08/19/2026
Two years ago today, I hobbled to work on a pair of crutches for the first time. I hadn't run in almost two months, and I wouldn't for another two plus.
Ten days ago, I ran 20 miles on the trails. Eleven days from now, I'll toe the start line for my first 50k in the mountains.
People still ask me all the time: "Are you fully recovered?"
Is full recovery even a thing? At this point, I'm doubtful.
My foot has been healed for the better part of two years. The long lingering neurological crap is almost nonexistent, but not entirely. Random new niggles pop up all the time. There is likely still an unsolved autoimmune mystery. I feel like I'm 90 sometimes; my hamstrings ache, my calves are tight, my Achilles are mad.
But I ran 20 miles in the mountains. It was only the fourth time in my life I've run 20 or more miles, and the first time on trails. In the weeks before that, I ran 18, and 16, all of which were my longest trail runs ever.
The day after I ran 20, I ran 6.2 to make it a marathon weekend; running again after a huge effort was something I never thought my body would do. New achievements, new accomplishments, new moments to be proud of.
It doesn't matter if I don't finish this 50k, though I hope I will. It doesn't matter if I haven't hit "full recovery," whatever that is.
I have come so far, and it feels pretty awesome.