I once raced an entire Ironman triathlon with a thorn in my foot.  (Don’t worry, this is not just story about me. Though, inherently, it is at the start, it’s really about all of us. Stick with me.)

This means I ran a marathon on it, biked 112 hilly miles too.  Possible swam  2.4 miles, with it too.  (Not exactly sure about the swim part. Sometime in my barefoot journey to the lakeside for the start, a final trip to the portapotty, and then venturing through the water for the first lap and existing briefly  to return for a second, or exiting the water to return to transition area (where I put on bike shoes and the socks that would remain on me for the next 12 hours or so) I got a splinter of some kind lodged into the ball of my foot.

I ran a PR. I biked a PR. I swam a PR. I felt fantastic and spent, all at the same time.   It was a grueling , wonderful, exhausting, exhilarating, and eventually, triumphant day.  And I didn’t even think or know about the stupid thorn.

There something about this story that has struck me then, and still strikes me now.  The absolutely clear message of “if you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter“. That’s absolutely true. I say that to my kids all the time.  If I had known of said splinter/ thorn, I probably would have obsessed over it slightly, been concerned, doubted whether I should continue to run on it without taking care of it.  I’m glad I didn’t know.  I was able to complete an Ironman triathlon with a big black gnarly thorn.  

But there’s another lesson.  There are some things you can ignore for only so long.   Truthfully, You can be successful and overcoming, but still have something sticking around that is bothering you, and causing you harm, even though you may not know it.  You may still be triumphant.  You may be amazingly at the top of your game.  But that doesn’t mean the painful thorn doesn’t exist.

 When the celebrations were over and I floated back to the bed and breakfast for a rest, and I gratefully slide of my shoe, I felt it. A twinge.  Sitting down with a scotch and friends, I started to look at it. Indeed it was swollen and puffy and clearly already infected.  I tried to remove it over drinks and good conversation but it wasn’t going anywhere.

That night was a fitful sleep.  But not the usual exhausted, achy, crampy, and  somehow still restless legs kind of sleep after an exhausting race like that. This one had that element.  But by and large, the clear winner was the throbbing foot.  

The next morning at breakfast, red streak showed up, extending past my ankle bone.  Our dear friend with us is a nurse and she clearly saw this as problematic, and recommended a trip to urgent care.  So after the requisite lunch of burger and a  beer at the local brewery, we headed to urgent care.   The doctor looked concerned and recommended we drive home.  He drew a line on my leg where the red line on my leg and said “If the red line goes past there, go to the nearest hospital.” After picking up a round of robust antibiotics, we headed on our five hour drive home.

I was glowing with the accomplishment but physically more uncomfortable all the time.  By the time we made it to the family cottage to see family and pick up our dog, give hugs and celebrate, it was almost unbearable.   I remover not being able to stand up at the sink because it was throbbing so much.  My mom asked the neighbor, an accomplished surgeon and doctor, to take a look.  

The look on his face wasn’t exactly encouraging.  He told me if I was a  diabetic it could mean the loss of a limb.  The very leg that had just carried me all of that way was now in danger of basically dying. Thankfully that wasn’t going to happen, that wasn’t my story. But the mere suggestion was kind of rattling. He said in a serious tone, that it wasn’t exactly good “doctor” advice, but if it was  him in my ‘bare foot’, so to speak, he’d be very concerned, and he’d be doing everything he could to get it out.  

I did try, but to no avail.  Two days later I was able to return to work and the antibiotics were doing their thing.  I had to go through two more rounds, and the redness did eventually subside.  But the thorn never came out. My body learned to live with it.

One warm evening about a month later, I was swimming laps in the open water at the lake.  I bumped into some fellow triathletes as I exited the water.  They had done the same race, so we stood on the rocks and shared our race stories.  The thorn story came up (they each had their own medical issue stories from that day, the talk of triathletes).  I reflexively brushed the pad of my foot, the tender spot that was in question. And I felt something with my hand.

Right there, just casually half sticking out of my foot, was the thorn.  It was black and little enough, and the stupid thing just came out.  I mean, not exactly.  But while I wasn’t thinking about it, my body finally kicked it out.  I was just swimming, doing what I had been doing when it arrived, and the water softened my foot enough, my body had enough, and the darn thing pulled itself out.  

Once again.  That’ll preach.  Sometimes, something happens, we have some kind of annoyance or tragedy or injury, maybe that we don’t even realize is happening.  We continue on and have no issues of problems.  It doesn’t even appear to exist.  We go about our lives.  

And then one day, the pain is unbearable. It doesn’t mean we were not successful.  It just means that a painful piece of history, a thorn, existed. Maybe we didn’t even know it was there, but it was, and now it needs to be dealt with.  
  
Maybe you felt it before now.  Twinges you ignored. But when you returned to the quiet of your rest, after your own weary journey, you found it. Painful and red. Threatening everything yet to be ahead.
Either way, it needs to be dealt with.  It doesn’t mean the good stuff didn’t happen or didn’t mean anything.  It just means now is the new season, time to deal with the issue.  Because you can’t ignore it now.  And to try to do otherwise would be costly.  So costly. 

I won’t presume to know anyone’s history or story. It’s yours to figure out, truly. But if I could share from personal experience a few things about healing, both physically and emotionally, I would say this.

Take your medicine. Rest your injury. Don’t rush back to “work.” Let it heal, manage the pain.  Don’t poke and prod too much, which might make things worse.  But when the pain subsides, the swelling goes away, and the redness finishes, get back in there.
Swim in the deep, beautiful ocean, river, lake of Gods love.  Let the hurt drawn out. It’ll happen.  Suddenly, someday, it will be gone.  

There is no way around it, this healing. Time doesn’t heal alone, but some healing takes time.

One more thing. Sometimes I have ghost pains in that spot.  Tender, achy pains.  The thorn is out and long gone, the damage is done and the mostly healed.  Fully healed as far as I know.  But those twinges of , memory, yes, that’s the body keeping score. Sometimes the body lies.  It can only go on the past. It doesn’t know yet to future. That’s your soul’s job on this journey.

Listen to it. Don’t count it as a new injury, especially if you already saw it healed. Count it for the healing that happened.  The miracle that it is.  Keep knocking.  Don’t obsess or worry over it.  Be grateful.  Be gracious with yourself.  

 I don’t know what  your exact path to healing will be.  But keep going.  Keep trying.  Don’t give up until it’s better.   Know healing is available and God is for you.  This thing it won’t take you down.  God is bigger.  And your body is stronger.  Better days are yet ahead of you friend.  Keep healing, keep going.