She glides by on the track effortlessly. Each stride is graceful. She’s beautiful to watch.

My throat tightens. Tears well up and slide down my cheeks. I can’t help it.

The sadness overwhelms. The frustration washes over. The rage erupts.

I used to be able to do this. I used to be a runner. I don’t know what I am anymore.

Some kind of evil has taken up residence in my body. It has possessed me. It’s not an injury, it’s a demon.

How it came to possess me is largely a mystery. Maybe I ran too far. Maybe I ran too fast. Maybe it would have happened no matter what.

It’s arrival was so insidious that it’s hard to even identify when it took up residence. At first, it was just some mild discomfort. It was almost nothing at all.

The demon lurked in the shadows, so it was easy to miss. The subtle indicators of its presence became more pronounced. It was discomfort. Then, it became pain.

It dug in. It intensified. Then, it consumed.

I tried to be pro-active. I tried to be aggressive. I tried everything.

I sought the help of massage therapists. They delved deep into the troubled areas. They found the demon’s abode. But, they couldn’t get him to vacate.

Others used strange metal tools on me in hopes of ridding me of the demon. Their optimism briefly buoyed my spirits. But, their efforts failed. The demon lingered.

I listened carefully to all the messages my body sent me. I measured every step. I rested. I meditated. The demon didn’t care.

Desperate, I sought a treatment akin to an exorcism. It involved inserting needles deep into the troubled areas. It also involved inducing excruciating pain and trauma. I convulsed on more than one occasion not unlike one enduring an exorcism.

Lightheaded and dizzy, I hobbled out after being needled. Surely, the trauma and pain would drive the demon out. It would finally exorcise him.

But, it didn’t. Some demons are extraordinarily stubborn. That’s what I told myself. Stay the course.

So, I went back for more. My heart rate quickened as I entered the torture chamber with the knowledge of imminent, marked pain soon to come. I clung to the hope that one more treatment would do it.

An hour later, humbled and hobbled, I knocked back a stiff drink to help numb the pain that was supposed to fight the pain. Surely, this would do it. No demon could endure this kind of pain. But, it did.

Again and again, I went back for more. Each time, I hoped it would be the last time. Each time, it wasn’t.

The demon wasn’t going quietly. But, I would persevere. I would beat him. I just had to keep moving forward.

I tried a new diet. I eliminated anything and everything that might foster inflammation. The list of eliminated items was long.

No alcohol. No sugar. No dairy. No gluten.

It didn’t move the needle. The demon doubled down. The psychological torment began.

It started with the knowledge that I was gradually, inexorably fading away. I was unbecoming a runner. I became a ghost of one.

I didn’t know where to go. So, I haunted the places I knew. I lingered at the track. I wandered aimlessly on the trails.

I watched all those around me logging their miles, signing up for races, and posting personal bests. I could only watch the life I used to have longingly.

I wasn’t dead. But, I wasn’t alive either. Meanwhile, the demon smiled darkly in the shadows. The torment didn’t end with my new ghostlike existence.

Periodically, the demon led me to believe it had gone. The pain would dissipate. Sometimes, it would disappear entirely.

I’d take a few steps and feel the beginnings of a smile emerge. A thin strand of hope would emerge. I’d walk for miles with no sign of the demon.

I was ready to return to running. I’d lace up my shoes. I’d take a few strides. For a few brief, fleeting moments, I was a runner again.

But, I wasn’t. The pain would creep back in. The demon hadn’t left. The whole thing was a ruse.

The faint hope I’d had quickly dissolved. It was supplanted by despair. The demon still had a hold on me.

I’d refrain from running. I’d have treatment performed. The pain would subside.

I’d lace up once more and try to run. Once again, the pain returned. The despair crept back in with a vengeance.

I kept rolling the rock up the hill, only to have it roll right back down on me. It was Sisyphean. It was maddening.

My mind bent. My nerves frayed. My mood soured.

I couldn’t see the finish line. There was no end. There was nothing but continued uncertainty and the near certainty of continued pain.

A dark thought crystallized. It’s over. I’m done.

An even darker thought emerged. I will never be rid of this pain. This demon cannot be exorcised. We will be together forever.

It’s easy to dwell on what I can’t do (currently). It’s easy to fall down the rabbit hole of despair these days. It’s easy to let the darkness consume me.

But, deep in the darkness, the faint voice of hope is periodically heard. Initially, I can barely hear it. Then, it gets a bit louder.

It chides me for forgetting the times I’ve doubted the next stride, but still took it. It retells old stories of the many times I’ve been knocked down, but kept getting back up. It reminds me of the countless times I’ve hit the wall, but kept right on going.

It reminds me that I am still a runner and I’m not done yet.