my lungs, the freshness of the dawn, the nuances of the seasons, the changes in the light, the solitude, prayer, the glowing, sweaty limbs as I made my way home.
But then all that had to stop.
Much to my frustration, I developed a pain in my right foot which, at its worst, was so bad I couldn’t pick up my boy from school without being in agony. It was eventually diagnosed as a combination of plantar fasciitis and a bruise in the fat pad, the shock absorber in the heel.
I stopped running, believing it would take me a few weeks to get better, a few months maybe. I tried everything I could – resting, spending far more money than I could afford on physiotherapy, exercises every night and every morning, yoga, wearing horrible trainers with orthotics instead of a nice pair of heels…nothing worked.
I am writing this almost two years after the pain in my foot began – and I am still in pain. But now I am trying to live it differently. At the start of my fiftieth year I went away by myself on retreat and quietly but tearfully recognised my inability to bring about the healing of my foot for which I so much longed.
“OK foot,” I said to my heel (I’d got nothing to lose, I’d tried everything else.) “What are you saying to me? You are part of my process. You are part of my change. Welcome to the party! I surrender to your wisdom. I am listening to you. Tell me whatever it is I need to know.”
Next step: Pain is part of the deal