fractured.

What I had originally believed to be a cramp in my right food had developed into too much of a perpetual pain to rest as a simple muscle ache. I tried to ignore the pain that had begun Tuesday afternoon, but by Wednesday it was as easy to ignore as a kid pulling at your sweater. So, becoming a little concerned, and with the help of my father, I had an appointment scheduled with a doctor at a local orthopedics clinic. As I was sitting on the clinical bed with my naked right foot lumped up on the end, I read the doctor's face as he plopped down in a chair in front of me. Uh oh.

"It seems to me that you have a stress fracture. No more half-marathons, no more running. You can swim and bike, but I'm making you wear a boot for everyday use. Oh, and I'm writing you a parking permit."

Um. Excuse me? I had already decided I didn't have a stress fracture. It couldn't be. It was going to be tendonitis.

No. Running?

Sunday was going to be a big day. A 5k. And I was going to make my best time yet. I run every day. I can't just stop. I have another half marathon in two weeks. I can't just quit.

Well, yes I can.

I can quit, kicking and screaming if I have to. My bummed feelings and tears shed today caught me off guard. If you told me 2 months ago I wasn't allowed to run anymore, I would deem you as my best friend.

Well, times have changed. Running is an acquired taste; it takes time to become friends with it. And I had become friends with it, alright.

I'm worried now, I'm worried I'll have a lot of built-up stress and energy, and I won't be able to get it out. I'll try swimming this next week, but I have a feeling I won't be satisfied.

I'm learning from this. Kicking with my bootie on and screaming, I'm learning. It's probably a good thing I'm taking a break for a while. I'm wondering if I was starting to put too much dependence on de-stressing with the running method. I think most of my self-confidence was coming from running. So maybe it's good to take a healthy break.

So, I thank you, God, for every circumstance you turn into your glory. In this little trying season of mine, I'll learn what it's like to really put you as the solution of my every need. When I have a stressful day, I won't turn to running first, but I'll give my day to you in prayer first. When I feel bad about myself, I won't go and try to burn calories, but I'll remind myself of how beautiful I am in your eyes, and how I'm truly your Beloved one, whose body is blessed by the mere fact that you chose your Spirit to dwell in it.

As much as I am bummed about my new anatomical dilemma, I am thankful to be reminded that nothing satisfying will continue to last except for One. And it's the only One I need.

"Lift up your eyes to the heavens, and look at the earth beneath; for the heavens vanish like smoke, the earth will wear out like a garment, and they who dwell in it will die in like manner,

but my salvation will be forever, and my righteousness will never be dismayed."

-Isaiah 51:6

God, take away my low spirits and replace them with an irreplaceable joy that no worldly achievement could measure up to.

13.1

Before dawn we begin our race. There are thousands surrounding me, most over the age of 30. No one is in a sour mood. My corral's ribbon is broken, I cross the starting line, and we're off. I quickly lose Katie and Sarah, but I decide to continue nevertheless. The dark aura in the Gotham City of downtown Atlanta is lit up by the exhilirated runners, and the fans cheering on the side of the street. Only on such a day would the families dare to hang out next to the alleyways of crime-ridden downtown. The regular loiterers also take part in the spectating. My shins are sore.

I pass couple by couple, middle-ridden downtown, middle-aged man by middle-aged woman. Am I going too fast? I don't feel like it.

Mile two arrives. I've only gone two miles? And thus, I pass the first Gatorade station. And only then do I realize the bliss of a swig of the energy drink. I grab a cup from a volunteer as I run past, my hand bumping along with every stride I take, the gatorade swishing over the rim as I bring it to my parched lips. About half of the liquid makes it in. I throw aside the cup dramatically, among the hundreds of other paper cups on the street, as I push forward.

The first four miles were probably the slowest. Gotham City before dawn gets old real fast. Downtown soon evolves to neighborhoods, however, and night becomes day. I now look forward to every Gatorade station. My shins have lost feeling. So have the blisters on the insides of my feet. We pass an MLK monument, a Publix, and the Carter Center.

At the Publix, the spectators were hilarious. There were naked cowboys, men with lettuce on their heads, all running with us and yelling for a little while.

Families on balconies and on their front porches reclined, smiled, and waved, petting their dogs or attending to their toddlers, holding up signs or sipping on a beer.

A runner in his 20's pushes his friend jokingly aside, which in turn causes his friend to face plant into a street sign, collapsing to the ground. The other runners respond in grimaces and in "Ooh"'s and "Ah"'s. The guy gets up and begins to chase after his friend with an angry "Hey man, come here!", but then halts after a few steps and laughs. Everyone, relieved that the young man was only kidding, laughs along with him. A bit of entertainment during the fifth mile.

There is a huge hill as we approach the prettier parts of Atlanta, upon which I pass many middle-aged women in teams, encouraging each other with comments like, "Gwenyth, I'm feelin' good" and "We got this, Sue". When passing good ol' Ponce de Leon, I spot my favorite Urban Outfitters store. Memories rush into my mind of past Atlanta shopping adventures, and this gives me enough of a delightful kick to push on.

I survive from Gatorade station to Gatorade station, now picking up a cup of Gatorade and a cup of water, both sloshing in rhythm with my strides in each hand.

The miles go by faster.

Now I'm on mile 12. One. More. Mile. I skip the last Gatorade station to focus on my speed, but the faster I go, the longer this mile seems to last. There is hill after hill. Before each one, the spectators dishonestly assure us, "It's all downhill after this one". Jerks.

The track does seem to level out, but the running area also becomes more narrow. At this point, I'm at a sprint. I pass person after person. It's crowded. I've developed a weaving technique to get past every one. I spot the finish line coming up. I sprint.

It's over? Wow.

I reluctantly halt my sprinting and transfer into walking. I'm in shock. I receive my epic aluminum blanket cape and I am dressed with my Publix medal. We are shuffled into a line, handed a plastic bag, and then encouraged to fill our bags with a half mile line of goodies handed to us by the volunteers. Bottles of chocolate milks, bananas, yogurts, trail mix, pretzels... it's all heaven. I've already chugged a bottle of water and a chocolate milk.

My shins are still numb. I am victorious.