My Dentist asked, "What are you afraid of?"

My phone pinged and I immediately recognized the alert as a calendar reminder. A grumble rumbled from my chapped lips. I made a mental note to change my notification settings.

The phone screen lit up a bar of text announcing: Dentist 11 AM.

Immediate anticipation throbbed in my chest. I closed my eyes tight, scrunching my smile lines into forced union. Without thinking about the mascara I applied earlier, I rubbed my face mercilessly. Letting out a sigh like a defeated balloon on a child's birthday, I closed my work laptop and slumped out of my chair.

An hour later, my dentist was peering into my mouth. I had a cheap pair of green sunglasses on to avoid the sharpness of his technical headlamp. The sunglasses were supposed to be fun, I think -- a way to shift the tone away from medical to playful. But, it felt more like a party favor I wasn't allowed to keep in a place I didn't want to be.

"I really encourage you to get that procedure done," he was saying.

The "procedure" was a visit to the endodontics to redo not one, but TWO root canals. I had gotten them done back in 2020 and, apparently, they had been botched just enough to bring on infection.

I had put it off. Originally scheduled before my first Backyard Ultra attempt at Elm Creek back in April, it was a no-brainer to reschedule. But, as life does, time moved along and the rescheduling never happened. So, there I was, at my 6-month cleaning, and my dentist was noticeably concerned.

I grimaced, sharing this update with him. The inevitable happened next:

"Wait, didn't you run a 100 miler? Doesn't a person, you know, feel a lot of pain during that?"

I knew exactly where this was going.

"Yeah," I nervously laughed, "I can see what you're saying."

Me at the Leadville 100, probably in pain, but not as much pain as TOOTH SURGERY PAIN

His eyebrows raised and he gestured around the room, as though indicating that I was bigger than the apprehension and fear that seemed to fill it, "Well, what are you afraid of?"

Ok, Mr. Dentist.

Really want to know?

Sure, I'm afraid of the pain, I thought.

More than that, I'm afraid of the terrifying aloneness of pain, the way that it swallows me up and turns my mind toward total blackness and bleakness. I'm afraid of the possible nightmares to follow, the ones where all my teeth fall out and it feels too real to wake up from.

But really -- I'm also afraid of the intense vulnerability. I'm afraid of showing that I'm not tough, that I have needs, including a hug and a good rage-y cry and then some. I'm afraid of letting my guard down and revealing that I don't have it all together, that my hereditary bad teeth make me feel slightly exposed and largely ashamed and not-as-healthy as my peers. I'm afraid of the drama that gets set off in my head.

I didn't say all that to him, of course. Instead, I heard myself say, "Teeth are just different, man."

Will run Mountains and offer a toothy grin at the top; will not as easily endure tooth surgery

The Dentist gave me a look I can only describe as belief swirled in concern, like a father would reserve for his child. He assured me he wanted the best-case scenario for me; that taking care of this now would save losing the tooth (teeth!) later. I inhaled the messy hope of it all. I exhaled surrender.

Just because I've felt pain before, doesn't mean I am impervious to its impact in other, scary-to-me arenas.

"I'll need the referral sheet again," was all I managed to say.

Running long miles and sacrificing comfort, in theory, can prepare us for the painful moments of life. And maybe many times, they actually do prepare us.

But I also think that endurance running and purposefully placing ourselves in painful races is not a full-on substitute for the deeper stuff. The stuff that's tender and vulnerable, exposed and raw. The far-burrowing fears that we all hold onto and the scars with which we operate the world. (Thank goodness for therapy, expressive writing, and meditation.)

Life itself gives us the moments that can reveal our truest nature, our muddiest internal muck, and give us opportunity to heal through them, even if not right away. These life moments can expose us to the tender parts of ourselves that need compassion, attention, healing, grace.

So:

I can't put off this procedure, as much as I'd like to.

I can't ignore my fears, as much as I'd like to.

I can't pretend to have it all together, as much as I'd like to.

But I can do the right thing for my well-being.

Sure, I'm afraid of a few things. Aren't we all? But damn. That mental muscle I use to process races and be REAL about how I feel has helped out BIG TIME today. Compassion and attention to my fears so I can do what I need to do.

Thanks for the question, Doc. You got me to think a little deeper today. And remember that I don't have to have it all figured the fuck out.

(And thank you, Running, for giving my Dentist a reason to give me that fatherly I-believe-in-you look. Jesus Christ, that was potent.)