breaking bones.

I mentioned a few posts ago that my foot surgery needs to be redone. I first had bunion surgery in May 2002, 2 days after my college graduation. Turned out that she had only shaved the bone, which is called a Silver bunionectomy. When I started tri training in earnest this year, my foot was acting up, and the bunion had recurred, causing my pain. So in March 2010, I had an osteotomy. They broke the first metatarsal and rearranged the joint, tendons and ligaments. When I started physical therapy in August, the 2 PTs took one look at my foot, looked at each other, and innocently mentioned that it looked like a "failed surgery." No lie, I cried right then and there. The toe was horribly curved, and I cannot stand flat on that foot; my weight is on the lateral side. I knew they were right. I saw another orthopedic surgeon, one specializing in only foot and ankle surgeries. He agreed that not only has the bunion recurred, but recurred WORSE, and I have developed arthritis in the first metatarsal joints. So I am having a THIRD surgery on my foot on Thursday. They say third time's the charm, right? This surgery will be fusing my bones, lengthening the first metatarsal joint, shortening the second and the fusion will fix both the arthritis and the bunion.

Needless to say, the October triathlon is not happening, the November triathlon is not happening, and I will not be a Coach for Girls on the Run this fall.

Those of you who are athletes will understand this; let me describe to non-athletes what this is like for me. It's devastating. Sure, I'm not a D-1 athlete or a professional. My tuition or my salary do not depend on my athletic accomplishments. But I am an athlete. Always have been, likely always will be. Sports is a stress reliever for me, it makes me feel confident, it makes me healthy and it makes me strong in all possible ways. Going for a run or swim does more than work and exhaust my body; it allows me time to empty my head of all the demons that have taunted me that day - will I get into an academic program, will I get a job, what if I'm not good enough, why is my bank account balance so low, why aren't there any decent guys out there - and it brings me back to myself. I can't explain it any other way. Feeling my muscles burn and work fills me with gratitude that I am able to do these activities and reminds me that my body is an amazing thing that needs to be cared for and fed and listened to. Finishing a 20 mile bike ride or a 3 mile run or a hard swim workout helps me realize that the only limits I have are the ones that I place on myself.

This year, I got into the best shape of my life, physically and mentally. Going to the gym was the one place that I felt at ease; it was the one place that I felt like a success. Like I was good at something. Now that I won't have that after next week, I need to focus on my work, my writing portfolio and my personal statements.

What brought this on, aside from my impending surgery? I'm watching the US Open. Watching tennis always reminds me just how much I love the sport. In high school, I lived and breathed tennis in the spring, summer and fall. I would have my dad drive me to the tennis wall at the high school near my house and spend hours hitting the ball against the wall. When he had the chance, my dad would play tennis with me, and he would hit that ball so hard that by the time tryouts came around, any serves or volleys that these girls had against me felt weak, compared to what I'd been playing against all summer. I developed a not-so-attractive John McEnroe-like habit of throwing my racquet when I was annoyed or not playing well, but I also developed one hell of a two-handed backhand and great serve. In mid-August, before tryouts, going to get my racquet restrung and shopping for new tennis shoes was a bit of a tradition. I'd pack my racquet bag with my racquets, cans of balls, headbands, wristbands, handle grips, vibration dampers for the strings....I'd dissect the games of Steffi Graf, Mary Jo Fernandez and Pete Sampras. I'd debate the merits of white versus blue tennis skirts, and wind up with both.

Because God has a wicked sense of humor, the day after I was told I needed another surgery, the newest issue of Runner's World arrived in my mailbox, and the next day, the new issue of Triathlete came in. I resigned myself to the fact that I would not be running a half-marathon on my 30th birthday in December, as I had wanted to, and that I would not be an "official" triathlete until some time next year. I guess maybe my half-Ironman within the next 2 years may also have to be postponed. The only triathlon in my near future is the Kona Ironman, which I will be watching on television, the day before my would-be first triathlon.

My surgery is on Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year and one of the holiest days of the Jewish calendar. I didn't know this when I scheduled it. Would it have made a difference? Probably not. But maybe this is a sign. Maybe it signifies that the coming year will be a sweet one, because of all the struggles this year brought. Maybe it signifies a new start with a stronger body.

They say that when you break a bone, it heals stronger than before. At least that's what I've heard. I am choosing to believe this. I am choosing to believe that after this surgery, my foot will be stronger than before and I can resume my triathlon training and become even better and stronger and more athletic than I was.

Because the alternative is unthinkable.