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Psychology

On a Path

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I just purchased Brad Stulberg’s new book, Master of Change.   Stulberg was a guest on the most recent episode of The Morning Shakeout podcast, hosted by Mario Fraioli.  This was his fourth appearance on that podcast and all have been insightful and thought provoking.  Stulberg writes about stuff that relates to our everyday lives, applying his own learnings.

He ends the Introduction with a section entitled A Road Versus a Path.  Not a new concept or metaphor, but he presents it in a way that helped me better understand my process both with developing the Senior Distance Running Essentials series and recovering from a torn proximal hamstring injury.  Stulberg borrowed from Wendall Berry’s description of landscapes in “A Native Hill,” suggesting a “road” is a linear concept, a route that gets you from here to there in as short a time and least amount of effort as possible.  Building a road often reshapes the landscape to meet that objective.  A “path,” on the other hand, is in harmony with the landscape.  It twists and turns, often leaving us disoriented.  But if we stick with it, the path leads somewhere, and wherever that is, it is a place from which next steps can be made.  Stulberg feels we make a huge mistake thinking life is a linear road rather than a circuitous path, where we anticipate change rather than fight it. 

I mention this since a year ago, I reserved TheSeniorRunner.com URL and started drafting plans for the Senior Distance Running Essentials YouTube series.  It seemed pretty straightforward: repurpose things I had in RunStrategies.com, a site I had blogged on since 2015, and begin building a YouTube series on senior running. While the content of Run Strategies related largely to my experience as a senior runner, I felt TheSeniorRunner (TSR) would better describe what I was looking to do going forward and help those interested find the site. I created something of a roadmap – a basic to-do list. 

The first things were pretty easy: reserving the URL, reaching out to potential IT providers to help build the site, and creating an index of topics I saw fit an “A to Z” presentation of senior running.  I contacted potential collaborators and got the sense they felt this was a worthy venture.  Then I started writing scripts for 13 episodes, pulling from everything I knew and learned over the past 45 years of running, racing, and study.  

It took four months, 25-30 hours per week, to create the drafts.  As I developed these scripts, it became clear what I thought was a road was turning into a path.  The number of revisions mounted, as subsequent episodes made me realize the first ones included either too much or too little content.  I contracted with a videographer, shot both a 4-minute intro to the TSR site and an 8-minute Episode #1 and put them up. In a way, the project was launched.  But I knew it was not ready for prime time, meaning I was not comfortable marketing it to attract an audience.  I needed further input.

So, I reached out to nine senior runners who agreed to be reviewers of the drafts.  The path continued to wind as these focus groups met in July, one in-person and one by Zoom.  While feedback was generally favorable, I heard lots of concerns about how material was presented and it sent me back to the drawing board (computer!) with two more rounds of drafts that are now nearly completed.  At times, it has seemed the path morphed into a labyrinth!  In the next couple of weeks, I’ll meet with the videographer to map out a schedule for shooting the now 14 videos.  Of larger concern, is how to engage others in owning and promoting this series, as it never has been intended to be about me.  This is yet another side path that hopefully connects with the main one!

The second part of this post is about my recovery from a partially-torn proximal hamstring tendon.  I’ve blogged on this several times and am now five months post a platelet-rich-plasma (PRP) injection.  In the past two months, I’ve run five races from 5K to 10K.  For sure, there has been a progression but I’m still a ways off from being at the level I think I can and should be. Originally, I had planned to run a half marathon in November but have concluded that road was not to be followed.  Rather a path focusing on regaining speed and shorter races was the was best approach, leaving longer race distances alone until 2024. 

Stulberg suggests we can be stronger as a result of these side trips if we pay attention to what is right before us.  In my case, aiming toward increasing speed over distance has led to more enjoyable fast, downhill training runs as well as snappy track workouts.  I have now run three 10-mile runs but have not pushed it and am consistently running 23-25 mile weeks, generally on four runs a week.  It seems, for now, this is working.  So, I’ll stay on this path and see where it leads.

Perhaps I’ll see you on the path!

Brian O’Donovan

I met Brian O’Donovan shortly after moving to Boston in 2005.  I was a fan of Celtic music and knew him as the host of A Celtic Sojourn, the related holiday productions around Christmas and St. Patrick’s Day, and putting on concerts at The Burren in Somerville.  But I also knew Brian through running.  I saw him at a race wearing a Cambridge Sports Union singlet, my running club, which led to a conversation about his running.  Brian loved to run and race and told me several times he didn’t do enough of either.  And that he enjoyed being part of CSU, even if he didn’t race often.

Brian packed a lot into his 66 years.  It started with music in Ireland and London, morphed into  events management in Boston and then back to music.  When reading the account of his life in the news release from WGBH, it seemed it could have described the life of two people.  But it was all Brian.

Brian’s passing reminded me of the many interesting people I have met through running, not just in CSU but those in other clubs or just individual runners.  Many of these people have become trusted friends I really enjoy seeing when in Boston and otherwise try to stay in touch with.  It’s probably true of other sports too but I have found runners an eclectic group, hardly profiling a predictable stereotype.  My club, CSU, which I obviously know best, brings together the combined passions around running, orienteering, and XC skiing – thus a “union” – which adds to the diversity and probably makes it a unique club. 

Brian’s passing is also a reminder to cherish the presence of those around us.  It’s way too easy to find reasons to put distance between ourselves and others based on disagreements on any number of things.  That is simply a waste of time.  There is much to share with others if we just open ourselves to the opportunity.  Brian did that in spades in those 66 years. And his example reminds us that life is short and that we never know how long our time will be.  RIP Brian and thank you for all the great music and your friendship.

Turning the Screws

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I keep John Jerome’s The Elements of Effort by my bed and often pick it up if I’m not quite ready for sleep.  The book is a series of snippets organized by season. Since he lives in Western Massachusetts, many of the weather-related entries pertain to Vermont.  You may not have heard of John Jerome — he became the author/editor of Fixx’s annual training log after Fixx passed.  He’s a full-time writer and contributes to Outside Magazine and other publications.  His primary sport is swimming, but he’s done his share of running and road racing. 

The entry I read was entitled “Finishing.”  He describes what we feel as we go through a race, right up to the final sprint.  He suggests “spending time in a rapidly intensifying discomfort zone” is “fascinating!”  Not that he’s saying we actually relish being there.  Rather, being there is the “lure around which endurance sports are built.”  Try explaining this to the non-athlete and you’re likely to get blank stares or some kind of visual indication that they think you are off your rocker, at best.  But we know from experience that turning the screws further leads us to understand that the discomfort need not, and will not, stop us.  Jerome calls this a visit to Edge City, a place we tend to go by the end of every race.

I thought about this as I was running a 5K this past Sunday.  I have been recovering from a hamstring injury for nearly a year and only during the past three months have been able to do anything that resembled training.  In three races back, I had not made it to Edge City…rather I had backed off on the outskirts of town, maybe with the thought I didn’t want to reinjure the hamstring and start the healing process over again.  But I suspected it was something deeper — that I had softened and was not yet willing to feel that discomfort, the screws turning.  So, it was with some resolve I started the race near the front of the pack and committed to stay with it when the going got a bit tough.

For the first mile, I ran 30 seconds faster than my last 5K and for the first time in a year, I felt like I was truly running.  The second mile was 25 seconds faster as the gates of Edge City came into view. This was where it got interesting as the course turned onto a severely eroded cross country section where time was no longer the metric, rather effort.  In a way, that was a distraction from how I was beginning to feel – I didn’t want to twist an ankle or trip on a rut hidden beneath the sand and was paying close attention to where I was stepping.  After six-tenths of a mile of this we came into a clearing and ran toward the finish chute.  It was over!  

I don’t know that I had turned the screws all that much, but I do know I went well beyond a place I had been willing to go during the past couple of months.  There are still three or four races left in the season. And I am looking forward with some reasonable expectation that I will once again find my way into Edge City, a place Jerome suggests you don’t want to live but ‘it’s where you find out who is doing the finishing.”  

Our Brains on the Run!

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It’s old news that moderate to intense exercise is good for our hearts, muscles. skeleton, and lungs.  Running is particularly good since it’s weight-bearing and stresses the joints.  Some feel that creates wear and tear.  But the research is clear that a reasonable training load combined with strength-training, stretching, adequate rest and recovery builds cartilage at joint surfaces rather than wearing it away.  This is due, in part, to nutrients being drawn into our joint capsules from physical activity.  Otherwise, the avascular (no blood vessels) cartilage is left to fend for itself and it’s not a fair fight.  

But what’s happening above our necks when we run, i.e., does running benefit our brains? The American College of Sports Medicine published a paper in October 2018 entitled Exercise Protective Effects on the Brain.  The article noted that without consistent, moderately intense exercise, there is a body-wide increase in low-grade inflammation as we age.  There are several mechanisms in play, but one key effect is that inflammation reduces circulation to the brain, which in turn results in brain cell death. This is, essentially, brain aging.  And we don’t have to wait to get into our 50s, 60s or beyond for this to happen.  It can begin early in adult life.

While the brain only accounts for 2% of our bodyweight, it uses about 25% of our energy.  However, unlike muscles it has no energy reserves – it draws in real time!  So, it’s no surprise that elevating our heart rate results in more blood flowing to the brain.  No wonder we can have eureka moments while on the run!  To boot, without regular exercise, the data indicates over time total brain size decreases, in particular the hippocampus, the site of memory function.  

The good news is research shows vigorous exercise, (with running near the top of the list!) can mitigate, reverse, and at least hold at bay brain cell loss.  In addition, there is strong evidence that vigorous exercise helps us sleep better while increasing memory, attention, and overall executive function.

We probably don’t really need more reasons to run than we already have.  Most of us feel the intrinsic benefits in our daily lives.  But it doesn’t hurt to know there are clinical reasons why we feel good, not only when we run but also in the hours that follow.  If our brain could talk (and maybe it does to some of us!) it might thank us for taking it along on those heady runs!   

Unwatchful

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I always run with a watch, feeling incomplete without it. In the 70’s when I started distance running, it was a Timex Ironman, at that time the state of the art.  It gave total time and splits when you punched the lap button. Pretty basic by today’s standards.  I knew the approximate distance of the routes I ran and would thus calculate an average pace.  I kept logs from inception on miles run per week, month, and year.

I kept buying new models of the Ironman until the Garmin Forerunner 205 came out in 2006.  That was a game changer!  It gave new kinds of data! Most notably: time, cumulative and current pace, automatic mile splits, and retained history of runs that could be looked at later..  The practical side was it opened up where I might run – I could take new routes, do loops instead of out-and-backs.  And so on. GPS harnessed my penchant for feedback.  The time, distance, and pace it showed found its way into my training logs.

I know people who run (and even race!) without a watch or GPS.  And I’ve been apt to think – “they’re missing an important feedback loop that detracts from their running performance.”  But I’ve recently been reading Christine Felstead’s book Yoga For Runners, looking to incorporate some yoga to address ongoing hamstring issues.  Maybe I can be called an older dog still interested in learning some new tricks!  She suggests, if even just one day a week, running without concern for time or distance.  A challenge for someone so reliant on their GPS.  But yesterday, I gave it a try. 

To be honest, I knew where I was going – along the bikepath up to the Lakeview Cemetery entrance 2.5 miles away and back.  I’ve run this route so many times with my GPS, I know the exact mile marks.  So, I wasn’t really going cold-turkey.  But leaving the watch at the gym, I started out, committed to paying closer attention to things I regularly passed.  What might I notice?  As I entered Waterfront Park, I noticed there were chairs on the upper deck of the ECHO science museum.  Had they always been there?  Then, taking the boardwalk, which parallels the bikepath, I noticed some people with a map, slowed briefly, asking if they were visitors.  In broken English, they said they were from Italy.  I said “welcome” and went on my way, only to see them on the way back when I called out “Italy” with thumbs up as I passed.  They smiled and must have thought this was a pretty friendly place.

Instead of turning around at the Lakeview Cemetery, I went through the always-open gate. I was always in too much of a hurry to go in.  Today I did. There were a number of tombstones with American flags. The dates suggested these were people who fought in one of the wars.  How were their lives changed (or ended) by that experience?  What was it like leaving your family for years to live in hostile lands?  What was it like for the families when they returned?  These were not questions I had contemplated when rooted to my GPS.

On the way back, after passing the Italian visitors, I stopped in the Local Motion bike rental shop, which I’ve passed hundreds of times but never been in, to inquire whether they had an air pump with a small enough nozzle to reach the valve of our kayak cart tires, which had been flat and unusable for a year.  They had four pumps, none of which would work, but we talked about the various places I might try.

Getting back to the gym, my starting point, I marveled about what had just happened, as I did some stretching, a couple yoga poses, and lights weights. For the first time in many years I had run without a watch.  Yes, I knew the approximate distance so I could enter it into my log.  My average pace may have been a bit slower than usual.  Not sure.  And, surprisingly, I didn’t care!  I had done what many people regularly do – I just ran!

I see doing this occasionally, maybe even weekly, going forward.  Who knows what I might see and find besides what my GPS watch is telling me?

Baby Steps

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The next race in my recovery process from a proximal hamstring tear is in the books: a 25:43 5K, which by my Garmin was an 8:08 pace resulting in a 72.9% age grading.  An incremental gain from the 5 Miler two weeks prior (8:23 pace, 72.5% AG).  

However, this one did not feel good, though the hamstring was gratefully not “talking” too much, in part thanks to deep PT massage on the prior Thursday, which loosened it up.  The limits were more in the form of nausea and just not having much gas as the race progressed.  It was a fair course with a downhill finish – some easy rollers but nothing extreme.  This served as an additional reminder that you can’t race fast if you don’t train fast.  How can I expect to run even an 8:00 pace if my 800 repeats are just under that?  Plus, one long run of 7 miles three weeks prior and another of 8 miles just a week ago is hardly enough base to build the stamina needed for sustained racing.

There is work to do!  Especially if I am to have any chance of approaching an 8:00 pace for the USATF Lone Gull 10K in four weeks. 

First, the 800s pace must improve — approaching at least 3:45 (7:30 pace).  This will be a push for sure.  Increased speed work, at whatever level, is hard.  Second, weekly longer runs must be a priority.  I’m thinking 9 miles next weekend, followed by 10 miles a week later.  My cardiorespiratory system is essentially being retooled – building back up after eight months of not being stressed at race pace.  And it takes time for an increased training load to bear results – probably two to three weeks.   Then, let’s not forget the importance of tapering so that on race day we’re fresh and raring to go.  It’s a package deal for sure.

So, not only is it unlikely I’ll improve much for the USATF 10K in four weeks, but I should also keep open the possibility, maybe even the probability, that a full comeback to pre-injury level is not assured.   But optimism is the trademark of runners of all ages!  What’s the point if we can’t hold onto the notion that we can hold our own, be willing to push the pedal down and feel increased movement?  This is where we each find ourselves, whatever our place in the race or age class.  It’s what makes a race an event – something that brings us together as we support each other in this vital aspect of our lives.  

Moving On

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This is a continuation of my account recovering from a torn proximal (upper) hamstring attachment.  It follows the content of the Senior Distance Running Essentials (SDRE) series, which explores how our bodies function as we age.  The watchword of the series is we are each “Experiments of One”.  In that spirit, I’ll continue to observe and learn about what it’s like to return to competition after nearly 10 months of not putting the hammer down. 

The facts are the facts: I am 75; have logged just 350 miles since January 1; and have only begun running anything approaching race pace during the past month. It feels like being at Square One in spite of not having missed even one day of aerobic exercise (mostly water running) during the time away from racing. In this post, I will include times and pace, not to call attention to my own running, but to provide context.  Your starting point (plus or minus) may differ, but the challenges we each face are probably more similar than different.

First, most of us seniors find a disruption in our running seems inevitable.  Thinking back, I’m not sure I’m injured more now than in my 40s and 50s, but I do find the recovery is longer.  I expect we all find that, and exercise science research supports this notion.  The two key reasons cited are cumulative damage to tissues and longer time for repair processes to unfold.  As with many runners, my hamstrings (alternating between sides) have had recurring issues.  For years, I have stretched and done the basic strength training prescribed in SDRE.  Nevertheless, this has been a returning cycle.  I can try to deny that or accept and work with it.  The prudent approach is the latter.

So, as planned and noted in my August 9th post, In Our Blood, I did run the Bobby Doyle 5 Miler last week.  This was a USATF-NE Grand Prix race so the best runners of all ages were there. My stretch goal was an 8:00 pace, a 76% age grading.  After many months away from racing, that seemed feasible.  It was not to be!  After the first 7:48 downhill mile, which we gradually gave back, reality set in.  In part, this was due to feeling the hamstring a bit from the start, leading to an ongoing tug-of-war between picking it up (not that I wasn’t feeling the pace – I was!) and not wanting to aggravate the hamstring.  My best mile over the next four was 8:25 and I finished with an 8:23 average pace, a 72.5% age grade result, finishing third in my age class.  Granted, it was in the mid-70s with 98% humidity but, nevertheless, this race was a good wake-up call.    

The question I am asking myself and which many of you may have or will have to ask, is how much and how fast I can expect to come back.  I am using age grading to gauge this.  Since my early 60s I have used an 80% age-grading as a benchmark.  Since 80% is considered “national-class,” I see this as a laudable goal.  In 2019, my last year full year of racing before the pandemic, I ran at least 80% in 12 of my 14 races.  The pandemic of course set everyone back, though I still averaged 25 miles per week in 2020, 2021, and much of 2022.

The current age-grade tables, last updated in 2020, are based on the most recent world records for each age at a particular distance, with some interpolation to eliminate outliers.  This, then, is considered a 100% performance, with 80% essentially eight-tenths of that.  Thus, if 100% for a given distance and age is a 6:00 pace, then 80% would be a 7:30 pace.  Pretty straightforward.  But the tables used to calculate age grading percentages do not shed light on the injury history of those who were responsible for establishing the 100% standard.  Maybe they had avoided injuries for the months or years preceding their record runs.  No way to know.

It gets back to the golfing analogy – “playing the ball where it lies.”  In my case, I have another test coming this weekend at the BHZ 5K in Weymouth.  It’s a Pub Series race, presented by New England Runner magazine, ensuring a strong contingent of runners of all ages.   My goal, once again, is an 8:00 pace, which would be a 75% age-grading — an improvement from the 72.5% at Bobby Doyle.  We shall see.  Regardless, it’s good to be back out there giving it a go.  Maybe 80% performances will happen again, if not in 2023, then in 2024.  Maybe not.  That is the conundrum we senior runners face as we move through the maze of injury and rehab in our advancing years.

Patience!

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As we age, shouldn’t we become better at exhibiting patience?  Afterall, we’ve had years of practice!  But, of course, it’s not that simple or easy, and we will likely be challenged in this domain for the rest of our lives.

It has now been seven months since I’ve been able to train and race at a competitive level.  It all relates to my proximal (upper) hamstring where it attaches to the bone, which an MRI showed was partially torn.  There’s not much blood in that area and thus healing is really slow.  So, four weeks ago I had a platelet-rich-plasma (PRP) injection in hopes of spurring the process.  I may be able to do some light jogging soon but it will certainly be a number of weeks before I can expect to pick up much pace.  Meanwhile, the charge is to exercise patience.

Patience is defined by various words, including tolerance, restraint, resignation, serenity, diligence, and resolve.  In various degrees I would say I’ve incorporated a bit of each.  But if truth be told, my acceptance has not been stellar.  It’s not my nature to hold back on running.  Yes, I’ve been able to water-run and StairMaster, almost at full bore.  But it’s not the same.  There is something about moving along the road or trail under our own power that is exhilarating, empowering, and downright fun.  While my trusty Air Pods have allowed me to listen to a bunch of very cool podcasts while in the pool and gym, it’s still a substitute pattern – a diversion from the “real thing.”  

There will be a time when I become barely ambulatory – hardly something I look forward to.  But for now, I still see myself as a runner, eager to lace up, hit the road, mix it up with fellow senior runners and count myself among the survivors of this great sport.  Realistically, even if I can begin to train harder in a month or so, it will have been an eight-month gap.  If I try to regain my prior racing form too quickly it will be a prescription for more injury.  It will likely be four to six months to get there, assuming I do this in a progressive, measured way.  Will I be able to exercise the needed patience or will I find myself back on the IL?  Time will tell, but I’d like to think that as much as I’ve missed “real” running that I will find the tolerance, restraint, diligence, and resolve to persevere and be able to have a strong 2024, knowing that the rest of 2023 will be largely a time of build-up.  

So, this is how it works at any age.  But especially for us senior runners, patience is as essential as being willing to put the hammer down.  I am optimistic I can successfully rebound.  But with age there are unknowns.  And my own penchant to push it may work against me.  Patience!  It seems so easy to think and say it.  It’s another thing to actually employ it!

Focus on the Process

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I’ve been reading The Passion Paradox by Brad Stulberg and Steve Magness.   It’s not a long book – 164 pages – but it’s packed with practical ideas and analogies.  Not a quick read.  In fact, after reading it once and putting it down for a few weeks, I picked it back up and am reading it again.  Am seeing more the second time through for sure!  That’s often the case with good books.  For the record, the authors are accomplished runners and coaches.  Magness ran a 4:01 mile in high school.  I’ve heard conversations with each of them on The Morning Shakeout Podcast with Mario Fraioli.  Both really solid, thoughtful guys, which led me to buying the book.

The essence of the book is that passion can be the fuel to do great things.  It can also lead us off a cliff.  Rather than seeking a balanced life, when we are driven by passion things can be great – we’re focused and full of energy – things get done – but we need to watch for signs we’re approaching the cliff.  One of the dangers of passion is it is often results oriented: “I do this so I can accomplish that.”  And it may happen, but it may not. They use an example of Brenda Martinez leading the 800-meter Rio Olympics Trials with 100 meters to go being tripped and not placing.  Rather than moping, she put her energies into the 1,500 four days later, which she had not planned to run.  While not her best event, she placed third and went to Rio.  The authors suggest she was focused on the process of preparing for the Trials, to be as ready as possible, rather than on the outcome of qualifying.  Thus, she didn’t let her disappointment with the 800 deter her from giving it her all in the 1,500.

Suffice it to say, very few of us will have this type of opportunity!  But we all face challenges in our daily lives, things we might consider failures or disappointments, even after putting 110% into them.   Here’s a quote from the book: “Focusing on the process creates daily opportunities for little victories…that serve as waypoints on the path of mastery, helping to sustain our motivation over the long haul.  Process spurs progress, and progress, on a deep neurochemical level, primes us to persist.” In a sense, this is the story of our lives, be it running or otherwise.  Pro-cess has two parts: “Pro” is being for something and “cess” among other things means contribution.  Thus, by staying with the process we are concerned with contributing towards some larger goal.  When we’re on a path, we know it, we feel it.  Even when a spur in that path leads us astray for a time, we collect ourselves, and get back on the path.

Running as a senior is like this.  There was a time in our 30s, 40s, and maybe our 50s perhaps, when we could stake out target races, train for them and show up on race day primed to perform.  But as the years pass, certainty of performance wanes.  The passion may be there, but the hamstring or Achilles may be holding us back, maybe even keeping us from training. We all know runners in our cohort that have dropped out of the sport.  There are many reasons for sure.  But I suspect a key one is focusing on the outcome: showing up at races and doing well – rather than the process: allowing for whatever is disrupting our training and doing the things we can to stay fit while we recover.  It’s frankly not very exciting to do pool running and StairMaster – although I’ve found that a great time to catch up on podcasts.  But that is the price, the process, required to get us back on the roads and training at a high level.  If we can master the process, we have the best chance of moving towards our goal of regular racing. Or as Stulberg and Magness suggest, “helping to sustain our motivation over the long haul.”

Broken Pieces

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For the past 20 months, I have had a desk in a co-working facility in Burlington, Vermont called HULA.  It’s an amazing place.  Visitors marvel that THIS could be located in northern Vermont.  It’s an old oven factory located on Lake Champlain that has been completely modernized and added to.  It’s spacious, very bright due to huge windows everywhere, and boasts net-zero energy usage due to solar panels covering the entire roof.  Like most projects of this scale, it took entrepreneurs with vision and a high-risk tolerance to make it happen.  By all measures, it’s a great success.  There are over 400 “members.”  About half are connected to the 50+ businesses based here with enclosed office spaces.  Another 200 or so are “air disk” members, typical of co-working places everywhere – they have 24/7 access and sit wherever they find open spaces and desks, never a problem to find.   About 50 of us have “designated desks,” which provides us with our own sit-to-stand desk situated next to a window, with a filing cabinet, a small bookcase, and dividers between desks.  There are 16 conference rooms and about 20 phone booths available to all members for meetings or extended call or Zoom.

The reason this is relevant to my Run Strategies blog is I recently decided to bring all my exercise science, clinical research, and running-related texts and books here.  It’s a lot of stuff!  This stems from a decision to really focus on aging and running performance and pretty much let the finance work I’ve done for many years go on hiatus, other than some volunteer work with nonprofits.  I have numerous oversize notebooks from classes (I’m still old-school), texts, and a fair number of trade books.  There is not enough space to display them for ready access.  Fortunately, along the wall to the left of my desk is a three-foot space perfect for another bookcase.  And I had such a piece at home, a 5-feet high x 14″ wide x 12″ deep white bookcase that fits with the HULA decor.  So, on Christmas Day I finished moving things around at home, tied the bookcase to my roof rack and started driving the 3/4 miles to HULA.  The problem with a short drive is it’s easy to think “tied down” doesn’t need to be too extensive.  Well, it was windy and just before arriving at HULA I heard a thump and then saw through the back window the bookcase smashed on the ground in four or five large pieces.  I was so…… FURIOUS with myself for not having added another rope to hold it down – would have taken all of one minute.  I picked up the pieces, put (threw!) them into the car and trunk, went to HULA and dropped off the pieces.  

After giving it a day to settle, I went in to see whether I could fix it.  I took a drill, tools, screws, and an attitude I would do my best to repair it.  I pulled the pieces out and laid them on the floor.  It was a mess.  The attachments in the particle board joints had all been pulled out.  There were chunks of particle board broken off, including the ends of two of the feet. Nevertheless, I started in, very much feeling, I suppose, what a surgeon must feel when going into a broken body – “how can I get this back to as close to normal as possible.”

It took about an hour to line things up, drill holes for new screws, put them in, and then lift it up.  It wouldn’t stand up straight due to the shortened legs, so I put some books under them.  It was a sorry sight.  I needed to drill some more holes and reposition several slats to provide more stability.  Then I put in the shelves, put it up against the wall and stood back.  It was serviceable but the missing chunks and nicks just didn’t fit our otherwise clean and orderly office “neighborhood.”  I filled it with books, and it held OK.  But I ordered a replacement from Wayfair.  For the next short while, it will work, but that will be the end of it.

We all have friends, or maybe even ourselves, who have had a serious accident, crash, or fall that left our bodies, or some key part of our body, in pieces.  We present that to a surgeon who does his/her very best to make it right.  The body is amazing in that it helps that process, mending broken bones and other tissues remarkably well.  But often, things just aren’t the same.  Like my bookcase, which stands with some assistance, we may find the need to compensate for injuries that have left permanent damage. I wonder how often surgeons have to step back from their work, like I did my bookcase, and think “I did my best but it is not back to normal and will probably never be.”  There is no doubt a sadness in that moment.  I know I felt that – almost inclined to apologize to this inanimate bookcase, that will likely go into the scrap heap when the new case arrives.

We have many opportunities to take stock of how we run our lives, sometimes at a torrid pace that can leave us susceptible to harm.  As the New Year turns, it’s a good time to take stock of what we are doing, what’s important, and commit ourselves to being masters in the moment, sufficiently thinking before acting, and taking care of what we have.             

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