Friday the 13th

I flew too close to the sun and fucked up my knee

I was being greedy. I know that. I ramped up my mileage far too quickly after the frostbite setback. I know that. I’m middle-aged with a long rap sheet of injuries and scars etched into my body. I know that. But I’d been feeling so good, so strong. Headlines are a parade of one WTF incident after another. This winter is a firebomb waiting to explode. Life is nothing but uncertainties and unknowns, no matter how you spin it. Take control where you can. Find joy and strength where you can. Do the run.

I planned to get out for 50 kilometers on Friday. I wanted to wrap up one more long run before the weekend snowstorm that I didn’t believe was really going to come, and before I was set to fly to Geneva the following Thursday. Beat is leaving that same day to fly to Alaska for a month on the Iditarod Trail. I had planned to spend the month at our chalet in the French Alps: Walking to the boulangerie each morning, going for long runs on the winding mountain roads of Chamonix-Mont Blanc, snowshoeing the low-angle trails, and generally just enjoying geographical and ideally psychological distance from the United States.

As I sat down for coffee, I hesitated for a moment. My laptop screen reminded me it was Friday, February 13. I was superstitious as a child, and it’s silly, but I’ve been leaning on superstition as a coping mechanism recently. I’ve had my lucky numbers and little moments of serendipity to provide reassurance. Child Me knew Friday the 13th to be a bad omen, and I suddenly felt weirdly queasy. Should I stay home? But I brushed it off, because that level of superstition is unforgivably silly.

I headed out the door, feeling good. It was 40 degrees and sunny, ideal weather for running, but a cold westerly headwind chilled my cheeks and foretold the coming storm. Still, my legs had a lot of pep, and I was happy about that. When I feel strong, these legs can carry me far, and that’s a wonderful gift.

I continued west along County Road 68J and Magnolia. I like this route for long runs because it’s hilly enough to be physiologically challenging while still being a jeep and gravel road run — so less mentally taxing with fewer opportunities to fall and injure myself. If I run from my house to the far end of the road at West Mag and back, it’s exactly 31.5 miles, a nice round 50K.

I kept a relaxed but solid pace, and everything was going well until I approached the Peak to Peak Highway, just over a mile from my turnaround. My left IT band was starting to ache, which was weird, because I don’t typically have IT band pain —especially not on my left leg, which is my good leg, my strong leg. My right leg is the one with knee cartilage damage, shin splints, and chronic Achilles tendonitis. The right Achilles is the issue I’ve been worried about and working on, so this IT band thing was completely out of the blue.

But IT band pain is not a big deal, right? I stopped to massage the side of my leg, walked a bit, and returned to a run. Damn, it hurt. I got to my turnaround point and stopped to sit on a rock, massaging some more. Several people walked past. “Getting out before the snow?” a woman in a long down coat remarked. I got up about five minutes later, after I could stall no longer, having started shivering, and returned to running. I kept running as I passed the woman again, even though my leg was throbbing and something about that pain was telling me I should sit back down on a rock.

I crossed the highway and leaned against a trail sign, massaging my leg. What is the deal? I thought. It’s an IT band; they’re often grumpy, just have to release the tension, right? I tried jogging, but my gait was awful, stiff and wobbly. I started walking and pulled out my phone.

“I am in some trouble,” I texted Beat. “My IT band is flaring up and I’m having difficulty running. Any suggestions? Any tips?”

I continued texting that I was still about 13 miles out and fairly certain I’d be walking the rest of the way. It was going to take a while. Perhaps Beat could drive out to pick me up at the end of the high-clearance road, which was still eight miles away, but at least I’d probably get there before sunset and the coming storm that was likely to fall as cold rain here. I had extra layers of clothing with me, but not that many.

As I was walking, still holding my phone and briefly looking up as Beat’s text responses started to come in, I felt the strangest sensation in my left knee. It was probably pain, but the best I can describe it is that suddenly I felt nauseated and faint, and then I had a momentary black-out as the joint gave out and I plopped down on my butt onto the road. When I tried to stand up again, I genuinely could not. It was painful, yes, but more than that, it was just … broken. Like a flat tire. Useless.

Balancing on my right leg, I did a few hops and crawled up an embankment to get off the road. I turned to sit facing the road, hand still clutching the phone that I couldn’t yet face, shivering, and feeling utterly bewildered. Just then, a truck that was driving in reverse pulled up to me. I had been vaguely aware of two trucks passing as I teetered and plopped down on my butt a few minutes earlier. The truck drivers likely had to stop and confer with each other, but both drove back to check on me.

The driver of the second truck rolled down his passenger-side window. “Are you okay?”

“I was running,” I stammered, my voice cracking. “I was running … and my knee … my knee.”

“Do you need a ride?”

“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “Where are you going?”

“Anywhere you need,” he replied. “Do you need a ride home?”

“I’m actually pretty far from home,” I said. “You’d be surprised. It’s on the other side of 68J, can’t get there from here easily. But if you’re heading into Nederland …”

I tried to stand as I spoke these words and teetered badly. I threw my left foot down and leaned forward into a squat, which was the only way I could put weight on both of my legs. As I effectively collapsed in front of the driver, he called out, “No! No! Wait, I’ll come to you.” While he backed up and pulled next to the edge of the road, I completely lost what composure I’d been able to maintain. I was bawling, blubbering so badly I couldn’t speak, while trying to answer his questions.

“My knee … I was running,” I kept repeating, as though to explain why this nice man in a utility truck needed to peel a sweaty woman who could not walk off the side of the road. Then my phone rang, and it was Beat. The phone cut out several times because cell reception is terrible out there. I was still crying, and I wasn’t explaining my situation well to anyone. But through text messages and blubbering, I was able to arrange for Beat to come pick me up in Nederland. He was understandably a little miffed because it was an hour away, and I hadn’t yet conveyed that I was unable to walk. I was still trying to answer questions from the truck driver.

The man’s name was Jeremiah. He was probably a few years younger than me, with big, kind eyes. He and his partner were working, but he seemed sincere in his offer to take me anywhere, even to the hospital in Boulder if I needed. When I told him my husband was coming, he insisted on taking me to the Mountain Peak Cafe to wait. “It’s warm and they have great burgers; I think you could use some food.” I’d been hoping they’d drop me off on a roadside to wait since I did not have my wallet on me, but I was cold. Maybe I could use my phone to pay. Anyway, that could be a problem for later.

The man and his co-worker both parked their trucks and let me wrap my arms around them to limp inside. I was still baffled that I could not put weight on my leg and was trying to stagger on my own, so it was an awkward process. As we did this, a woman pulling up to a nearby business rushed out of her car and offered to help. Dang, people were being so nice to me. If your body’s going to break down, can’t ask for a better location, really.

They plopped me down in a booth, where I ordered a soda and soup. Some of the initial shock was wearing off, and the pain was seeping back in. I sat staring blankly into my bowl, trying to mask the fact that I was crying as tears dripped into the soup, until Beat arrived. I still hadn’t told him about my walking issue as I stood and then squatted down. Beat said he needed to use the bathroom, and the kind server who saw me weeping and did not make a deal out of it let me use Google Pay.

“What’s wrong?” Beat asked when I was still squatting in the same place after he returned.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” I stammered. “I can’t put weight on my leg.”

As I was saying this, one of the dinner patrons on the other side of the restaurant stood up and walked toward us. “Here, let me help.”

Beat and the fourth stranger to help me that day propped me up as I awkwardly wavered and shimmied out the door. Our car was right in front of us, but the man insisted that Beat drive it around to the entrance so I would not have to descend three stairs. He asked Beat to promise that he’d take me to the hospital.

“I’ve had many knee injuries; you don’t mess around with knees,” he said.

“People in this town are so nice,” I replied.

“There are nice people everywhere,” the man said. “Now go take care of yourself.”

As we drove away, I told Beat I didn’t want to go to the ER.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s an overuse injury, not a broken bone.”

But within minutes of arriving at home, I already regretted this insistence. I thought I’d be able to stand by the time I got out of the car, but no. Beat ran inside to grab trekking poles and tried to prop me up as I hopped into the house. I flailed desperately, stabbing the trekking pole tip into our wood floor even though I was already hopping. I burst into fresh tears. I continued crying most of the way through a frustrating call with an AI assistant at CU Boulder Orthopedics, where I managed to snag a Monday morning appointment. Beat ordered a delivery of crutches from Walgreens, and they actually showed up within the hour, even though we live a half hour from town and it was late on a Friday afternoon.

Providence was kind to me on Friday the 13th, despite everything. There are many ways in which everything could have been significantly worse. I could have been miles out on a remote trail, unable to walk, trying to figure out how to get myself back to the nearest road. I might not have caught a ride and become hypothermic as I waited for Beat on the side of Magnolia … honestly, my thin rain shell and gloves probably wouldn’t protect me for long when I couldn’t move and the windchill was below freezing. I could have been in France, alone and dealing with a language barrier and a foreign medical system. And strangers were so nice to me. They sincerely wanted to help even when my situation wasn’t nearly as dire as it could have been.

But that, I think, is where my luck ends. I had to cancel my trip to France. I don’t yet know what my doctor visit will reveal on Monday, but it can’t be anything that will allow me to travel in four days. I am not in a position where I can get around on crutches in the winter in the French Alps, and as beautiful as the view is, it’s not a location where I want to be trapped in a house with three flights of stairs, dealing with a forecast of heavy snow, and fighting through a language barrier to order grocery deliveries.

And though I haven’t yet built up the courage to do so, I need to cancel my March trip to Alaska to run the White Mountains 100. I have a few theories about what this injury could be. My physician friend Corrine thinks it’s a meniscus tear. It could also be a tear in the IT band near the tibia. It could be mere inflammation from overuse … although I still can’t walk, and the pain has been keeping me up at night. Intuition is telling me it’s something more serious. Whatever imaging finds this week, running 100 miles on snow in five weeks is just … well … I need to let that go.

I was feeling strong and excited about my winter plans, and just like that … gone. C’est la vie, je le sais. I keep returning to the post I wrote last week about my 2026 mantras and this one: “Let go.” That’s going to be key. This will be a worthy test, and I am determined to embrace the challenge. I will not let this setback wreck my mental health. One minute you’re on top of the world, running headlong into a fearsome cold wind, and then next … broken. But life keeps going. And the key is to keep going in the direction it’s moving rather than fruitlessly fighting the current, going nowhere.

Let go.