She is my lifeline.

When I’m sinking, I can take hold, float up, and catch a breath.

My libra.

My pebbles I can throw onto one side of the scale when the other is crashing down.

My best friend.

When I can’t talk to anyone else and my mind is a maraca with thoughts like seeds bouncing off the walls of a dried up, hollowed out gourd--she is there for me. To hypnotize me. To add some sense, some calm…some dopamine.

But she left me.

And I know she will be back…

but without warning, she left.

And now, that one entity that I could always rely on when everything else fell to shit---has fallen to shit.

But she is not my life.

I still love her, but she is not my life.

Not the sun. I do not revolve around her. But she around me.

And she will come running back to me. Because she needs me as much as I need her.

Running has always been the one constant in my life. It was like the control variable when everything else was being tested and scrutinized and manipulated.

“Oh, your boyfriend is being a dick today? Well just go on a run and you’ll feel better!” Or, “Your work life sucks right now...That’s ok! Your running is going great!” Or even, “I have no freakin’ idea what I want to do with my life...whatever! At least you can go on a run!!”

But I think that I always had running in my back pocket because I was lucky enough to escape serious injuries throughout my career so far. I’ve always been decently talented, and my work ethic is pretty damn good, but I’ve narrowly escaped a lot serious setbacks. This time though, during my first cycle of marathon training, my body was vulnerable enough that luck couldn’t save me. Putting in work like a machine will break you one way or another, and if you aren’t completely smart with rest, recovery, and nutrition, you will literally break. Luck can only take you so far.

So the cards were dealt, and a sacral stress fracture was the winner. Coincidentally enough I first started noticing the pain during my highest mileage run, during my highest mileage week.

“I’m Tristin FREAKING Van Ord!!! This is just a little tweak!! I don’t get injured!”

But alas, I was proven wrong two weeks later by an MRI that, by the way, scared the crap out of me. Like, whose idea was it to put me in a metal COFFIN with weird alien noises the night before Halloween? I was literally repeating “I’m not claustrophobic” to myself the whole time I was trapped in that thing.

And then, (after what seemed like forever,) when the results came in, I was somewhat relieved to just know what exactly was wrong—so that the healing process could begin.

*

I’m intense. When I am passionate about something, I will go all-in. So when something like this happens, it’s draining. But it’s times like these that I am thankful that I have other things in my life to lift me up and keep my spirits high. Writing, walking my dog, looking for future schools, cooking, sightseeing, and attempting to make things I see on Pinterest all come into the spotlight when running is gone for a bit.

It’s scientifically proven that ice cream makes stress fractures heal faster— (not from a reliable source).

She left me without warning, but she will come running back soon enough.

*

And I will welcome her with open arms when she does, but in the meantime I have learned a lesson about squeezing her a little too tight.

Luck Can Only Take You So Far