For the past three months, I have spent huge amounts of time wallowing in frustration, anger, depression and self-pity over this ITBS injury. For an addicted runner, there’s nothing like a stubborn injury to give you the blues.
This morning, as I was massaging my tight ITB, my sister calls to deliver the horrible and disturbing news. I learn about Amiel Alcantara, the 4th grader from Ateneo, who passes away after a tragic accident at school yesterday. I was close to tears over the sudden death of this boy and I could only imagine the anguish that his parents must be going through. I realized that it could have been my son, or my daughter, or any other parent driving. And, I realized how everything in life is fleeting, how in the snap of a finger, your life could change in an instant.
Amid all those thoughts and emotions, I receive an SMS from my friend, Jun, asking this: How’s your knee?
My kneecap was still bothersome, but suddenly it didn’t matter at all. What was level 2 pain (as we like to rate our injuries from 1-10, 10 being hellish) after hearing about the death of a child? How can one complain about a tight ITB or a slow 5k run last night when there are parents who will never see their child again?
All I wanted to do at that point was to thank God for my husband and kids, for work, for the cup of coffee I was drinking, for the ability to run, and for life itself. Injuries are but a speck of dust in the larger scheme of things.