Bump in the Road

I opened my email inbox this afternoon and saw the following subject line: "Final race instructions." Ack!! I mean I'm painfully aware of the fact that the race is two weeks away, but seeing the word "final" seemed so, well, final ... and scary ... and exciting ... and scary.

These past few weeks have been quite a roller coaster end to this journey. The ride started a few weeks ago when I strained my left quad doing of all things ... genuflecting. It's a long story: film shoot at work, trying to look really reverent, blah, blah, blah. In short, it was God's fault.

I went to the doctor and was put on the 7-10 day disabled list with a 50/50 chance of being healed by the time of the race. Excuse me? I don't think so. I'll be damned if I was going to go out this way. So I took the prescribed rest and then decided to forge ahead in a slightly altered way.

To the Therapy Pool

I made my way to my gym's warm water therapy pool with Krista, my partner in crime. When we entered the pool the warm water felt wonderful. The icy stares from the other participants -- the majority of which were my mother's age -- were not so warm. Apparently we had invaded their turf.

The first class the women pushed us to the shallow end. The next class one of the particularly agitated women herded me to the deep end in an apparent attempt to drown me. In case I survived, the instructor blared bad '50s and '60s music in much the same vein as the FBI did to the Branch Davidians in Waco.

And I'm sorry to say, the warm water women won. Well played ladies, well played.

Still not willing to give up, and aided by some unseasonably warm temperatures, I hit the neighborhood streets for some light walking. Soon light walking turned to walking and jogging. Oh, yeah, I was on a comeback. In fact last Friday I walked/ran 5 miles. To my way of thinking that will almost get me to Cinderella's castle. It's on.

Strength

I have debated back and forth about writing this post. Part of me says I shouldn't say anything, that it's one of those things you should keep to yourself. But then the other part of me steps in and says, "No, speak up. Share your truth. Someone may need to hear it."

So I'm writing. And I'm doing it to show that sometimes being strong means admitting that you're not. In one of my previous posts I wrote about why I backed off this blog for a while. And while everything I wrote was true, it wasn't the whole story.

The truth is, for most of the past year I have been struggling with depression. I knew depression was common in people with MS, but not me, I thought. I'm stronger than that. How stupid, because it has nothing to do with being strong or weak.

What's not OK, though, was me following my husband around like a puppy or making him feel guilty everytime he went away for work because I didn't want to be left alone. Or making my kids watch me cry over just about everything. Or retreating from those who care about me. Or lying when people asked if I was OK, and saying I was fine. And doing absolutely nothing to stop it, all because I thought ... well, actually, I'm not sure what I thought.

Did I think it made me weak? That I was the only person in the world who felt this way? Was I embarrassed? Worried about what people would think? Whatever the reason, it wasn't good enough.

And so I'm moving forward, stronger because I've learned that its actually more valiant to admit when you're not OK and when you need help than to pretend like everything's fine when it's not. That's what makes me stronger.

High Anxiety

39 days. That's how long I have until the race, and I'm starting to freak out a little bit. Not so much about the running part, well, running and walking in my case, but about everything else. Things like: What camera should I take and how many potty stops are there? The other night I had a dream that I forgot my running clothes, missed the bus to the race ... basically encountered anything and everything that could go wrong.

But on the other hand I'm really excited. I've been working really hard for this. And though I'm not one of those true runners -- and most probably never will be -- I've come farther than I ever imagined. That alone has been worth the journey.

So for the next 39 days I will be spending a lot of time at the gyml. But I'll also be spending time finalizing my costume, packing all my warm weather clothes and planning which rides to go on first. You know, the important stuff.

MS and Blog Fail

I'm embarrassed to point out that this is the first time I've posted in far too long. When I started this blog, I had told myself that I would be faithful about posting. And, honestly, I've got so much to talk about--my first race, our team name, our costumes. But something happened a while back that led to my backing off for a little while. It happened when I was at a party and made an apparently failed joke about my "brain spots."

"We know," someone said in a tone that clearly conveyed the message that they didn't want to hear another word about my MS.

It stopped me cold. I wasn't trying to make a big deal. It was an off the cuff joke because I didn't remember something. To say I wanted to crawl under the table and die is an understatement.

When I came home I grilled Mark. "Do I talk too much about MS?" "If I do, why don't you tell me?" "Maybe the blog was a stupid idea and I should stop." Once again he just stood there and listened. He's really good at that. He always knows just when to talk and when to listen. Finally, he told me what he's told me so many times before--"Don't worry about everyone else. Do what's right for you."

You see, I'm by nature a hard core introvert--terrified of meeting new people, hate talking on the phone. In fact, when I was in high school I used to tell my parents I was going out with people and then go shopping by myself. I don't like asking for help and most of the time I would prefer to blend right into the wallpaper.

So having someone think that I was trying to exploit my health for popularity or attention mortified me. I would be perfectly happy internalizing every little thing about this disease. For a long time I did. A lot of times I still do. But I'm not supposed to. That's what the doctors say. That's what all the "experts" and articles tell me to do.

So I'm sorry if me talking about MS bothers people, but I can't help it. And here's why. It never leaves my mind...ever. It's a part of my everyday life, just like my kids, family, job. So, just like with those things, I'm going to talk about it. I'm not doing it for attention. I'm not doing it for fun. I'm doing it because, unfortunately, it's a part of who I am. Sorry if that bothers some people. But I have decided that I'm going to take Mark's advice. I like writing this blog. I like the idea that something I post may help even one person going through the same thing as me.

So, if you're interested in my running antics and MS rants, stick around. I've got some things I've been wanting to talk about.

Training Highs and Lows

If there is one thing I have learned on this adventure, it is that some days you feel like you can conquer the world and other days not so much. Luckily, this past Saturday was one of those "I can do this" kind of days. Still, that's not to say it was all puppies and rainbows. So, to honor that up and down journey, here are three things I'm proud of from my morning run/walk and three things of which I'm not so proud.

Three Things I'm Proud of:

1. I once again clocked around a 13-minute mile. Not bad considering 9 months ago I could barely walk 1 mile in about an hour.
2. That I didn't say what I wanted to say to the kid who yelled, "Run faster, old lady" at me.
3. I managed to film a video and didn't fall or run into anything. Unfortunately, I also manged to film it sideways and can't seem to figure out how to turn it or get any sound. Technology fail.

 Three Things I'm Not So Proud of:

1. Running on cool, autumn mornings will make your nose run. Bring a Kleenex or else you will end up wiping your nose on your husband's sweatshirt--that he just washed and you snagged out of the dryer--like you always tell your kids not to.
2. When I read the walk/run/walk training program for the Princess Half Marathon and they suggested developing a mantra to carry you through the runs, I'm pretty sure they meant something more inspiring than, "I'm going to die" or "God help me" as I was doing today.
3. I spit in someone's yard. In my defense, it was a good spit, not one of those that doesn't make it all the way out of your mouth and hits your chin, leaving you to wipe it with your sweatshirt that you just wiped your nose with.

Overall, though, I'm just proud that I'm actually doing this--despite the highs and lows.

Autumn Blessings

It is a beautiful fall morning here. Perfect sweatshirt and jeans kind of weather. The perfect kind of morning for a walk. So I did.

Before I headed out the door, I asked my super-techy husband to hook me up with some sort of tracking device on my phone. No, not in case I got lost. But rather so I can quit driving all the routes I walk to see how far I've gone. People are starting to think I'm casing their homes. So anyway, he hooked me up with the SportsTracker Pro app on my phone and off I went.

As I walked, I rejoiced in a few other things:

I am thiiiiissss close to my 15 minute mile that I'm gunning for. In fact, according to my new nifty app, I'm only 46 seconds off.

It was really peaceful and quiet. Well, other than the music on my iPod. But I actually turned that off halfway through my walk so I could listen to the wind rustling the leaves. Way cool.

To the person who had a fire going that early. Is there any better smell than that on a cool, autumn morning?

The new songs I bought the other day at iTunes, like this one and this one. I was getting really tired of my same old playlist.

Yeah, I think it's going to be a good day.

Can We Share the Love?

The other day I was walking to lunch when I encountered the giant billboard to the right. That afternoon I went to the grocery store and was greeted with racks and racks of pink paraphernalia. That evening, my husband brought home the pen below. And I went into total Jan Brady mode.

I've been mulling over whether or not to write about this issue for a very long time. I don't want anyone to think I am in any way, shape or form against raising every last penny toward fighting and curing breast cancer. But there's something that's been bugging me about the whole world seemingly gone pink.

The NFL wears pink ribbons on their uniforms. Every year on Mother's Day, Major League Baseball players swing with pink bats and are decked out in pink wherever possible.

But guess what? There are other diseases that afflict women and moms. And the women who suffer from them are every bit as strong and brave and scared as hell. Know what the number one killer of women is?  Heart disease. (And by the way, I love this new PSA by Elizabeth Banks. It's brilliant.) Number two is cancer. Not specifically breast cancer, just cancer.

I lost a friend to leukemia. She fought like hell, but lost her battle and left behind two little boys and a husband who adored her. Was her fight any less worth heralding because it was her blood instead of her breasts that betrayed her? I often wonder if it's because hearts, brains, lungs, uteruses and a whole slew of other body parts aren't as sexy as breasts. What, no "Save the Ovaries" bracelets?

Again, please don't think for a moment that I don't support doing everything we can to annihilate breast cancer. I do. I'm just wondering if maybe we can't somehow share the love for all those fighting--regardless of what disease or illness they happen to have.