Church Home - Heavenly Home

 For a variety of reasons, Abby and I have been looking for a new church home. We have a longing for a smaller, traditional church program where we can really deepen our faith surrounded by other believers who have a heart to serve God, serve others and live Christ-like authentic lives. We have had our fill of the superficiality, the mega-churches, the drama and the chaos of churches more focused on numbers, appearances, and being in sync with the social trends and vibes. Many of the churches that fit what we are looking for are 35-60 minute drives from home. While it is totally worth it to be able to experience God in a place that feels like home here, we really want to find something closer to home where we can get and stay connected long term. 

This morning we ended up in a familiar location somewhat near home, at a smaller church, but still a pretty decent size. We realized rather quickly that we were a minority - but that was okay! We were completely fine with the people surrounding us - and they were all so genuinely friendly and welcomed us warmly. As timing would have it, we visited this particular church on a Sunday morning when the service was being held in Spanish due to a special event at the church that afternoon. I was okay with this, because I know enough Spanish to survive and have experienced international churches where believers sang in several different languages. I was pumped. I enjoyed the experience thoroughly. However, it was a bit overwhelming for Abby, who wasn't expecting to have to use a translator or not understand what was going on around her. She said it wasn't the people at all - they were all fantastic. She just felt lost and not quite at home. It is important to me that wherever we end up is the right place for both of us, so when she got visibly upset, we went ahead and left early. The usher was so sweet about it and tried to help with suggestions, but it was just not happening this morning. 

Mid-afternoon my phone rang with an unfamiliar local number. I answered. It was the pastor of the church. He had looked for us after the service and didn't see us, so he asked an usher, who told him we'd left early. He said "What did I do? Was it something I said?" I very quickly reassured him that I had absolutely loved my time there this morning and that he had done nothing wrong. I explained Abby's experience and said that she had indicated she'd love to go back and try it again. He seemed relieved by that. I can't say enough about how warm, open, inviting and friendly this congregation was. We may not have looked or sounded like 90% of them, but I felt more at home than I had in years. I LOVED it. 

I will say, one thought did hit me as I was sitting there - and this should never be the case in a place of worship in America. I realized that being there actually put us in danger with the current climate in America. That's part of the reason I'm not naming the church or sharing the location. These people are Americans. They were born here, they work here, they worship here. But they are currently being targeted by their appearance and their language. It hurt to realize the struggles that this congregation faces on a daily basis, yet filled my heart with hope that they easily accepted my daughter and myself, as white as we are, in their church home. I had just told Abby the other day about the church in NYC where I went to speak several times, and how diverse it was. It truly was a representation of what our heavenly home will look like. The pastor today, before we left, commented on how he loved to hear three different languages being raised in worship, because it's a glimpse of what heaven will be like. Even if that is not going to be our church home, I hope Abby's experience there will leave a lasting impact on her heart. I know I will continue to hold those people in prayer as they meet for worship and Bible study and give thanks for their hospitality in such tumultuous times in our country. 

Roll that Stone Away

 Have you ever heard someone say not to let anger or bitterness harden your heart? I had heard the phrase over the years, but never really understood it... until my heart had stones in it. Too many trials and obstacles hardened corners of my heart and threaten to fully turn it to stone. But... God rolled the stone away. The tomb was empty. If he can do that, He can remove the stones from my heart and make it soft again. He has - over and over again. But first I have to be willing to let Him. Having the stones removed is painful. Letting the heart get soft again despite the scars can hurt deeply. But those are temporary pains that are replaced with joy unthinkable, peace unspeakable, faith unstoppable. It's so worth the momentary pain for the Christ-filled heart that replaces the damaged one. The kicker is, the sooner we let Him remove the stones while they are still tiny pebbles, the less painful it will be. The longer we let the anger, bitterness, grief, shame, guilt and other things harder our hearts, the thicker and bigger the stone, the more it covers, and the more painful it is to remove. 

What are you holding onto that is taking your healthy heart and turning it to stone? What do you need to let go of and let Christ remove and replace?  

Mirrors and Snapshots

I still hate mirrors. I can't stand to look in them. But my kids often remind me that what I think I see in the mirror is drastically different from what they see when they look at me. 

When other people see me, what do they see? 

A mom. A teacher. A neighbor. A friend. A coach. A former athlete. Someone who is out of shape. Someone who is always sick. A 9/11 responder. A former firefighter. A babysitter or caregiver. A former EMT. A former disaster response team leader. An outdoor leader. A college professor. 

People see us for the moments we interact with them. They have a snapshot of us that formulates their opinion on us. If they have been around a while, that snapshot may look more like a video of a highlight reel, but it is still only a measurement of the times they were interacting with us long enough to form a title or name for us. 

Some people see us at our best. Others cross our paths when we are at our worst. Others see us with a lens or perspective that makes our snapshot look out of focus or like a completely wrong image. Some only see us in certain locations or environments and don't know what other spaces our lives occupy. 

No matter what that snapshot or highlight reel looks like to them, we don't have to be defined by it. 

It amazes me that some people who have had absolutely zero contact or interaction with me for 10, 20 or even 30 years try to define me by the snapshot they have of their last interaction with me. I get it. I do. But, I'm not the same person I was 10-20 years ago. Sometimes I get so caught up in trying to fix other people's misconceptions and opinions of me that I forget that I don't have to be anyone to them. I don't have to prove anything to anyone. I don't have to try to force people to change their thoughts about me. What's important is who I am to myself, to my household, and to my God. 

I know who I am. I know whose I am. I know sometimes when I look in the mirror I don't feel like I even see the real me. Sometimes I wish I could change the current snapshot I see and edit the image. 

I could look at the mirror and see my past. I can see a victim. I can see a survivor. I can see a champion. I can see a failure. I can see an angry person. I can see a woman filled with joy. It can change every time I look in the mirror. But the view people see when they look at me seems to be permanent based on the 5 minutes they spent around me, no matter when it was or what that image looked like. Frustrating as it may be, that is just how life goes. 

But when God looks at me, He sees Jesus. Why? Because Christ came and took all of those labels, titles and past images and shoved them aside to look at my heart, making it brand new. He looks at me and sees a sister, a friend, a child of His Father's. God looks at me and sees His child who took my place on the cross to make those other images get destroyed by fire. When I look in the mirror, sometimes it is hard to see Christ looking back at me - but shouldn't that be our goal? Shouldn't we be able to look at ourselves and see the fruits of the spirit at work in our lives? Shouldn't we be able to see His will and His plan unfolding? Shouldn't we be able to see love, mercy, grace, and forgiveness? 

Those snapshots and images are a part of our story. No one else's snapshots can take our story away from us. We can't change our story their lives. But we can take our past - the good and bad - and use it to help mold our future image to look more like Christ. We've been in a spiritual battle. The enemy has fought us and there are times it looked like he might win in our lives. But no matter how twisted the enemy distorted the images, when Christ came in, He wiped the image clean and replaced it with Himself.

Desperate

As I was driving my little preschool buddy to school we were listening to a local Christian radio station. An old song came on that I hadn't heard in years, but a line from the song caught my attention. The words repeated and I found myself drawn to them - "I'm just as desperate for you now as I was back then, and if I ever should forget remind me once again." 

I can remember clearly the day I invited Christ into my life as Lord and Savior. I was desperate for love. Desperate for acceptance. Desperate for healing. Desperate for belonging. Desperate for answers. Desperate for rescue. I needed Him desperately. I wanted Him more than anything I'd ever desired. I asked myself, "do you still need Him as desperately as you did back then?" 

The answer was a resounding absolutely yes. I have needed Him in every trial, every struggle, every challenge and every battle. I have needed Him to make the accomplishments mean something, to have a reason to celebrate, and to experience things fully. "If I ever should forget remind me once again" - whenever I have wandered or gone astray, something big has happened that pulls me right back to the desperate need for Christ. 

My life has been a series of traumas, some well out of my control and some due to my own human nature. There's no denying that He was there during every fire, every storm and every flood. I could spend years describing how He rescued me time and time again. But, lately I have been able to look back and see Him clearly in the joyous moments, the mountaintops and in the peace of every day. It's easy to say we desperately need our Lord when we are under fire and need protection. Being able to desperately need Him when things are going great is a different level of spiritual intimacy. 

Do you remember the day of your salvation? Do you remember the desperateness you felt and how strong your desire was to know Him? Do you still feel that same desperate need for Him today? 

Following up from 4 years ago

The soldier I mentioned in my last blog four years ago just published a book. As I was looking back to see when I had first sent him a message and connected with him about sharing his story, I found the link to that blog. I re-read it and found myself feeling all of the emotions. Sometimes it's hard to remember times that I wrote about and other times it's as if I was still living in the moment. Sometimes it feels like I'm reading someone else's words, until the memories come flooding back and I remember. 

I read the intro to Tyler's book and found myself feeling like I was reading my own words. That was a very different experience. I had never found someone who truly understands or "gets it," until Tyler. The craziest part is that we have never met face to face and are complete and total strangers. Quite literally the only thing that we know about each other is that we have had a similar journey through PTSD and all of the other stuff that comes with it. And what's even weirder is, that's enough. 

I wanted to update from the above blog, now that it has been 4+ years. But as I read it, I really don't know what to say. I still feel like I'm living in two different worlds. I still feel like I'm drowning in the sea some days. But there are other days when I get to see a few of the ripples. The other day I got to see one of the 9/11 kids I hadn't seen in 20 years. He is now in the Air Force reserves and yet, immediately, he knew who I was and let me know he remembered me and the programs I had developed to help kids like him. Another sent me a photo from her academy graduation and said she was going to be a firefighter in the same house where her dad served on 9/11. She thanked me for inspiring her to go after her dreams. Some of the names and faces have faded over time, but somehow they still remember. It's enough to know that I made a difference in the life of at least a handful of kids. 

I didn't go back to NYC for the anniversary, but we did go this past December for the firehouse Christmas party. We didn't go down to the site or the memorial, and a lot of the guys from 2001 were no longer around the firehouse. I did see a handful of them, but it was different. Time has changed all of us. However, we are still connected by one of our darkest days, and that bond is forever. There was no talk of 9/11, no emotional reunions, no indication that we had been a part of that story together. There were a few jabs at how horrible I was at staying in touch and how I'd been a stranger for too many years. They got it though. They knew why I disappeared. That day wasn't about the past though. It was just a focus on the here-and-now. The only thing related to 9/11 that was discussed was when we asked about each other's health and how we were holding up. We're all sick. We're all dealing with stuff. But we don't want to talk about why. I battled with going to NY and letting any of them see me because I knew I looked different thanks to the toll the illness was taking on my body. When I got there I realized it wasn't just me. We were all aging not so gracefully. 

I found a way to combat the chaos that was happening 4 years ago. I went on a 2 year medical leave of absence from teaching in KCS and found myself teaching instead at a local college. While there I ended up working in the outdoor program they have on campus, which took me back to my happy days working in camps and outdoor ed back in VA and NC. Each and every day I walked onto the campus to teach, lead a ropes course or facilitate the climbing tower, I gave thanks to God for moving me out of the stress and into this new environment. I still feel that way every single time I go to work there. I also added in teaching online at a second college, and now that I am home more and enjoying my jobs, I am feeling a lot less stress. Unfortunately, I just found myself injured after over-doing it a bit this summer. I'm floundering a bit being stuck at home and held back from doing the things I love. The craziest thing was that the day that I blew out my knee and the chaos erupted around me, I got home and found Tyler's book on my front porch. I laughed outright at the irony. His book, by the way, is Forged in Chaos. How's that for timing? I had to laugh and shake my head. So did my kids. It was just perfect. I've found it both hard to pick up and read the book and hard to put it down when I start reading. It's going to be interesting to see how I handle it when I get the whole way through it. Right now it feels a little too personal and close to home - which is so weird since a stranger wrote it. So hard to explain. I'll post a new blog when I finish the book. 

Escape is only temporary

Last week I decided I had to walk away and escape for a while. I knew I couldn't take another day of turmoil. We planned to go camping Friday-Sunday, but the weather was not cooperating. When the A-E video was released on Wednesday, I knew I could not walk back in the door of my school building on Thursday. We decided spur-of-the-moment to check the campground, found a site that was open Thursday and Friday nights, and I took an additional day off to care for my own mental health and well-being. I hurried to pack and prepare, and when the girls came home early Thursday, we took off for Cades Cove - just the three of us. The boys and Don planned to come down Friday after the boys completed their English and Geometry quizzes. 

It took a while to set up camp - definitely longer than normal - but we brought a few more things than usual to spoil ourselves with some luxury and relaxation, while also preparing for a sub-freezing night. Don came with us to help set up camp, and then left to head home to get dinner to the boys and get a good, warm night of sleep. 

After Don left, the girls and I ate smores for dinner (yep - mom of the year right here) and then went on a drive around the loop. We didn't even get a 1/2 mile in before seeing a bear beside the road. We pulled over, stopped and got out to take pictures from a safe distance. Then back on our way. Abby kept count - we saw 32 deer, 4 bears, 9 turkeys, and a coyote. It was one of the best trips around the loop ever. 

We got back to camp, made a fire, bundled up and just sat there talking. Around 10 PM the girls started getting tired and crawled into the tent. I sat quietly by the fire a bit longer and then settled in for the night as well. It was COLD. I was so worried about the girls staying warm that I struggled to stay asleep. They were fine. I knew I was prepared, and all of my many years of outdoor experience proved useful, but a mom is just going to worry. 

I was up at 4:30 AM, and cold. I started a fire, made myself some hot chocolate, and sat staring at the flames. I refused to let my thoughts wander, and just stared as the flames danced. I watched and listened as the campground began to stir. Emma finally rolled out of the tent around 9:00. At 9:45 I started dragging Abby out of her bed. We grabbed some muffins and set out around the loop again. After 20 more deer, a dozen turkeys and a bear, we headed back to camp. We made another fire because it was still so cold, and settled in to wait on Don and the boys, who we thought would already be there by then. I laid down in my hammock and the next thing I knew it was 1:30 PM and I was waking up. The girls had sat chatting in their chairs and let me sleep. I felt so much better. 

Just after waking up, Don and the boys arrived. It was drizzling and still very chilly. We took another drive around the loop and decided with the weather, we would just go back to camp, pack up and head home. It took forever to get everything back in the cars, but we finally left and headed back to Knoxville. We stopped in Alcoa to eat dinner at 9 PM. We stumbled into the house at 10PM and by 10:30 it was silent. I woke up at 11:30 Saturday morning. I felt like a brand new person. 

We spent the rest of Saturday lounging around. On Sunday I worked on lesson plans for the week, helped my kids catch up on work, and tackled the mountain of laundry. I slept decently on Sunday night, and finally felt ready to go back to work on Monday morning. 

Within a few minutes of arriving, I was second-guessing myself. First class went well, testing went well, and then the unthinkable. One of my kids came in and said "Where were you last week? I needed you, and you weren't here." He was obviously upset. I apologized and tried to figure out what was going on. Turns out, he had a very direct connection to the AE shooting, which we had discussed the day after the shooting, but he had not handled all of the press coverage on Wednesday and Thursday well. He was scared, he needed reassurance, and I wasn't there. Thankfully, one of my co-teachers is used to seeing this kid come to my room for snacks or to just take a breather, and she knew something was up when he came in upset. She got him into some really good hands in the counseling office and the counselor spent hours with him. Once I spent some time talking with him today, I sought out the counselor and my co-teacher. I got the rest of the story from Thursday and Friday, and then went to fill in admin. Afterwards, I went to one of our only black teachers in the school and told her I needed her. I am again SO thankful for the relationships developed over my 5 years at my school. I can be there for my student, I can let them talk, I can listen, I can offer reassurance, but as a white woman, there is only so much I can say that will matter in this situation. I knew this kid needed someone who understood where he was coming from. After speaking to her and hearing her "I got him" statement, I went back to my classroom and let tears fall again. I knew if I had been at school Thursday and Friday, I would not have been okay if I had talked to him and tried to be there for him then. It was a really good thing for me that I wasn't there, but I felt incredibly guilty that I wasn't there when one of my students needed me most. No matter how many days I escape and how far I distance myself, when I come back, reality is there to smack me in the face. The escapes are much needed, but they are also so very temporary. 

Our kids are hurting. Our schools and communities are hurting. Our teachers are hurting. But while we are hurting, the power that be have us testing, scrambling to make decisions for next year, throwing a dozen new things our way, grades are due, progress reports are due. there are meetings scheduled, evaluations are happening, and we still have to teach. This has been, by far, the most difficult, heart-wrenching year of teaching ever. Summer cannot come soon enough. At least that escape will last two full months. 

The 20 Year Shadow

Some days I wonder how I got here. How this winding, uphill, twisted, rocky path led me to this place. Most days when I look in the mirror, I don't recognize the reflection. A gray hair here, wrinkles there, a vacant stare from eyes filled with hurt and distrust, hidden by the smile on my face. I go to work, go through the motions of daily life, and keep the swirling thoughts tucked safely away in the dark corners of my brain, but the words scream at me continuously, deafening reminders of unimaginable things I can't unsee or unhear. 

Don't get me wrong. I'm normally happy, content and at peace these days. I have moved forward with life and found joy again. I have never forgotten, but I have found a way to live and move forward. Time and God have helped heal some of the deepest hurts. But on the days I'm not okay, those words seem so foreign. Peace and happiness seem unreachable. The thing is, I never know when those "I'm not okay" days will show up, or how long they will last, nor do I know what will cause them. 

Often I collapse in to bed so exhausted after the craziness of daily life, too exhausted to think or do anything but sleep. Occasionally I lay there and just cry. Sometimes I dare to let myself think. Most of the time I just distract myself again. If anyone asked on any given night what was wrong or what caused the tears, I couldn't answer. Thankfully those nights have been so much fewer and further between in the past several years. 

A noticeable change is that I don't typically feel unsafe anymore. I am more relaxed than I have been in years. If you read my medical charts, though, they don't agree with that statement. I still hold tension and remain in fight-or-flight almost 24-7, 365. It's exhausting. Even when I conscientiously work to relax the tension, rest, and breathe deeply, tightness remains. I'm still ever-ready for danger. I've learned to go hike and run solo again, though I sometimes get startled or find myself engaging in the familiar hypervigilance. Baby steps, but definite progress. 

Someone asked me recently, "What's your story?" I flippantly replied that there are not enough hours in the day to go there. Ever. They said to just give them the highlights reel, the key events, the highs and lows. Even that is too complicated. "Have you ever told anyone your story? Your whole story?" 

No. 

No, I haven't. Nor do I think I ever could. 

Yet I find myself thanking a soldier for sharing his story, because it was the first time I had ever heard someone who traveled down the same difficult path I was on for a while. It was the first time I realized I truly was not alone. Someone out there gets it. Someone understands. Someone else has been there.

People have seen glimpses. People have heard pieces of my story. No one has ever read the whole book. No one ever will. 

Why is it so difficult to let people see me? The real me. The me before 9/11. The me during the aftermath. The me now. 

Because I don't know where the real me is anymore. Part of me was left in a puddle of tears on a platform on the west side of the WTC pile. Part of me was left in a clump of dust and dirt on a church pew where I took a nap after an exhausting 16 hours of listening to hurting responders just talk and tell their story. Part of me walked away with each of those responders I counseled over a period of 8 months. Part of me was buried in a casket of bones and an empty uniformed that was lowered in to a hole in a cemetery among thousands of others. A week later, more of me was buried with another. Twenty years later, pieces of me are buried in cemeteries from coast to coast, held in framed photos and creased snapshots that never made it to a frame. Pieces of me fall in tears from weathered faces overcome with grief that won't leave us alone. Pieces of me walk around in various cities in the lives of once-Tuesday's kids who are now adults and doing amazing things in this world. Part of me lives permanently in lower Manhattan. Part of me remains in southwest Virginia. Some of me is in Tahoe. Some in LA. Part of my heart is buried in the Black Hills of South Dakota. One hand is still holding the pen at the foreign condolence wall next to Bush's and Putin's signatures on the long-forgotten panel, and the other is holding the hand of a child that wouldn't exist if 9/11 never happened. Part of me is celebrating the marriage of a responder friend while another part wonders who is next in the ongoing funeral that is over 16,000 souls long now. Part of me stands in front of a class of seniors who weren't alive on 9/11 while the other remembers standing and looking in the eyes of an 8 year old boy asking which floor his dad was on when the plane hit the tower he was in saving lives. I live in multiple worlds simultaneously. None of them fit with each other, and I can't ever let the worlds collide. 

I didn't see the pieces of me being ripped away from my body as I was serving. I certainly didn't feel the pain then. I did what I was trained to do, what I loved to do, and what fulfilled me as a person. I knew I served a purpose. I did a lot of good and brought a lot of comfort in a time when so many needed a beacon of hope. I had every right to be proud of that service, yet all I have ever felt is an unexplainable shame of failure associated with it. I lost my sense of self sometime between my first step on a Manhattan street in 2001 and my last time getting in a car to leave the city behind in 2014, with a vow to never return. People tell me how brave I was, how selfless, how strong, how courageous, how incredible, how inspiring. I don't see any of that. In fact, I detest hearing those things. All I see is the shell of what remains, filled with anger, grief, uncertainty, stress, worry, sadness, heartache, uncontrollable tears that spill at the worst of times, and the nagging feeling that nothing I ever did would ever be enough. I was a drop of water in a vast ocean, and I can't see the ripple that drop caused, because I'm too busy drowning in the sea. 

People assume when I say I have PTSD that it came from my work in NY after 9/11. The truth is, I had PTSD for a couple of years prior to 9/11. I was first diagnosed with PTSD in late fall 1998 after an incident I'm not ready to share. When I was diagnosed, I was told that it was actually not a new thing, and that likely been dealing with it since an incident several years prior to that. The doctor bluntly told me that my PTSD, coupled with abandonment issues and an eating disorder put me in a very dangerous place. So I did what I had always done - I hid it, I dealt with it silently, and I moved forward. Only the two incidents that created the original diagnosis of PTSD got compounded by September 11, 2001. On top of the then 3 major incidents, numerous other things spiraled at the same time, creating a firestorm. Every time I got my footing back on solid ground, it seemed I got hit from another direction. My life then changed drastically in a very short amount of time. From moving and marriage in 2004 to the birth of twins and death of a parent in 2005, while also facing two other seriously ill family members, a steady stream of 9/11 deaths, an unexpected financial blow, and the death of a very close friend, the complex PTSD was never fully addressed. Life calmed down slightly and then it seemed the next wave hit. More deaths, more changes, more struggles, health scares and changes, a new baby, more health issues and another baby, all while trying to work through all of the previous things that time never allowed me to process. I found a refuge in an equine therapy, but then we left. Moving away from NY and settling in a town where we knew no one was supposed to help us both physically create a barrier that would enable us to focus on ourselves and create a new, calmer normal. Then the first three people we met in the new town were all associated with 9/11. There was no escape. But we eventually found a new normal and tried to gain our footing once again. 

Ironically, we found that the pandemic last year brought the craziness in our lives to a screeching halt. While most of the world was in a state of panic and freaking out over having to stay home and not socialize, it provided us exactly what we needed at exactly the perfect time. For the first time in my life, I had time. Time to rest. Time to do things I loved. Time to just be with my family with no stress or schedule. 2020 was one of the best years we have had since before 2001. I know that sounds crazy, but it was. We found ourselves steadied and stronger than ever. Even with some additional punches from life, we were in calm waters. We were able to accomplish so much in the months of being at home. Then, I went back to work and it seems like nothing has been calm since. I handled it fairly well at first, but by December, I was in a very dangerous place again, for the first time in years. I went from those calm waters to a category 5 hurricane hitting at the same time as an 8.0 earthquake, an F5 tornado and a tsunami. About the time I was going to crash and burn, we went on winter break. I recovered and went back in January, ready to face five more months and then take another two month breather. I was convinced I could do it. Then, I got really sick. I was too sick to process the emotional impact it had on me, though I could tell it was affecting my kids greatly. As I finally started recovering from the pneumonia but then got diagnosed with CoVid, I felt myself losing ground quickly again. I fought it and struggled to stay firmly planted on the solid ground, but then we got pummeled again and again. I somehow made it to spring break, and almost didn't return after the break. I knew I was in a bad place, and desperately needed a longer break to take care of myself, but there was nothing I could do about it. All of my sick days had been used, plus 2 unpaid days had already been taken, and I still had several weeks to go. I simply could not afford to stay home. 

A series of seemingly insignificant and incidental things happened in a row, and I found myself not able to sleep, not able to eat, not able to relax, not able to breathe, and not able to think. I truly felt I was still in a CoVid state of exhaustion and brain fog, but someone told me my PTSD was getting ready to slam into me. I thought they were crazy - I hadn't dealt with any PTSD episodes in years. A week later I realized they were right. I couldn't figure out what was going on. Then someone pointed out the dates. A year since life changed. 5 years since learning some scary news. Anniversaries. Oklahoma City. Columbine. Virginia Tech. Morgan. Kara. They pointed out events that I had shrugged off and stated the obvious-to-them that I had ignored. It's 2021. September is coming fast. Somehow my subconscious knew long before the rest of me that this is THAT year. The year I promised I'd be back to see the colleagues who are still around and haven't succumbed to the multitude of fatal diseases and illnesses caused by the time we spent working side by side. The year I'd dreaded and looked forward to in the same breath. I'm not ready. I find myself shaking at the thought of returning, yet longing to be held by familiar arms, embraced by my extended family of brothers and sisters and their families. I find myself aching for the comfort of the 4 walls of St Paul's, the familiar sights and sounds of the city I couldn't wait to get away from, the tangible memory of the people we lost and the water falling, carrying the grief and pain deep down into the pit where so many left together. I find myself wanting to run away from the tears and pain it will inevitably bring to rip those Band-Aids off and face those old wounds. I want to hide from the eyes who haven't seen the impact 12 years of autoimmune neurological issues and other medial problems have had on my body. I don't want to talk about it or relive any of it, but I want to be back with the only other people on the planet who get it. Who lived it with me. Who were there for the most difficult chapters of my story. One foot here. One foot there. Torn between two worlds. Again. 

Now that I can see what's causing the sudden resurgence of the PTSD, I can work with it, face it, deal with it, get through it and overcome it. I'm tired. I'm struggling. I'm still feeling completely isolated and alone in a world no one understands. I still feel like I'm screaming and no one can hear me. I still feel invisible. I still feel like I'm carrying the weight of the world. But I'm finding myself taking little steps and then bigger steps. I'm still learning and still moving forward. I'm growing. I'm evolving. I'm improving. There is progress. It feels incredibly slow and uncertain at times, but it's there and I can see it. I've been through the worst of days and made it before, stronger and wiser on the other side. I know I can do it again. 

Maybe this is the year I share more of my story. Maybe it's the time I step further out of my comfort zone and let more people in. Maybe it's not - and I know that's okay too. For now, I'm just going to shine a little light into the shadow of the 20 year anniversary that is looming and try to keep the monsters at bay. I'm going to keep taking those little steps and hope they eventually bring me back to the hallowed ground where it all began. Maybe by returning I can reclaim some of the lost pieces of myself and find a newer, better version of me. Maybe by then I'll be ready to share my story. Maybe my story, like the soldier's story, can help just one person know they are not alone. 

I never decided on a word of the year for 2021. I thought "survival" might be fitting by the way it started. But now, I think my word of the year is "maybe." Because for the first time ever, I know "maybe" is just as okay as "yes" and "no." I don't have to have the answers. I don't have to know which way to go yet. It may have been 20 long years, but it's only been 20 years. We still have a long way to go. 

Hear Them

This morning has been rough. I'm frustrated. I'm hurting. I'm scared. Most of all, I'm ANGRY. 

Saturday, one of our students took her own life. She had been struggling with online school and was coming back to in-person instruction. She was a beautiful girl - huge smile, big personality, great volleyball player, headed to college in California. By all outward appearances, she was doing great. Most people had no idea there was any chance this could happen. A few did know. They were trying to get help to her. Now they are left thinking about how it was too little too late. 

A couple of weeks ago I told my co-teacher that I was afraid we were going to see a string of suicides, and soon. Our students and teachers (parents too) are hurting, feeling isolated and alone, feeling overwhelmed, and are talking about giving up. I have had to make more referrals to the school counselors about what the kids are saying in emails and in classes in the past 2 months than I have in my 16 years of teaching. It's bad. It's really bad. 

I told our administrators our kids, especially the online ones, were struggling. I told them how they were overwhelmed with the volume of work, the lack of communication and the drastic changes. I told them how our in-person kids are still feeling isolated, even in a room full of their peers. I feel like my words and warnings fell on deaf ears. 

I went to Facebook and posted in parent groups and on my page - talk to your kids. They are hurting. They are struggling. Please hear them. 

This morning, as someone talked about what a tragedy this was, I just wanted to stand up and shout, 'yes- one that could have been avoided!" The longer I sat there listening to what we were and were not allowed to say or talk about with our students, the angrier I became. Let them talk! Hear them! Don't hush things. Don't hide things. Talk about it. Let them see the tears. Let them see you are hurting and struggling too. Take a step back from the academics and workload and just spend time with the students. They are trying to talk to you. They are trying to tell you how they feel. Are you listening? Are you really hearing them out? 

Do I know that Elise would still be here if anyone had done something sooner or if things had been handled differently? No. Could it truly have been avoided? I don't know. What I do know is this - unless we do something and do it soon, we are going to lose more students. We have to find a way to reach them before that happens. 

Just be there for kids. Hug them. Hold their hand. Listen to them. Truly HEAR THEM. 

Scholars Run 5K

I have finally reached the point in local races where, when I show up to any given event, there are a handful of people who know me by name and have conversations with me. I have become so used to running out of town and out of state, that I forgot what it was like to run locally enough that you start to get to know people. 

It was a really challenging but fun race today. I somehow managed to ignore the heel/arch pain I’ve been fighting all week and get a PR. I ended with a 31:58. At mile 2, I decided that as long as I was done before 32 minutes, it would be a win. Mission accomplished. I'm inching slowly closer to my goal time of a sub 30 5K. I absolutely loved the fast downhill start. My first mile was awesome. 9:32. One of my best miles ever. 

It was so much fun to have some of the college runners our group has run with this summer manning the water station midway through the race. It's always nice mid-race to hear your name and someone shouting out some encouragement. I'm so glad I had the opportunity to meet them early in the summer and see them around at local races. 

I also had a little buddy running with me the last mile. He did amazing. I love helping motivate the younger kids through the last mile. Always rewarding, and it takes my mind off how I feel. 

Lots of positive interactions on the course and after. What surprised me was the Corryton Running Club runner who crossed shortly after me and made her way straight to me, looked me in the eyes, pointed at me and said very pointedly, "you are awesome." Right after that, Ruthie came over and said, "wow, you did great. Way to go." Followed by the trail runner I ran into who gave a high five and said "great job today." Just when you thought you were invisible... people did notice you and took the time to comment. More high fives from the college runner crew and then the awards. My age group, was of course huge again. I finished 6th though. I'm great with that. 

All around it was a good race. I’m bailing on my additional 3 miles today though. The heel pain is just too bad. Resting (from running) the remainder of the weekend. Hopefully I can get my syllabus and first day stuff finished for school while icing and resting the foot. 

Medical Update

Thank you for all of the messages asking for an update. Sorry it was so long coming. 

First of all, I'm fine. Breathe.

Over the weekend following my visit with the oncologist, they emailed my lab results to me. I immediately dissected it and called my doctor with questions. She gave some thoughts but wanted to let the oncologist have his say and get his thoughts on it before we decided anything. LONGEST WAIT EVER.

I finally had the follow up appointment this past Tuesday. The oncologist video conferenced the meeting with my immunoneurologist in Nashville. They both agreed my issue was not a cancer issue, but was an acute reactive immune response caused by the neurotoxin and flared up by higher intensity runs and workouts. They explained how some of the abnormal levels were actually not too concerning and why. They explained what they were looking for specifically and how they interpreted some of the abnormalities. They discussed what we were doing right and what needs to be more carefully monitored. They really liked that my coach and I had been noticing patterns of when the responses were occurring and asked that we start tracking the reactive days in our training plan calendar for them to look at more closely. They gave me a few more guidelines to follow and changed my follow up timeframe to more frequent lab checks for a while, but I'm still good to go with waiting 6 months before next doctor visit. They gave their full blessing to continue running and working out, including the high intensity things. They feel we are still tackling it better than any of their other patients and that we're giving them a lot of good information. The downside is that this is going to continue to be a daily thing for me. Forever. But, the responses are fewer and further between, and are not as bad when they are happening, and are not lasting as long (when I cooperate and give my body the rest it needs to stop the overreactive response).

So, in a nutshell, the neurotoxin continues to fight and try to win, but we are continuing to gain ground on it and I keep getting better, despite some really rough days and weeks. I have to do a better job of some daily decision making in regards to running and working out (and that's on me - not my coach), but I can also breathe a little easier without the cancer word being held over my head. In order to stop the responses when they happen, I have to stop and completely rest for a day or more, depending on how severe the response is.

This week has been really rough, with the change in schedule, addition of long work days, and high stress with Don being gone, back to school chaos, and doctor visits, among other things. I've been dealing with some random sore spots and spells of nausea. Some of my labs are still out of whack and I'm feeling it. The lack of sleep, high levels of stress/anxiety, and not feeling great have led to some irritability and over-sensitivity, which has led to some strains in communications, leading to some friction in some relationships. Those situations are now (unintentionally) adding to the stress, despite my best efforts to just keep breathing through it and stay calm. If you are someone who has been affected by this - I'm sorry. I'm doing my absolute best and I truly am trying. Please be patient and understanding. I know it's me and not you. Just bear with me. But, please also remember that if I have to stop talking and walk away - it's to keep me from getting overly upset or emotional and then being thrown further into another reactive response. I'm not trying to be rude or disrespectful. I'm trying to survive.

I have a race tomorrow that I'm not feeling extremely confident about, mainly due to the rough week I've had. I'm hoping to get some sleep tonight before the race, and maybe sleeping in a bit Sunday morning to try to minimize the stress responses. But, Monday is coming, with all 55 teenagers in my classes and the other 2000+ in the school. This is, by far, the toughest time I've had going back to work, and while my admin team is aware of what's been going on and has my back, there is nothing, absolutely nothing anyone can do to stop my body from reacting to the overload of noise and activity that is about to assault it in the coming week. I've already been informed by both specialists that this year may involved taking a lot of sick days, and that I'm going to have to play each day by ear. One day at a time. For the next 200 days. This should be interesting.

But, again, I'm fine. Thank you for the continuous messages and concern. We're still moving forward.

Challenge Accepted

We've had a new program at the gym this summer - OCR training - started by our running coach as a means to train people for mud runs, Spartan races, and other obstacle type events. Now, most of you know I LOVE obstacle racing and have been doing it for over a dozen years, even before I began distance running... long before I met my coach and heard him talking about it. But as soon as he put it out there, I was in. The first couple of workouts I was thinking "this is too easy." And THEN he hit me with one that left me feeling like I'd just climbed Mount Everest, using only my arms. It was an awesome, challenging workout. I loved it. Even though it kicked my butt and left me unable to lift my arms over my head. Or sit down normally. It was the best.  

Well, last night, OCR almost did me in. I wasn't about to tell anyone, but every single thing we did was something I probably shouldn't have been doing, and I was hurting. A lot. I was not about to quit though. Especially with the week I'd had, especially with the fact I'd basically had to beg to be allowed to participate on a Thursday evening before a race weekend, especially because there were two people there I didn't know, and especially because of the personal goals in the back of my mind reminding me I had work to do. I pushed through, knowing I was going to regret it later, and wondering if I'd have to bail on my race on Saturday because this was an intensity that was going to send my body into chaos. It wasn't so much a leg thing, so there's that hope. But, I desperately needed that intensity and outlet for the frustrations and irritations of the week, and I knew I needed it to stay on track if I had any hope of accomplishing what I was setting out to do. 

I woke up this morning and felt every single thing I knew was going to hurt, plus some I didn't realize I'd worked on. I have a huge bruise on my wrist that is totally grossing my boys out. It's gnarly. My wrist is also rock hard and stiff. The tendon is locked as tight as it can possibly be. It looks and feels pretty bad. My neck and shoulders are stiff and sore, and my butt is on fire. Talk about working some glutes. I'm telling you - these OCR workouts are for real. They are tough. They are unconventional. They are fun. But they are probably not the best thing to do before a long work day or race. 

There is also one problem I've seen coming for a while that blew up this morning - I can barely walk. It's not the nerve stuff. I stepped wrong earlier this week and felt like I had pulled or strained something in the arch of my left foot. I felt it every time I tried to sprint in last night's OCR. I knew I shouldn't be running on it, but I wasn't stopping. This morning, I couldn't walk. At all. Once I got shoes on I was able to, but it hurt. Stairs are still impossible. Especially coming down them. Running tomorrow morning may be impossible. I've been trying to ice and stretch and do range of motion stuff, but it's definitely not helping, and having to walk all over our building is making it worse. I'm going to do the high dose of Naproxen today and tonight, and hope it gets me through the race. Then, I'm actually going to listen and take a full rest day. Or two.  

So why the drive to do it no matter what? I had decided in really late spring or early summer to sign up for the mud run in my hometown and an obstacle race out of town my boys & I had done before. I was also looking for trail races and toying with the idea of going back to Spartan next year. Then, my run coach mentioned he was starting the OCR training at the gym. I was really excited and fully on board. What I didn't say was that I had already signed up for the Knoxville Mud Run, with the goal of placing. Obstacle races and trail races were something I was always good at and placed high in. It is the only run-related events I have ever been able to excel at. I knew if I had been able to actually RUN at the Mudder's Day race, our team would have been in the top 3. The obstacles have never been a problem for me. Even in Spartan, I was able to successfully nail every obstacle along the course until the final 5 - and they were ALL upper body. My arms were shot by then and there was no way I could do them. I swore I'd never do another Spartan until my upper body strength was on par with the rest of my body. But for the local, fun, mud runs and obstacle races, if I can just get back to running at a good pace, I can do really well on them. For trail racing, it just means getting back out there and gaining confidence again. I'm working on that. I would love nothing more than to go back to the Mudders Day race in May and win - or at least place. It's the perfect race for me. I know I can do it - if I can just get all of the pieces of the puzzle to fit together at the right time. 

There's just one problem with this area of goals and races I've kept to myself - no one else believes I can do it. I've heard others saying how "he said he thinks I can win it" or "he thinks I'm going to place or win." Well, for certain, that has never been said to me. Not even anything remotely close to it. No one has said anything more than "I know you can finish it." No one here knows how good I used to be at them. No one knew this was my area of expertise. I used to be the adventure programmer who came up with the obstacles to challenge groups with and teach others how to successfully complete various obstacles. No one here gets it. But, that's okay. It was a long time ago. I have a long way to get back to where I was. But, the trail race on Saturday showed me that I was much closer than I thought I was. As bad as the Mudders Day race was on the running side - the obstacles there showed me I still had it too. Last Saturday on the trail, I was within the same pace where I was 10 years ago when I was consistently placing in the top 5. Granted, that was in NYC and not east TN. But, I'm close to where I was, and closer to where I want to be than I thought I was before Saturday. 

Unfortunately, I feel like I'm being set up for failure. It's a hard pill to swallow that I'm not expected to be able to perform as well as others and that the goals for me are to "just finish." Not just with runs and obstacle races, but trail races too. That goes against everything I've ever known. It's always considered a success if I just make it to the finish line in one piece. Since when am I content to just finish and not reach for a higher goal? Oh, that's right. I'm not content with that. But others are. It's like that's all anyone thinks I'm capable of. I know I'm not a runner who is going to win or place in a road race. I'm not a speed runner. But when it comes to trail races or obstacle races, it evens the playing field for me. That's where I'm at home. I'm still not going to cause waves there - but I can accomplish more than "just finishing." When your coach is winning the longer distances by margins of 10-15 minutes, it's a little overshadowing. He's phenomenal. I'll never be to that level - but that's okay too. That's not my goal or the path I'm on. I love watching him run, win, and do his thing. It's inspiring. What I don't love is constant reminders around me about me how they are expected to win or place, and how they are working so hard to live up to that expectation, or how they've done something for the first time and get loads of praise and tell me "you'll get it one day" - when I've already been there-done that years ago. I hate being reminded that the medical crap has kept me from a lot. I hate that it completely changed my body and added a new obstacle to every challenge. I never react or respond to the constant comments, but in my mind, it just adds more fuel to the competitive fire that was finally reignited. I do love that now I have a renewed passion for something I'd once thought I'd have to give up on forever. I'm loving having something that gets me fired up and competitive again. I'm finding myself working 10 times harder and pushing myself a lot more, knowing that if I am going to reach my goals, I've got to keep up with my own teammates who have the added advantage of someone believing in them. I'm having to dig deeper and remind myself that yes I can, and find a way to keep believing in myself and not give up before we ever get there. Every run, every OCR training, every swim, every workout at home, every race - it's all become very, very important. Every medical appointment has become important too. I know I have to stay on top of some issues to stand a chance. I know I have to do things the right way and take care of myself to make it possible. With that comes old struggles of working out too much, not eating enough, trying to lose weight faster, letting the competitive drive push me to keep going no matter what, even when I know my body needs a break. It's hard to keep everything balanced. Especially now that I'm adding full time work to my schedule. One more advantage for the stay-at-home peeps. I wish I had more time to work out and keep up. I'm making it work in the limited time I have. I know I am fighting an uphill battle and my chances are slim. But once, just once, I'd like to have my time and place to shine again, doing something that I love, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get there, whether anyone else believes in me or not. 

Invisible or Invincible ?

This has been such a difficult week. Physically. Emotionally.

I was on such a high after my trail race Saturday. I feel like it all just came crashing down around me that night and into Sunday. By Monday, I was a mess. I did not want to go back to work. I'm really struggling to get into this school year. I just don't feel up to it. At all.

On top of that, I've been feeling incredibly invisible lately. It feels like no matter what I do or how well I think I do something - it's never enough. I'm never good enough, fast enough, strong enough, fit enough, patient enough, and on and on. I've had to work a thousand times harder this week not to slip back into old coping habits that weren't necessarily healthy ones.

Tonight, our coach had to miss our group run, but as we've done in the past, we carried on without him. Three of us ladies showed up and ran together while talking. By the end of the run, I was an emotional wreck. I just couldn't hold the tears in and thought about the chain of events that was leading to the meltdown, trying to pinpoint where the real problem was.

I'm still not sure what's really going on and how much is just work-induced stress on top of being single mom again this week and not sleeping well. But, whatever it is, something's got to give soon. I can't keep going like this for much longer. SO looking forward to the weekend. Not sure the race is going to go well, but I will at least have some down time and hopefully time to rest.

In the middle of all of this chaos, I had four different coworkers commenting on how strong I am, how amazing I am, how much weight I've lost, how inspired they are by me... and I just wanted to laugh at them and let them know they are only seeing the high notes. One of the coworkers commented on how invincible I was - and my first thought was, "don't you mean invisible?" I guess it's all a matter of perspective.

That was AWESOME

Panther Creek State Park is about an hour to an hour and 15 minutes north and east of our home in Knoxville. I set out really early and made it there with plenty of time before the start to walk over and get my packet, walk back and leave stuff in the car, walk/run back and do some warmups, walk BACK to the parking lot with my coach and his wife, and then walk BACK over to the start area with coach's wife while coach warmed up. It was BEAUTIFUL out. I was loving the lower temps and misty-fog morning. 

We did a group start for the race - with both the half-marathoners and 4 milers starting together. I knew that meant there would be some jostling for trail position. When the mini cannon went off (very loudly), I set out at a faster-than-normal pace. I just wanted to get on the trail and not have to fight to pass anyone. 

I kept up with some lead runners for a good 1/2 mile. That shocked me beyond belief. Around 3/4 of a mile, a handful of runners passed me. When we got to the turnoff for the half-marathon, all but one person near me turned to go the longer route. I stayed with the lone 4 miler as we ran around the edge of the meadow. I paused at the water stop to get a drink, letting her move on ahead. I turned to get a feel for where the rest of the crowd was. There were about 6 or 7 runners in sight coming around the field. I set off up the hill at a much slower pace. A couple of the runners caught up to me. We hit the top of the hill and I began pushing again. I passed the ones who had passed me. Then it evened out and we found ourselves running together in a pack. We began having pleasant snippets of conversation as we ran. All were super-nice folks and it was nice to have a little distraction. We kept together most of the way through mile 3. As we started up the bigger incline we got further apart but still within sight. As we came out onto the road we all took off for the finish line. When I saw the clock I wanted to cry. I had hit significantly faster than I thought I'd be able to, and was really happy with the results. 

The guys in my pack I finished with all placed together - 

I found coach's wife and we hung out waiting for the awards. I finally walked over to check the screen and was both laughing and groaning immediately. Had I been in ANY other age group but my own, I would have either won or placed. But, I finished 4th in my group. I was okay with that. It was a great race, and I am proud of my finish time. I knew I had held back on some of the uphills and tried to be more cautious than usual. But, I'd still managed to come close to a pace I was running on roads just a few weeks ago, and much faster than I'd trained at Haw Ridge. I know now that I am going to be fine with the 10K trail race in December, and that's all I need for now. 

I had to laugh at my photos though. 

I'm in this photo. Really. I am. See the braid and purple fabric behind the lady in coral? Yep. That's me. 

Oh, and here I am again - the blur behind the feature. 

Which makes it even funnier when my coach gets this epic, beautiful picture with gorgeous tree canopy background - 

They even got another angle for him. I guess when you finish almost 2 miles ahead of the 2nd place person, and there's no one else around, they have time to take some great shots. This one has to be titled "follow the red" (sorry - yes - I had to) - 

Later, the photographer did email me this photo. I love it. I may still be in the background, but it's a nice trail photo. Plus, note how I had caught up to them before the "invisible" and "blur" photos. Just saying. 

I really did love this event and would certainly go back and run it again. It was such a beautiful race. I'd definitely recommend this one for anyone who is looking for a first time trail race. It was a great mix of terrain, required some focus but wasn't overly technical, and while hilly, it was a solid (somewhat challenging but mostly easy) trail race, with a great group of friendly & supportive runners and race staff.

Race Free Week

Last Sunday, I managed to do some laps in the pool to help recover from the 3K/8K. I felt okay, just tired. On Monday, I attempted to run. Attempted being the key word. It felt sluggish and slow. I just really wasn't feeling it and had to use a lot of walk intervals. It's funny that my sluggishly slow and turtle-feeling runs are still faster than my all-out effort runs a few weeks ago. I managed to do an OCR workout Monday, so it wasn't a total loss of a workout day.

On Tuesday, I went to run class. I was feeling a little tense about it, knowing my Tuesday run class times were coming to an end soon because of work. It felt like a disaster. I was supposed to do 400 meter cutdowns. I started the warm up lap fine. I felt bad, but not like running was impossible. Then I went for the first 400 meter interval. Around 250-300 meters later, I bailed. I just knew I could not make it to the 400 meter mark. I couldn't breathe. My legs felt like they were made of lead, and I was tired. We decided to do a 200 meter repeat workout instead of the 400 meters, and I started again. The 200s went well, but I was still frustrated. I felt like I'd never be able to complete a 400 meter repeat workout. Every single time, something goes wrong.

After run class, I headed to the pool. I had two lessons to teach and managed to squeeze in a very easy 500 yard swim to get my muscles to loosen up a bit.

Following swim, I had a doctor appointment. As most of you know, that was causing more than a little anxiety. Don informed me this morning he was taking the kids to Pigeon Forge to see their Michigan cousins who were in town to play ball, so I was on my own (as usual when facing scary medical stuff). My friend and teammate wasn’t having that, so she arranged child care for her kids and texted me to say she was going with me. She showed up as I was leaving work and drove me to the appointment, sat with me through the entire thing, and kept me distracted, relaxed, laughing, and as worry-free as possible. These are the moments that remind me how blessed I am with this amazing (albeit crazy 😜 ) run group family. I couldn’t ask for a better pack.

The medical scare appears to be just another crazy acute reaction to the neurotoxin crud, but we will know more in a couple of weeks. With that comes both relief and frustration - but focusing on the relief and pushing forward. The doctor and nurse practitioner both seemed fairly confident that it’s nothing to worry about, so I am going to hold onto that and figure out how to get a better handle on the nerve pain that’s been pretty tough to deal with the past couple of weeks. Hopefully it will settle down soon.

On Wednesday evening, the group run moved over to Haw Ridge to tackle a trail run together. I appreciated my coach so quickly making this possible when I asked about training on a trail before my race. However, this run was tough. 

Following the group trail run, I was still on edge and needed to run more. One of my teammates asked if I wanted her to join me for another mile or mile and a half. We set off on the asphalt trail as our coach headed back into the woods to do the trail run a second time.

Believe it or not, on Thursday, I had a complete rest day. No run, no swim, no OCR, no strength - nothing. Just a day off.

Friday I was back for another attempt at 400 meter repeats in run class. I did 4 very consistent 400s but then bailed to do just 200 on #5. I did a 6th run but kept it at 200. It was better than I had been doing, so I'll take it. I'm still waiting on the day I can actually complete all 6 400 meter repeats in 1 workout. 

Early Saturday morning, four of us met at the gate to Cades Cove and set out on a quick 5-6 mile loop run. It was beautiful. We saw a bear, a bunch of deer & turkeys, and had some great conversations as we ran. It wasn't very sunny and the temps were more comfortable than they have been most of the summer. 

Sunday, I squeezed in a 1000 meter swim between teaching swim lessons, and then called it a day. I was feeling pretty sore. 

My race insanity starts next Saturday with my first trail race in over 5 years. I'm really looking forward to it, but hesitant about it being on the trail. I'm not sure how my body is going to react to it. Wednesday evening was rough. I just hope I can make it all 4.2 miles. 

Crazy 8s definitely lived up to the Crazy thing

The drive to Kingsport was long, but uneventful. My teammate and I chatted the entire way, stopping in Baileyton for a quick dinner. We arrived in plenty of time before the race, checked in, walked around, did some warm-ups, and still had time to just hang out. We met up with some of the college runners our coach works with, and then with another teammate.

I lined up for the 3K with little stress or concern. I had a goal in mind - 22 minutes or less - thinking it's a 2 mile race, so I just need to hit around 11 each mile. It shouldn't be a problem. While I was running, I still was thinking 22 was a good goal. I felt strong, but I could also tell I wasn't 100%. I was already thinking about the 8K, and knew it was not going to go well. The air was SO heavy and there was a ton of lightning in the distance. It was difficult to breathe and it was late. I was tired.

As I rounded the turn up to the stadium, I heard one of the college runners call out to me and it helped push me up the hill and into the final turn. I finished in 19:30, with a 10:21 pace!! I was thrilled. But, I was also hurting and not feeling great. I knew I had to make a decision about the 8K very soon. I spoke to my teammate and said I was thinking I'd just walk the 8K. She decided she'd walk it with me, if that was really what I wanted to do. As happy as my coach was with the 3K, he was fully supportive of the decision to walk the 8K. He knew I had only planned to do the 8K for mileage and that I'd been more focused on the 3K, and I knew he wanted me to still be able to run my other upcoming races and not kill myself trying to hit both of these races in one night.

My teammate and I lined up with the runners and started the 8K at a good pace. We gradually began to slow and move out of the way, and finally hit a walk. We walked and talked, met some other walkers, and just tried to enjoy the evening. By mile 2, we both felt awful. When we reached the turn up to the stadium, we bailed. I texted my coach immediately and got nothing but support for the decision. We sat for a few minutes watching the runners go by, and cheered for our teammate as he ran towards the finish line. We eventually got up and continued the race route, because there was no other way to get where we needed to go. We walked to the finish and I felt horrible about crossing the line without having run the full race. We grabbed some water and headed to the car. We dropped off our teammate at his car and headed towards Knoxville. I was exhausted and it was starting to storm off and on. We drove through some scary storms and finally made it home just after midnight.

I know most people who know me well would think I would be disappointed and upset about the 8K. But, it really didn't bother me. It bothered me more that I had a finish time when I didn't run the race than it did to know I had my first ever Did Not Finish (DNF). I had accomplished and exceeded my goal for the 3K, and I was happy to hold onto that and forget about the disaster of an 8K.

Would I do the Crazy 8s race again? Probably not. It was a LONG drive for the runs, and wasn't the greatest race ever. I'm glad I went, glad I ran, but also glad I played it safe and made the decisions I made. I just don't think it's on my list of races I want to try again anytime soon.

Have You Arrived?

This was a tough week. Workouts were tough. Runs were tough. Emotions were tough. Conversations were tough. A lot happened in a short amount of time. At the end of the week though, the moment that stands out the most was a high note.

Monday we took a family trip to Dollywood. It was hot, we didn't stay really long, and it was fun, but there was a lot of stress involved. I got home, barely had time to change clothes, and ran back out the door to go to volleyball. We had to recruit some players since we had so many out of town. I posted a plea for players in the Back of the Pack Elite Facebook group - and immediately had two people willing to come and play. That's one way of getting to know people in the group. We played well together, had a lot of fun, and won our first two games. The third game stayed close, but we eventually lost it. It was a good evening though, and a much needed break.

Tuesday morning I did cutdown 400 meter runs. My first one was slow - 2:11. It was just a "let's see what a normal, slow 400 meters would look like and get an idea of where to go from here." Well, I only went faster from there. 2:02, 1:54, 1:52. That's great for me. The problem was, I was still telling myself I couldn't do it. Even though I could, and I was. After the 1:54, I got a little upset, and didn't think I could repeat it, so I was ready to stop. Before our run class, I had spoken to one of the other trainers, who is a life coach and does a lot with the mental aspect of training/sports. He immediately hit the nail on the head - that I was performance-based, worried about not living up to perceived expectations, and afraid to fail. I went over a few things we discussed with my coach and went back to the starting line. I ran the 1:52 and walked back to my coach. We discussed it and then the decision was made that I would be allowed to run the fifth one, but if I was any faster than 1:55, I was done. No sixth run. I agreed and went to run the 5th one. It felt awful. I felt like I was going super-slow and my form was totally off. But, I finished in 1:54. I walked back, told my coach, and he said, "OK- we're done for the day." It didn't dawn on me until a couple of hours later that I totally could have lied and said it was a 1:56 or even 1:55, and he wouldn't have known until much later when the data was uploaded, but that had not even been a fleeting thought at the time. I knew I could never lie to my coach and that wasn't an option. When I had the thought later, though, I had to laugh.

After the 400 m repeats, I taught some swim lessons. At the end of the last lesson, the mom began asking me a lot of questions about my service at Ground Zero. It was different for me. I hadn't been able to have a conversation like that in a long time, and it really didn't bother me or upset me. I left in a rush afterwards though, to go meet a coworker for lunch. We had planned the lunch date after I let her know about the doctor's phone call and upcoming visit with the cancer specialist. It was a good lunch, great conversation, and wonderful diversion.

Wednesday morning I went to the OCR workout. I've been looking forward to these and couldn't wait, but the early hour was not doing me any favors. I loved the workout - it was so tough. I knew I would feel that one later, but thankfully, we were taking another family trip - this time to Splash Country - so I knew I'd have a nice recovery day. It started off wonderfully, but it didn't take long for the heat and huge crowds at the park to take a toll. Between Don's irritability and my being on edge, it wasn't the best day. During one of the calm moments early in the day, I told him about the upcoming appointment and what my doctor had said when she called with lab work results. The day definitely went downhill from there. When we got home I immediately changed and rushed back out the door for run group. I wasn't planning to run, knowing that Tuesday's run workout and this morning's OCR workout were both a little more intense than normal and my body needed a lighter evening. I walked and talked with a teammate, getting out some of the pent-up thoughts and emotions, and listening as she did the same. Afterwards we did some strength work, and I definitely felt the morning OCR class coming back.

Wednesday evening when I got home, I had a phone call from the wife of one of my DRT members. Our teammate had passed and she told me she'd forward the arrangements to me shortly, so that I could pass them along. I immediately began notifying the rest of my team. I felt like I was back in "robot mode" - just doing my job without thinking about it or letting the emotions creep in. One of the teammates I called asked if I had heard about another responder we knew from another out-of-state team. I hadn't, so they filled me in. Yet another suicide. 9/11 had taken another life. I was frustrated and felt the emotions bubbling up, but continued doing my job. Right before making the last call, I had checked a group page on Facebook to see if they'd announced either death yet. I suddenly felt like I had been punched in the gut. There, on their page, was the face of a friend, with a 9/11 death notification attached. All of the emotions from the entire week spilled over. I just sat on my bed, sobbing. I never knew he was sick. Never had a chance to thank him for always being a rock during the recovery - offering hugs and smiles in the midst of tragedy, being a calming voice, constantly reassuring others - he was just one of those really incredible people who make this world a better place - and now he's gone. I couldn't take it. I made my last call and barely made it through the speech before hanging up and continuing to just sit and cry. I haven't grieved this much over a 9/11 loss in a while. I guess over time I just grew cold to the emotions of it and just accepted "yet another loss" and moved on. But this one... this one hurt. A lot.

Thursday morning, I was still hurting and still too emotional to interact with anyone. I went on my run. 3.5 miles later I was happy that I was able to use running as therapy again. I don't know that I could have worked through the emotions as well if I was still sidelined from running. The run felt good. I even finished with negative splits and a really good pace for me for a long(er) run. I'm still not up to the 5 or 7 miles I'll need for my race Saturday, but I think I'll be okay. I did a post-run workout of 30 dead bugs (15 each side), 15 pushups, 30 second plank, 20 bicep curls, 20 lateral raises, 20 triceps kickbacks, 20 squats, and 20 calf raises.

Right after the run posted, my coach commented. I still wasn't ready to talk to anyone or interact with people in general. Don was getting ready to leave for a funeral for a childhood friend of his and I was trying to get the kids together for their swim meet that evening. The last thing I wanted to do was go to the meet, and I knew I needed alone time before having to face it. I knew my coach would understand. When he text me later though, I also knew I needed to at least check in and let him know I was okay so he didn't worry. I focused on the run during the responses and tried to keep the emotions out of it. I didn't want my overload to spill over into this conversation. I knew he wouldn't care and would listen, but I wasn't ready to discuss it.

The swim meet was torture. I can't even talk about it yet. Too much noise. Too much chaos. We left about halfway through the meet and still weren't home until 10 PM.

Friday morning I headed to the gym for run class and teaching swim lessons. Run class ended up being 2 of us. I did the warmup lap and got ready for the 200s. I ran the first 200m in 58 seconds. Well, it was supposed to be easy. Easy was accomplished. I started the second one. It was supposed to be medium. I hit 52 seconds. Okay, fine. I went to do the third one. Something just clicked. I ran. Form felt good. I felt a couple of hesitation steps, but overall felt like it was good. My lungs were good. I finished. Checked watch. 44 seconds. What in the world?! Where did that come from? I turned and looked back towards my coach who looked as shocked and excited as I felt. He shouted "Have you arrived?!" He had clocked it at 42 seconds. We discussed my form - he had seen those hesitation steps too - but saw them as my right leg turning out a bit. We talked about it and then he said it was the best he had ever seen me run and he had absolutely no complaints about that run. I can't remember being that happy about a run for a while, but it also triggered a memory of Coach Pat at the City Meet back in the late 90s. I had been okay throughout the season on IM, but never great. At the City Meet, things just clicked and I finished with a second place. When I climbed out of the pool, his hands were in the same exact gesture as Sean had just done - and Pat said, "Where the heck did that come from? Where was that all season?!" It has always been a great memory, and when it came rushing back, I had to smile. I really have been blessed with some great coaches in my life. One of the biggest things I realized was that if I could bottle up exactly what I wanted in a coach, this morning's run class with Sean was that exact kind of coaching. Things aren't always perfect, but they are really, really great. The biggest realization of all was that if I had totally flubbed that last 200m and not hit that 42/44 second run, he would still have been right there smiling and coaching and helping me fix it for next time, and it would not have been a failure on my part or a disappointment to him. It's really hard for me sometimes to remember that we really are in this together every day, not just on the good days. Again, very thankful for his patience and consistency.

I headed to swim lessons, got through my work day, and then met with the other trainer/life coach for a walk and talk. Let me just say he asked some really hard questions. Things I did not want to answer. But he did so in a way that felt safe and where I knew he was just trying to help me get to the bottom of some things and deal with them so I could keep moving forward. There are a lot of things that keep piling up in my life and threatening to suffocate me. There is also a lot of fear. Having someone who gets that and who has been there and experienced similar things, and who can say, "Hey - try this" is a huge help. There was no judgement. No shame. No guilt. Just - I hear you, I get it, and I think this is something that might help. Hopefully this will help me get my mind back into the training and races a little better and get me back on track. It's been a rough couple of weeks of second-guessing, fear and hesitation. I'm ready for that to be behind me for sure.

So here we are at Saturday morning. I have two races this evening back to back. Yesterday my coach dropped the bombshell that he would not be there. I am actually okay with that, now that we've talked and I have a plan in place for the evening. I am going to run the 3K as a race - against myself and my own best times. I am then going to run the 8K as a fun run, without wearing my watch and without worrying about time. I just need to get the mileage in. This evening is counting as my long run for the week, and is really just a stepping stone to get me ready for next month. I have a 5K and 2 10Ks in August, and that training steps up this week. This race is basically my kickoff for August racing. All my coach wants is me to show up and run. The other trainer and my coach both want me to have fun and enjoy it. Although I have a goal for the 3K and it will be a little more performance-based, overall, tonight is to be more about me having a good run and far less about performance. Numbers are not important tonight, no matter how my brain is wired to think differently about that. The only thing I'm not looking forward to about tonight is the 2 hour drive each way to get there. Thankfully I have a teammate riding with me to help make the time pass quicker.

Have I arrived? Maybe. Or, maybe it was just a random day where things just clicked. Or, maybe I'm just getting a taste of what's yet to come. Regardless, I'm just happy to have some amazing people with me on the journey, no matter where we are along the way.

Not the Answers we were Hoping For

I don't even know where to start this blog entry. My mind is going a thousand different directions and I'm still not sure how to put into words what I'm thinking or feeling. 

My doctor called as soon as her office opened on Friday morning. I knew when the phone rang it was going to be her. I knew she was going to tell me my labs were wonky. I was not wrong, though I really wished I was.

To her credit, she started the conversation asking about my leg and the race Wednesday evening. I knew that was not why she was calling, but I did appreciate her showing she cared about what she knew was important to me. 

Yes. My labs were all over the place again. A couple of things are easy fixes. Where some levels were really low before and we added vitamins/supplements - some of those were off the charts sky-high now and supplements need to be stopped immediately. Okay. Great. One of them is my B12. Apparently it's so high that it is likely the cause of the intense nerve pain - as it will bind to the nerves and cause a lot of issues. It should take less than a week for it to regulate, and hopefully ease some of the intense pain soon. That's a relief. I can keep running, even though the next few days may still be a bit painful. 

She took a deep breath and my heart jumped. I know I ended up holding my breath. She said the other bigger concern is that my serum ferritin is high. Where we thought I was anemic and my iron was low - I'm actually not. My iron level was fine. The problem is it's being mismanaged by my body, and stored and dispersed improperly. If this causes the iron to go into the brain, it can cause some symptoms like irritability, mood swings, headaches/migraines, unexplained fatigue, leg pain, unexplained weakness, and ringing in the ears.... everything I was experiencing just before, during, and after Tahoe. When I asked her what would cause this spike in the ferritin level, she hesitated before answering. 

I knew instantly what was coming. I'd been expecting this for weeks, though I'd never said anything to anyone about it. When my brother, my mom, my husband's sister, and my friend were all diagnosed with blood cancers... the symptoms were very similar. It's always in the back of my mind when I experience the leg pain and the fatigue beyond comprehension. 

When she finally spoke, she told me she did not want to jump to any conclusions or give me any type of diagnosis. She mentioned hemochromitosis, a hereditary condition that can cause ferritin levels to spike, and then she mentioned that it could also be nothing, just another random immune response to the neurotoxin causing crazy things to happen in my body. However, to get a better idea about what was going on and what was causing it, she wanted to send me to a blood specialist who would be able to diagnose it better. With my history of family members with blood cancers, my own medical history including the exposures at Ground Zero, my symptoms, and my labs, she thought it was a good idea to go be seen by the specialist right away. What reminded me of how great a person she is, and not just a great doctor, is that she said, "Kristi, I'm so sorry. I know you've had a rough year with doctor appointments and tests, and I know you wanted and needed a break, and I'd be totally okay with you putting this off and waiting a few months, but if it were me, I'd go ahead and talk to the specialist now, and even if it's just a conversation to get more information for now, I wouldn't put it off." I quickly and calmly agreed to go immediately, and she said they'd get it scheduled and I'd get a call from the specialist's office. I was so calm through the whole conversation and even asked a few questions, that she got worried about me. I'm sure she was expecting a meltdown. But it never came. She made sure I was good to go and then we hung up. 

I was running late for my run class because of the call, so I quickly threw together my swim lessons work bag, my workout bag, and my change of clothes for afterwards. I grabbed my water and headed out the door. On the drive to the gym, I went over the conversation again, and knew I had to tell my coach. I didn't want to tell anyone else, but I knew he needed to know. I also needed him to know - because no one else on the planet could help me keep it together after that was thrown at me. I was SO glad it was a Friday and run class day. I was so glad that the first person I'd be interacting with after that phone call was my coach. I was not looking forward to interacting with my teammates, though, which is really unusual. I just didn't want to talk about it and didn't want them to know yet. 

I went through the normal motions of arrival at the gym - threw stuff in my locker, got what I needed to run, headed upstairs... but my mind was far from there. I didn't want anyone to know anything was going on, so I quickly put the "I'm fine" mask in place and walked across the fitness floor to the trainer workstation. Of course there were several people standing there. It couldn't have been a quiet morning with just 1 or 2 staff members hanging around. I said hi to everyone and I could tell that my coach immediately zeroed in on "something's off," despite my best attempts to avoid eye contact. Sometimes he knows me TOO well. I quietly explained I'd just gotten off the phone with my doctor and I literally felt his heart skip a beat at the words. To his credit, he didn't call any attention to our hushed conversation. I told him we at least had confirmation that it's all been nerve stuff and explained the B12 thing. I let him know the other parts as I kept a smile on my face so no one else realized anything was up. By all outward appearances to everyone but my coach, everything was just fine. But, inside, there was an F-5 tornado ripping my heart apart. 

The funniest thing after that was that I was the only one who came to run class. So it was just my coach and me. He wasn't prepared to run, he didn't really want me running unless it was an easy couple of loops, and we went back and forth about what to do. Finally I said, "how about just a walk and talk?" He jumped at that and we went out to the track. The timing of this was indescribably perfect. Of all days to end up with just me at the class and time to talk... it was just perfect and exactly what I needed. We were able to discuss the doctor's call in more detail and discuss impact on running and work. We were able to talk about the race Wednesday, and other run stuff, along with just  life stuff. It was a much-needed breath of air for me. I was still amazingly calm at this point. I went from the walk to my swim lessons, calm as could be, and made it back to the car without any trouble.

As soon as I sat in my car, my phone rang. I answered and heard, "This is the Tennessee Cancer Specialists" telling me my doctor had asked to set up an appoitment for me as soon as possible. They had me scheduled for July 16th and would be sending me a new patient packet and more information. They asked me if I had any questions. I couldn't think. My mind was still stuck on the first 6 words they'd said. I was trapped in that 10 seconds of the conversation and could not find my way out. I don't remember what I answered (or how), and don't remember hanging up. I do remember messaging my coach to tell him these thoughts. Somehow I drove home and made it in one piece. 

When I got home, I was determined not to say anything to anyone until after the 16th when we knew more and had a better idead of what was going on. After all, my coach knew, and for now, that was all I needed. I know for sure I can't tell Don - it would send him over the edge with his PTSD and depression. And there's certainly no way I'm telling my kids. They've been through enough already and there's no sense upsetting them now, when it could turn out to be nothing at all. The other reason not to tell Don - is he would immediately say something in front of the kids. I couldn't handle telling any friends because 1 - I didn't want anyone to get upset, worried, or stressed, and 2 - I could not handle any of the social norm sympathy responses of "I'm so sorry - what can I do?" It's just not something I deal with very well, and I was definitely NOT in the mood. But, over the past couple of days I've talked to a very small handful of people about it - the friend who has gone through it before, the teammate who went through something similar, another teammate who has been an absolute rock and by my side through both of our medical ups and downs in the past couple of years, my academy principal so he didn't get blindsided later if this turns into the worst case scenario, two co-teachers who I knew would not respond emotionally but are my go-to people at work, and a hometown high school friend who always knows just what to say and when to say it. I've put certain people into certain places in the support network intentionally, based on what I know I need and how each fits into that system. Some can provide answers because they have been there, some have to know for logistical purposes, and some are just the personality I need to face it matter-of-factly, without emotion or sympathy, and who can get me through the appointment on the 16th without falling apart. Please don't be offended if you weren't one of those people. You may be one who gets the first call or message after the appointment on the 16th or in the future with something else. Please understand I still can't talk about it and really don't want to. I'm begging all of you to avoid commenting on this until after the 16th. I just wanted to fill you in and update you all since I had posted about having the lab work done and not provided a follow-up. I cannot handle texts, messages, calls, or comments right now about it. It is what it is and we'll find out soon enough if it's more. Until then, just know it's there and going on, and be patient with me if I appear to be distant or aloof. It's not you. I just need some space. From everyone. 

For now, I'm continuing to run and working out like crazy to stay distracted. I managed to go 4.3 this morning. Only the last 0.3 of it actually stunk. The rest felt good. I could feel the areas where the nerve pain had been, but it was more of a leg tightness and dull ache than anything else. I was able to hold a decent pace for the whole run, even with some hills. When I started getting tired and feeling pain after 4 miles, I decided to call it and walk the rest of the way home. The walk hurt worse than the run, but once I got home and ate/drank something, I felt better. 

Tomorrow we are taking a family day and going to Dollywood. When we get home I have a volleyball game. Tuesday I'll have run class and swim lessons to keep me busy. Wednesday we're going back to Splash Country, plus I'm doing OCR that morning and have run group that evening. Thursday we have a swim meet. Friday I have a non-run-class run class (day before race means no intense workout), followed by swim lessons. Saturday we have a race in Kingsport that several teammates are going to. I'll have a busy week ahead to keep me distracted. It helps. I'm not sure if I will be updating again this week with all of the craziness of activity, but I will be back to share at the latest after the race on Saturday. 

Thank you all for your continued support and encouragement. It's been awesome. Again, please refrain from commenting on this post or sending messages regarding it. At least for now. Please. Thanks for understanding.