My name is Peter M. My old friends call me Sammy. In Central Park they sarcastically call me Speedy Petie.
When I was healthy I used to finish in the front of the middle of the pack. I guess you could say I was average when it came to speed. Instead, distance was my thing. I could run all day if you kept me watered and salted. Nonetheless, in my running club (NY Harriers) I am the slow, old guy.
I love to run. I used to run 6 or 7 days per week. The only reason I would take a day off would be to rest up for a race. I raced hard against myself every weekend. And during July and August I would run the Summer Series up near Mohonk Mountain and the trail races up in Kingston. That makes 3 races per week during much of the summer. I believe I’ve run more races than any other slow guy on the planet.
One of the greatest joys I have experienced in my life has been running the trails with my now 8 year old grandson, Mitchell. He’s so cute! He can’t understand why they don’t let him run the adult races. He is also very competitive. When he was younger he didn’t like the idea of me running ahead of him. He would grab onto my running shorts to slow me down. I long for the days when someone, even a small child, had to slow me down. I LONG TO RUN THE TRAILS AGAIN WITH MY GRANDSON.
That is why I have finally decided on THR. It was a long haul over these past 5 years, but I believe I am finally on the right path. As I stated in my previous post, nothing is worse than being reduced to a lounge chair while the rest of my real family races in the woods. After reading the posts of my esteemed brother and sister hip runners that precede me, I have a renewed hope and optimism that I may someday be able to resume this joyous family activity.
These days, I can’t run without heavy doses of narcotics. That’s no fun. So mostly, I don’t run. I have severe arthritis in my lower body, especially my knees and hips. One doctor said the root of my problems was not too many marathons. He explained I was born with hip dysplasia. This forced the rest of my body to adjust and compensate in an unnatural way. I guess all the running didn’t help. Just like an old dog, the hip dysplasia eventually wore everything out.
I’m no doctor, but I have become painfully aware of certain medical terms. Hip dysplasia simply means the hip ball does not properly fit into the hip socket.
Now, when my 87 year old mother nags me I tell her this is all her fault and it has nothing to do with my running. I was “born this way.”
I’m not sure if all my ailments are related to the hip dysplasia. I have my own theories as to how my stupid mistakes have contributed to my condition. I’ll save that sad saga for another post. In any event, some of the terms the doctors have added to my laundry list include: “severe diffuse articular cartilage loss and irregularity at the acetabular roof and superior margin of the femoral head, small subchondral impaction fracture, subchondral marrow edema at the femoral head, degenerative tear and deficiency of the anterior and superior glenoid labrum, degenerative spurring at the acetabulum and femoral head, left lateral disc herniation with mass effect against L-1, L-2, and L-3 nerves, spinal canal stenosis” and a few other suspected conditions that sound equally depressing.
Over the past 2 years I have consulted 3 of the finest orthopedic surgeons I could find. They were unanimous in diagnosing my need for immediate replacement of my left hip and eventual replacement of my right hip. I procrastinated so long in following their good advice because I feared I would never run again after THR.
Recently, I reached the end of my rope. The pain began to permeate every aspect of my life. I can’t run. I can’t walk without a severe limp. I can’t practice yoga, I can’t tie my shoes, I can’t sleep, and I can’t even sit without pain. At this low point in my downward spiral I decided I had nothing left to lose by going forward with the surgery.
My downward spiral ended the moment I happened onto this hip-runner web site. Instead of anxiety, despair, and trepidation I am now going into this with optimism, confidence, and hopefulness.
I will be 61 years old in December 2014. I work from my home in Greenwich Village as a self-employed CPA/Tax Attorney. I also spend a lot of time upstate in The Catskills. I have 4 daughters, ages 29 to 39, and 2 grandsons, ages 8 and 3. My youngest daughter is expecting my third grandchild. It might be nice to have a granddaughter for a change. But I really don’t care. Like they say, “10 fingers, 10 toes, and a high lactate threshold.”
Thank you for reading my story.