She shivered when the air-conditioning met her damp and cold skin. She was greeted by the warm gratitude of silence. The stolen silence a parent savors. She held a garbage bag filled with muddy clothes and ruined sneakers. She could taste the chlorinated mud particles in her mouth. She felt awesome. Her first mud run. She was alive. She took her blood and gave herself an insulin shot. Shower before pump reattachment. She called her mom to let her know she was OK. Some things will never change.
Her legs ached. Not a good ache. It was the” Oh, sh*t!” kind of ache. The day before the race she learned about her torn miniscus. Her shins and knees were screaming at her.
That night, after her shower, after her pump was attached, after she hugged her babies and husband, after she had some pizza and beer, she swiped her Facebook feed. She saw it. The next adventure. Her legs protested. Her pancreas snarled. She smirked and stated, “Spartan. Here I come.” Six months is plenty of time to reconstruct Beast Mode. She was living.
Life is a cycle of setbacks and comebacks. The setbacks are expected. The comebacks are chosen.