What Now?

In the month or so since the half marathon, I have been asked time and time again which race I'm going to do next. And the answer is, I'm really not sure.

I've been feeling a little lost since I got back from Disney. I had been focusing on this race for so long, that I hadn't really thought about what would come after it. And I'm still not sure what will. I'm not sure if I'll run another race. After all, what could compare? Will I go back to Disney next year for the race? Don't know. Will it ruin the magic of the first time?

So I'm currently in search of my next adventure. Who knows what I'll come up with. I'll keep you posted.

Letting Go

Oh, favorite sweatshirt how I miss thee.

When I was packing for the race, one of the things I kept reminding myself to bring was a sweatshirt I would not be sad to part with. The race instructions, and those who had previously run the race, had implicitly said to bring an old sweatshirt that could be worn in the chilly morning and tossed aside along the race route. Those sweatshirts would be collected and donated.

But I forgot. Oh, I brought a sweatshirt all right. I brought my absolute favorite, comfiest, had it the longest time sweatshirt. You could say it's the closest thing I have to a blankie. It showed it's age--broken zipper, missing drawstrings, frayed cuffs. But man was it comfy and warm.

And now it's gone...forever. You see, I couldn't not wear a sweatshirt the morning of the race. It was cold. And I hate to be cold. But then the sun came up and it got kind of warm. (Imagine that, it's Florida.) So I made the difficult decision to let it go somewhere around mile 4. I just couldn't see myself carrying it for another 9 miles or tying it around my tutu.

It wasn't easy. I actually stopped on the side of the road before handing it off to the volunteer. She looked at me like I was nuts. But it was time to move on. In fact, letting go of that sweatshirt seemed like such a metaphor for so many challenges I've faced since I purchased it so many years ago.

I've had to learn to let go of the anger over my MS --still working on this one--over the questions as to why me, over the challenges this disease presents and so many other things. But I'm learning that sometimes you just have to let go of some things -- no matter how comfortable and comforting they are -- and move forward. There is no other choice. After all, that's how we grow, isn't it? So, I guess that only means one thing. I'll just have to find a new favorite sweatshirt. Shopping trip anyone?

It Is Done

Ready to run

I had intended on posting the whole time I was in Disney for the race but, unfortunately, I got caught up in the excitement surrounding the event and failed.

Well .... I did it. 13.1 miles. I'm still in shock.

On the other side of the race, I will tell you it was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. You know, one of those experiences that when people ask you to sum up your life in milestones you turn to like your wedding, birth of children, etc. Yeah, one of those kind of moments.

The halfway marker with my prince,
um, princess

Going into the race I still had my doubts. Had I trained enough? Would my legs hold up? Could I overcome the fatigue?

Make it to the castle, I kept telling myself. And then I made it to the castle. Make it to the halfway point, I said. And I did. Sometimes I ran (more often than I thought I could) other times I walked. And that was O.K. Before I knew it I was nearing the finish line. Then there it was. I crossed--hand in hand with my princess hubby and with a 14+ minute mile. And then I cried.

After the race, when I had gotten something to eat (other than the healthy stuff with no taste that they give you along the race route) and taken a nap (what's up with a 5:45 a.m. starting time?), I finally had time to absorb what I had done. Wow. Did I really do that? Me? Wow. And I cried again.

A week out from my accomplishment, I have gone back and read the posts in this blog and rewalked my journey. To say I'm proud of myself is an understatement. It has changed me in ways I can not explain. And it has changed the way I see things--and people. I am 100 percent certain I could not have, would not have done this without the love and support of so many people. I felt that as I was running. And saying thank you seems so totally inadequate. But thank you anyway to all those who cheered me on, encouraged me, helped me get to the finish line. This is your victory, too.

Now, I'm contemplating my next challenge. This one will be hard to top. Will I return next year? I'm not sure. I don't know if it would be the same. So maybe I'll look for something new. One thing I do know, though, is next time I will be checking the mileage for any adventure before I throw my hat in the ring.

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.