Six months ago today I was released to begin running and working out again. I just went back to those first few journal entries since then and read them again. It's amazing how far I've come since December 28th.
There are a few things that have remained constant during these 6 months.
The first, obviously, is the determination. There were bad days in the beginning, and there are still bad days now. There were good days in the beginning, and there are still good days now. No matter what kind of day it is right now, they are all better than what they were prior to December 28th. On the tough days, I still find myself pushing through with more determination than ever. On the good days, I find myself fighting to push forward faster. Which brings me to another constant during these 6 months... my coach.
When I was little, one of my coach's used to say "she's a coach's dream" all the time when describing me to other coaches. I'm 99.9% certain that my current coach would not agree with that statement. Let me explain. My coach is, by far, the absolute best, and I could not ask for a better coach for me - in terms of running & coaching knowledge, personality, patience, or flexibility. He gets me. That, in and of itself, is huge. He has the patience of a saint. I have rarely seen him without a huge smile on his face, and have never seen him get frustrated, despite the number of times that I have pushed back or challenged something. However, something I have found in these 6 months that I did not have as a child athlete, is my voice. I was always a compliant athlete, and never a complainer. A workout was posted - I did it - no questions asked. An order was given - I followed it - no questions asked. That's why I always got the coach's award or a thousand compliments about my coachability. I just did what I was told and never gave even the slightest attitude about it. Well... I have learned to ask questions. I have also learned to ask for more and push boundaries. I know that sounds horrible - but in this case, it's actually been a good thing. Thankfully, my coach understands me enough to know that when I'm pushing back and asking why, it's not because I don't trust him to know what's best or respect him as a coach, it's because I truly want to know why and how. Why aren't you letting me go faster on this when I know I can? How is this supposed to help me? I'm not questioning his authority at all, simply trying to figure out what on earth he's doing half the time. I've become impatient at times - wanting to do more sooner than I really should. Most of the time, once I've asked the why and how (and probably whined a little bit), I end up following his directive - because he knows his stuff and I truly believe he has my success and my health at the forefront of every training decision he's ever made. That is an absolute gift to be able to say that. I have never trusted someone so much. He could sign me up for a full marathon, and after balking and asking him if he has truly lost his mind, I'd go do it - because I'd know if he'd decided I was ready and prepared to do it - I was. In 6 months time we went from "I can't even run an entire mile" to "I just ran a half-marathon with either a PR or 2nd best time on every single distance but the mile." That doesn't just happen. Yes, I worked my butt off. I put in the miles. I followed the plan as best as I could. But I also had this amazing coach giving me guidance and even holding me back at times. Through every awesome workout, horrible run, week off for injury, PR race and everything in between - he's been a constant. I never imagined when I started running 14 years ago that I'd have a run coach. I also never imagined accomplishing what I'm accomplishing, especially after the past 7 1/2 years of medical chaos. Now, I can't imagine going forward a single month without a run coach, especially this one. It has not been perfect. There have been some tears and frustrations - as with any relationship. However, we have a strong level of communication between us, and our personalities are complimentary enough, which together allows us to stay on the same page, even when we disagree, and keep us moving forward.
One of the other constants, since about mid-March, has been this crazy-fun, odd assortment of runners that form our run group. Somehow, we are so very different that we blend perfectly together and have a blast. I'd never wanted to be a part of a run group before, and I now I never want to lose this group. If something happens and I can't make a Wednesday night group run, it's miserable. Not only do I enjoy suffering through runs & workouts with them, I love that social interaction with people who understand why I'm pushing myself so hard through painful runs & workouts and encourage me to keep pushing. It's been an absolute blessing to become a part of this team.
With all of the constants have come many changes. My coach looked at me the other day and said, "You are a totally different person today than the one I met 6 months ago." It's true. It's too complicated to go into detail, but I'm just not the same person I was. On the other hand, my coach also entered the picture in one of the worst possible times in my life - but, as someone reminded me, that was for a reason and God's perfect timing. I'm just glad he isn't judgmental and didn't run for the hills in those first two months.
One of the most difficult changes that has happened in the past 6 months is the gradual shift away from CareRunners and experiencing changes in friendships. To everything there is a season - and we had a great 10 year stretch of CareRunners. I loved it. I really did. But, I'm happy to be moving on from it. Kara and "her team" will always be a part of me. Being in Tahoe and getting to see Jared and his parents reminded me that no matter where we live or how far we travel, no matter how much time elapses between visits, and no matter how often or how little we keep in touch, we're still family and we will always be able to pick up just where we left off. We had some great conversations in Tahoe and we made some great memories. But we also found ourselves turning a page in the book to start a new chapter - and we are all at peace with that. In October, I will run my last race as a part of the CareRunners team, and then the team itself will become a memory. All of us have moved on to local run groups/clubs or have moved on from running altogether. It's time to let it go. But change is hard.
I've been procrastinating and debating whether to share this part or not. It's not something I've talked about with anyone, and it's both really deep and extremely heart-wrenching. But it's something that has been weighing on me and tugging at me for a couple of weeks.
18.
18 is the number of responders I knew personally who have taken their own lives since September 11, 2001. Three were in the past month alone. At least four of these never made the news. Just an obituary to say they died, but no mention of how.
18 people who gave their all at Ground Zero and spent countless hours serving this country in a time when most people wanted to run away, turn off the news so they didn't have to keep seeing the horrible images, and ignore what was going on in lower Manhattan. 18 people who had families who loved them. Moms, Dads, brothers, sisters, sons and daughters were all left behind to grieve and wonder what they could have done to stop it and how they could have missed it. 18 people who had teammates and friends who had to bury yet another coworker. 18 people added to the list of names of those who died because of 9/11. Yes, even though they did not die from the cancers or the other debilitating diseases affecting all of us, 9/11 is what took them from us.
You see, we have all of these 9/11 health programs in place. But they are failing us. We have a Victim's Compensation Fund in place. But it is failing us. We have a few support groups around. But they are failing us. Only certain cancers and disorders are covered by the WTC Health Programs. The rest of us who have things that aren't covered are having to pay out-of-pocket for those medical expenses, which pile up quickly. One of my teammates currently owes $836,000 in medical bills, because "that's not one of the cancers we cover yet at WTC Health" and her personal insurance views it as a pre-existing condition. When you are a mom with three kids, are too sick to work a full time job, and your husband is overseas serving in the military, and you are told you are going to lose your house and car because you can't pay medical bills from a condition you got after serving your country as a first responder at Ground Zero - it's a pretty desperate feeling. When you are told to apply for the VCF because you are eligible and could get financial help from it to pay off those medical bills, and then you apply and several months later get a letter that says they are sorry, but you didn't file the paperwork in a timely enough fashion, so your claim is denied - it's beyond frustrating. When you are told your PTSD is so severe you should be hospitalized, but you'll have to use your own insurance and won't get a leave of absence from work, so you'll miss your paycheck too - you refuse the hospitalization and try to push through self-medicating and just dealing with the symptoms. Each of the 18 people who took their own life had a similar story.
Suicide is never a solution I could entertain. I had a close friend I loved dearly take his own life my freshman year of high school. I saw the turmoil and pain in caused in the lives of those left behind to grieve. I could never inflict that kind of suffering on another human, especially not my own children. It's not something I could or would ever consider. However, I completely get why those 18 took that route. Just over a week ago, I started having some of the same symptoms and seeing some of the same signs - and knew there was a possibility I was getting sick again. I went into a complete state of denial. I refused to believe it. Refused to accept it. Absolutely refused to tell anyone or say anything. My coach picked up on a couple of things, and my doctor knew enough about those to put it on her radar - but I've downplayed it as much as I can. Why? I simply could not bear the thought of going through another 7 years of hell. The treatments, the doctor visits, the constant lab work, the constant monitoring and tests, the pain, the misery - I just cannot face that again. It's in that exact moment of realization that I understood why those 18 did what they did. Again, it's not a choice I could or would ever make, but I do get why they made that choice. I know I don't really have a choice. I'd have to face it and deal with it, and find a way to get through it and just hope and pray it wasn't as bad this time. I'd have to. Somehow. If not for myself, then for the four little faces that look up at me and call me Mom. Thankfully, now, I realize I have more of a support network surrounding me than I've ever had, and I wouldn't have to face this round of things on my own. Accepting that and utilizing that may be a bit hard - just because I'm not used to it. But, I would get through whatever hit me. It's just what I do. But what about the others? What about my fellow responders who don't have that support network and don't think they have reasons to keep fighting?
Our 9/11 responders need help. Physically with medical issues that are not getting treated. Mentally with the PTSD that is not getting treated effectively. Financially with the VCF funds that are not getting renewed by Congress and are not being awarded to those who justly deserve them. Our 9/11 responders are dying at a very rapid rate - many by the cancers and diseases wreaking havoc on our bodies, and others by their own hand because they cannot face another day of dealing with it - because they are given not even a glimmer of hope that things will get better, and because they feel alone, forgotten and uncared for. How many more have to die before someone realizes the system is failing us? How many more have to lose everything before someone notices them? With every death notification that I receive from our 9/11 family - sometimes 4-5 a week - I'm left wondering what more I can possibly do to stop this. When I heard of the latest suicide I just sat and cried. How can we stop this before one more responder takes their own life? It's completely and totally overwhelming and devastating. It has knocked my feet out from under me and ripped my heart to shreds. But, what can I do besides sit and wait for the next notification?
The only thing I can do right now is keep fighting my own fight, keep running as long as I can, and keep blogging about it, hoping that it inspires someone else to keep fighting and keep pushing forward too. I can keep posting and sharing about the responders and hoping that the right person sees it and is spurred into action. I can keep sharing about people like John Feal and his team who are fighting for all of us in DC. And, on a more personal level, I can keep letting my team know that I'm here and they aren't alone. It feels like I'm doing nothing that has an impact most of the time, but if my words and actions can keep just one responder from giving up, I'm going to keep doing what I'm doing for as long as I can.
Friday, June 28, 2019
Sunday, June 9, 2019
Well that was a crazy run
I'm pretty convinced someone didn't want me to run today. It's so humid outside that I started sweating just walking out the door. Plus, the air is really heavy with the sweet smells of summer blooms. My throat immediately went raw and started closing up. Gotta love allergies. Those two things together made it nearly impossible to breathe through the run. As if that wasn't enough, around 20-21 minutes in, I got a sharp pain in my knee that almost sent me to the ground. I stopped the immediate "no, no, no!" and stayed calm. I walked, tried to get an idea of what was going on, worked out the kink, started to gingerly run again, and breathed a huge sigh of relief. It was fine. Probably just a crazy nerve response. But - right after I managed to avert that crisis and got back into a good groove running, I got attacked by a dog. I'm fine. Thankfully the owner's reflexes along with my own quick reflex response prevented the dog from being able to clamp down, but he did hit me going full throttle with open jaws. I'm sure it's going to leave a lovely bruise. The owners were so apologetic. They honestly didn't see me coming because they were behind a giant bush talking, and I didn't see the dog until it was mid-air. Scary - but thankfully everything ended okay. I was almost afraid to keep running at that point. Seriously. I was waiting on a tree limb to fall or car to hit me or something. It was crazy. But I did finish 4 miles and did them in pretty decent time. I didn't go the 5-6 I'd hoped to - but I just didn't have it in me. I'm happy with 4 good ones, despite the craziness.
Saturday, June 8, 2019
ONE WEEK!
One week from right this moment, my feet will be at the starting line for the Rock Tahoe Half!! And... I'm READY!
I read back over some of my earlier blogs this morning. It's been quite a journey here, hasn't it? From not being able to run a single mile in early January, to already having gone 11 and knowing I can do 13 next week - it's amazing. The frustrations, obstacles, challenges and speed bumps have made me stronger and built my confidence. The highs and PRs have kept me motivated and encouraged. The not-so-great days have kept me humble. It's all come together and I have almost made it full circle back to Tahoe where it ended 19 months ago. I'm so glad that wasn't a final ending. Just an ending to that chapter. January was the beginning of a new chapter. My story isn't over. It won't be over after Rock Tahoe either. I may not ever do another half after this, but I'm not done running, and I'm not finished yet. I have more goals to work towards and things I want to accomplish. These 5 1/2 months are definitely going to be a part of the highlight reel, but they are, in the bigger picture, just a small scene.
It has not been perfect - but I could not have had a better coach during this 5 1/2 months. I can honestly say there is not another person on this entire planet that I would want to have as my coach. I know I haven't been the easiest person to work with, we've had plenty of moments where I wondered if we were on the same page, and there were plenty of days he was probably ready to bail, but the patience he has shown, and the guidance he has given have pushed me to accomplish things that I never imagined. His constant encouragement and support, both with running and life in general, have been an immeasurable part of the success of these past 5 1/2 months. Through every doctor appointment, injury, illness, frustration, doubt and meltdown, he has been a rock. He never wavered, always had a smile, always had some positive words, and always found a way to make me laugh, and somehow in the process managed to make me run faster and go further than I thought I could. There are no words to thank him enough. I hope this is just the beginning of a long coach-athlete relationship, and just the first of many successes and accomplishments we can share. I seriously cannot put into words everything I want to say and I just hope he knows how much I appreciate him and how thankful I am to be able to call him my coach.
My doctors have, for the most part, been amazing too. There were a few hiccups along the way, but they are as excited and encouraged about my success as a runner as I am. They are thrilled that I am getting better and seem to be progressing against all odds medically, and they have shown they care about me as a person, and not just a patient. I hope and pray that the trend continues and that, as much as I like them, I don't have to see any of them until lab work in November.
My FS teammates have been an incredible part of this journey. From Wednesday night group run, to Tuesday/Friday morning workouts, to muddy runs in the rain, to random texts and messages on Facebook, to high-fives at races, to spur-of-the-moment outings - it's been so much FUN. I have never enjoyed running as much as I do with this group of people. We laugh together, run together, sweat together, do hard stuff together, and push each other every week. I'm so glad my coach dragged me to the group run a couple of months ago. I can't imagine this journey without this crazy mix of teammates.
My other teammates have been such a huge part of this too. It may be our final year of CareRunners, but what a year we are making it! We've had so many medical scares and hospitalizations and injuries - but we've all pushed through it all together. The phone calls and emails checking in at the perfect time, the shared tears and frustrations, the huge hugs and encouraging smiles - Kara would have been so proud to have this group as her team. We accomplished what we set out to do. I know it's time to move on and we're all heading in different directions - but I also know these friendships will last forever, and these wonderful memories will last a lifetime.
Some of my coworkers have been so supportive of this journey. My administration staff was so flexible with my multitude of doctor appointments, and celebrated with me on that last visit when I was granted a year of freedom. One of my principals who is a runner always had a fist-bump ready to keep me excited about my accomplishments - small as they seemed at times. My "roommate" at school let me have meltdowns and then picked me back up and brushed me off and sent me back out there to conquer more. She heard more venting in 6 months than anyone ever should have to endure. She always had some great advice or words of wisdom to keep things in perspective. Even my students who knew what I was training for and why got involved. Their encouragement was even more special... and knowing they were watching made it even more important to me. It's great to have such a supportive school behind me in my quest.
There are several people who have made such a difference during these past 5 1/2 months - and many didn't even realize the impact they had. Your emails and letters, cards and texts - they've meant the world to me, and always seemed to come at just the right time. When you share the ways my journey has inspired you or encouraged you, it keeps me going. It gives purpose to the pains and frustrations. It reminds me to never stop and never give up - because - yes - I'm going to say it again - you have the greatest impact on those you never knew were watching or listening. I've had several people tell me they decided to try to run for the first time, some who have done their first ever 5K, some who have decided that they are going to go back to the gym and work out with a trainer despite the medical chaos and improbability of improvement, some who are making healthy lifestyle changes, some who are inspired to go a further distance racing than they thought they ever would - it's all so humbling and inspiring. You all keep me going. You have all brought rays of sunshine to the tough days and reminded me of why & how I began this journey. Thank you for continuing to share your stories and successes. You are amazing! Keep going!
So many of my friends and teammates are dealing with unimaginable things right now. One of my teammates in KS is having a heart catheterization this week. Another teammate here has a very painful oral surgery coming up. Another in CA has her 12th week of cancer treatment ahead. Beyond just my teammates, my circle of friends and DRT coworkers have been through a LOT this year. In the past week we have lost 10 9/11 responders - two by suicide. My heart is so heavy right now. It's been too difficult to talk about so I've kept quiet about most of it. I wish there was more I could do with my running and posts to bring light to the 9/11 medical issues that thousands are going through. Please remember 9/11 did not end in 2001. It's still happening to families across America today. The media moved on long ago. Most of the world moved on. But it is still a daily battle for those who were there. It's still taking drastic tolls. Never, ever forget.
When my feet cross the starting line in one week, it begins a celebration. Those 13.1 miles are my victory lap. I have done the impossible. I have gone almost 6 months with no medication, no surgery, no invasive treatments and no medical emergencies. I have a year off from the medical nightmare of tests and procedures. I'm beating this autoimmune neurological stuff. I'm getting better. My kidneys and liver have healed. My lab work is back to normal. I'm able to run further without pain. None of the doctors can explain it. My coach can't explain it. I can't explain it. But we're doing it. We're beating the odds. I am going to spend 13.1 miles thanking God that I'm alive and healthy enough to run 13.1 miles again. I'm going to smile, enjoy the view and the company, laugh with friends, and just be content that I got to this point in just 5 1/2 months. I'm going to let go of the pressure and expectations and just relax and enjoy the run. But, along with this party atmosphere comes the realization that so many people are not around to celebrate with me, and many more are sidelined and unable to enjoy the freedom of running right now. It has been such a hard, difficult year. Please know that I am carrying each of you who are sidelined with me on every single mile next week. I'll run for you until you can get back out there and run with me again. Stay strong. Keep fighting. I'll be carrying the memory of friends who aren't here to run anymore, and those responders who gave it their all but 9/11 took them anyway. I'll be thinking about those families and remembering to give thanks for the opportunity I have to keep running for them.
Thank you for letting me get the heavy, sappy, sentimental stuff out now. While my heart will be carrying a lot of hurts and heartaches, my mind will be filled with thoughts of teammates and friends, and I will never forget why I am running, I do want next week to be a happy, positive experience. I want those 13 miles to be filled with joy and the excitement of being free to run again. Thank you all for sticking with me through these 5 1/2 months of training, and for being a part of what has made this journey so incredibly special.
Now... let's go Rock Tahoe and get this party started!!
I read back over some of my earlier blogs this morning. It's been quite a journey here, hasn't it? From not being able to run a single mile in early January, to already having gone 11 and knowing I can do 13 next week - it's amazing. The frustrations, obstacles, challenges and speed bumps have made me stronger and built my confidence. The highs and PRs have kept me motivated and encouraged. The not-so-great days have kept me humble. It's all come together and I have almost made it full circle back to Tahoe where it ended 19 months ago. I'm so glad that wasn't a final ending. Just an ending to that chapter. January was the beginning of a new chapter. My story isn't over. It won't be over after Rock Tahoe either. I may not ever do another half after this, but I'm not done running, and I'm not finished yet. I have more goals to work towards and things I want to accomplish. These 5 1/2 months are definitely going to be a part of the highlight reel, but they are, in the bigger picture, just a small scene.
It has not been perfect - but I could not have had a better coach during this 5 1/2 months. I can honestly say there is not another person on this entire planet that I would want to have as my coach. I know I haven't been the easiest person to work with, we've had plenty of moments where I wondered if we were on the same page, and there were plenty of days he was probably ready to bail, but the patience he has shown, and the guidance he has given have pushed me to accomplish things that I never imagined. His constant encouragement and support, both with running and life in general, have been an immeasurable part of the success of these past 5 1/2 months. Through every doctor appointment, injury, illness, frustration, doubt and meltdown, he has been a rock. He never wavered, always had a smile, always had some positive words, and always found a way to make me laugh, and somehow in the process managed to make me run faster and go further than I thought I could. There are no words to thank him enough. I hope this is just the beginning of a long coach-athlete relationship, and just the first of many successes and accomplishments we can share. I seriously cannot put into words everything I want to say and I just hope he knows how much I appreciate him and how thankful I am to be able to call him my coach.
My doctors have, for the most part, been amazing too. There were a few hiccups along the way, but they are as excited and encouraged about my success as a runner as I am. They are thrilled that I am getting better and seem to be progressing against all odds medically, and they have shown they care about me as a person, and not just a patient. I hope and pray that the trend continues and that, as much as I like them, I don't have to see any of them until lab work in November.
My FS teammates have been an incredible part of this journey. From Wednesday night group run, to Tuesday/Friday morning workouts, to muddy runs in the rain, to random texts and messages on Facebook, to high-fives at races, to spur-of-the-moment outings - it's been so much FUN. I have never enjoyed running as much as I do with this group of people. We laugh together, run together, sweat together, do hard stuff together, and push each other every week. I'm so glad my coach dragged me to the group run a couple of months ago. I can't imagine this journey without this crazy mix of teammates.
My other teammates have been such a huge part of this too. It may be our final year of CareRunners, but what a year we are making it! We've had so many medical scares and hospitalizations and injuries - but we've all pushed through it all together. The phone calls and emails checking in at the perfect time, the shared tears and frustrations, the huge hugs and encouraging smiles - Kara would have been so proud to have this group as her team. We accomplished what we set out to do. I know it's time to move on and we're all heading in different directions - but I also know these friendships will last forever, and these wonderful memories will last a lifetime.
Some of my coworkers have been so supportive of this journey. My administration staff was so flexible with my multitude of doctor appointments, and celebrated with me on that last visit when I was granted a year of freedom. One of my principals who is a runner always had a fist-bump ready to keep me excited about my accomplishments - small as they seemed at times. My "roommate" at school let me have meltdowns and then picked me back up and brushed me off and sent me back out there to conquer more. She heard more venting in 6 months than anyone ever should have to endure. She always had some great advice or words of wisdom to keep things in perspective. Even my students who knew what I was training for and why got involved. Their encouragement was even more special... and knowing they were watching made it even more important to me. It's great to have such a supportive school behind me in my quest.
There are several people who have made such a difference during these past 5 1/2 months - and many didn't even realize the impact they had. Your emails and letters, cards and texts - they've meant the world to me, and always seemed to come at just the right time. When you share the ways my journey has inspired you or encouraged you, it keeps me going. It gives purpose to the pains and frustrations. It reminds me to never stop and never give up - because - yes - I'm going to say it again - you have the greatest impact on those you never knew were watching or listening. I've had several people tell me they decided to try to run for the first time, some who have done their first ever 5K, some who have decided that they are going to go back to the gym and work out with a trainer despite the medical chaos and improbability of improvement, some who are making healthy lifestyle changes, some who are inspired to go a further distance racing than they thought they ever would - it's all so humbling and inspiring. You all keep me going. You have all brought rays of sunshine to the tough days and reminded me of why & how I began this journey. Thank you for continuing to share your stories and successes. You are amazing! Keep going!
So many of my friends and teammates are dealing with unimaginable things right now. One of my teammates in KS is having a heart catheterization this week. Another teammate here has a very painful oral surgery coming up. Another in CA has her 12th week of cancer treatment ahead. Beyond just my teammates, my circle of friends and DRT coworkers have been through a LOT this year. In the past week we have lost 10 9/11 responders - two by suicide. My heart is so heavy right now. It's been too difficult to talk about so I've kept quiet about most of it. I wish there was more I could do with my running and posts to bring light to the 9/11 medical issues that thousands are going through. Please remember 9/11 did not end in 2001. It's still happening to families across America today. The media moved on long ago. Most of the world moved on. But it is still a daily battle for those who were there. It's still taking drastic tolls. Never, ever forget.
When my feet cross the starting line in one week, it begins a celebration. Those 13.1 miles are my victory lap. I have done the impossible. I have gone almost 6 months with no medication, no surgery, no invasive treatments and no medical emergencies. I have a year off from the medical nightmare of tests and procedures. I'm beating this autoimmune neurological stuff. I'm getting better. My kidneys and liver have healed. My lab work is back to normal. I'm able to run further without pain. None of the doctors can explain it. My coach can't explain it. I can't explain it. But we're doing it. We're beating the odds. I am going to spend 13.1 miles thanking God that I'm alive and healthy enough to run 13.1 miles again. I'm going to smile, enjoy the view and the company, laugh with friends, and just be content that I got to this point in just 5 1/2 months. I'm going to let go of the pressure and expectations and just relax and enjoy the run. But, along with this party atmosphere comes the realization that so many people are not around to celebrate with me, and many more are sidelined and unable to enjoy the freedom of running right now. It has been such a hard, difficult year. Please know that I am carrying each of you who are sidelined with me on every single mile next week. I'll run for you until you can get back out there and run with me again. Stay strong. Keep fighting. I'll be carrying the memory of friends who aren't here to run anymore, and those responders who gave it their all but 9/11 took them anyway. I'll be thinking about those families and remembering to give thanks for the opportunity I have to keep running for them.
Thank you for letting me get the heavy, sappy, sentimental stuff out now. While my heart will be carrying a lot of hurts and heartaches, my mind will be filled with thoughts of teammates and friends, and I will never forget why I am running, I do want next week to be a happy, positive experience. I want those 13 miles to be filled with joy and the excitement of being free to run again. Thank you all for sticking with me through these 5 1/2 months of training, and for being a part of what has made this journey so incredibly special.
Now... let's go Rock Tahoe and get this party started!!
Friday, June 7, 2019
Pushing it - just a little
Thursday was a rest day. It was not originally supposed to be, but after having a good 2.59 miles on Wednesday with the group, I was a little sore and we were playing it safe.
But on Friday morning, I joined the group for a treadmill workout. I was scared. I know on any given day, the treadmill impact hurts me worse than anything. The nerves do not like it. But, I wanted a workout and I wanted to be with the group.
I ran a couple of laps to warm up. I got on the treadmill with a lot of trepidation. We began.
I started off slow. We were doing 5x5s. 5 minutes faster, higher intensity, then 5 minutes slower, low intensity - and doing it 5 times. On the first one I went with a really slow pace. Then on the next one took it up a notch. I increased the speed each time. Even on the last one, I wasn't up to my fastest pace, so I still feel like I took it easy. I felt like I could have done more and gone faster, but that was not the goal for the day.
When I started on the track for warm-up, I felt the spot on my leg. I tried to stay calm and just feel it out. It was more of a dull ache than sharp pain. After a couple of laps it was okay and I wasn't feeling it. On the first 5 minutes of fast on the treadmill, I felt it again. I finished that 5 minutes and started the 5 minutes walking briskly. Then when I switched back over to the faster pace, I was okay. It didn't hurt anymore. Thankfully, coach waited until then to ask me if I was having any pain. I told him about the pain during the track laps and first 5 minutes, and he thought it sounded more like a muscle thing and said to keep rolling and stretching.
I wasn't in pain at the end of the workout, but I definitely felt tired. After we stretched I headed out and felt a renewed confidence that, even if it hurt, Tahoe was happening.
I iced at home and took some Aleve. It hurt a lot this evening, but I still think I'm going to be okay. I was supposed to do my long run tomorrow, but we may push that until Sunday, just to be safe. There are some new OCR classes being tested out this week at the gym, and since that is right up my fun alley, I want to be there for 1 or 2 of them. Tuesday is my last day with the run group before Tahoe. I don't want to miss that either.
I have so much to do to get ready for Tahoe. At this point, it's funny that running doesn't have to be on the priority list. If I get in some miles, great. If I don't, that's okay too,
I can't believe race day is 1 week away!
But on Friday morning, I joined the group for a treadmill workout. I was scared. I know on any given day, the treadmill impact hurts me worse than anything. The nerves do not like it. But, I wanted a workout and I wanted to be with the group.
I ran a couple of laps to warm up. I got on the treadmill with a lot of trepidation. We began.
I started off slow. We were doing 5x5s. 5 minutes faster, higher intensity, then 5 minutes slower, low intensity - and doing it 5 times. On the first one I went with a really slow pace. Then on the next one took it up a notch. I increased the speed each time. Even on the last one, I wasn't up to my fastest pace, so I still feel like I took it easy. I felt like I could have done more and gone faster, but that was not the goal for the day.
When I started on the track for warm-up, I felt the spot on my leg. I tried to stay calm and just feel it out. It was more of a dull ache than sharp pain. After a couple of laps it was okay and I wasn't feeling it. On the first 5 minutes of fast on the treadmill, I felt it again. I finished that 5 minutes and started the 5 minutes walking briskly. Then when I switched back over to the faster pace, I was okay. It didn't hurt anymore. Thankfully, coach waited until then to ask me if I was having any pain. I told him about the pain during the track laps and first 5 minutes, and he thought it sounded more like a muscle thing and said to keep rolling and stretching.
I wasn't in pain at the end of the workout, but I definitely felt tired. After we stretched I headed out and felt a renewed confidence that, even if it hurt, Tahoe was happening.
I iced at home and took some Aleve. It hurt a lot this evening, but I still think I'm going to be okay. I was supposed to do my long run tomorrow, but we may push that until Sunday, just to be safe. There are some new OCR classes being tested out this week at the gym, and since that is right up my fun alley, I want to be there for 1 or 2 of them. Tuesday is my last day with the run group before Tahoe. I don't want to miss that either.
I have so much to do to get ready for Tahoe. At this point, it's funny that running doesn't have to be on the priority list. If I get in some miles, great. If I don't, that's okay too,
I can't believe race day is 1 week away!
Wednesday, June 5, 2019
I don't get it
I don't get it. I really don't.
Today - absolutely no pain. I tried testing it out and doing everything I could besides run on it to see how it held up. No pain.
I spent the day doing lazier stuff around the house - laundry, cleaning kids' rooms, packing - nothing that required too much use of my legs.
I went to the gym early for run group. I ran a couple of laps. My legs were tight from not running in a few days. I did some stretching and warm ups. I ran a couple more laps. I felt like I was good to go for run group.
I headed out with the group to run and we laughed so much. It helped more than any of them will ever know. 31:26 and 2.59 miles later - I was good. Huge sigh of relief. Rivaled only by my coach's huge sigh of relief. Even my teammates were relieved. We stretched and rolled and I went home and iced and stretched more.
I don't know what it was. I don't know why it was okay today. I don't get it. But I'm just going to go with it. And breathe. And hope it stays okay.
Today - absolutely no pain. I tried testing it out and doing everything I could besides run on it to see how it held up. No pain.
I spent the day doing lazier stuff around the house - laundry, cleaning kids' rooms, packing - nothing that required too much use of my legs.
I went to the gym early for run group. I ran a couple of laps. My legs were tight from not running in a few days. I did some stretching and warm ups. I ran a couple more laps. I felt like I was good to go for run group.
I headed out with the group to run and we laughed so much. It helped more than any of them will ever know. 31:26 and 2.59 miles later - I was good. Huge sigh of relief. Rivaled only by my coach's huge sigh of relief. Even my teammates were relieved. We stretched and rolled and I went home and iced and stretched more.
I don't know what it was. I don't know why it was okay today. I don't get it. But I'm just going to go with it. And breathe. And hope it stays okay.
Tuesday, June 4, 2019
Just breathing
Monday morning, I was in the pool early and swam for 45 minutes. When I got out of the pool I went in and took my time showering and getting dressed. My leg hurt. But not as bad as it did Saturday night. I went upstairs to roll and stretch, and just breathe. I finished and headed down to go through the stack of swim lesson requests. I passed my coach and said I'd come back up in a bit.
Coach and I finally talked about the injury. He said the exact words I'd been refusing to acknowledge in my own head. It might be a stress fracture. I've been fighting this since it first started hurting. Please, no. Not now. Not less than two weeks from the big race I've poured everything into training for over the past 5 1/2 months. Not this race. No.
Just breathe.
Coach and I had a long overdue conversation and I left the gym feeling somewhat better, though definitely tottering dangerously close to going over the edge over the leg issue.
I had a busy day on the agenda, so headed to my hair appointment and then rushed home to change. Then rushed to the coffee shop to meet with a coworker. It was so nice to sit and just talk and relax over a cup of tea and some banana bread. Time to just breathe.
We ended up heading over to Elliott's Boots, because she was looking for some sandals for her beach trip. We walked in and I saw the exact pair of sandals I'd been looking for. Not only that, but they only had two left - and they were both my size! I grabbed one and we finished shopping and headed out.
I went home, grabbed what I needed, changed into volleyball clothes, and headed back out, with all 4 kids in tow. It's a good thing I'd had that banana bread, because there was no time to eat dinner before hitting the sand for our tournament. Thankfully, Don said he'd head over and pick up some dinner for me and have it home when I got back from the tournament.
Our first game did not go well. Slaughter rule. It was bad. On one of the first plays, I felt the spot on my shin shoot pain up my entire leg. I did not panic. I did not scream or cry. But, I knew something was wrong. I couldn't bail on my team, and we finished the horrible match.
We went to play the losers bracket game, and we had two other players show up. I told them I was hurting but could play, but if it got worse, I was out. We started off really well and played much better for game 2. After switching sides at the halfway point, my shin was still bothering me. After another lunging play, I was done and knew it. I called for a medical substitution and left the game. I stood on the sideline with ice on my leg and texted my coach. His response, "Back to the water for tomorrow and possibly the rest of the week. I know you don't want to hear that, but we have to keep that from getting worse." I just wanted to cry. I already knew before I text him I wasn't running for a few days. But it's one thing to take myself out for a few days, and a completely different thing to have him tell me no running. I knew he was right. But I was on the verge of a meltdown over Tahoe.
When I got home, I ate while icing my leg, then jumped in the shower and just cried. I got out, went to bed really late for me, and hoped for the best.
When it rains, it pours.
Wide awake at 3 AM. Could not get back to sleep. 3 1/2 hours of sleep. Great. Finally decided to go back to bed around 6 AM. Not two seconds later, my oldest comes in puking. Seriously?
White Flag.
I'm done.
Bad timing on coach's end - he sends a text "I'd take the day off." Sleep deprivation + frustration = highly emotional. I just want sleep. I just want the pain to stop. I just want to run. I just want this race to actually happen.
I went back in the shower and cried again. It was the only thing I could do.
I got dressed, got my other boy ready for swim, and the two of us headed to the gym. I needed to stretch and roll some more.
I met up with the run group and tried to hide the disappointment that I couldn't join them. I stretched with them and rolled. Then did it again with another teammate. She and I ended up talking and I couldn't stop the tears. I'm so frustrated right now.
I went down to the swim office and ended up crying again with my supervisor. She joined in the tears and then gave me a hug. I left calmer than I got there. I drove my son home and got my girls ready for swim. I didn't think I could handle going back to the gym again, so Don took the girls for practice. I went and grabbed some lunch and ran a few errands.
I'm going to spend the rest of the day babying the leg again and trying to get things packed and ready for our trip. Distractions to keep from thinking about things. I really hope to get to bed early. Two nights in a row of very little sleep is not a good thing for anyone who has to deal with me.
Coach and I finally talked about the injury. He said the exact words I'd been refusing to acknowledge in my own head. It might be a stress fracture. I've been fighting this since it first started hurting. Please, no. Not now. Not less than two weeks from the big race I've poured everything into training for over the past 5 1/2 months. Not this race. No.
Just breathe.
Coach and I had a long overdue conversation and I left the gym feeling somewhat better, though definitely tottering dangerously close to going over the edge over the leg issue.
I had a busy day on the agenda, so headed to my hair appointment and then rushed home to change. Then rushed to the coffee shop to meet with a coworker. It was so nice to sit and just talk and relax over a cup of tea and some banana bread. Time to just breathe.
We ended up heading over to Elliott's Boots, because she was looking for some sandals for her beach trip. We walked in and I saw the exact pair of sandals I'd been looking for. Not only that, but they only had two left - and they were both my size! I grabbed one and we finished shopping and headed out.
I went home, grabbed what I needed, changed into volleyball clothes, and headed back out, with all 4 kids in tow. It's a good thing I'd had that banana bread, because there was no time to eat dinner before hitting the sand for our tournament. Thankfully, Don said he'd head over and pick up some dinner for me and have it home when I got back from the tournament.
Our first game did not go well. Slaughter rule. It was bad. On one of the first plays, I felt the spot on my shin shoot pain up my entire leg. I did not panic. I did not scream or cry. But, I knew something was wrong. I couldn't bail on my team, and we finished the horrible match.
We went to play the losers bracket game, and we had two other players show up. I told them I was hurting but could play, but if it got worse, I was out. We started off really well and played much better for game 2. After switching sides at the halfway point, my shin was still bothering me. After another lunging play, I was done and knew it. I called for a medical substitution and left the game. I stood on the sideline with ice on my leg and texted my coach. His response, "Back to the water for tomorrow and possibly the rest of the week. I know you don't want to hear that, but we have to keep that from getting worse." I just wanted to cry. I already knew before I text him I wasn't running for a few days. But it's one thing to take myself out for a few days, and a completely different thing to have him tell me no running. I knew he was right. But I was on the verge of a meltdown over Tahoe.
When I got home, I ate while icing my leg, then jumped in the shower and just cried. I got out, went to bed really late for me, and hoped for the best.
When it rains, it pours.
Wide awake at 3 AM. Could not get back to sleep. 3 1/2 hours of sleep. Great. Finally decided to go back to bed around 6 AM. Not two seconds later, my oldest comes in puking. Seriously?
White Flag.
I'm done.
Bad timing on coach's end - he sends a text "I'd take the day off." Sleep deprivation + frustration = highly emotional. I just want sleep. I just want the pain to stop. I just want to run. I just want this race to actually happen.
I went back in the shower and cried again. It was the only thing I could do.
I got dressed, got my other boy ready for swim, and the two of us headed to the gym. I needed to stretch and roll some more.
I met up with the run group and tried to hide the disappointment that I couldn't join them. I stretched with them and rolled. Then did it again with another teammate. She and I ended up talking and I couldn't stop the tears. I'm so frustrated right now.
I went down to the swim office and ended up crying again with my supervisor. She joined in the tears and then gave me a hug. I left calmer than I got there. I drove my son home and got my girls ready for swim. I didn't think I could handle going back to the gym again, so Don took the girls for practice. I went and grabbed some lunch and ran a few errands.
I'm going to spend the rest of the day babying the leg again and trying to get things packed and ready for our trip. Distractions to keep from thinking about things. I really hope to get to bed early. Two nights in a row of very little sleep is not a good thing for anyone who has to deal with me.
Sunday, June 2, 2019
Sunday not-so-fun Day
Aleve.
Biofreeze.
Stretch.
Ice.
Repeat.
The pain kept me up most of the night. This morning, it's more of a dull ache and not sharp pain. I may survive and make it to Tahoe. I really hope it's going to go away quickly and isn't something serious.
I haven't talked to my coach yet. On the to-do list.
I'm thinking about heading over to the gym - just to roll out my legs and stretch some more.
I'm so tired. That's something I've definitely noticed on my longer runs. They absolutely exhaust me. I end up having to take a nap after a run that's longer than 7 miles. Every time. I never had that issue before. Getting old? Or is it from the medical stuff? Who knows. I just know I'm tired.
Biofreeze.
Stretch.
Ice.
Repeat.
The pain kept me up most of the night. This morning, it's more of a dull ache and not sharp pain. I may survive and make it to Tahoe. I really hope it's going to go away quickly and isn't something serious.
I haven't talked to my coach yet. On the to-do list.
I'm thinking about heading over to the gym - just to roll out my legs and stretch some more.
I'm so tired. That's something I've definitely noticed on my longer runs. They absolutely exhaust me. I end up having to take a nap after a run that's longer than 7 miles. Every time. I never had that issue before. Getting old? Or is it from the medical stuff? Who knows. I just know I'm tired.
Saturday, June 1, 2019
Cades Cove running
I just LOVE running in Cades Cove. It's even better when you can share it with someone who has never been there.
When we arrived, it was an absolutely spectacular 53 degrees out. I was SO happy about that. I was running a few minutes late, but quickly found a good parking spot, rushed over to the store for a quick bathroom stop before we headed out, shed a layer and grabbed my hydration pack, then hurried to meet my teammate at the gate.
She was anxiously watching for me, and her nervousness was apparent. Her husband was there on his bike, and he planned to circle around and check on us as we went. We headed out at a good, steady, slower pace.
The cove was, as always, beautiful this morning. We had a wonderful run, with great conversation, and enjoyed the impromptu check-ins from her husband. We didn't see any animals at all, which is weird for me in Cades Cove. Her husband let us know we had just run right by a bear, and later shared pictures. Go figure.
We easily did the first couple of miles. When we turned on Hyatt Lane, I noticed my legs were not happy with the change in terrain. The lane is gravel instead of asphalt. We stayed in the middle of the road as much as possible and kept rolling. 3 miles down. Then 4. I celebrated with her on passing her longest run distance. Around the same time, I felt the nerve pain start. I also felt that same spot on my leg. I tried to ignore it. After all, no matter what, I have to keep going. We're still 3 miles from the exit of the loop and there are no cars. Either I sit here until 10:30 waiting, or I just keep going and hope for the best.
From mile 4-5 was rough. It was a lot slower than the first 4. I could tell it was getting difficult for her too. But then, after we'd turned back onto the asphalt and reached 5, the excitement over the 5th mile must have unlocked another round of adrenaline, because she was ready to go. We picked up the pace. We hit 6 miles and she just outright stopped running and said, "Done!" I laughed, congratulated her on the accomplishment, we kept walking and talking, and suddenly she says, "I think I can do 7." I asked if she was sure and then we started running again. We took it easy on the up and down hills, and walked up most of the bigger hills. But when we hit mile 7, she was so excited, and so was I. It is always so much fun to watch others accomplish goals they never imagined they could do. Before we started, she was skeptical she could reach 5 miles, much less 6. But then, by the time we finished, we'd gone 7.5 miles, with most of those miles running. I couldn't have been prouder of her. She almost doubled her longest distance!
By the time I got to my car, I knew I had a problem. My leg was hurting so incredibly bad. I stopped at a local store I knew just outside of the park, and got a couple of ice packs and attached them to my leg with some extra layers of clothing in my car. I drove home icing my leg.
As soon as I got home I stretched, showered, stretched more, and iced again. By this evening, I knew this was more serious than I'd thought. I wanted to cry and throw a temper tantrum, but I knew that wouldn't help and would likely just cause the other medical crap to start. So I stayed calm and just kept doing everything I knew to alleviate the pain. At the same time, I started feeling some pain in my lower back. I just wanted to throw up a white flag and surrender. My race is in two weeks! I cannot be injured. I cannot start having issues. Not now. Why? Why can I not just have one race where I'm not injured or sick? Why can't I have just one race where I can enjoy it and not be in pain the entire time?
I'm going to take some Aleve, go to bed, and hope this all goes away overnight.
When we arrived, it was an absolutely spectacular 53 degrees out. I was SO happy about that. I was running a few minutes late, but quickly found a good parking spot, rushed over to the store for a quick bathroom stop before we headed out, shed a layer and grabbed my hydration pack, then hurried to meet my teammate at the gate.
She was anxiously watching for me, and her nervousness was apparent. Her husband was there on his bike, and he planned to circle around and check on us as we went. We headed out at a good, steady, slower pace.
The cove was, as always, beautiful this morning. We had a wonderful run, with great conversation, and enjoyed the impromptu check-ins from her husband. We didn't see any animals at all, which is weird for me in Cades Cove. Her husband let us know we had just run right by a bear, and later shared pictures. Go figure.
We easily did the first couple of miles. When we turned on Hyatt Lane, I noticed my legs were not happy with the change in terrain. The lane is gravel instead of asphalt. We stayed in the middle of the road as much as possible and kept rolling. 3 miles down. Then 4. I celebrated with her on passing her longest run distance. Around the same time, I felt the nerve pain start. I also felt that same spot on my leg. I tried to ignore it. After all, no matter what, I have to keep going. We're still 3 miles from the exit of the loop and there are no cars. Either I sit here until 10:30 waiting, or I just keep going and hope for the best.
From mile 4-5 was rough. It was a lot slower than the first 4. I could tell it was getting difficult for her too. But then, after we'd turned back onto the asphalt and reached 5, the excitement over the 5th mile must have unlocked another round of adrenaline, because she was ready to go. We picked up the pace. We hit 6 miles and she just outright stopped running and said, "Done!" I laughed, congratulated her on the accomplishment, we kept walking and talking, and suddenly she says, "I think I can do 7." I asked if she was sure and then we started running again. We took it easy on the up and down hills, and walked up most of the bigger hills. But when we hit mile 7, she was so excited, and so was I. It is always so much fun to watch others accomplish goals they never imagined they could do. Before we started, she was skeptical she could reach 5 miles, much less 6. But then, by the time we finished, we'd gone 7.5 miles, with most of those miles running. I couldn't have been prouder of her. She almost doubled her longest distance!
By the time I got to my car, I knew I had a problem. My leg was hurting so incredibly bad. I stopped at a local store I knew just outside of the park, and got a couple of ice packs and attached them to my leg with some extra layers of clothing in my car. I drove home icing my leg.
As soon as I got home I stretched, showered, stretched more, and iced again. By this evening, I knew this was more serious than I'd thought. I wanted to cry and throw a temper tantrum, but I knew that wouldn't help and would likely just cause the other medical crap to start. So I stayed calm and just kept doing everything I knew to alleviate the pain. At the same time, I started feeling some pain in my lower back. I just wanted to throw up a white flag and surrender. My race is in two weeks! I cannot be injured. I cannot start having issues. Not now. Why? Why can I not just have one race where I'm not injured or sick? Why can't I have just one race where I can enjoy it and not be in pain the entire time?
I'm going to take some Aleve, go to bed, and hope this all goes away overnight.
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