I was invited to basketball by some students. Since basketball could be a chance for me to crosstrain, I said yes. True enough, not ten minutes in the court I felt like giving up. My breathing was worse than when I run. But the game wasn't the highlight of that night.
JZ, a good friend and student, slipped while chasing after a ball to prevent it from going out of bounds. He lost his footing and sent his feet flying forwards until his back hit the ground. His shin caught the sharp edge of a planter surrounding the court, scraping it and cutting deep in some places. He said he was fine. We continued playing while he sat on the bench and the rest of us were breathing our lungs out.
Before going home, JZ disappeared to clean his wound. He was gone longer than usual. And when he came back he said there was a cut that was too deep for mother nature to handle. For one, there seemed no slowing down to the blood's profusion. It was obvious, he needed stitches.
Since it was too late by then to use any bus and/or MRT and he lived near my place we decided to take a cab together so he could go down to a hospital on the way. On the way, I told him a story.
An anecdote I know he'd be able to relate to was when I received the scar on my left leg. You see, on my left leg is a scar the shape of the letter i (in italicized times new roman, to be accurate). I received it when I was in grade 2.
I was playing with my friends. On this particular day, we were playing tag (touch-taya in Filipino) in parking lot where our school bus was. I remember maneuvering my way in between cars nobody caught up on me. I used to pride myself to have the fastest pair of legs around people my age so I didn't want and would have done everything to prevent anybody getting me. But the labyrinth of cars I ran into placed me into a position that left me no choice but to run out into the grass fields right beside the parking lot.
Everyone avoided those grassfields. It was a no man's land. There were vines that crawled crisscrossing the upward direction of the grass, making it impossible to run on, except when you jump like a gazelle.
I went in there, as a last resort, knowing noone would dare follow me. And just as predicted, my foot got entangled with some vines. I was falling forward. The only way for me to regain balance was for me to plant my left foot in front of me, but because it was trapped in vines, I fell on my left knee instead. Bam!!!
I stood up to inspect my patella. There was a slash right across it, going down like a samurai sword went through it, offering me a view of raw flesh. As blood trickled down my knee, so did the tears in my face.
The school bus brought me to the hospital. The nurses asked me what happened and I told them I fell on a sharp rock that cut through my knee's flesh. They sew my knee up like a rag doll being repaired.
The next day, I felt fine. That afternoon though there was a stiffening in my knee. The next day, I couldn't bend it at all. I was limping on one leg. When my dad saw me, he got angry. He didn't want me to baby myself like that just because of a flesh wound. There was no reason for me to stop walking a day or two after my stitches finished with no complications. My mom had my knee xrayed. We all saw that there was nothing wrong with it, so we had a physical therapist help me bend my knee.
I remember the pain the first time the knee was bent. But I breathed in heavy and the succeeding bends felt less and less painful. I wish I could end the story here by saying the next day I was able to walk. I was able to walk, but the story is far from over.
On December 31st of that year, my sister and I were playing rough. I remember because we were waiting for the New Year playing tug-o-war. But instead of using a rope, we were using a stool. Somehow, the stool hit my left knee and on the place of contact emerged this huge towering bump, like an eye staring at you from an inch above the first gash. I felt horrible, partly thinking I might not be able to walk again.
My mom applied some ointment, but the bump didn't disappear. It just decreased in size. Months (or was it years) later my mom saw that it really wasn't getting any smaller, we went to a doctor. The doc said we should try hot compress. We did, the wound again didn't get that much smaller. The doctor tried puncturing a hole on it, converting the mountain into a volcanoe spewing puss out. This didn't help much either. Nobody knew what was wrong with my knee and much less how to solve it.
Finally, my mom asked the doctor to operate on my knee, just open it up. See what's inside. You know what they discovered? A tiny piece of glass that was green in color. Looks like when I thought I fell on a sharp rock, it was actually a shard of glass. Something xrays wouldn't have been able to pick up. Somehow, when my sister and I accidentally bruised my knee, it was a good thing. It was God-ordained. It is one of those things that God does that we don't understand at the time but is actually for the best once we see the rest of the picture.
Paul coined the addage "thorn in the flesh," I'm so happy I could say "the doctors once pulled out kryptonite from my flesh" and it'll be mostly accurate.
It also explains why my knee stiffened the first three days after the stitches.
When I graduated from High School, our class advisor wanted us have a celebration including our parents. He made all our parents say a little something about us. Between my parents, my dad went first, but it didn't matter cuz my dad thought of the same exact thing that my mom wanted to share about. They both wanted say something about the very event I wrote about here. Specifically, their guilt forcing me to walk not knowing I wasn't acting when I said I could't walk. I never heard them talk about what happened after we saw the piece of glass in my body. Frankly, I was simply amused with what happened. And not once did I ever begrudge them for forcing me to walk. In fact, I consider myself fortunate for having such an experience.
Often, I'd run into challenges and my common response is to tough it up. I see people fold under pressure and I couldn't understand it. If we were to be logical, or we look at things in a medical point of view, my parents were probably not right in making me walk. But because the reason they made me walk was their love for me and their fear that I end up weak acting like a baby, I responded to their love and overcame medical science. That shard stayed in my body for months. It was only infected the first couple of days and the last couple of months (and it was only because of the tug-o-war my sister and I played).
Today, I still respond to their love. In fact, I respond to the love my family gives me. I've messed up lots on my own. I would have given up lots on my own if it weren't for those who stood by me. God, who has continually loved me unfailingly despite my mistakes. My family and friends who accepted me despite my screwups and despite the disappointments I gave. Thank you all!!
As a last note (I doubt anyone, but someone, would read this far, if ever), God is the Great Physician. When he works on us, he doesn't carelessly sew us up without checking inside first. He'll make sure we are clean. He is probably cleansing us right now. But I believe one day he'll start stitching things back together again, and this time he'll use a thread that is stronger than anything we could ever imagine. And there will be no infections, nor complications, cuz that's how He works.
There's still 10 days left for 2010's January and already I ran close to 60 kilometers. Today will be a rest day. I know I earned it because I've been running 4 straight days. In fact, my joints are beginning to feel the tension. At the end of January I will probably end up with close to 80 kilometers logged. Tomorrow, I'll consider doing some cross training or resistance workouts. But running isn't just the only thing I have in 2010 that I am proud of.
