I put off going to the doctor for two weeks, but I finally caved last week. I was pretty sure I’d fractured my tibia again. I’d only run four or five times since the half, and each time was painful. I’d limp around for a few days after running, then try again. The pain wasn’t going away, so I made the appointment. I was sure I’d end up in a boot again, unable to run for 6 or 8 weeks.

I was quite anxious about the MRI results, fearing the worst. The doctor entered the room and gave me the news: no fracture, just a stressed tibia. I was beyond excited until he continued. He said I’d probably always have pain in my lower right leg as long as I continue running. He suggested cross training, and said cycling would be a great alternative. I looked him in the eyes and told him I wasn’t going to quit running so I needed to know how to lessen the pain. He told me to buy some shoe inserts to raise my arch, take plenty of ibuprofen, and ice my leg when it hurts. I left the office overjoyed. I could run through the pain.

Over the weekend, I bought the shoe inserts and headed out for a run. Within the first few steps, my right leg felt like it might snap in half. But I was determined to run. I limped and hobbled my way through the run, causing my left hip to hurt. My pace and finish time were awful. When Mark asked how it went, I responded, “I give. The leg wins.”

As much as I want to run, I need to rest the leg for a few weeks. I’m resigning myself to cycling and other forms of cardio until I can walk without pain. It’s not what I want, but I need to listen to what my body is telling me and give my leg a break from the stress.

* * * * *

I’m not great at listening to my body . . . or my heart. I like to think if I can just deal with the pain, whatever is causing it will eventually get better or go away. Not so.

Anxiety. Stress. Tears. Those warning signals emerge for a reason.

Sometimes we have to walk away from circumstances that cause us pain. 

I loved church and didn’t want to leave. I held on for two years, even after my counselor told me I needed a break. I took a dagger to the heart before I finally walked away.

I love music and singing, but the ups and downs associated with it have done a number on my heart. I’ve been forced to rest for a while and to look at other ways to keep the music dream alive.

There are people I dearly love, but with whom every interaction causes heartbreak and tears. As much as I want to push through the pain and find a way to make those relationships work, the warning signals — the anxiety and tears — tell me to do otherwise.

I’m learning to listen to my body and my heart and to give myself grace when I can’t push through the hurt.

If we can’t take care of ourselves and give ourselves grace, how can we truly help take care of someone else or offer them grace?