Anticipation as Hope

"....is making me wait. It's keeping me waiting...."

Remember that from the 80s Heinz ketchup commercials? A kid sits at the table, head in hand. In his other hand is an upturned ketchup bottle poised over a juicy hot dog or hamburger (can't remember which one it was. Maybe fries?). He (or was it she? PC gender was unimportant back then) knows the stuff is going to come out eventually. He has seen it happen before and he hopes it will again. Does he keep waiting? Or does he give up and eat it dry, or use another condiment? In this Heinz ketchup commercial, he, and us, are a captive audience. We know that the memory of the taste keeps him waiting, anticipating the extra goodness that is to come. The hope that reward is imminent is kept alive.

Can waiting for ketchup be equated with waiting for an injury to fully heal? Let's see. Slow motion of recovery, the memory of a good taste, the satisfaction of satiety and fulfillment. Yep. I think that works.

But what about the hope factor? Hope is the desire for something good in the future. In order to hope for something good, "good" has to be defined. For me, good is not only regaining the full physical use of my leg in order to continue my routine (more to come about the "why" of that routine), but also to regain the emotional freedom I crave that comes only from unfettered movement in the outdoors. No pool schedule, no rude gym people, no waiting for space. That is the good I seek; that is the good for which I hope.

On Sunday, it will be three weeks with neither running nor cycling. I keep active with weight-lifting and swimming. The physical aspect of these is obvious: without them I would inevitably push the needle up on the scale and squeeze myself out of my current size 6. By continuing exercise, I keep hope for my ultimate physical recovery alive. Without that physical recovery, the full extent of my hope for a good outcome cannot be realized. Not to mention that without the physical activity, I might go insane. My family may disown me. Boredom, self-doubt, anxiety, frustration, sadness find a way of taking hold of me without my exercise. All ills of my spirit seem to vanish, or at least mostly dissipate, with regular activity.

I have two more weeks to wait. The anticipation is keeping me waiting and it is trying to crowd out the hope. This is where I am faltering at this late stage in my recovery.

Gorgeous days like today ~crystal and cloudless sky, comfortable temp, slight breeze~ make me want to "not" wait as long as I should to run/cycle on my healing Achille's leg. They lure me into foregoing the hope of a full recovery. I want to go out and just do it early. Take the immediate gratification; so what if the injury comes back. In less than a month, this weather will be but a distant fantasy as I sweat out my run, or cycle. Even 7am, if I can get out of bed that early, will be sticky and miserable...until about October. Ugghh! I want to experience it now. I don't want to wait six more months.

Seeing others on the road ~doing what I so want to do but can't~ irritates me. I'm happy for them. I want to be them. I probably could be them.

This is the point in any recovery period that is the most sinister. This is when the hope starts to fade into arrogance. I liken it to the ketchup bottle metaphor: this would be the point when you can see the ketchup oozing like lava to the mouth of the bottle. And then stopping. You are tempted to shove that knife, or your finger for lack of another tool, into it to loosen it up. What happens then? It comes out in a rush, smothering the target. If the recovery period is pushed too quickly, the injury is not allowed to heal completely and the inevitable re-occurrence is more devastating than before. It will take longer to heal and even longer to get back on track, further forestalling the goal of total good.

With the season practically over, I might be able to take this route. The flipside is, with the season over, I have the luxury of holding out for the entire recovery period and not pushing myself too hard, too soon.

Reluctantly I wait and anticipate the freedom of my first run, my first cycle. As I wait, I plan my steps carefully to avoid re-injury. Re-injury will only lengthen the achievement of good that I desire. Anticipation is a form of hope that allows one to take the necessary steps to ensure success and reward.