Under Pressure

OH GOD, the anxiety hit this morning. Out of nowhere. And I don’t even know why, because this is my eighth foot surgery. I’ve had half of this exact procedure done on the left foot already. I have a pain plan. I have nearly everything set up. The Netflix queue is stocked, the dogs are getting picked up to be boarded for the week, and I know precisely what the next several days look like.

Pro-tip, while we’re here: if you have big dogs like I do, do not expect them to understand what you’re going through, and definitely do not expect them to stay away from your cast if they are as clingy as mine. Have a plan. (Mine is “send them on vacation.”)

So all the bits are in the right places. But now we are down to counting hours, and it feels genuinely scary. Here is what I’m doing today to manage it.

One: move. Exercise and walking today, even in the pouring rain, has been cathartic. I even ditched the brace, because at this point I’d like a few more moments of my foot and ankle being free of heavy metal, bandages and stitches. Of course, without the brace the walking feels like a bunch of sharp knives stabbing my ankle. But it’s the last time this foot is going to be on its own for a long while. And if I manage to injure it more today? So be it. The doc is about to take it apart and rebuild it anyway. There is genuinely nothing I can do to make it worse.

Two: relax. Two weeks ago I booked a massage for today, on purpose. Ninety minutes of blissful, much-needed escape. It felt SO. NICE.

Three: distract. The work I’m about to miss for a week isn’t going to do itself, so I might as well chip away at some of it now to stay busy. And honestly, it’s interesting enough to hold my attention anyway, which is exactly the point.

Four: visualize. I watched the Western States live stream and read the finisher stories online all weekend. It’s a race I’ve never run, but I’ll have eight tickets in the lottery next year, and even if I decide to give up ultrarunning for good (still working through that one), I will do Western States if I get in. I’ve never had the chance. Soaking in the whole vibe this weekend, even from my couch, has been quietly uplifting.

At the end of the day, I know this is normal. It just feels scary, and largely because most runners I know like to be in control; for once, I won’t be. Not until I’m home and the recovery is mine to run again.

So that’s the deal I’m making with myself today. The anxiety isn’t a sign that something’s wrong; it’s just the toll for caring about the outcome. The only honest way through it is to hand the controls to someone I trust more than I trust myself in an operating room. And I do. Dr. Stein is an absolute GOAT of a surgeon, and he’s the only person on earth I’d let do this to me again. In two days I go under, he does what he does best, and I wake up one foot closer to the version of me that gets back out there. For now, I just have to let go of the wheel. Deep breath. Under pressure, but in the best possible hands.