It's official. A bit ago, I decided to challenge myself again with the Chicago Triathlon. This time, I would go easy on myself, take on half of what I tackled before, and do the Sprint.
This time would be different, I thought back when I registered. I would be so much healthier this time. I have, on the whole, been feeling pretty well for awhile. There have been serious ups and downs, but I thought I had found the right blend for tackling my fibro symptoms.
I made plans to start training about two weeks ago.
However, about two weeks ago, I started to decline. I cannot pinpoint what is causing this decline in health, I only know that I have been in a fog for the past two and a half weeks. A constant flu-like state that has only lifted for a few days at a time and then comes back with a vengeance. Sometimes I sit on my couch and wonder how I will get up. I am making mistakes at work. My co-workers are noticing strange behavior when I'm in a fog, and I've made some excuses and said I'm trying to sort out some health problems right now. Sometimes I escape to the restroom and sit on the toilet and just close my eyes and try to rest out of view of my colleagues. Depression has been imminent, 3/4 because I am feeling so unwell and I wonder if there will ever be any end to this, and 1/4 because my emotions are just fried.
I'm on the hunt for a new doctor, one that can perhaps help me find some new answers. It is hard to explain to my friends and loved-ones how I feel. Because they have heard it all before. They've heard it for years. I still wonder if they believe me. If they think it's in my head. If they understand how I'm feeling. All I can do is charge onward.
I forced myself to get in the pool yesterday. I didn't know how I would. I am honestly surprised I was able to get out of my house and to the gym.
I have not swam in almost two years.
The first dip in feels like a familiar coolness, a rush of friend and enemy all at once. I somehow manage to swim for 15 minutes. I have done a 1/4 mile. I am encouraged. I sit in the hot-tub. I let the water bubble over my joints and fatigued body.
I hope for strength. For a lift from this flu-like trance.
I will keep moving forward. I have come too far to only come this far.
Tuesday, July 21, 2015
Saturday, June 13, 2015
BACK FOR MORE.
Re-reading my blog from 2013 is both inspiring and sad. Inspiring that I took that broken body and became a triathlete, sad that I was in the shape I was and so scared. So badly affected by fibro and pain and obstacles that summer. I mean, a stolen bike and a busted knee, AND a lost contact through the swim, AND fibro? Come on!
Why did I decide to sign up again? Hell, I don't know. To prove that I still could? Maybe! This time, I signed up for a Sprint, because, in all honesty, the International just wasn't fun for me. The day of was a strange blend of magic and misery, and in the end, I just want to have more fun with the experience. Half the distance will be awesome, fun, and something I know I can do considering I've done twice the distance in the past.
Some things are different and some things are the same. I have really been doing the best I can to take care of my body the past two years. Health foods and clean eating and supplements I didn't know about in 2013. I've been off artificial sweetener for over 2 years now, and all the nerve pain I had? It's decreased by maybe 85-90%. Insane. It still comes and goes but the lightening is so much less.
Here we go.
Here we go.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Post Race Breakdown: Part 2: RACE DAY: The Good, the Bad, the Ugly. And Boy, did it get Ugly.
Flares rattled my body the week before the Tri. I was consumed with
worry and stress and a sore throat which made me so tired I could
barely imagine covering 32 miles in a few days. But with an emergency
acupuncture appointment and the love and energy of my friends and
family, I felt better by the big day and was able to get through the flare without destroying my body. I went to the Tri Expo, wide-eyed and
horrified and excited the day before and bought more things I didn't
realize I needed-- I bought Suit Juice, a compact towel, an emergency tire repair kit that I did not know how to use and
I prayed to the Flat-Tire-Gods that I would not get a flat tire,
because let's face it, I had no idea what it was I just
bought.
I sat on the living room floor of my apartment, a sea of gear and nutrition and expo pamphlets surrounding me, not knowing what to do first. I decided to start with putting on my temporary number tattoos. I peeled off the number stickers on placed them on my bike, on my helmet, on my bags, I stuffed nutrition and water and gels into the zipper of my backpack, I checked and re-checked my gear, marveled that the big day had finally arrived, took sleep meds to calm my mind and somehow by the grace of the Universe, I managed to get six hours of uninterrupted restorative sleep.
I woke up and took a shower to loosen my morning stiffness, acknowledged that I didn't feel horrible, had two waffles with peanut butter and a banana (surely that is a triathlete's breakfast), took my vitamins and my green powder, and Kajal picked me up at 4am. We loaded up and took off. Timing wise we got to the transition area with about 30 minutes before it closed up. We needed to be out of transition by 5:45am. I set all of my things down, not knowing exactly how to set my gear up, but I did the best I could. I said a little prayer to the Transition Gods, and went on my way. I found Kajal waiting for me on the grass and we made our way to the Chicago Triathlon tent that was just setting up.
All I could think was, THREE HOURS.
I have THREE HOURS before I am set to start.
I was plagued by many things the day of the tri, but one of the worst curses was the fact that I was placed in the LAST wave of International triathletes. This meant that, yes, I had to wake up at 3 am, but I would not be competing until 9:20am. Three hours of nerves, three hours of watching other athletes start, three hours of saying goodbye to Kajal and the other CTCers as they made their way to the water, three hours of the sun getting higher and brighter and peaking in the 90s, three hours of psyching myself out.
I finally started to get my wetsuit on around 9am and I walked purposefully down to the line that was forming for the 46th wave. While in line, I ran into my friend, Keely, whose husband had just finished the Sprint Distance. "How'd it go!!!???" I asked him. "Horrible!" he said. He looked proud he'd finished, but he was glad to be done. The swim had been hard for him. Keely snapped this pic of me as I waited to get in the water. Seeing them gave me a small burst of encouragement and the feeling that I could do this.
Energy surged through me. I was so ready. I got my cap all set, I got my goggles ready. And I hopped in the water along with 150 or so other women between the ages of 31-34. We had 30 seconds or so to get used to the water, and then the officials shot the starter gun, and we were off!
The beginning was the best.
For that first half mile or so, I had calm strokes, I had even breathing, I was moving well.
And then everything started to unravel.
Unfortunately for me, the next wave after mine was the Relay. Relay teams have three different people to do each part of the tri, and the person who is strongest in a particular event takes that leg. We're talking swimmers who can do the mile in less than 20 minutes. All of a sudden, swimmers started taking over all the space around me. I had carved out a good position, but the fast relay swimmers swam around me, over me, in front of me, to the sides of me. WHERE DID THEY ALL COME FROM????? I thought, my brain not clicking right away that these were the relay swimmers.
My breathing started to become more shallow. The fast breaths dismantled my strokes and my heart started to pound. Instead of every four strokes like I had practiced, I breathed every two. I swallowed water and coughed up Lake Michigan.
And then my goggles fogged up.
But I had bought anti-fog goggles! What was happening!?
I stopped mid-stroke and took off my goggles, hoping I could unfog them. I put them back on and still was having trouble seeing. I didn't understand what was going on, but my heart and breathing were not cooperating with the one end goal of GET ME THE HELL OUT OF THIS WATER! I started to swim so far right that I was straying off course towards one of the safety boats.
Well. I guess when you accidentally swim to a safety boat, you might as well use it.
"Are you okay?" the volunteers asked me.
"Yeah..." I breathed.
This was not how I had envisioned my triumphant swim.
After about a minute of trying to calm down my exploding heart, I attempted freestyle again but it was no use. I resorted to back stroke, and then a minimalist back float, gliding on the water, catching my breath, alternating with a bit of freestyle whenever I felt I could manage. I could barely consider the fact that I was going outrageously slow--all I wanted was to get out of the water. I just wanted to get to that bike. I had not been concerned about the swim before the race at all. I had thought, "Well, yes, it will be slow, but I won't have any problems. Slow and steady."
I did not anticipate the nerves, the relay swimmers, the heart-rate, not being able to see, and back-floating my way to greatness. But this is how it was and all I could do was focus on getting out of the water.
I somehow managed to finish the swim with freestyle and got out of the water, breathing hard as I, at first, tried to run to transition, and then thought, "Hell No," and walked my way to a grassy area to pull off the rest of my wetsuit.
And I still couldn't see. It hit me that it had never been foggy goggles, I had lost my right contact.
Where was it!!!!? Was it in the water? Did it roll in back of my head? I rubbed my eyes, feeling around for a dislodged contact, but couldn't easily find anything without ripping open my pupils, so I figured:
"Well, my contact is either in the back of my eyeball or it's at the bottom of Lake Michigan. Guess I'm doing the rest of the Tri with one eye."
My vision is not horrendous but I do need my contacts in order to function. In an emergency I have used one contact, have even driven on the expressway with one contact (for 20 minutes), but have never engaged in 4 hours of physical activity with one contact.
And so it was.
I took my sweet-ass time in transition. Thirteen minutes to be exact. I ate half a Cliff bar. I dried off. I used the bathroom. I tried to slow down my breathing. And then I got my bike out and headed off onto Lakeshore Drive, doing my best to adjust to my new vision.
One of my biggest fears had been falling off my bike on the way up the ramp to Lakeshore-- that had been the biggest bike concern before the race had actually started (and possibly getting a flat). But now I was dealing with a different reality: my legs were gooey, my heart was still pounding, it was over 90 degrees by the time I had gotten out of the water, I had one contact that was messing up my speed and balance, and instead of the full water bottle I had prepped, I only had half a water bottle for 25 miles (the bottle I had brought had somehow gotten misplaced in Kajal's car that morning and I had been unable to locate another water bottle to set up in my bike).
Thing were not in my favor.
To add insult to injury, being the last wave of the race meant that I was very much racing solo. Not only was I the last wave, I was a SLOW athlete in the last wave with one contact and a wildly palpitating heart. That meant that all the other athletes in my wave had gone ahead of me and I was very much on my own, just hoping I was going the right way. At a certain point a string of athletes emerged from behind me and I felt a little less alone. They were on their second loop of the course and they zoomed by me with ease as I struggled to get to first turn around. By the time I finally did make it to the second loop, I was very much alone. That portion of the race was very surreal to me, as I rode my bike down Lakeshore Drive. Cars in a lane to the right of my zoomed by and I listened to the hum of motors as I focused on the road in front of me. At times I could barely maintain my emotion. Tears poked at my eyes as I realized how tired I was, but they also were tears of great pride and elation...
It occurred to me how very symbolic it was to have the road to myself.
This had always been a race with myself and no one else. There, on Lakeshore Drive, I raced myself. I raced my fear, I raced my doubt, I raced my confidence, I raced sadness, I raced my illness, I raced my heart. I challenged all of these things, and at one point, tears started streaming as I said out loud, "This is for you, Dad." I had just dedicated that moment of the bike ride to my Father. I started to ride for a greater meaning at that point. I started to ride for life. For existence. For the right to endure.
Cars kept driving past me in the lane to my right and I looked over at one of them and cried out "CHEER FOR ME!!!!!" It was a plea, it was a demand, it was a call to action. And the woman in the car looked surprised and a little shocked that this haggard athlete had just requested her support, but from her throat emerged this enthused "Whooooo!!!!!" As silly as it was, that little voice of encouragement helped push me forward, and in the distance I saw another biker who was also going slowly and I rode behind her and then next to her and then I called out in uniting agony, "We're doing it! We can do this!" She nodded at me and groaned her own personal story of pain and I rode in front of her, the one athlete I managed to pass on the course. I was dizzy with exhaustion and soft focus from my blurry eyes.
I started to sing to myself with what little breath I had left. I had 25 miles on this rickety blue bike, Merriweather, (I named my bike Merriweather when I bought her because she was old and curmudgeon-y and needed extra attention like the little Blue Fairy, Merryweather, in Sleeping Beauty) with very little water. I might have been starting to lose my mind a little, yelling at cars and singing and such. Whatever it takes, I thought. Just get through it. I came up to the end of the bike course, my emotion surging as I processed that I had just finished the second portion of the race. I half strolled, half ran back to the transition area, again taking my sweet time. I drank whatever water I had stashed in my gear to try to make up for the very dehydrating bike ride, and I put on the race belt with my number 7046 attached to it, very unsure how my run would go. I would probably be out in the sun for another hour and a half to two hours in what would be the most mentally and physically challenging part of this race for me.
It had always come down to the run. To the knee. To the last ounce of energy I had. Except I had nothing left. There was nothing left. I'm not sure I can properly convey how very little anything I had left in me. I had always been concerned on how a body with Fibromyalgia would respond to all of these events back to back, but now with the sun and the dehydration and the one contact and the bad knee, I had absolutely no energy. But this voice just kept telling me to find it, find something, find anything. And somehow, I found the fumes of determination and I kept going. I persevered. I pushed. I walked the first half mile trying to catch my breath, I stopped at every single water station, drinking as much as I could, dousing myself with water, sticking ice cubes in my hair. The sun was blazing. It was well over 91 degrees with no shade on the course.
And there was barely anybody left. The athletes who had started 3 hours before me, 2 hours before me, 1 hour before me---they had already made their way through this part of the course. The crowd was there for them. There was no one left for me. Every once in awhile in the beginning I would get a little cheer from people telling me to keep going, or a shout out from someone who recognized my Chicago Tri gear, "Chicago Tri Club!" they'd shout. But as I got further in, there was hardly anyone on the course. Even the volunteers were sparse at this point. There were regular joggers on the Lakeshore path at this point amongst the scattered leftover triathletes. I felt so sick I wasn't sure how I could possibly get through 6 miles. I started to run, a pathetic little jog, but I was surprised that the knee was holding up so I kept up with the scuffle. I hobbled up next to another man, one of the only people I'd seen on the run leg of the course, who looked to be struggling as I was. We acknowledged each other and jogged side by side for a minute, "I just want to finish this," he said suddenly. "Me too," I breathed. That's all I ever really wanted.
But fatigue overwhelmed me. I pulled back and stopped. "Come on, keep running," he called to me, half encouraging me, half giving me a hard time. "I have to walk," I told him, and I watched him jog ahead of me and out of my view. I spent the next mile or two trying my hardest to keep going and I walked so very much of that time. I was again struck by how symbolic this was. It was an odd triathlon of my own, it all came down to mind over matter. Did I want this or did I not?
...There is no one out there to make you finish this except yourself. There aren't crowds cheering for you. You need to cheer for yourself. You can do this. You will do this. This has always been your race. You've always been racing yourself. You've got this. And there is no way you aren't finishing this. You will crawl over that line if you have to but you will finish this...
I ran for a bit and then passed the Fire Station where the firemen had cracked open their water truck and were spraying all of Lakeshore path with a glorious burst of water to give the triathletes momentary refuge from the heat. I walked into the sweet water, the giving beautiful water, and let it drench me. It helped revive me from the sweltering sun. I looked to the firemen to my right and silently said "Thank you" and looked up to the sky and held my face in the downpour of the graceful water. After a bit, I summoned some strength and started jogging. I jogged for maybe a quarter of a mile, and all of a sudden, from my peripheral view, I saw an athlete hobbling toward me. It looked like she was skipping or limping. I thought for a second it was an athlete with one healthy leg and one metal running leg, teetering as she ran. But no.
It was HILARY!
My roommate, a runner herself, had asked me if she could run me in the last few miles. At first I wasn't sure--I had wanted to do this on my own, but the night before, I had welcomed the idea of Hil runing me in, knowing I would need morale. And I had needed it so badly at that point that I became overwhelmed when I saw her bundling towards me, overjoyed she had found me! I had forgotten that Hilary would be looking for me! My tracking hadn't been working and it had appeared I hadn't finished the bike portion, so she didn't know where I was or if I'd gotten sick, she just stuck by mile 3ish waiting for me, about to turn around and go home when she looked up and saw me. I started crying and we hugged as I told her I was never doing this ever again. She walked with me when I needed to walk, and she ran with me when I decided to run, and sometimes she would run and I would look ahead and tell her to stop it because I just couldn't, please stop running, I have to walk this, there's nothing left. It went like this for almost 3 miles.
I had run for almost 3 miles when I had thought I wouldn't be able to run at all.
And then I saw in the horizon the finish line.
Words can't quite describe the emotion that started to surge through my body as I caught sight of the finish line. I was so close. I had a quarter of a mile left to go and my body seized up with emotion. I had to stop for a moment and walk, and then I started again and tried to run, holding back tears, my body producing great heaves that threatened to turn into sobs of relief and joy. I half started crying, half started running faster, exhausted, overwhelmed-- unbelievable emotion like I'd never felt rippling through me. It was the rawest state of emotion I have ever felt coursing through my veins at an electric rate that both propelled me and left me breathless. It took hold of me and I as I got within 20 feet, a smile spreading across my face, I summoned any possible strength I had left and ran as fast as I could as I heard the announcer call to anyone that was in the immediate area to put their hands together for me.
I raised my arms in the air and held my head up high and smiled this grand smile of triumph as tears streamed down my cheeks... and I crossed that finish line in a strong run, my body immediately erupting in a loud sob. I bent my head to my knees, catching my breath, crying in great heaves, overcome with raw emotion. I have never experienced anything quite like that moment in my entire life. The moment I completed my first Olympic Triathlon.
I never stopped. I never let the setbacks take away this dream. I could have stopped before the Tri even started. I could have stopped after the swim. I could have stopped at any point.
But you must never give up.
You can take a dream that seems impossible and make it your reality.
You can take back your spirit and your health and your life.
You must persevere.
You must do all it takes.
But you must never, ever give up.
 |
| Can you see the wide-eyed excitement/panic? |
I sat on the living room floor of my apartment, a sea of gear and nutrition and expo pamphlets surrounding me, not knowing what to do first. I decided to start with putting on my temporary number tattoos. I peeled off the number stickers on placed them on my bike, on my helmet, on my bags, I stuffed nutrition and water and gels into the zipper of my backpack, I checked and re-checked my gear, marveled that the big day had finally arrived, took sleep meds to calm my mind and somehow by the grace of the Universe, I managed to get six hours of uninterrupted restorative sleep.
I woke up and took a shower to loosen my morning stiffness, acknowledged that I didn't feel horrible, had two waffles with peanut butter and a banana (surely that is a triathlete's breakfast), took my vitamins and my green powder, and Kajal picked me up at 4am. We loaded up and took off. Timing wise we got to the transition area with about 30 minutes before it closed up. We needed to be out of transition by 5:45am. I set all of my things down, not knowing exactly how to set my gear up, but I did the best I could. I said a little prayer to the Transition Gods, and went on my way. I found Kajal waiting for me on the grass and we made our way to the Chicago Triathlon tent that was just setting up.
All I could think was, THREE HOURS.
I have THREE HOURS before I am set to start.
 |
| My Tri Mama, Kajal. |
I was plagued by many things the day of the tri, but one of the worst curses was the fact that I was placed in the LAST wave of International triathletes. This meant that, yes, I had to wake up at 3 am, but I would not be competing until 9:20am. Three hours of nerves, three hours of watching other athletes start, three hours of saying goodbye to Kajal and the other CTCers as they made their way to the water, three hours of the sun getting higher and brighter and peaking in the 90s, three hours of psyching myself out.
I finally started to get my wetsuit on around 9am and I walked purposefully down to the line that was forming for the 46th wave. While in line, I ran into my friend, Keely, whose husband had just finished the Sprint Distance. "How'd it go!!!???" I asked him. "Horrible!" he said. He looked proud he'd finished, but he was glad to be done. The swim had been hard for him. Keely snapped this pic of me as I waited to get in the water. Seeing them gave me a small burst of encouragement and the feeling that I could do this.
 |
| I'm about to jump in the lake! |
Energy surged through me. I was so ready. I got my cap all set, I got my goggles ready. And I hopped in the water along with 150 or so other women between the ages of 31-34. We had 30 seconds or so to get used to the water, and then the officials shot the starter gun, and we were off!
The beginning was the best.
For that first half mile or so, I had calm strokes, I had even breathing, I was moving well.
And then everything started to unravel.
Unfortunately for me, the next wave after mine was the Relay. Relay teams have three different people to do each part of the tri, and the person who is strongest in a particular event takes that leg. We're talking swimmers who can do the mile in less than 20 minutes. All of a sudden, swimmers started taking over all the space around me. I had carved out a good position, but the fast relay swimmers swam around me, over me, in front of me, to the sides of me. WHERE DID THEY ALL COME FROM????? I thought, my brain not clicking right away that these were the relay swimmers.
My breathing started to become more shallow. The fast breaths dismantled my strokes and my heart started to pound. Instead of every four strokes like I had practiced, I breathed every two. I swallowed water and coughed up Lake Michigan.
And then my goggles fogged up.
But I had bought anti-fog goggles! What was happening!?
I stopped mid-stroke and took off my goggles, hoping I could unfog them. I put them back on and still was having trouble seeing. I didn't understand what was going on, but my heart and breathing were not cooperating with the one end goal of GET ME THE HELL OUT OF THIS WATER! I started to swim so far right that I was straying off course towards one of the safety boats.
Well. I guess when you accidentally swim to a safety boat, you might as well use it.
"Are you okay?" the volunteers asked me.
"Yeah..." I breathed.
This was not how I had envisioned my triumphant swim.
I did not anticipate the nerves, the relay swimmers, the heart-rate, not being able to see, and back-floating my way to greatness. But this is how it was and all I could do was focus on getting out of the water.
I somehow managed to finish the swim with freestyle and got out of the water, breathing hard as I, at first, tried to run to transition, and then thought, "Hell No," and walked my way to a grassy area to pull off the rest of my wetsuit.
And I still couldn't see. It hit me that it had never been foggy goggles, I had lost my right contact.
Where was it!!!!? Was it in the water? Did it roll in back of my head? I rubbed my eyes, feeling around for a dislodged contact, but couldn't easily find anything without ripping open my pupils, so I figured:
"Well, my contact is either in the back of my eyeball or it's at the bottom of Lake Michigan. Guess I'm doing the rest of the Tri with one eye."
My vision is not horrendous but I do need my contacts in order to function. In an emergency I have used one contact, have even driven on the expressway with one contact (for 20 minutes), but have never engaged in 4 hours of physical activity with one contact.
And so it was.
I took my sweet-ass time in transition. Thirteen minutes to be exact. I ate half a Cliff bar. I dried off. I used the bathroom. I tried to slow down my breathing. And then I got my bike out and headed off onto Lakeshore Drive, doing my best to adjust to my new vision.
One of my biggest fears had been falling off my bike on the way up the ramp to Lakeshore-- that had been the biggest bike concern before the race had actually started (and possibly getting a flat). But now I was dealing with a different reality: my legs were gooey, my heart was still pounding, it was over 90 degrees by the time I had gotten out of the water, I had one contact that was messing up my speed and balance, and instead of the full water bottle I had prepped, I only had half a water bottle for 25 miles (the bottle I had brought had somehow gotten misplaced in Kajal's car that morning and I had been unable to locate another water bottle to set up in my bike).
Thing were not in my favor.
To add insult to injury, being the last wave of the race meant that I was very much racing solo. Not only was I the last wave, I was a SLOW athlete in the last wave with one contact and a wildly palpitating heart. That meant that all the other athletes in my wave had gone ahead of me and I was very much on my own, just hoping I was going the right way. At a certain point a string of athletes emerged from behind me and I felt a little less alone. They were on their second loop of the course and they zoomed by me with ease as I struggled to get to first turn around. By the time I finally did make it to the second loop, I was very much alone. That portion of the race was very surreal to me, as I rode my bike down Lakeshore Drive. Cars in a lane to the right of my zoomed by and I listened to the hum of motors as I focused on the road in front of me. At times I could barely maintain my emotion. Tears poked at my eyes as I realized how tired I was, but they also were tears of great pride and elation...
It occurred to me how very symbolic it was to have the road to myself.
This had always been a race with myself and no one else. There, on Lakeshore Drive, I raced myself. I raced my fear, I raced my doubt, I raced my confidence, I raced sadness, I raced my illness, I raced my heart. I challenged all of these things, and at one point, tears started streaming as I said out loud, "This is for you, Dad." I had just dedicated that moment of the bike ride to my Father. I started to ride for a greater meaning at that point. I started to ride for life. For existence. For the right to endure.
Cars kept driving past me in the lane to my right and I looked over at one of them and cried out "CHEER FOR ME!!!!!" It was a plea, it was a demand, it was a call to action. And the woman in the car looked surprised and a little shocked that this haggard athlete had just requested her support, but from her throat emerged this enthused "Whooooo!!!!!" As silly as it was, that little voice of encouragement helped push me forward, and in the distance I saw another biker who was also going slowly and I rode behind her and then next to her and then I called out in uniting agony, "We're doing it! We can do this!" She nodded at me and groaned her own personal story of pain and I rode in front of her, the one athlete I managed to pass on the course. I was dizzy with exhaustion and soft focus from my blurry eyes.
I started to sing to myself with what little breath I had left. I had 25 miles on this rickety blue bike, Merriweather, (I named my bike Merriweather when I bought her because she was old and curmudgeon-y and needed extra attention like the little Blue Fairy, Merryweather, in Sleeping Beauty) with very little water. I might have been starting to lose my mind a little, yelling at cars and singing and such. Whatever it takes, I thought. Just get through it. I came up to the end of the bike course, my emotion surging as I processed that I had just finished the second portion of the race. I half strolled, half ran back to the transition area, again taking my sweet time. I drank whatever water I had stashed in my gear to try to make up for the very dehydrating bike ride, and I put on the race belt with my number 7046 attached to it, very unsure how my run would go. I would probably be out in the sun for another hour and a half to two hours in what would be the most mentally and physically challenging part of this race for me.It had always come down to the run. To the knee. To the last ounce of energy I had. Except I had nothing left. There was nothing left. I'm not sure I can properly convey how very little anything I had left in me. I had always been concerned on how a body with Fibromyalgia would respond to all of these events back to back, but now with the sun and the dehydration and the one contact and the bad knee, I had absolutely no energy. But this voice just kept telling me to find it, find something, find anything. And somehow, I found the fumes of determination and I kept going. I persevered. I pushed. I walked the first half mile trying to catch my breath, I stopped at every single water station, drinking as much as I could, dousing myself with water, sticking ice cubes in my hair. The sun was blazing. It was well over 91 degrees with no shade on the course.
And there was barely anybody left. The athletes who had started 3 hours before me, 2 hours before me, 1 hour before me---they had already made their way through this part of the course. The crowd was there for them. There was no one left for me. Every once in awhile in the beginning I would get a little cheer from people telling me to keep going, or a shout out from someone who recognized my Chicago Tri gear, "Chicago Tri Club!" they'd shout. But as I got further in, there was hardly anyone on the course. Even the volunteers were sparse at this point. There were regular joggers on the Lakeshore path at this point amongst the scattered leftover triathletes. I felt so sick I wasn't sure how I could possibly get through 6 miles. I started to run, a pathetic little jog, but I was surprised that the knee was holding up so I kept up with the scuffle. I hobbled up next to another man, one of the only people I'd seen on the run leg of the course, who looked to be struggling as I was. We acknowledged each other and jogged side by side for a minute, "I just want to finish this," he said suddenly. "Me too," I breathed. That's all I ever really wanted.
But fatigue overwhelmed me. I pulled back and stopped. "Come on, keep running," he called to me, half encouraging me, half giving me a hard time. "I have to walk," I told him, and I watched him jog ahead of me and out of my view. I spent the next mile or two trying my hardest to keep going and I walked so very much of that time. I was again struck by how symbolic this was. It was an odd triathlon of my own, it all came down to mind over matter. Did I want this or did I not?
...There is no one out there to make you finish this except yourself. There aren't crowds cheering for you. You need to cheer for yourself. You can do this. You will do this. This has always been your race. You've always been racing yourself. You've got this. And there is no way you aren't finishing this. You will crawl over that line if you have to but you will finish this...
I ran for a bit and then passed the Fire Station where the firemen had cracked open their water truck and were spraying all of Lakeshore path with a glorious burst of water to give the triathletes momentary refuge from the heat. I walked into the sweet water, the giving beautiful water, and let it drench me. It helped revive me from the sweltering sun. I looked to the firemen to my right and silently said "Thank you" and looked up to the sky and held my face in the downpour of the graceful water. After a bit, I summoned some strength and started jogging. I jogged for maybe a quarter of a mile, and all of a sudden, from my peripheral view, I saw an athlete hobbling toward me. It looked like she was skipping or limping. I thought for a second it was an athlete with one healthy leg and one metal running leg, teetering as she ran. But no.
It was HILARY!
My roommate, a runner herself, had asked me if she could run me in the last few miles. At first I wasn't sure--I had wanted to do this on my own, but the night before, I had welcomed the idea of Hil runing me in, knowing I would need morale. And I had needed it so badly at that point that I became overwhelmed when I saw her bundling towards me, overjoyed she had found me! I had forgotten that Hilary would be looking for me! My tracking hadn't been working and it had appeared I hadn't finished the bike portion, so she didn't know where I was or if I'd gotten sick, she just stuck by mile 3ish waiting for me, about to turn around and go home when she looked up and saw me. I started crying and we hugged as I told her I was never doing this ever again. She walked with me when I needed to walk, and she ran with me when I decided to run, and sometimes she would run and I would look ahead and tell her to stop it because I just couldn't, please stop running, I have to walk this, there's nothing left. It went like this for almost 3 miles.
I had run for almost 3 miles when I had thought I wouldn't be able to run at all.
And then I saw in the horizon the finish line.
Words can't quite describe the emotion that started to surge through my body as I caught sight of the finish line. I was so close. I had a quarter of a mile left to go and my body seized up with emotion. I had to stop for a moment and walk, and then I started again and tried to run, holding back tears, my body producing great heaves that threatened to turn into sobs of relief and joy. I half started crying, half started running faster, exhausted, overwhelmed-- unbelievable emotion like I'd never felt rippling through me. It was the rawest state of emotion I have ever felt coursing through my veins at an electric rate that both propelled me and left me breathless. It took hold of me and I as I got within 20 feet, a smile spreading across my face, I summoned any possible strength I had left and ran as fast as I could as I heard the announcer call to anyone that was in the immediate area to put their hands together for me.
I raised my arms in the air and held my head up high and smiled this grand smile of triumph as tears streamed down my cheeks... and I crossed that finish line in a strong run, my body immediately erupting in a loud sob. I bent my head to my knees, catching my breath, crying in great heaves, overcome with raw emotion. I have never experienced anything quite like that moment in my entire life. The moment I completed my first Olympic Triathlon.
 |
| This makes it look like I finished in 8 hours. It was really 4:37. I'll take it! |
I never stopped. I never let the setbacks take away this dream. I could have stopped before the Tri even started. I could have stopped after the swim. I could have stopped at any point.
But you must never give up.
You can take a dream that seems impossible and make it your reality.
You must persevere.
You must do all it takes.
But you must never, ever give up.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Post Race Breakdown: Part One
It has been over a week since I completed the Triathlon.
Yes, COMPLETED! Finished. As in....I DID IT!
I supposed this recap has been hard for me to put into words, because completing the Triathlon has meant more to me than probably anything I've ever done in my entire life.
It was the hardest thing I've ever done and also the most meaningful.
The months leading up to the tri were full of emotion and mishaps--a stolen bike, a wetsuit purchase gone wrong, a painful knee injury made worse by Fibro--but on and on, I endured. The triathlon became everthing to me. My focus. My goal. My soul.
Aside from beating Fibromyalgia and taking control of my physical body again, it also represented the taking back of my emotional health, as well. A devastating breakup in March left me heartbroken. Around the same time, my father's diagnosis of possible dementia, possible pre-Parkinsons, possible they-don't-know-what-yet-but-definite-mental-decline destroyed any strength I had left.
And to top it off, I hated my day job with a passion, and had started to question my commitment to theatre and performing. All of a sudden I had no purpose, I had no love, no support, a job I hated, a parent who might as well be disappearing or dying, the knowledge that my parents were struggling emotionally and financially, and a crumbling sense of self and strength. And the fibro symptoms wreaked havoc on my poor body. I was the sickest I'd been in so very long. Every day I woke up broken, beaten, bruised by life--and because of this beating, I was even more broken by fibromyalgia. Fatigue lived within every cell I possessed, nerve pain rattled my body, my brain was a cloud of fog that at its very best masked the severe depression I was living with, and at its worst, was so thick it helped me to disconnect from what I was living through. I was on the floor consumed with such overwhelming grief at all hours.
And then I thought, NO MORE.
I suppose I had thought of the Triathlon this past winter and had decided that I would train for it with my boyfriend at the time. We would train together, we would do the Tri together. And then after the breakup, I dismissed it. Who would I train with now.
MYSELF.
That's who.
I, all of a sudden, started running the idea past a few close friends.
"I don't know....are you sure?"
"Don't you want to start with a shorter distance?"
"Can your body handle that?"
"You're crazy."
These were some responses I received. And each of these responses only fueled my fire. I knew my friends meant well, but deep down I thought, "How dare they!" Why can't they just support me. Why can't they embue me with love and hugs and everything I need and all the support in the world. It was the same from my family. When I told them I had signed up for the Triathlon and that I was going to announce it to my friends on Fibromyalgia Awareness Day, I was met with "Can you even swim?" And the far worse and egregious, "Are you sure you even have Fibromyalgia?" I was at lunch in DC with my family over Mother's Day Weekend. And I got up from the table.
And I left.
I walked out on my family. And I left the restaurant. And I ignored their phone calls. And I seethed and breathed and walked the streets of DC until I finally picked up a call and came back to the restaurant because my Dad was getting upset and worried about where I was.
My own family questioned whether or not I had Fibromyalgia. My own family didn't understand what I have been living with day in and day out for years. They did not understand the severity of my fatigue, nor did they understand the shooting pain that makes me shout at times. They did not understand my own diminished mental clarity when the symptoms flare. They did not understand how most mornings I woke up feeling as though I had never slept at all. And I got angry.
I got so very angry.
And then I realized, how can they know what I live with when I don't talk about it?
I've been such a silent sufferer, hiding behind this illness because I don't want it to define me, I don't want people to pity me, I don't want them to think I'm any different. But I am. To a certain degree, Fibromyalgia does define what I can do and how I feel, and how can they know if I don't tell them?
That's when I decided not to let Fibro define me any longer.
That's when I decided to start this blog and to start spreading awareness. One of my main concerns was that people who didn't know much about Fibro would assume that anyone could just work out and do a triathlon--- I didn't want to mislead the ignorant. Because training for the triathlon was such a delicate balance of listening to my body that the slightest wrong move could leave me paralyzed with fatigue. I am reminded of the beginning, when I triggered a two-week flare by doing too much too soon. I am reminded of the tears on my floor as I could not even lift my body up, so overcome with pain and exhaustion.
That was 6 months ago, and this is now. And now, I am an International Distance Triathlete.
Yes, COMPLETED! Finished. As in....I DID IT!
I supposed this recap has been hard for me to put into words, because completing the Triathlon has meant more to me than probably anything I've ever done in my entire life.
It was the hardest thing I've ever done and also the most meaningful.
The months leading up to the tri were full of emotion and mishaps--a stolen bike, a wetsuit purchase gone wrong, a painful knee injury made worse by Fibro--but on and on, I endured. The triathlon became everthing to me. My focus. My goal. My soul.
Aside from beating Fibromyalgia and taking control of my physical body again, it also represented the taking back of my emotional health, as well. A devastating breakup in March left me heartbroken. Around the same time, my father's diagnosis of possible dementia, possible pre-Parkinsons, possible they-don't-know-what-yet-but-definite-mental-decline destroyed any strength I had left.
And to top it off, I hated my day job with a passion, and had started to question my commitment to theatre and performing. All of a sudden I had no purpose, I had no love, no support, a job I hated, a parent who might as well be disappearing or dying, the knowledge that my parents were struggling emotionally and financially, and a crumbling sense of self and strength. And the fibro symptoms wreaked havoc on my poor body. I was the sickest I'd been in so very long. Every day I woke up broken, beaten, bruised by life--and because of this beating, I was even more broken by fibromyalgia. Fatigue lived within every cell I possessed, nerve pain rattled my body, my brain was a cloud of fog that at its very best masked the severe depression I was living with, and at its worst, was so thick it helped me to disconnect from what I was living through. I was on the floor consumed with such overwhelming grief at all hours.
And then I thought, NO MORE.
I suppose I had thought of the Triathlon this past winter and had decided that I would train for it with my boyfriend at the time. We would train together, we would do the Tri together. And then after the breakup, I dismissed it. Who would I train with now.
MYSELF.
That's who.
I, all of a sudden, started running the idea past a few close friends.
"I don't know....are you sure?"
"Don't you want to start with a shorter distance?"
"Can your body handle that?"
"You're crazy."
These were some responses I received. And each of these responses only fueled my fire. I knew my friends meant well, but deep down I thought, "How dare they!" Why can't they just support me. Why can't they embue me with love and hugs and everything I need and all the support in the world. It was the same from my family. When I told them I had signed up for the Triathlon and that I was going to announce it to my friends on Fibromyalgia Awareness Day, I was met with "Can you even swim?" And the far worse and egregious, "Are you sure you even have Fibromyalgia?" I was at lunch in DC with my family over Mother's Day Weekend. And I got up from the table.
And I left.
I walked out on my family. And I left the restaurant. And I ignored their phone calls. And I seethed and breathed and walked the streets of DC until I finally picked up a call and came back to the restaurant because my Dad was getting upset and worried about where I was.
My own family questioned whether or not I had Fibromyalgia. My own family didn't understand what I have been living with day in and day out for years. They did not understand the severity of my fatigue, nor did they understand the shooting pain that makes me shout at times. They did not understand my own diminished mental clarity when the symptoms flare. They did not understand how most mornings I woke up feeling as though I had never slept at all. And I got angry.
I got so very angry.
And then I realized, how can they know what I live with when I don't talk about it?
I've been such a silent sufferer, hiding behind this illness because I don't want it to define me, I don't want people to pity me, I don't want them to think I'm any different. But I am. To a certain degree, Fibromyalgia does define what I can do and how I feel, and how can they know if I don't tell them?
That's when I decided not to let Fibro define me any longer.
That's when I decided to start this blog and to start spreading awareness. One of my main concerns was that people who didn't know much about Fibro would assume that anyone could just work out and do a triathlon--- I didn't want to mislead the ignorant. Because training for the triathlon was such a delicate balance of listening to my body that the slightest wrong move could leave me paralyzed with fatigue. I am reminded of the beginning, when I triggered a two-week flare by doing too much too soon. I am reminded of the tears on my floor as I could not even lift my body up, so overcome with pain and exhaustion.
That was 6 months ago, and this is now. And now, I am an International Distance Triathlete.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Fear.
And then there is that lonely, fearful moment, the one where you've been sneezing for the past three days and now your throat starts tickling, and you are all out of your magical green powder and the dumb UPS truck didn't deliver it even though you signed the back of the paper dammit, and you are afraid you are not only about to get sick, but also trigger a flare--because as you realized in May and June, getting sick and even fighting off being sick triggers flares.
Because you HAVE had nerve pain for the past two weeks in varying degrees.
And because you HAVE been tired.
Because your symptoms have been better, but the truth is, they are still there. Because there is still fog, there is still tenderness, there is still pain, and there is still exhaustion. Because you still know your limitations and at the end of the day, those limitations must be respected so dearly.
Because you wanted to swim a mile tonight but thought against it--because to swim that far right now would possibly trigger a flare by overexerting when you are already fighting off a bug.
Because it is soon your moon and your body's cycle can cause a flare because you sleep poorly during those nights and less sleep can make your symptoms worse.
Because there are a precious few days left to mentally prepare. And you are excited and scared and nervous and afraid that this is actually happening.
Because you're afraid you'll break your knee off if you DO decide to actually run and withstand the pain, now knowing you won't cause damage.
Because you are afraid you'll trigger a flare RIGHT before the race.
Because you're afraid you will trigger a horrible flare right AFTER the race.
Because you have never ever done this much activity all at once, and even now, you have never put all of the components together, and you really don't know what that kind of exertion will do to your body and energy supply. This concern exists for a healthy person who has been training, but for someone fighting fibromyalgia, the risk in destroying your body for the next few days to weeks to months is at the forefront of your mind.
Because it is not just about the endurance and muscle and speed you have gained through training, it is also about this syndrome that ultimately calls the shots.
Because you also have TWO AUDITIONS the evening of the triathlon and you might be physical and mental goo by the time you actually read for the directors.
How is that for dedication to your craft.
Sending good energy. Breathing in energy.
Zinc. Sleep. De-stress. No flares. Zen.
Because you HAVE had nerve pain for the past two weeks in varying degrees.
And because you HAVE been tired.
Because your symptoms have been better, but the truth is, they are still there. Because there is still fog, there is still tenderness, there is still pain, and there is still exhaustion. Because you still know your limitations and at the end of the day, those limitations must be respected so dearly.
Because you wanted to swim a mile tonight but thought against it--because to swim that far right now would possibly trigger a flare by overexerting when you are already fighting off a bug.
Because it is soon your moon and your body's cycle can cause a flare because you sleep poorly during those nights and less sleep can make your symptoms worse.
Because there are a precious few days left to mentally prepare. And you are excited and scared and nervous and afraid that this is actually happening.
Because you're afraid you'll break your knee off if you DO decide to actually run and withstand the pain, now knowing you won't cause damage.
Because you are afraid you'll trigger a flare RIGHT before the race.
Because you're afraid you will trigger a horrible flare right AFTER the race.
Because you have never ever done this much activity all at once, and even now, you have never put all of the components together, and you really don't know what that kind of exertion will do to your body and energy supply. This concern exists for a healthy person who has been training, but for someone fighting fibromyalgia, the risk in destroying your body for the next few days to weeks to months is at the forefront of your mind.
Because it is not just about the endurance and muscle and speed you have gained through training, it is also about this syndrome that ultimately calls the shots.
Because you also have TWO AUDITIONS the evening of the triathlon and you might be physical and mental goo by the time you actually read for the directors.
How is that for dedication to your craft.
Sending good energy. Breathing in energy.
Zinc. Sleep. De-stress. No flares. Zen.
FIVE DAYS!
NO SURGERY FOR ME!!!!!
After a lovely trip to MRI land, my knee is not torn up! It's still the chondromalacia patella, it has just gotten real out of whack from overuse and poor muscle strength in my hips and glutes and more. Physical therapy for a few months should fix it! And the doctor says I will not injure or tear anything if I run on race day, so it will come down to how I feel. This is fantastic news! I think the pain has been magnified by the Fibro and my pain receptors just being crazy. Oddly enough, that is a connection I never made til a few days ago.
The backs of my legs look like I'm a battered woman. It's just Merriweather, my bike, kicking my ass. When I start going really fast, sometimes my feet fly off the pedals, hit me in the back of my ankles and calves, I almost crash, and then I have bruises the next day. Also carrying my bike up the stairs causes these stunning marks. Someone at work asked today "Getting beaten up?"
And I have my rental suit! I think I look like a superhero.
FIVE DAYS.
A mile swim tonight.
A long bike ride tomorrow.
Then I taper.
This is happening!
After a lovely trip to MRI land, my knee is not torn up! It's still the chondromalacia patella, it has just gotten real out of whack from overuse and poor muscle strength in my hips and glutes and more. Physical therapy for a few months should fix it! And the doctor says I will not injure or tear anything if I run on race day, so it will come down to how I feel. This is fantastic news! I think the pain has been magnified by the Fibro and my pain receptors just being crazy. Oddly enough, that is a connection I never made til a few days ago.
The backs of my legs look like I'm a battered woman. It's just Merriweather, my bike, kicking my ass. When I start going really fast, sometimes my feet fly off the pedals, hit me in the back of my ankles and calves, I almost crash, and then I have bruises the next day. Also carrying my bike up the stairs causes these stunning marks. Someone at work asked today "Getting beaten up?"
FIVE DAYS.
A mile swim tonight.
A long bike ride tomorrow.
Then I taper.
This is happening!
Monday, August 12, 2013
2 Weeks to Go.
If I was one to listen to the Universe (and I am) the Universe has very clearly been sending me some messages that perhaps the Tri is not for me.
Let's sum this up here.
You need to swim, bike, and run.
Did I purchase the wrong wetsuit from a little lady on Craiglist and did she refuse to reverse the transaction?
YES.
Did my bike get stolen off my balcony?
YES.
Is my knee busted to the point where the medical advice is to not run at all?
YES.
The Universe has thrown some wrenches in my grand plan. Perhaps it is telling me not to do the Tri.
But perhaps it is also seeing how bad I want it.
And I want this bad.
Because my bike my have been stolen, but I bought a used Blue one I named 'Merriweather' and she and I are getting along just fine. In fact, we've hit 25 miles together.
Because I may have thought a wetsuit was just a wetsuit and didn't know that you shouldn't race in a dive suit, but I hit a mile for the very first time in Lake Michigan WITHOUT any wetsuit. And then I did it again a few days later. And I'll do it again tomorrow. And I'll go that much faster because of it when I rent the tri specific one for race day.
Because even though I cannot run, I will walk the 6 miles on race day because I'm crossing that finish line one way or another no matter what.
The running is a disappointment for sure. It's funny that what has caused the most issues while training wasn't even fibro! It's not how I wanted this first race to go down. But even I have to acknowledge it would be unwise to run on it. And that's saying a lot, considering how stubborn I am. It has been bothering me for months, and I really believe that it was not the training that caused the issues with the knee ---certainly it was aggravated by the few runs I did complete--- rather, there have been underlying issues for years. The doc thinks it is possibly damaged cartilage, possibly cartilage fragments. Maybe it's from the 1/2 marathons I've completed? Not sure. Worse case scenario is surgery. Best case is that physical therapy will help a ton and the doc won't need to get in there to clear anything out. At this point, if it was just the doctor saying, "Don't run, be safe," I probably wouldn't listen. But the thing is, I can't run. It is too painful. Walking has been painful. My knee hurts on the train, hurts when I'm trying to go to bed. It feels better than a week ago, but I have had knee issues for years, and it's finally caught up with me. I'm going in for a fancy MRI on Wednesday to see what's going on.
I could be destroyed with this news, but I am not. Because when I look at the physical state I was in 3 months ago, I am so much healthier and stronger than I was then even WITH the injury. The fibro fatigue is minimal, the nerve pain is minimal (not gone though--but better), and the fibro fog is so much better (even though I did forget my pin # to my debit card again twice in one week. Oh well!) I have not followed the traditional training schedule like I originally planned, rather, I have had to take multiple rest days, like 3 at a time. And that's fine. That's what I could do knowing the danger in triggering another flare. I listened with precision and when I thought I should push, I pushed. And when I thought I should stop, I stopped. I have muscles, I have lost weight without trying, I am sleeping better, and I have had something to focus on while I was healing my body and my soul. My mind has had this one beautiful/awesome/boundary-pushing place to go in a time of turbulence. At a time when I honestly didn't know if I wanted to be an actor anymore, when I didn't have a show to throw my creativity into, when a relationship had just ended, when craziness/sadness in my family was raging, when I wanted to walk out on my day-job....there was the triathlon.
I honestly do not know what kind of state I would be in right now mentally and physically if it were not for the Tri.
And so I am grateful.
This has been so challenging, this has been the summer I quit acting to be a triathlete, but this will always be the summer I took myself back.
And realized just how strong I am.
Let's sum this up here.
You need to swim, bike, and run.
Did I purchase the wrong wetsuit from a little lady on Craiglist and did she refuse to reverse the transaction?
YES.
Did my bike get stolen off my balcony?
YES.
Is my knee busted to the point where the medical advice is to not run at all?
YES.
The Universe has thrown some wrenches in my grand plan. Perhaps it is telling me not to do the Tri.
But perhaps it is also seeing how bad I want it.
And I want this bad.
Because my bike my have been stolen, but I bought a used Blue one I named 'Merriweather' and she and I are getting along just fine. In fact, we've hit 25 miles together.
Because I may have thought a wetsuit was just a wetsuit and didn't know that you shouldn't race in a dive suit, but I hit a mile for the very first time in Lake Michigan WITHOUT any wetsuit. And then I did it again a few days later. And I'll do it again tomorrow. And I'll go that much faster because of it when I rent the tri specific one for race day.
Because even though I cannot run, I will walk the 6 miles on race day because I'm crossing that finish line one way or another no matter what.
The running is a disappointment for sure. It's funny that what has caused the most issues while training wasn't even fibro! It's not how I wanted this first race to go down. But even I have to acknowledge it would be unwise to run on it. And that's saying a lot, considering how stubborn I am. It has been bothering me for months, and I really believe that it was not the training that caused the issues with the knee ---certainly it was aggravated by the few runs I did complete--- rather, there have been underlying issues for years. The doc thinks it is possibly damaged cartilage, possibly cartilage fragments. Maybe it's from the 1/2 marathons I've completed? Not sure. Worse case scenario is surgery. Best case is that physical therapy will help a ton and the doc won't need to get in there to clear anything out. At this point, if it was just the doctor saying, "Don't run, be safe," I probably wouldn't listen. But the thing is, I can't run. It is too painful. Walking has been painful. My knee hurts on the train, hurts when I'm trying to go to bed. It feels better than a week ago, but I have had knee issues for years, and it's finally caught up with me. I'm going in for a fancy MRI on Wednesday to see what's going on.
I could be destroyed with this news, but I am not. Because when I look at the physical state I was in 3 months ago, I am so much healthier and stronger than I was then even WITH the injury. The fibro fatigue is minimal, the nerve pain is minimal (not gone though--but better), and the fibro fog is so much better (even though I did forget my pin # to my debit card again twice in one week. Oh well!) I have not followed the traditional training schedule like I originally planned, rather, I have had to take multiple rest days, like 3 at a time. And that's fine. That's what I could do knowing the danger in triggering another flare. I listened with precision and when I thought I should push, I pushed. And when I thought I should stop, I stopped. I have muscles, I have lost weight without trying, I am sleeping better, and I have had something to focus on while I was healing my body and my soul. My mind has had this one beautiful/awesome/boundary-pushing place to go in a time of turbulence. At a time when I honestly didn't know if I wanted to be an actor anymore, when I didn't have a show to throw my creativity into, when a relationship had just ended, when craziness/sadness in my family was raging, when I wanted to walk out on my day-job....there was the triathlon.
I honestly do not know what kind of state I would be in right now mentally and physically if it were not for the Tri.
And so I am grateful.
This has been so challenging, this has been the summer I quit acting to be a triathlete, but this will always be the summer I took myself back.
And realized just how strong I am.
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