Heart Keeps You Running

“You might never walk again.” “You could walk but with a permanent limp and have to use a cane.” “You will not be able to run.” The words of doctors crushed me almost as much as the truck that hit me. The suffering experienced and the help I received in the wake of those words were important and transformative. The energy of my heart is what kept me running.

On November 24, 2010, I will celebrate the 6th anniversary of the day I almost lost my right foot. Almost 6 years ago, I was in a car accident that left me with a broken arm, broken left foot, and a smashed right ankle that literally exploded open.

The Suffering
After many x-rays and hours of waiting for a specialist (day before Thanksgiving), I asked about the extent of the injury. I was told just prior to going into emergency surgery that I wouldn’t run again and maybe wouldn’t walk. Being an athlete in a number of sports including soccer, and at the time a runner for 19 years, this was not something I was ready to hear. I cried all the way to the operating room.

When I awoke from surgery, I was still crying and I was suffering on every level. The physical pain was nothing in comparison to the anguish I felt, the insult, in being told I could not run let alone walk, not knowing what my physical fitness future held for me. After a couple days and pain that almost made me pass out, I was released from the hospital with the aid of a walker with an attachment for a broken arm. I grew to dislike the Wong Baker pain scale.

Six days later I returned to my work as a psychologist seeing clients. They looked at me funny when I simply said, “I was in an accident, but I’m ok, now what’s going on with you?” All the hardware, leg up on a chair, and fresh arm cast must’ve been a sight. I put on my “poker face,” but maybe the pain was evident. Doing work helped me feel some semblance of “ok,” I loved my work and it gave me energy to heal. A week and a half later, I did my first workout, lifting a weight with my good arm, a 5 lb. dumbbell with the hand hindered by the cast on my broken arm, and moving my left “good” leg up and down while seated, attempting to hold my right leg still. Anything, something to get a heart rate.

Two weeks after the accident, a second surgery was completed by an ortho-trauma specialist. Ten screws, three plates, and cadaver bone were placed permanently into my right ankle. The prognosis was unknown. I might walk with a permanent limp, I was told. For four months I was on “non-weight bearing status,” no walking, no driving, nothing. I continued to do modified workouts, moving whatever I could while sitting, lifting weights with my good arm, doing sit ups, and once my arm was out of a cast, doing dips on my walker.

My body was smashed in places, but I worked hard at keeping up the parts that weren’t broken, and keeping my mind and spirit as “together” as possible in the aftermath of the accident. My usual disciplines of work, daily running, weight training, and meditation had to be changed, but I continued with what I could in a disciplined way. I kept writing about my inner experiences in a journal to purge myself of the anguish, for a few moments at least, I’d be free from those words as they were released to paper. I continued to meditate, visualizing mini construction workers building my ankle back together (Doozers from Fraggle Rock). I cried a lot, in fact it became part of my discipline, as I attempted to allow the tears when they came and not fight them. This suffering was so bad that I had fleeting thoughts of wishing the car accident had resulted in my death.

“Who am I now if I can’t play…, if I can’t run, if I’m not on the team, if I’m broken.” I was aware of the identity issues that athletes must address when they are injured. I had long identified as a runner and was more proud of my consistency of running 6 days a week over 19 years than my completions of marathons or other events. I knew that my identity should not be tied to being a “runner” and it wasn’t. I battled with the meaning and consequences of “not being able to run,” or even walk. Will I be disabled? How will I be able to move? Will I ever experience the freedom of movement again? Will I ever be pain free? Then I’d say to self, “All is well. All is well. All is well,” then ponder unknown. Repeat over many months. Suffering.

The Helpers
Due to the intensity of the suffering, I enlisted the help of a therapist to assist me with the emotional aspects of the injury. If there was anything I could do to get through this “dark night,” I was willing. I thought I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t “talk to someone” about all that was going on, I didn’t want to keep venting to family and friends (they were very supportive), and I wanted to be sure that my own stuff wasn’t getting in the way of my work with clients. Interestingly, the injury became a secondary topic as the sessions went on. “Not being able to run” took on other meanings as I examined the topic more closely. The therapist knew how to acknowledge the traumatic injury, without rushing to get to other meanings of it. This was an important skill and an important relationship.

Four months after the accident, I finally graduated to physical therapy. My physical therapist had no idea what he was in for. I brought all the energy of a tornado into the rehab facility. I wanted to get better and I wanted to push to the limits, whatever they were. If it was limping with a cane, then at least it’ll be power limping. I pushed through the pain, and pushed to regain whatever function I could. My physical therapist often shook his head in disbelief at my energy, humor, drive, and positive attitude toward rehab.

I was in rehab for about six months with my physical therapist, and then I started an independent program at the facility which I continued for another six months. During that year, I observed a lot about physical therapists and their clients. I was fully aware of the dynamics of a good helper-client relationship given my line of work as a psychologist. What I saw play out time after time at the rehab facility, was that some physical therapists were in high demand and it was their energy that made that so. Some were more effective than others and the better ones tended to have an ability to connect with their clients, they were energetic. They were less distracted, they listened, and they knew how to be “present” with their clients’ suffering. I could see that they had different, better relationships. Patients wanted to see them long after the insurance ran out. Sometimes I cried during my sessions, worried about what was to come, worried about where my physical capacity might stop. My physical therapist acknowledged my feelings without minimizing my loss. This is an important skill. It was an important relationship.

After my year of rehab, I finally decided it was time to be working out in a place that wasn’t about being broken. So I joined a local gym, knowing that I had to engage in low impact cardio, hearing the words of my doctor suggesting that running outdoors the way I used to was out of the question. With my new membership, I got 3 free personal training sessions. I described my history of sport and my recent injuries and my goals for fitness. I asked the trainer to help me push my limits. He later told me that he could think of only a couple clients in his vast experience that brought as much energy and hard work to the session. He knew how to acknowledge my injury without holding me back from pushing my limits. This was also an important relationship.

There is ample literature about the therapeutic alliance and it’s power in effective helping relationships. More than technique, one’s ability to join with another is a big determinant in outcomes. I’ve reflected a lot about my experiences in rehab, in gyms, and in my office. I’ve been trained to be present with suffering and I practice the art of embracing it while facilitating a process of managing it. When helpers/trainers are able to witness suffering, gently acknowledge it, and be present or in the moment with it, this creates connection. The heart to heart connection I experienced with my service providers certainly facilitated the process of healing. Their skills in acknowledging the present suffering or circumstances without moving too fast were extremely effective. They didn’t reduce my suffering, but helped me to more effectively endure it and keep moving forward at my pace.

The Heart Energy, the “Coach”
“You’ve got heart” is something my skating coach used to say to me during countless hours of practice and lessons, when I’d keep going, keep sweating it out despite fatigue and difficulty. Recovering from this accident, I did my best to work on my body. I did my best to work on my mind as I begged spirit to help heal my body. They all worked together, I know, but there were times when each sort of seemed to take the lead. I believe my heart energy was the master leader or “coach,” in making my body, mind, and spirit a working team. All the practices I engaged in with discipline (exercising, writing, therapy, working, etc.) were ways to talk to my “coach,” connect with my heart and the energy of it. I’ve always had a strong sense of “heart,” clearly noticed by my old skating coach.
“The value of our harshest difficulties is how honestly they cause us to question, how they intensify our courage and bring alive our deepest inner purpose, how they reawaken our soul’s task on earth. The painful breaking apart of our world is often the precious opportunity our heart has needed to learn to be true to itself” (Kornfield, 2000, p 44).

I feel the energy of my heart often. I have a lot of energy. I’m always asked where it comes from. I don’t know. Energy can be measured by joules or kilocalories. It’s a “quantity understood as the ability to perform work… Energeia, the general principle of "activity" as opposed to possibility, in Aristotelianism” (Wikipedia).

This energy (ability to perform work) that I feel in my heart is probably related to my satisfaction in life. Much of the positive psychology literature suggests that people report most satisfaction or happiness when they are working toward something, not with the end result. Maybe we could say then, that suffering can create the circumstances to enhance or detract from energy, depending on how one views it. If it’s embraced, it keeps us working, moving forward in activity, and therefore somehow satisfied. If it’s rejected, it leads to stuck/hindered energy, stuck in possibility rather than action. “It is the intensity of the longing that does all the work,” Kornfield quotes Kabir (Kornfield, 2000, p 45). The genuine heart of sadness, tenderness, the heart of a warrior as Trungpa writes, is that mix of happy/sad that moves people through fear and into fearlessness (Trungpa, 1984). Movement, work, energy- from the heart. Suffering and satisfaction co-exist.

I didn’t reject the suffering after the accident. It certainly was challenging, but I did my very best to move through it and brought all the energy I could to the process. I kept working through it. I worked the suffering as hard as I worked my ankle, with my heart. The energy of the heart is “something” that seems deeper than what I can try to put into words. It’s a felt sense of workload that burns me with desire to progress. It’s deeper than goals, it’s the energy of longing, searching, completing a mission. When I stop to notice that energy, I am tapping into a deeper part of myself, breath, everything and nothing. This is simple, not easy, and especially important in times of great suffering. The heart energy, like a kind coach, leads us in practice, the process of life with all of it’s ups and downs. This energy led me to keep pushing, and kept me moving, eventually to running speed again.

The Transformation
The relationships with my physical therapist, therapist, and fitness trainer helped me to endure a life changing injury. Because they each were able to be present to my pain in different ways, I was able to stay strongly connected to my own energy (work) and move efficiently through my healing process. Just as the helpers aligned with me in my mission to move forward, I was aligned with the energy of my heart as the master helper, the “coach.” The meaning of the “accident” and the injury has transformed over time. Although I almost lost my foot from the ankle down, I never lost the energy of desire to move forward. Whether with a working ankle or not, I continued to move. And probably because of that ankle smashing, I now have moved farther than I could’ve imagined at the time.

I’ve come a long way. No cane, sometimes pain. Three years ago I began playing soccer again, started with coaching, then playing “lightly” and then back to “full on.” I kept finding the heart energy to push a little further, my love of the game kept calling me to try. I figured if I could do that, I could run, too. Two years ago, I began incorporating some jogging back into my fitness routines. In June, 2010, I completed my first ultra, a 50 mile trail run. In September, I completed a 24 hour ultra event. I am running again, in more interesting ways than before the accident! I didn’t allow the words of doctors and other concerned individuals to hold me back from my connection to energy. I don’t run everyday, I’m more efficient about running. My ideas about running have changed. My goal in the next year is to complete a 100 mile ultra distance event. Transformation. Better than ever.

The Mission
I rose like the phoenix, prevailing over the physical and spiritual challenge of injury, finding new and expanded depths of my heart energy. Transformation. Breaking open, in crisis, whether accidental or intended, purifies us. Who am I? What do I want? Where am I going? What is my mission? Whether it’s a car accident, divorce, illness, or death of a loved one, these events call us to get more clear about what we’re working toward and be mindful of energy and intentions. Do you know what’s important to you and are you moving toward it?

My mission has always been about cultural transformation, helping people to move toward their potential and thereby move toward my own. Because of the great suffering I endured around the issue of mobility, I learned to appreciate small steps, my own and others’. I learned to appreciate my own voice in movement patterns, where to push and where to stop. This applies equally in my physical activities, work, and my relationships. I feel the energy of my heart often, I feel it now as I’m writing. Six years after the crash, I’m grateful for the suffering, the helpers, the energy, and the transformation. I feel satisfied that I worked through it as I did, and that I keep running, but a twinge of sadness remains. As always, there is suffering and satisfaction, more work to do, more mission to fulfill. When we can connect to the energy of the heart, the kind coach, we can embrace the suffering of practice, and be directed to keep going even when it hurts.

Sources
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Energy
Kornfield, J. (2000). After the ecstasy, the laundry: How the heart grows wise on the spiritual path. Bantam Books: New York.
Trungpa, C. (1984). Shambhala: The sacred path of the warrior. Shambhala Publications, Inc.: Boston.