"Why Not?" Quoth the Raven
Celebrating the anniversary of healthy choices
“You should sign up for a race.”
Three years ago, I stared blankly at my wife wondering when she had gone mad. I had just started running a month earlier. It wasn’t even fun! My knees felt like they were built of Lego - crunching, grinding, popping - at the start of every outing. I was lucky to string two consecutive miles together finish one full mile without stopping to catch my breath.
“A race?!”
Two months prior to this exchange, I found myself lying in a hospital bed groggily waking up from major abdominal surgery and wondering how my life would or could be different. The surgery, the last of four I’d had that year, reversed the ostomy the doctors had installed months earlier to give my gut parts a much needed rest.
I have Crohn’s Disease. Together with Ulcerative Colitis, they make up the Inflammatory Bowel Disease (IBD) family of incurable autoimmune conditions that attack the intestines. At its best, it is inconvenient and embarrassing; at its worst, it is debilitating and life-threatening.
This wasn’t my first major surgery. I had just turned 14 when I was diagnosed and 21 when I had my first small bowel resection. (Doogie Howser M.D. translation: a procedure where surgeons remove diseased, irreparable portions of your intestines. A gut cut, if you will. A pooper pruning. An intestine intervention. I can keep going…).
At 21 I was given a new lease on life, most of which I spent haunting local dive bars and grungy music venues. Maybe this time - a second time of having over five feet of ileum thrown into the hospital dumpster - at the ripe, middle age of 40 with a family to care for, I should try a different tack.
“A race.”
I was a staunch anti-runner for years. There wasn’t a less appealing hobby or, worse, lifestyle out there. I’m no therapist, but maybe it was because my IBD diagnosis would come as a high school freshman midway through the first and only season on the cross country team. An inauspicious end to any future varsity aspirations.
My new post-ostomy foray into running had started as a hiking hobby. After the first couple trips to the local park, I was already bored with how long it was taking me to complete the 6-mile loop. It was called Mianus River Park; phonetically a hair’s breadth away from an apropos starting place for a person who’s dealt with poop problems their entire life.
On my third hiking adventure, I set my new wearable fitness device to buzz every mile. When prompted, I would pick up the pace and see how far I could run before needing a break. The answer: one quarter mile.
“OK. A race. Sure. I’ll take a look.”
We had relocated from Texas to Connecticut a couple years earlier. I hadn’t made any running friends; truthfully, I had made exactly two local friends total. With nobody to ask, I turned to the all-knowing Google machine.
There was an event called the Raven Rocks Run coming up in November. Organized by a local trail running group, the Leatherman Harriers Sunday Runs, it was a 10K. I had a little more than a month to prepare for a distance I would typically only be comfortable driving.
“Why don’t you join that running club?”
Once again, I stared at my wife. Me? Mr. Walk-n-Run? You’re suggesting that I show up to a club that meets *checks the website again* Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays, Sundays, and sometimes Wednesdays? They need to work on their branding. I need to work on my running.
Sure, the website says in big bold print, “Welcome Rookie Runners,” but assuredly that’s as big of a lie as calling yourself “Sunday Runs” when it should be “Pretty Much Daily Runs.” My trail running shoes don’t even have a scuff yet. My convalescence sweatpants haven’t even been retired.
“No. Maybe? Not yet.”
With two weeks until race day, I decided to take the plunge and try out the running group. I slept in the guest room so I wouldn’t wake up my wife with a 5AM alarm on a Saturday. My gear was laid out at the foot of the bed, none of which smacked of “imposter,” but I knew better.
Showing up to meet this group meant I was declaring myself a runner. A rookie, but a runner nonetheless. Not a “recovering from surgery runner,” not an “autoimmune diseased runner,” not even an “occasional tummy problems runner.” I was shaking in my Salomons.
I spent the entirety of my first group run apologizing for myself and my pace when I felt safe making words amidst the aggressive, breathless panting. My father-in-law had warned me that trail runners were among the most warm and welcoming groups (but beware triathletes!) and, luckily, this one lived up to the billing.
They told me I was doing great. The burning in my lungs and legs begged to differ. I had to take them at their word. They were casually chatting about their upcoming endurance adventures while waiting for me to catch up. They must know a thing or two.
“How was it? Are you going to sign up for Raven Rocks?”
I’ve never really bought into the fake-it-until-you-make-it school of thought, but 27 years of Crohn’s Disease has made me a tenured professor of grit-your-teeth-and-grind-it-out. Who knows, maybe that kind of talent is exactly the kind of thing that could help me if I ever decided to make this my vehicle for recovery and hopefully remission.
“Sure? Yes. Why not?”
This month, I participated in my fourth consecutive Raven Rocks Run.
That very first time was a statement of what was possible. It served as a jumping off point; some would argue a diving board into the deep end of this hobby… sport… even lifestyle. Each iteration since, I celebrate the anniversary of the first steps of my recovery journey.
I’ve spent most of my life trying to avoid being defined by having IBD. Now, I’m rebranding myself within that exact context: “A person recovering from and overcoming the challenges of Crohn’s Disease.”
And what started out as a very personal journey has turned into one much more communal.
The not-yet-rebranded “Pretty Much Daily Runs” club inspires (and sometimes manipulates) me to see how far I can go - literally. Trail running has also given me a purpose to tell my story and try to reach others that are looking for hope in the face of chronic illness.
On the first point, I’m proud to announce (okay, maybe brag) that three years into this adventure, I can call myself an ultramarathoner many times over. On the second, I’ve tapped into a vast community of people dealing with similar circumstances taking steps big and small every day to get healthier, stronger, and more resilient.
Not too shabby for someone who not all that long ago thought they were allergic to both running and accepting their physical limitations. After too many years of being beaten up by my own body, now I’ll do it to myself for fun, thank-you-very-much!
“How do you feel about me attempting a 100K next year?”
Incredulous, my wife just stares at me.
You have handled this with aplomb!
Awesome piece. Happy to have been a participant in this poop power process!🥳