241 Days Later

Today felt better.

Not necessarily productive, but better.

It was one of those days where I started twenty things and finished approximately none of them. Emails, projects, laundry, work tasks, random thoughts- all of it got touched, but very little got completed. I bounced from one thing to the next, accomplishing just enough to feel busy but not enough to feel finished. It felt a lot like task paralysis. The day kept moving forward while I seemed to be moving sideways.

By late afternoon, I decided it was time to hit a trail.

It has been 241 days since my hip surgery and the first mostly run that I’ve put on this finely tuned joint reconstruction. It also happens to be 29 days until I find myself in the Pacific Northwest hiking roughly fifty miles of trails and voluntarily throwing myself into Class IV and V rapids with a twelve-foot waterfall drop.

Translation: I need to get moving.

My head still feels heavy, but it’s getting lighter by the day. Today I ran with anger because anger was the only thing that sounded motivating. I am angry at the men who hurt me, the ones who took advantage of my kindness and vulnerability. The ones who were supposed to protect me, mentor me, guide me, and instead groomed me, manipulated me, abused me, and helped create some of the darkness that still sits comfortably in the shadows of my mind.

I am angry at the women who tear down other women because they think it somehow puts them a step ahead. I am angry at the girls I spent six years with in school who bullied me because I didn’t fit in and somehow helping me feel small helped them feel bigger.

Most of all, I think I was angry that I had let myself get back to that place. That helpless little girl place where everyone else’s words, actions, rejection, abandonment, and opinions suddenly seem bigger than my own. The place where the darkness starts creeping out of the shadows and trying to convince me that everything it says is true.

As I pulled into the trailhead, I already knew what song was going on first. Five Finger Death Punch’s Jekyll and Hyde. If you know it, you know exactly the mood I was in. If you don’t, just know I wasn’t showing up for a peaceful little stroll through the woods to find my inner zen. I showed up to run this funk out of my body and remind the darkness that while it may visit from time to time, it doesn’t get to live here. That song was basically my declaration that Mr. Hyde wasn’t driving the bus today.

Now, because my ADHD brain rarely takes a straight path anywhere, let’s take a quick detour. There were three very distinct friendships throughout my school years.

There was Heidi.

Heidi was my friend when nobody else wanted to be. We were legitimate best friends for years. We hung out constantly. She understood what it felt like not to fit in because she didn’t fit in either, and we had SO MUCH FUN together!!

Then there was Chrissy.

To this day, I have no idea why she became friends with me. Somewhere around eighth grade, we became inseparable, and she was one of those rare people who simply accepted me exactly as I was.

Then there was Stephanie.

Steph was friends with what everyone considered the “bad kids,” which conveniently aligned with my rebellious phase. I helped her decorate a Winnie the Pooh nursery when she found out she was pregnant in high school. Years later, she stood beside me while I called my mom and told her I was pregnant, also in high school.

Funny how life comes full circle.

Over the years we’ve all reconnected on Facebook at different times, but Heidi and I have remained the closest. Looking back, I think she was always my soul friend. She understood me long before I understood myself. Years later I would discover that a lot of what I thought was me being awkward, different, overly sensitive, socially anxious, and occasionally a complete disaster in social situations was actually undiagnosed ADHD mixed with a healthy dose of neurodivergence. Turns out there was a reason my brain took the scenic route to literally everything.

Anyway, back to the trail. I pulled into the parking lot, put on my headphones, and started walking. Now listen. I know I should have taken it slow. My body has been completely wrecked for days. My activity level has been less than stellar. Logic would suggest easing into things. But in true Niki fashion, I have always been a go big or go home kind of girl, and lately I’ve had enough of the boo-hoo go-home part.

The initial walk felt good. I started picking up the pace until I came up behind a guy walking with a hiking stick. I figured surely he would hear my footsteps and move over. Nope. Not even a little. So I finally turned my music down and said, “Excuse me, if you don’t mind, I’m going to….” The man jumped, stumbled backward, and nearly walked into a tree.

I immediately felt terrible because startling him wasn’t my intention, but I also couldn’t help laughing. Here I was trying to run my demons out of the woods while accidentally becoming someone else’s problem for a brief moment. Once I passed him, I took off.

The smell of damp earth from the previous night’s rain filled the air. The forest floor was still dark and wet. The leaves swayed overhead as the wind moved through them and the sunlight barely reached the ground through the thick canopy of trees. It is my home. There is nowhere I feel more at peace than in the woods. The smell of the earth, the trees, the birds, the feeling of being tucked away from the world for a little while settles something inside of me.

Normally I would stop and soak all of it in. Today wasn’t about slowing down. Today was about movement. Today was about reminding myself that I am stronger than the darkness that occasionally convinces me otherwise. So I turned the music up and ran.

Well… ran is probably generous. It was more like run, run, power walk, gasp for air, regain composure, rinse and repeat. But it was running. The most running I’ve done in 241 days. And that felt like a huge win.

When I got home, I stayed in that same mindset. Keep pushing. Keep moving. Keep proving to myself that I can. Unfortunately, I may have slightly overachieved and either overstretched or overworked my hip because now it’s a little angry with me. But I did it, so we’re calling that a success.

Tomorrow (now today) is my MRI arthrogram for my shoulder. God, those things hurt.

Anyone who has ever had dye injected into a joint capsule knows exactly what I’m talking about. Having gone through it twice with my hip, I can confidently say it is no joke. Maybe we’ll find a labral tear. Maybe we won’t. Either way, I’ll have answers.

For now, it’s after eleven. My sleeping pill still hasn’t kicked in, my brain is wandering all over the place, and if this post feels a little scattered, that’s because today felt a little scattered too. Then again, I never promised these would be neat, perfectly organized, or flow like a peaceful river. They are me. Messy, heartfelt, emotional, vulnerable, occasionally chaotic, and full of authenticity.

Somewhere between the trailhead and my lungs threatening mutiny, I realized I was doing something I couldn’t have imagined doing 241 days ago. It wasn’t pretty; it wasn’t fast- well, some of it was- and it certainly wasn’t graceful, but it was movement. Forward movement. Sometimes that’s enough for me.

For so much of the last week, I have been focused on what felt broken. The Body Dysmorphia. The RSD. The exhaustion. The darkness that likes to lurk in the shadows waiting for an opportunity to convince me that I am weaker than I really am. Monday reminded me that while those things may always be part of my story, they are not the whole story.

P.S. For anyone wondering, the trail won. My lungs won. My back and shoulder are currently debating filing a formal complaint, but after 241 days, I’ll take 2.71 miles and call it a victory. ❤️