Posts Tagged ‘running’
Friday, June 22nd, 2012
“You’re not crazy,” the doctor said, trying to be helpful. “There is something wrong with you.”
Something wrong. Of course something was wrong.
For the past five months, I’ve struggled. A regular runner, I suddenly found my already slow pace had turned glacial, and if I pushed it just a little, I would become winded. And then it would take me twice as long to get my breath back.
Every. Single. Time.
So I took a break. Running was no longer something that cleared my mind and energized me. Instead, I became frustrated. And sad. But after a few weeks, I went back. I figured after a week or two, I’d be back to normal.
But it never happened.
I ran a half-marathon. At my slowest pace ever.
I ran a 10K. And walked the uphill.
My friends finally convinced me to go to the doctor.
He listened. To my words. To my heart.
The black pulse oximeter he clipped onto my fingertip showed my resting heart rate was 56. He told me to run down the hall – what? really? – and I did. My heart rate leapt to 132.
His eyes widened in surprise.
The jump? Fine for someone who never exercises. Not so much for a runner.
He ruled out a pulmonary embolism (I’d be dead by now). He didn’t think it was cancer. Most likely? Asthma. Even though I didn’t wheeze and I haven’t been coughing.
I rushed home with my new inhaler and scheduled a chest x-ray and blood draw for that day.
The doctor said he’d call me the next day with results.
I’m still waiting. I learned this morning, when I finally called, that results come electronically into my chart and the doctor doesn’t know unless I call the office to tell them I’ve had the tests. Which he prescribed.
Monday. He’ll call me Monday.
And so I wait.
Trying to pretend I’m not freaked out. Trying to pretend my mind hasn’t gone to the dark places that mothers go when they think about their own mortality.
I’m not crazy.
But no relief comes from this confirmation of my sanity.
Something’s wrong with me.
Monday, June 4th, 2012
I got the email New Year’s Day.
My friend had signed me up for the Camp Pendleton Mud Run this past weekend.
This was not a race I had any interest in doing. I mean, it’s a 10k. With, like, mud. And obstacles. A lake to get through where the water’s chest-deep. And lots of mud. Did I mention the mud?
I know a lot of people who have done this race. More than once. When I ask why they do it, they always say “Because it’s fun.”
I didn’t get it.
You run through mud. How is that fun?
I get it now.
Here we are before the race. You can see on my friend Donna in the back, and along the necklines of our long sleeve shirts, the color of our tank tops. A pretty aqua blue. Funnest group of women ever. So glad I got to get dirty with them.
By the time the race was over, all 6.2 miles of it, I had mud in places mud should never be.
And I liked it.
The course was tough. Mainly because at least two miles of it were uphill. Parts were through deep sand. Once the hills were done…
Mud. Glorious, stinky, mud. We slogged through thigh-deep water, climbed over walls, and jumped into thigh-deep water with mud on the bottom that tried to suck off our running shoes. A steep hill with Marines shooting fire hoses at us had to be climbed. It was hot enough by then that I found myself shouting, “More fire hose!” I’m not clear I will ever utter those words again.
When I got over the last wall, I asked the Marine standing in the muddy water on the other side to help people get down, who he’d pissed off to get the assignment.
“I volunteered,” he said.
Of course he did. He’s a Marine. A baby-faced Marine. Most of them were. I was old enough to be their mothers, and the knowledge that they’re the ones that have to go off and possibly get killed was disconcerting. But for now, their biggest danger was getting muddy water splashed in their faces.
The last part of the race involves crawling under ropes. The water was deep enough that my legs floated – I didn’t kick because I didn’t want to get the person behind me – so I propelled myself forward with my arms. I got a nice mud goatee out of the deal, but at least I didn’t swallow any brown water.
And then we were done. The Filthy Five. In our now khaki tank tops.
I can’t believe I’d actually do this again next year.
It was fun.
Thanks Kris, Kim, Donna and Carolina!
Thursday, September 1st, 2011
My dear friend Nichole posts about things that bring her joy each week.
Today I’m posting about mine.
And it is this. Actually, these.
For those of you who run, you get this. You truly understand the necessity of having socks that won’t cause blisters or, even worse, a dead toenail.
I love the Wrightsock. I do. However, socks are all the same at their core. And by that I mean they go missing. One at a time. I’m down to one pair, which are probably four years old, and, sadly, my toes now poke through various holes.
I’ve tried other brands. Yes, I have cheated on the Wrightsock. And I have paid dearly. Blisters. Slippage, when the back of the sock ends up somewhere under my arch. It ain’t pretty.
I finally got myself a new pack. I am so happy.
There is nothing like new socks. Even if you do not run. If you have feet, you know what I’m saying.
Wrightsock did not provide me socks. Or even know about this post. I just heart them.
Monday, September 6th, 2010
It is hard for me to talk about my weight. It is hard, because I’m not fat.
I know this, logically.
But over the past month, I’ve gained 10 pounds. I’m at the heaviest non-pregnant weight I’ve been in years. I am now just above the number I promised I’d never get over again.
And yet, here I am. It’s scary. (more…)
Tuesday, July 20th, 2010
The end came and I wasn’t expecting it.
I mean, I knew it was going to happen, but I was hoping for a final hurrah, a lingering.
I wanted a Last Time.
Instead, the finish was as simple as a finger pointing downstairs. (more…)