One of the only lovely things about being laid up with stitches all over my body is that I have time to read, write and create new running playlists. Just as playlists can energize, focus and embolden my fiction writing, they can also do the same for my running. However, my current Spotify running playlists are a little sparse. So it is time to invigorate these lists.
As family legend holds, my mother was once called into speak to my first grade teacher about “the list making.” Unsure of what that meant, my mother discovered that not only was my teacher concerned about the endless lists I tended to make, but the custodian had also become concerned upon finding “the lists that Kassie makes to keep track of her other lists.”
I have always found power in listing things. Beyond being a bit of a control freak (cough, cough) I find that lists often allow me to see those things that I have not listed. In compiling lists, I can most often discover the holes in the lists themselves and ultimately dive even deeper into whatever task I am trying to order. When analyzing my running playlists today, I discovered a gap.
I have four running playlists currently. They are entitled “Wake Up Run” (for slower runs), “Workout” (for when I need an energy boost to get going), “Motivation” (for when I need to be reminded of why I’m training) and “Meditation Run” (which is really just white noise – to be used when I’m in my zone and need only my breath and footfalls to guide me). This seems to be an extensive enough collection, right?
And yet, my running moods do not fit simply into four set categories. Especially since I decided to start training for the marathon and since my autoimmune disorder became increasingly problematic, my reasons for running and my running rhythms have become increasingly dynamic. And I am thus in need of appropriately dynamic playlists to help foster and guide my progress.
When I write fiction, I begin building playlists around each central character and around central themes in my work. I then listen to these tracks when I am either seeking inspiration, trying to get unstuck during the editing process or I just care to daydream about where my character would like me to take him/her next. My playlists evolve with my characters. And my running playlists now need to evolve with my training.
I have fairly eclectic taste in music. I enjoy a wide variety of styles that encompass great, catchy, cheesy, moving and inspirational works. I dig everything from pop to country, bluegrass to classic choral pieces. And I am fairly unapologetic about loving truly “bad” music. Yes, I rock out to “Call Me Maybe” in the shower just like my daughter professes to.
So, what am I looking for to round out my current running playlists and inspire new ones? Please feel free to weigh in. Weigh in with whatever gets you moving, turning your volume up and your heart pounding faster. Or tell me what music I might like on slower running days when I just want to think about how life is good even when it gets complicated. I am seeking any suggestions you feel compelled to deliver. Feel free to reach out to me via Facebook, the comments section in this blog, gmail or carrier pigeon. I am seeking great running music and will field suggestions in whatever manner you’d like to deliver them.
But I cannot very well ask you to give me your suggestions without providing a few of my own. So to close today’s blog, here are a few of my current favorite running tunes:
- “This Time” by Carrie Underwood
- “Comeback Kid (That’s My Dog)” by Brett Dennen
- “It’s Time” by Imagine Dragons
- “American Honey” by Lady Antebellum
- “Domino” by Jessie J
- “Dark Side” by Kelly Clarkson
- “Shake it Out” by Florence + The Machine
- “The Quest” by Bryn Christopher
- “Hold On” by KT Tunstall
- “Something that I Want” by Grace Potter
- “Some Nights” by Fun.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Monday, April 29, 2013
Day Seven: Surgery and the Three Hour Rule
My mother has three biological daughters. I am the bookish brunette, Megan is the fiery redhead and little Hannah is the bubbly blonde. Now it just so happens that Hannah is one-quarter Native American and probably has more melanin than Megan and I combined. But when skin cancer first struck my mother and began targeting us girls one by one, Hannah got hit first and has so far been hit the hardest, next to my mother. Late last year, I discovered that I had been chosen to go second. My fingers are crossed that Megan, who looks like she just stepped off a plane from Dublin and is even paler than I am, will be spared.
I did not blog this weekend because I was getting ready to go in for skin cancer surgery this morning. I have discovered that it is much easier to deal with this sort of thing when the house is clean, good books are lined up and I’m well rested. I am grateful to have learned this lesson early because they stitched up such vulnerable places in my back and left leg that I’m not even allowed to bend over for several days. Also, no running or yoga for a little while, which I should have anticipated but didn’t. So the news stung like a slap. I knew when I began training that I would have to adjust to my body’s needs, but that knowledge is still something I am getting used to.
In addition, I was forced to institute the three hour rule after surgery earlier today. What is the three hour rule, you ask? It is a variation on the three day rule proposed by Kris Carr in her fabulous book “Crazy Sexy Cancer Survivor.” (I will absolutely return to Ms. Carr’s work in future blogs.) Carr recognizes that one needs time to adjust and grieve after challenging news related to diagnosis. However, wallowing is not helpful past a very narrow point and life is short. So she suggests limiting oneself to three days of behavior one would expect from Eeyore of “Winnie-the-Pooh” fame. After that, it becomes time to get off the mat.
My medical news has been consistently frustrating for long enough that while three days is completely reasonable, I try to limit myself to three hours for any non-catastrophic diagnosis news that dampens my spirit. And this morning, I needed my three hours.
I work as a legal issues social media writer for Thomson Reuters. I use my legal degree to craft legal news, most recently in the form of blogs. Now, my fellow blog-writers and I have joked on more than one occasion that our close calls in life could serve as excellent blog topics. For example, if one of us narrowly misses an accident with a distracted driver, we point out the connection between that occurrence and the multitude of personal injury blogs we produce on the subject of negligent driving. Well bloggers, have I got a potential med mal story for you.
My mother grew up at a time when women slathered baby oil on themselves before laying out in the sun, not sunscreen. So it didn’t occur to her (unless we were spending all day at the beach) to encourage or insist that we girls wear any. I experienced several bad burns in between the ages of about eight and fourteen before I began applying sunscreen as a matter of personal choice. I didn’t think much of this decision until my mother and then Hannah began requiring multiple, serious skin cancer surgeries. Off to the dermatologist I went to have one funky mole checked out on my right side.
Flash forward to several appointments and procedures later, as I am sitting and waiting for today’s surgery to begin. “Huh,” says my new doctor. “Do you know why this hasn’t been tested? We need to biopsy this immediately.” The spot she was referring to is the exact spot that first prompted me to go to the dermatologist in the first place. Somehow, the spot I pointed to over and over again (and which was dismissed as “just fine” by my former physician) was missed completely until a new doctor simply eyeballed it and acted without any prompting from me at all.
I frequently write about issues related to misdiagnosis and delayed diagnosis. I watch videos and read books on how to be an excellent self advocate when you are mired in the depths of the healthcare system for a chronic issue. And yet I was fool enough not to insist that someone else look at the only spot I was worried about even as multiple other places on my body have been cut into over and over. After that realization, it was time to employ the three hour rule.
Now I am settling in for a few days of resting, reading and generally being a low-key lady as I wait for the results of my biopsy, am nice to my stitches and wait to run, bend over and generally feel better. I will be blogging on all kinds of interesting subjects I have floating around in my brain related to training with an autoimmune condition (and apparently my skin cancer is now making an appearance as well). So I hope that you will continue to read along and bear with me until I can start physically training in earnest again after a few days.
For those who are curious, my week’s reading list includes:
- “Anti-Cancer: A New Way of Life” by David Servan-Schreiber
- “The Untethered Soul” by Michael A. Singer (If I can’t do yoga, I figure I should read a book highly recommended by some yoga friends)
- “Go Long: The Best Stories from Runner’s World” Edited by David Willey
- I am aiming to finish both “Crazy Sexy Cancer Survivor” and “Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips” by Kris Carr
- I am itching to dig back into “Laboratory of Justice: The Supreme Court’s 200-Year Struggle to Integrate Science and the Law” by my own dear professor David L. Faigman
- And… I will be reading “The Selection” by Kiera Cass as a preview before I let Samantha dig into it, as it is a departure from her ordinarily classic and spunky reading style
It was a frustrating day, but now that my three hours are up, it is time to look forward again with optimistic eyes.
I did not blog this weekend because I was getting ready to go in for skin cancer surgery this morning. I have discovered that it is much easier to deal with this sort of thing when the house is clean, good books are lined up and I’m well rested. I am grateful to have learned this lesson early because they stitched up such vulnerable places in my back and left leg that I’m not even allowed to bend over for several days. Also, no running or yoga for a little while, which I should have anticipated but didn’t. So the news stung like a slap. I knew when I began training that I would have to adjust to my body’s needs, but that knowledge is still something I am getting used to.
In addition, I was forced to institute the three hour rule after surgery earlier today. What is the three hour rule, you ask? It is a variation on the three day rule proposed by Kris Carr in her fabulous book “Crazy Sexy Cancer Survivor.” (I will absolutely return to Ms. Carr’s work in future blogs.) Carr recognizes that one needs time to adjust and grieve after challenging news related to diagnosis. However, wallowing is not helpful past a very narrow point and life is short. So she suggests limiting oneself to three days of behavior one would expect from Eeyore of “Winnie-the-Pooh” fame. After that, it becomes time to get off the mat.
My medical news has been consistently frustrating for long enough that while three days is completely reasonable, I try to limit myself to three hours for any non-catastrophic diagnosis news that dampens my spirit. And this morning, I needed my three hours.
I work as a legal issues social media writer for Thomson Reuters. I use my legal degree to craft legal news, most recently in the form of blogs. Now, my fellow blog-writers and I have joked on more than one occasion that our close calls in life could serve as excellent blog topics. For example, if one of us narrowly misses an accident with a distracted driver, we point out the connection between that occurrence and the multitude of personal injury blogs we produce on the subject of negligent driving. Well bloggers, have I got a potential med mal story for you.
My mother grew up at a time when women slathered baby oil on themselves before laying out in the sun, not sunscreen. So it didn’t occur to her (unless we were spending all day at the beach) to encourage or insist that we girls wear any. I experienced several bad burns in between the ages of about eight and fourteen before I began applying sunscreen as a matter of personal choice. I didn’t think much of this decision until my mother and then Hannah began requiring multiple, serious skin cancer surgeries. Off to the dermatologist I went to have one funky mole checked out on my right side.
Flash forward to several appointments and procedures later, as I am sitting and waiting for today’s surgery to begin. “Huh,” says my new doctor. “Do you know why this hasn’t been tested? We need to biopsy this immediately.” The spot she was referring to is the exact spot that first prompted me to go to the dermatologist in the first place. Somehow, the spot I pointed to over and over again (and which was dismissed as “just fine” by my former physician) was missed completely until a new doctor simply eyeballed it and acted without any prompting from me at all.
I frequently write about issues related to misdiagnosis and delayed diagnosis. I watch videos and read books on how to be an excellent self advocate when you are mired in the depths of the healthcare system for a chronic issue. And yet I was fool enough not to insist that someone else look at the only spot I was worried about even as multiple other places on my body have been cut into over and over. After that realization, it was time to employ the three hour rule.
Now I am settling in for a few days of resting, reading and generally being a low-key lady as I wait for the results of my biopsy, am nice to my stitches and wait to run, bend over and generally feel better. I will be blogging on all kinds of interesting subjects I have floating around in my brain related to training with an autoimmune condition (and apparently my skin cancer is now making an appearance as well). So I hope that you will continue to read along and bear with me until I can start physically training in earnest again after a few days.
For those who are curious, my week’s reading list includes:
- “Anti-Cancer: A New Way of Life” by David Servan-Schreiber
- “The Untethered Soul” by Michael A. Singer (If I can’t do yoga, I figure I should read a book highly recommended by some yoga friends)
- “Go Long: The Best Stories from Runner’s World” Edited by David Willey
- I am aiming to finish both “Crazy Sexy Cancer Survivor” and “Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips” by Kris Carr
- I am itching to dig back into “Laboratory of Justice: The Supreme Court’s 200-Year Struggle to Integrate Science and the Law” by my own dear professor David L. Faigman
- And… I will be reading “The Selection” by Kiera Cass as a preview before I let Samantha dig into it, as it is a departure from her ordinarily classic and spunky reading style
It was a frustrating day, but now that my three hours are up, it is time to look forward again with optimistic eyes.
Friday, April 26, 2013
Day Four: 'Secret' Dancing on Treadmills
Some runners detest treadmills. They prefer to run exclusively out in the open air with the ground beneath their feet. I say, more power to ‘em. However, I dig the treadmill. The treadmill is a fabulous tool for someone who is required to keep her heart rate from spiking past a certain point for too long and for someone who struggles with understanding pace on bad inflammation days. On good days, I can feel my pace in my bones. On bad days, a 4.2 on the treadmill feels like a sprint.
Today is a fabulous day. A bad inflammation day, but a fabulous day overall. Minneapolis has had the kind of winter that refuses to quit. And while I admire its tenacity, the winter’s final blizzard on Monday was quite enough. So today’s 70 degree weather is no doubt inspiring Twin Cities runners to climb out of doors and take to the trails around the lakes. I wish I could go with you.
However, today I am thrilled. Today, I am inspired. Today my daughter had a victory that should be celebrated by all female-kind and lovers of justice. My daughter rocked the entire world today and I want to run in recognition of her glory. I want to run and dance and take a kickboxing class while pretending to be Sydney Bristow from “Alias.” But I am currently on an intense regimen of a drug called Prednisone right now and it is testing some of my physical limits. Prednisone and I have yet to come to an understanding about how I aspire to live my life. So, I will at best be taking to the treadmill this evening.
But thankfully, I am one of those people inspired by treadmills. And that inspiration will (both tonight and moving forward) help me to move closer to something I have secretly been wanting to get really brilliant at lately. Tonight on the treadmill (as I try to do every treadmill workout) I get closer to learning how to dance on it.
Dance on the treadmill, you ask? Why and how and WHY you ask? When you get a moment, check out this link and watch the first 45 to 60 seconds. Hopefully it will have you jamming and understanding why I aspire not just to run on the treadmill in order to become a better-prepared marathoner and a stronger runner in general. Hopefully it will help you to understand why I am working on treadmill dancing. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SLMWaU-rLJQ
I dance everywhere. When I go grocery shopping, I pop on giant headphones and dance in the aisles. I dance on runs and in my apartment’s parking garage. When I am frustrated and feeling overwhelmed by anything dark in my life, I dance with my eyes closed imagining that with every movement outward I am pushing away that darkness and letting in blinding yet comforting light. The only thing I have ever ordered from an infomercial is the ballet bar that sits in my living room.
When I was in law school, the one thing I did for myself was train regularly at the San Francisco Academy of Ballet. Zory and Richard both regularly brought attention to the tension I always seemed to hold in my shoulders and jaw. But truly, dancing in those studios on Market Street just at the entrance of the Castro district was what relaxed and grounded me as I studied mass atrocity and human rights abuses so intense that it kept me up at night. Well, dancing and cuddling babies at UCSF Children’s Hospital kept me grounded. Babies, even and perhaps especially sweet and sick babies always help to keep life in perspective.
So it comes as no surprise that I view treadmills as vehicles for dance. I have tried to teach every dance student I’ve ever had that dance is, at its purest, expression in motion. I do not view running as simply exercise. Running is metaphor and serves as expression of self, life and aspiration just as dance does.
So in addition to training for the marathon, I am admitting to my odd little secret. I want to become a truly interesting and joyful treadmill dancer. Dancing on the floor is something I will continue to do every day I can. And I will continue to freak out grocery store patrons and dogs who look at me oddly when a great song pops onto my playlist while I’m running around the Lake of the Isles. But I also want to dance in new ways… where better to start than the treadmills upon which I am spending so much time?
Today is a fabulous day. A bad inflammation day, but a fabulous day overall. Minneapolis has had the kind of winter that refuses to quit. And while I admire its tenacity, the winter’s final blizzard on Monday was quite enough. So today’s 70 degree weather is no doubt inspiring Twin Cities runners to climb out of doors and take to the trails around the lakes. I wish I could go with you.
However, today I am thrilled. Today, I am inspired. Today my daughter had a victory that should be celebrated by all female-kind and lovers of justice. My daughter rocked the entire world today and I want to run in recognition of her glory. I want to run and dance and take a kickboxing class while pretending to be Sydney Bristow from “Alias.” But I am currently on an intense regimen of a drug called Prednisone right now and it is testing some of my physical limits. Prednisone and I have yet to come to an understanding about how I aspire to live my life. So, I will at best be taking to the treadmill this evening.
But thankfully, I am one of those people inspired by treadmills. And that inspiration will (both tonight and moving forward) help me to move closer to something I have secretly been wanting to get really brilliant at lately. Tonight on the treadmill (as I try to do every treadmill workout) I get closer to learning how to dance on it.
Dance on the treadmill, you ask? Why and how and WHY you ask? When you get a moment, check out this link and watch the first 45 to 60 seconds. Hopefully it will have you jamming and understanding why I aspire not just to run on the treadmill in order to become a better-prepared marathoner and a stronger runner in general. Hopefully it will help you to understand why I am working on treadmill dancing. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SLMWaU-rLJQ
I dance everywhere. When I go grocery shopping, I pop on giant headphones and dance in the aisles. I dance on runs and in my apartment’s parking garage. When I am frustrated and feeling overwhelmed by anything dark in my life, I dance with my eyes closed imagining that with every movement outward I am pushing away that darkness and letting in blinding yet comforting light. The only thing I have ever ordered from an infomercial is the ballet bar that sits in my living room.
When I was in law school, the one thing I did for myself was train regularly at the San Francisco Academy of Ballet. Zory and Richard both regularly brought attention to the tension I always seemed to hold in my shoulders and jaw. But truly, dancing in those studios on Market Street just at the entrance of the Castro district was what relaxed and grounded me as I studied mass atrocity and human rights abuses so intense that it kept me up at night. Well, dancing and cuddling babies at UCSF Children’s Hospital kept me grounded. Babies, even and perhaps especially sweet and sick babies always help to keep life in perspective.
So it comes as no surprise that I view treadmills as vehicles for dance. I have tried to teach every dance student I’ve ever had that dance is, at its purest, expression in motion. I do not view running as simply exercise. Running is metaphor and serves as expression of self, life and aspiration just as dance does.
So in addition to training for the marathon, I am admitting to my odd little secret. I want to become a truly interesting and joyful treadmill dancer. Dancing on the floor is something I will continue to do every day I can. And I will continue to freak out grocery store patrons and dogs who look at me oddly when a great song pops onto my playlist while I’m running around the Lake of the Isles. But I also want to dance in new ways… where better to start than the treadmills upon which I am spending so much time?
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Day Three: Wonderwall
Some runs are focused and goal-driven. A certain mileage marker, set of drills or number of hours spent guides and helps to define these runs. I am most often the kind of runner who engages in this sort of approach, as concrete goals aid me in reminding me of my larger athletic goals. However, I will sometimes allow myself to simply lace up my shoes and run wherever my body wants to take me. Not to over simplify these experiences, but focused runs tend to teach me about myself as a runner while free runs tend to teach me about myself as an overall person.
Today, I had a focused blog planned. I had a topic chosen and had even written a few paragraphs in my head in between work tasks earlier in the day. However, something strange and lovely happened that turned my day (and this blog post) into a free run.
Junior high school helped to lay my life foundation in ways I couldn’t have expected it to when I first walked the halls of Marco Forster and only knew a single, fantastic soul enrolled there. Most people hated junior high and I can certainly understand why. But I was very, very fortunate during this period of life. I loved junior high. And it completely due to the people I surrounded myself with that my experience was what it was.
I grew brutally uncomfortable in my skin during high school. But in junior high, I loved both who I was and who everyone else was. My friends and I were quite the motley crew, too. Our personalities, interests, appearances and approaches could often not have been more different. And out of this strange melting pot we benefitted from an odd combination of independent and collective self-confidence that many of us struggled to hold onto as we got older.
Among my favorite experiences during this period was Odyssey of the Mind. A team five strong in seventh grade, we added a sixth to our membership in eighth grade. The decision to add a sixth member was a contentious one because we had grown so incredibly close the previous year. In fact, we ended the season with a huge inside-joke wedding between two of us, officiated by another and attended by the remaining two.
Yes, in seventh grade I married a friend who was dressed in a chicken costume. We fed each other oranges and he slipped a red Ring Pop on my finger. I walked down the aisle to the Oasis song “Wonderwall.” It was a raucous and perfectly juvenile affair in the best ways imaginable. Today I discovered that that boy I married in seventh grade is student teaching my daughter Samantha’s sixth grade English class. The phrase “small world” does not begin to describe this odd turn of events for me.
I have been thinking a lot lately about why people choose to run. Running is primal. We run towards things and we run away from them. We run to punish ourselves, absolve ourselves, test, celebrate and find ourselves. I run for all of these reasons from time to time. But mainly, I run because in my late 20’s I became a far stronger, more confident, self-respecting and happy person than I had been for some time. I run because when I became a runner a few years ago, I started loving who I was in ways I hadn’t consistently since junior high. For me, training for the marathon represents an acknowledgement, a fostering and a chronicling of this consistency in my life that ultimately means more to me than nearly any other life approach does.
Life is hard. And those of you who know me personally know that mine has not always been easy, straightforward or terribly surefooted. But the friendships I made in junior high helped to inspire truth about my value as a person that has aided me through tough times. And the fact that I started running during the period that I rediscovered and began to consistently live that truth on a daily basis cannot be a coincidence.
Running may not serve as a physical manifestation of the best in oneself for everyone. Perhaps for you it is gardening, making music, creating art or simply expressing kindness to others. Me? I dance, practice yoga, write and run.
To everyone I have ever truly loved… from Allie and Amber (who I met and loved instantly in sixth grade) all the way to Bridget, Amanda, Sarah (and other sisters I have made as an adult)… along the way, thank you for recognizing, inspiring, fostering and reminding me of Why I Run. Thank you for being some part of the truth, meaning and value of my life.
***Who would have thought that memories of a boy in a chicken suit now being entrusted to teach my daughter the classics would have inspired such a sincere blog post? Tomorrow, I promise to write on a lighter topic. Perhaps I will discuss green juice or how running ties into my adoration of the Minnesota Twins… As Winnie-the-Pooh says, “You never can tell with bees.”
Today, I had a focused blog planned. I had a topic chosen and had even written a few paragraphs in my head in between work tasks earlier in the day. However, something strange and lovely happened that turned my day (and this blog post) into a free run.
Junior high school helped to lay my life foundation in ways I couldn’t have expected it to when I first walked the halls of Marco Forster and only knew a single, fantastic soul enrolled there. Most people hated junior high and I can certainly understand why. But I was very, very fortunate during this period of life. I loved junior high. And it completely due to the people I surrounded myself with that my experience was what it was.
I grew brutally uncomfortable in my skin during high school. But in junior high, I loved both who I was and who everyone else was. My friends and I were quite the motley crew, too. Our personalities, interests, appearances and approaches could often not have been more different. And out of this strange melting pot we benefitted from an odd combination of independent and collective self-confidence that many of us struggled to hold onto as we got older.
Among my favorite experiences during this period was Odyssey of the Mind. A team five strong in seventh grade, we added a sixth to our membership in eighth grade. The decision to add a sixth member was a contentious one because we had grown so incredibly close the previous year. In fact, we ended the season with a huge inside-joke wedding between two of us, officiated by another and attended by the remaining two.
Yes, in seventh grade I married a friend who was dressed in a chicken costume. We fed each other oranges and he slipped a red Ring Pop on my finger. I walked down the aisle to the Oasis song “Wonderwall.” It was a raucous and perfectly juvenile affair in the best ways imaginable. Today I discovered that that boy I married in seventh grade is student teaching my daughter Samantha’s sixth grade English class. The phrase “small world” does not begin to describe this odd turn of events for me.
I have been thinking a lot lately about why people choose to run. Running is primal. We run towards things and we run away from them. We run to punish ourselves, absolve ourselves, test, celebrate and find ourselves. I run for all of these reasons from time to time. But mainly, I run because in my late 20’s I became a far stronger, more confident, self-respecting and happy person than I had been for some time. I run because when I became a runner a few years ago, I started loving who I was in ways I hadn’t consistently since junior high. For me, training for the marathon represents an acknowledgement, a fostering and a chronicling of this consistency in my life that ultimately means more to me than nearly any other life approach does.
Life is hard. And those of you who know me personally know that mine has not always been easy, straightforward or terribly surefooted. But the friendships I made in junior high helped to inspire truth about my value as a person that has aided me through tough times. And the fact that I started running during the period that I rediscovered and began to consistently live that truth on a daily basis cannot be a coincidence.
Running may not serve as a physical manifestation of the best in oneself for everyone. Perhaps for you it is gardening, making music, creating art or simply expressing kindness to others. Me? I dance, practice yoga, write and run.
To everyone I have ever truly loved… from Allie and Amber (who I met and loved instantly in sixth grade) all the way to Bridget, Amanda, Sarah (and other sisters I have made as an adult)… along the way, thank you for recognizing, inspiring, fostering and reminding me of Why I Run. Thank you for being some part of the truth, meaning and value of my life.
***Who would have thought that memories of a boy in a chicken suit now being entrusted to teach my daughter the classics would have inspired such a sincere blog post? Tomorrow, I promise to write on a lighter topic. Perhaps I will discuss green juice or how running ties into my adoration of the Minnesota Twins… As Winnie-the-Pooh says, “You never can tell with bees.”
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Day Two: The Anti-Inflammatory Diet
My favorite food is perfectly ripe nectarines. I spent half of my youth in Southern California where I was fortunate enough to have access to some of the world’s best fruit year-round. Now that I live in Minnesota, my favorite season can only be described as nectarine season. Mark once told me that I describe spring and summer as if their sole purpose is to produce perfectly ripe fruit.
However, my second favorite food is Dark Chocolate Zin ice cream from Izzy’s Ice Cream in Saint Paul. This ice cream is like nothing else I have ever tasted. It is a dark, rich, romantic and deeply sexy food. And I am not one to describe food in such a way. The dark chocolate ice cream base is spiked with Ravenswood Zinfandel and laced with a touch of balsamic vinegar that somehow reminds me of perfectly ripe nectarines. It is everything I imagine that a dessert can possibly be.
The anti-inflammatory diet does not allow for the eating of Dark Chocolate Zin ice cream.
Now, I am not a big eater. I struggled with serious eating disorders as a teen and even though I am more than a dozen years removed from the end of that struggle, I still don’t actually like to eat very often. I can truly enjoy singularly perfect foods like nectarines, ice cream, pasta loaded with veggies and coffee with raw sugar and half and half. But on the whole, daily meals have been a chore for me since I turned 13-years-old and the act of eating became far more complicated for me than it really should be.
So when I went vegan in order to better accommodate my frustrated kidneys, my temperamental blood and my overall health, it wasn’t an excruciating switch from an omnivorous diet. I missed ice cream, cow’s milk and cheese. I grew increasingly frustrated with the lack of vegan options on most menus. But overall, I didn’t miss animal products when I became a vegan. But when I was advised to follow an anti-inflammatory diet, I began to miss everything I was told to avoid. Veganism (largely by choice) did not seem overly restrictive to me, but the prescribed anti-inflammatory diet has felt so restrictive that I have been rebelling against it like a foolish child.
The anti-inflammatory diet can best be described as “whole foods vegan and gluten-free.” Now, I have several friends who thrive on gluten-free diets and I am aware of many happy vegans. But when you combine the two restrictive diets, you come up with very, very few options. When you can’t eat processed foods, gluten, processed sugar, soy and animal products, you are left with veggies, fruits, nuts, seeds, legumes and SOME whole grains. Oh, and no coffee because of the caffeine. I was a good vegan for a good chunk of time. But no Grape Nuts? No spelt tortillas? No wheat? “What the hell am I supposed to eat?” I ask myself frequently.
So, I have become a cheater. A serious, should be sent to the principal’s office cheater. In the past few months, I have been drinking coffee with sugar and half and half more and more often. I am sneaking Pop Tarts. I signed up for alerts on the Izzy’s website so that I can rush to Saint Paul whenever Dark Chocolate Zin is being made. And last night, I had Culver’s.
The funny thing? I can’t really even taste the nonsense that I eat. Yes, I can taste foods with sharp contrasts, like my favorite ice cream flavor and coffee. But Pop Tarts and Cheeseburgers on white buns? I can’t even taste them. I am pretty sure that the lack of taste sensitivity has something to do with my condition. Lately, I actually eat stuff that makes my inflammation worse even when I can’t taste it. Criminal, right? And the biggest kicker??? I HAVE NO APPETITE. NONE. I eat three times a day when food is in front of me because I’ve learned by many trials and errors during the past several months that if I don’t eat I start to sweat and shake so bad that people think I’m having mini-seizures.
So why don’t I just choose the foods that are best for me and will aid me in combating my condition? Ultimately, it is because I refuse to become bitter about my condition itself. I refuse to be a bitter, angry person. I just will not do it. Life is too precious and there are too many things about my life that I adore. I wake up grateful every day. And the honest truth is that anger and bitterness are more corrosive than inflammation. I can’t control the condition, but I can control how I react to it. However, I am human. Deeply, deeply human. And so instead of getting angry about being sick, I eat cookie dough.
But, it is time to grow up. I can be a whole foods, gluten-free vegan… even though typing that label just inspired an eye roll. I am a tenacious and grateful person who is capable of putting food in perspective when I need to. My training for the marathon means more to me than rebellion. My beautiful life means more to me than rebellion. And watching one of my very favorite people make a substantial and truly difficult change in his life reminds me of these facts every day. Humans are capable of greatness when we get out of our own ways.
So, this young diet cheater may complain from time to time about the anti-inflammatory diet. But following it is going to allow me to live my life more fully, healthier and happier. So, by Monday I will have made a grocery run, purchased more green tea and made a big batch of the green juice I am compelled to down a few times daily. Before the weekend is over, I will be a non-cheater eagerly anticipating nectarine season.
(Except maybe when Dark Chocolate Zin is available at Izzy’s. We’ll see…)
However, my second favorite food is Dark Chocolate Zin ice cream from Izzy’s Ice Cream in Saint Paul. This ice cream is like nothing else I have ever tasted. It is a dark, rich, romantic and deeply sexy food. And I am not one to describe food in such a way. The dark chocolate ice cream base is spiked with Ravenswood Zinfandel and laced with a touch of balsamic vinegar that somehow reminds me of perfectly ripe nectarines. It is everything I imagine that a dessert can possibly be.
The anti-inflammatory diet does not allow for the eating of Dark Chocolate Zin ice cream.
Now, I am not a big eater. I struggled with serious eating disorders as a teen and even though I am more than a dozen years removed from the end of that struggle, I still don’t actually like to eat very often. I can truly enjoy singularly perfect foods like nectarines, ice cream, pasta loaded with veggies and coffee with raw sugar and half and half. But on the whole, daily meals have been a chore for me since I turned 13-years-old and the act of eating became far more complicated for me than it really should be.
So when I went vegan in order to better accommodate my frustrated kidneys, my temperamental blood and my overall health, it wasn’t an excruciating switch from an omnivorous diet. I missed ice cream, cow’s milk and cheese. I grew increasingly frustrated with the lack of vegan options on most menus. But overall, I didn’t miss animal products when I became a vegan. But when I was advised to follow an anti-inflammatory diet, I began to miss everything I was told to avoid. Veganism (largely by choice) did not seem overly restrictive to me, but the prescribed anti-inflammatory diet has felt so restrictive that I have been rebelling against it like a foolish child.
The anti-inflammatory diet can best be described as “whole foods vegan and gluten-free.” Now, I have several friends who thrive on gluten-free diets and I am aware of many happy vegans. But when you combine the two restrictive diets, you come up with very, very few options. When you can’t eat processed foods, gluten, processed sugar, soy and animal products, you are left with veggies, fruits, nuts, seeds, legumes and SOME whole grains. Oh, and no coffee because of the caffeine. I was a good vegan for a good chunk of time. But no Grape Nuts? No spelt tortillas? No wheat? “What the hell am I supposed to eat?” I ask myself frequently.
So, I have become a cheater. A serious, should be sent to the principal’s office cheater. In the past few months, I have been drinking coffee with sugar and half and half more and more often. I am sneaking Pop Tarts. I signed up for alerts on the Izzy’s website so that I can rush to Saint Paul whenever Dark Chocolate Zin is being made. And last night, I had Culver’s.
The funny thing? I can’t really even taste the nonsense that I eat. Yes, I can taste foods with sharp contrasts, like my favorite ice cream flavor and coffee. But Pop Tarts and Cheeseburgers on white buns? I can’t even taste them. I am pretty sure that the lack of taste sensitivity has something to do with my condition. Lately, I actually eat stuff that makes my inflammation worse even when I can’t taste it. Criminal, right? And the biggest kicker??? I HAVE NO APPETITE. NONE. I eat three times a day when food is in front of me because I’ve learned by many trials and errors during the past several months that if I don’t eat I start to sweat and shake so bad that people think I’m having mini-seizures.
So why don’t I just choose the foods that are best for me and will aid me in combating my condition? Ultimately, it is because I refuse to become bitter about my condition itself. I refuse to be a bitter, angry person. I just will not do it. Life is too precious and there are too many things about my life that I adore. I wake up grateful every day. And the honest truth is that anger and bitterness are more corrosive than inflammation. I can’t control the condition, but I can control how I react to it. However, I am human. Deeply, deeply human. And so instead of getting angry about being sick, I eat cookie dough.
But, it is time to grow up. I can be a whole foods, gluten-free vegan… even though typing that label just inspired an eye roll. I am a tenacious and grateful person who is capable of putting food in perspective when I need to. My training for the marathon means more to me than rebellion. My beautiful life means more to me than rebellion. And watching one of my very favorite people make a substantial and truly difficult change in his life reminds me of these facts every day. Humans are capable of greatness when we get out of our own ways.
So, this young diet cheater may complain from time to time about the anti-inflammatory diet. But following it is going to allow me to live my life more fully, healthier and happier. So, by Monday I will have made a grocery run, purchased more green tea and made a big batch of the green juice I am compelled to down a few times daily. Before the weekend is over, I will be a non-cheater eagerly anticipating nectarine season.
(Except maybe when Dark Chocolate Zin is available at Izzy’s. We’ll see…)
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Day One: Reality Check
Frozen peas are a brilliant invention. I came to said conclusion after my first day of strength training when I was forced to lay on a bag of them for repeated periods of time for the remainder of my evening. How did this happen on day one, you ask? Well, it turns out that I needed a reality check and my body gave me one.
I stopped at Target on my way to the gym in order to pick up some juice, granola and headbands. My hair is falling out as a result of my condition and bobby pins just don’t like to cooperate in severely thinning hair. Walking out of Target, I was feeling pretty darn badass. I had overcome my phobia of actually allowing anyone to read what I have written by starting this blog and I was on my way to get buff on my first day of marathon training. In addition, I was one of only two or three dozen people braving the roads due to the strange April blizzards we’ve been having. So, yeah. Feeling pretty badass.
When I got to the gym, I changed, threw on my heart monitor and grabbed the initial strength training plan that my PT Brian had created for me. The workout will likely seem quite tame to all of you and it does to me too… in theory. My condition has made it very, very difficult to work out in recent months so my strength feels non-existent to me at the moment. However, being the kind of person I am, I immediately questioned Brian as to why the workout was arm-intensive but otherwise relatively easy.
Brian insists that the high levels of inflammation in my body make it problematic for him to work the parts of my body that have remained strong. Because in order to give my legs a significant workout (for example) he would have to push me really hard. And given how quickly my heart rate is spiking, my risk of making the inflammation worse and some problems I’m having breathing, it is not a great idea to push me hard until my body has worked up to that place safely.
Instead of pushing me hard in the ways that I know I can handle, he is focusing attention on my arms, which gives me a workout without pushing the rest of my body so hard that it actually makes my condition worse rather than better.
In addition, the pain in certain parts of my body is making other parts compensate pretty consistently. As a result, I’ve developed some frustrating weak spots that Brian wants to work but not overtax. Among these weak spots are my hips and lower back. The pain in my hips (the left one especially) can either be so intense that my hips feel like they are shredding themselves. My legs and core muscles have compensated for my weak hips in ways that have contributed to a very weak lower back (which doesn’t make sense to me, but neither does organic chemistry nor Twinkies, so it is all good).
So, in deference to my hips, back and my condition overall, I began to dig into the arm-intensive workout. I completed three sets of the following exercises:
Lunges with 8 lb weights (12 reps each set)
Squats on the Bosu with 10 lb weights (12 reps each set)
Bicep curls on the Bosu with 8 lb weights (12 reps each set… only made 2 sets with this one)
Tricep dips on a bench (12 reps reach set… also only made 2 sets)
Chest press on the stability ball with 10 lb weights (15 reps each set)
Supermans
Resistance band core push outs
(I was also supposed to do crunches on the stability ball but my ribs were on fire so I skipped this one)
Throughout this workout, my lower back was causing me pain in the one spot that it likes to bother me the most. The spot where my spine meets my pelvis has made quite the habit lately of announcing itself in painful ways. But I am used to moving through the pain by now, so I just kept moving through.
When I was done with the workout, I walked to the locker room where over the course of getting dressed, I realized that I couldn’t bend over or sit down. The pain in my back had locked me in place and any attempts on my part to breathe into the pain and move with it were met with complete resistance.
I managed to get out of the gym, even though I found myself in my tiny workout shorts out in the snow because I couldn’t get my pants back on. I remember buying frozen peas and getting into the apartment in fragmented snapshots. I am pretty sure I hurt myself even worse on the way home trying to get peas, but what was the alternative?
By the time I maneuvered my way into a chair, the inflammation was screaming in my ankles, hips, legs, ribs and especially in my back. When I woke up this morning, it was apparent that I wasn’t going to be able to safely drive to work and sit in the chair all day, so I spent the day writing on my lap while alternating ice and heat on that little still-screaming spot where my spine meets my pelvis.
I started this blog to chronicle my journey training for the marathon while navigating a chronic autoimmune condition. Despite my best efforts to avoid worsening my condition by training in specific ways, I overdid it last night and now my body is paying for that. I needed that reality check, I suppose. Because I am not one to slow down unless I remember why I have to. And though frozen peas are a brilliant invention, I don’t want to need them consistently. It looks like Brian and I are going back to the drawing board.
I stopped at Target on my way to the gym in order to pick up some juice, granola and headbands. My hair is falling out as a result of my condition and bobby pins just don’t like to cooperate in severely thinning hair. Walking out of Target, I was feeling pretty darn badass. I had overcome my phobia of actually allowing anyone to read what I have written by starting this blog and I was on my way to get buff on my first day of marathon training. In addition, I was one of only two or three dozen people braving the roads due to the strange April blizzards we’ve been having. So, yeah. Feeling pretty badass.
When I got to the gym, I changed, threw on my heart monitor and grabbed the initial strength training plan that my PT Brian had created for me. The workout will likely seem quite tame to all of you and it does to me too… in theory. My condition has made it very, very difficult to work out in recent months so my strength feels non-existent to me at the moment. However, being the kind of person I am, I immediately questioned Brian as to why the workout was arm-intensive but otherwise relatively easy.
Brian insists that the high levels of inflammation in my body make it problematic for him to work the parts of my body that have remained strong. Because in order to give my legs a significant workout (for example) he would have to push me really hard. And given how quickly my heart rate is spiking, my risk of making the inflammation worse and some problems I’m having breathing, it is not a great idea to push me hard until my body has worked up to that place safely.
Instead of pushing me hard in the ways that I know I can handle, he is focusing attention on my arms, which gives me a workout without pushing the rest of my body so hard that it actually makes my condition worse rather than better.
In addition, the pain in certain parts of my body is making other parts compensate pretty consistently. As a result, I’ve developed some frustrating weak spots that Brian wants to work but not overtax. Among these weak spots are my hips and lower back. The pain in my hips (the left one especially) can either be so intense that my hips feel like they are shredding themselves. My legs and core muscles have compensated for my weak hips in ways that have contributed to a very weak lower back (which doesn’t make sense to me, but neither does organic chemistry nor Twinkies, so it is all good).
So, in deference to my hips, back and my condition overall, I began to dig into the arm-intensive workout. I completed three sets of the following exercises:
Lunges with 8 lb weights (12 reps each set)
Squats on the Bosu with 10 lb weights (12 reps each set)
Bicep curls on the Bosu with 8 lb weights (12 reps each set… only made 2 sets with this one)
Tricep dips on a bench (12 reps reach set… also only made 2 sets)
Chest press on the stability ball with 10 lb weights (15 reps each set)
Supermans
Resistance band core push outs
(I was also supposed to do crunches on the stability ball but my ribs were on fire so I skipped this one)
Throughout this workout, my lower back was causing me pain in the one spot that it likes to bother me the most. The spot where my spine meets my pelvis has made quite the habit lately of announcing itself in painful ways. But I am used to moving through the pain by now, so I just kept moving through.
When I was done with the workout, I walked to the locker room where over the course of getting dressed, I realized that I couldn’t bend over or sit down. The pain in my back had locked me in place and any attempts on my part to breathe into the pain and move with it were met with complete resistance.
I managed to get out of the gym, even though I found myself in my tiny workout shorts out in the snow because I couldn’t get my pants back on. I remember buying frozen peas and getting into the apartment in fragmented snapshots. I am pretty sure I hurt myself even worse on the way home trying to get peas, but what was the alternative?
By the time I maneuvered my way into a chair, the inflammation was screaming in my ankles, hips, legs, ribs and especially in my back. When I woke up this morning, it was apparent that I wasn’t going to be able to safely drive to work and sit in the chair all day, so I spent the day writing on my lap while alternating ice and heat on that little still-screaming spot where my spine meets my pelvis.
I started this blog to chronicle my journey training for the marathon while navigating a chronic autoimmune condition. Despite my best efforts to avoid worsening my condition by training in specific ways, I overdid it last night and now my body is paying for that. I needed that reality check, I suppose. Because I am not one to slow down unless I remember why I have to. And though frozen peas are a brilliant invention, I don’t want to need them consistently. It looks like Brian and I are going back to the drawing board.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Zen and the Art of Marathon Training
Whenever anyone asks me what I majored in, I inevitably hesitate before answering. As an attorney and writer, many people expect me to respond with “English.” And yes, I did major in English. As a vocal feminist and human rights activist, others expect me to respond “Gender Studies.” And yes, I did major in gender studies. But there is also a third answer and it is the answer that tends to provoke the widest range of reactions.
During freshman dinner at Lawrence University, the incoming class is asked to fill out a questionnaire of sorts. On the night of my freshman dinner, we were told to fill the paper out and that it would be mailed to us upon graduation. Given that this dinner took place one week after 9/11/2001 and most of us couldn’t think farther ahead than the following day, this was a particularly daunting task.
One of the questions we were asked was what we believed we would be pursuing upon graduation. When I opened my letter in 2005, I read in my own hand that I would be “entering law school in pursuit of a focus in human rights and international gender politics.” After four years at Lawrence, I had the good sense to immediately wonder “What the hell is international gender politics???” In 2001, I was naïve and optimistic enough to believe that I could create my own field. Perhaps I still can… but I really need to create a title for said field that makes some kind of sense. But I digress.
I did end up entering law school two months after graduation to pursue studies in international human rights with a focus on gender-based violations and mass atrocity. In order to prepare myself for this eventuality, I ended up picking up a third major during my sophomore year at Lawrence. Because one subject seemed to inform human rights atrocities targeting individuals based on gender more than any other and that same subject was oddly enticing simply for the pure draw of studying it.
No matter how much I poured over the English and gender studies courses in the course catalog, I found myself to be most intrigued by the courses offered by the religious studies department. And because I wasn’t willing to sacrifice either of my other majors to study the world’s religions and their impact on the practical exercise of human rights, I simply tacked on a third major to my schedule. And that is how I came to major in comparative religious studies with an emphasis in both near and far eastern religions.
My study of religions in general absolutely informed my understanding of human rights abuses globally. But my study of eastern religions in particular also began to slowly inform my approach to life more broadly. I grew up as the sister who allegedly thought too much and felt too much and read too much and was ultimately judged far too harshly. My study of the various eastern approaches (and in particular the concept of skillful means) allowed me to feel for the first time that perhaps my intellect, my character, my passions, my mind-body connection and my personal approach to life were not so deeply flawed as I had been originally led to believe.
I have certainly been influenced by Western religious traditions and philosophies as well. But there is a peace to be found in the study of eastern religious traditions that I have yet to find in other approaches to the world. And I discovered quite quickly that I need not believe in the inherent truth of any of these belief systems in order to benefit from their study.
So it came as no surprise to me that when determining how to train for my marathon I was most drawn to the Chi Running method. I have been pouring over texts about running (a subject for future posts) for some time now. And while many have excellent advice and training plans to offer, it is the Chi Running method that most seems to fit my approach to life and to my health at this time.
Chi Running is rooted in the intersection between running and the principles of Tai Chi. To summarize this approach simply, Chi Running insists that if a runner sets up the right conditions (correct physical form, positive energy, directed mental focus) and trains in observance of these conditions, that runner can largely prevent injury and can turn running into a joyful and peaceful process. The method does not promise that running will be effortless or free of frustrations. However, the Chi Running method reminds me of yoga in terms of values and practice dedication. And this former perfectionist and autoimmune disorder diva needs far more yoga and Chi Running in her life than approaches that value podium finishes.
Do I eventually want to run faster and faster race times? Absolutely. Do I want to amass completion medals from different races around the nation and the globe? Yes! But first, foremost and always, I want to honor my running as I approach my yoga practice… as an end in itself every single day.
In college I was drawn to my ultimate goals of law school and a career in a field that doesn’t exist. But first and foremost I wanted to honor the experience of my education in subjects that intrigued me. I later studied random, gorgeous subjects in law school just for the love of learning as well. And though I have my eye on the prize of completing the Twin Cities Marathon in October, I will be focusing each day primarily on my Chi Running practice as an ultimate goal in and of itself.
(Please feel free to remind me of this when I check back tomorrow with news of how my first day of training went and I’m complaining about how sore I am. I may be ‘Zen,’ but I am also prone to sticking out my bottom lip and fake-seeking pity when necessary.)
During freshman dinner at Lawrence University, the incoming class is asked to fill out a questionnaire of sorts. On the night of my freshman dinner, we were told to fill the paper out and that it would be mailed to us upon graduation. Given that this dinner took place one week after 9/11/2001 and most of us couldn’t think farther ahead than the following day, this was a particularly daunting task.
One of the questions we were asked was what we believed we would be pursuing upon graduation. When I opened my letter in 2005, I read in my own hand that I would be “entering law school in pursuit of a focus in human rights and international gender politics.” After four years at Lawrence, I had the good sense to immediately wonder “What the hell is international gender politics???” In 2001, I was naïve and optimistic enough to believe that I could create my own field. Perhaps I still can… but I really need to create a title for said field that makes some kind of sense. But I digress.
I did end up entering law school two months after graduation to pursue studies in international human rights with a focus on gender-based violations and mass atrocity. In order to prepare myself for this eventuality, I ended up picking up a third major during my sophomore year at Lawrence. Because one subject seemed to inform human rights atrocities targeting individuals based on gender more than any other and that same subject was oddly enticing simply for the pure draw of studying it.
No matter how much I poured over the English and gender studies courses in the course catalog, I found myself to be most intrigued by the courses offered by the religious studies department. And because I wasn’t willing to sacrifice either of my other majors to study the world’s religions and their impact on the practical exercise of human rights, I simply tacked on a third major to my schedule. And that is how I came to major in comparative religious studies with an emphasis in both near and far eastern religions.
My study of religions in general absolutely informed my understanding of human rights abuses globally. But my study of eastern religions in particular also began to slowly inform my approach to life more broadly. I grew up as the sister who allegedly thought too much and felt too much and read too much and was ultimately judged far too harshly. My study of the various eastern approaches (and in particular the concept of skillful means) allowed me to feel for the first time that perhaps my intellect, my character, my passions, my mind-body connection and my personal approach to life were not so deeply flawed as I had been originally led to believe.
I have certainly been influenced by Western religious traditions and philosophies as well. But there is a peace to be found in the study of eastern religious traditions that I have yet to find in other approaches to the world. And I discovered quite quickly that I need not believe in the inherent truth of any of these belief systems in order to benefit from their study.
So it came as no surprise to me that when determining how to train for my marathon I was most drawn to the Chi Running method. I have been pouring over texts about running (a subject for future posts) for some time now. And while many have excellent advice and training plans to offer, it is the Chi Running method that most seems to fit my approach to life and to my health at this time.
Chi Running is rooted in the intersection between running and the principles of Tai Chi. To summarize this approach simply, Chi Running insists that if a runner sets up the right conditions (correct physical form, positive energy, directed mental focus) and trains in observance of these conditions, that runner can largely prevent injury and can turn running into a joyful and peaceful process. The method does not promise that running will be effortless or free of frustrations. However, the Chi Running method reminds me of yoga in terms of values and practice dedication. And this former perfectionist and autoimmune disorder diva needs far more yoga and Chi Running in her life than approaches that value podium finishes.
Do I eventually want to run faster and faster race times? Absolutely. Do I want to amass completion medals from different races around the nation and the globe? Yes! But first, foremost and always, I want to honor my running as I approach my yoga practice… as an end in itself every single day.
In college I was drawn to my ultimate goals of law school and a career in a field that doesn’t exist. But first and foremost I wanted to honor the experience of my education in subjects that intrigued me. I later studied random, gorgeous subjects in law school just for the love of learning as well. And though I have my eye on the prize of completing the Twin Cities Marathon in October, I will be focusing each day primarily on my Chi Running practice as an ultimate goal in and of itself.
(Please feel free to remind me of this when I check back tomorrow with news of how my first day of training went and I’m complaining about how sore I am. I may be ‘Zen,’ but I am also prone to sticking out my bottom lip and fake-seeking pity when necessary.)
Sunday, April 21, 2013
An Introduction
Note: This blog will serve to help me chronicle my training for the October 2013 Twin Cities Marathon as an athlete challenged by an autoimmune disorder. My style is often humorous, light and full of joy and I hope that you will take pleasure in reading about my process. But first I am compelled to explain quite seriously how I came to commit to training and chronicling this time period in the first place. Tomorrow I will begin a 24-week journey towards my first marathon finish line. But first, an introduction…
Perfectionism has not traditionally served me well, though it has taken a medical crisis for me to distance myself from this approach. It is quite simply impossible to achieve anything flawlessly when a spell of severe fatigue, pain or brain fog could potentially strike in the middle of any given attempted task. So, inspired by the fire raging within my own immune system, I am abandoning the irrational promises of perfection for imperfect concrete action. After countless false starts halted abruptly after single missteps, it is time to train, write and live imperfectly, boldly and brightly.
I have recently become intimately familiar with several acronyms. Only months ago, the shorthand phrases of CRP, ESR and ANA meant nothing to me. Today, they serve as reference points for why my life experience has recently become too-broadly defined by lack of appetite, fevers, headaches, light sensitivity, breathing problems, eye issues, Raynaud’s disease, pain and fatigue. So much pain and such severe fatigue. I have struggled with various health issues for some time. But in October 2012, my symptoms changed and after several months, so did my perspective.
These acronyms have served as points of frustration and comfort in the past few months. Because along with a host of tests they have helped me to understand that I do not have the tumors my doctor suspected when she scanned my legs with CT and MRI technology. Nor, assures my rheumatologist, is any of this in my head. No, I am not cancer-ridden or crazy. I am on fire internally. And when my symptoms are particularly debilitating, I have been told to embrace the phrase “flare.” Every aspect of my condition is marked with literal and metaphorical references to flames.
The markers of my severe and chronic inflammation vividly announce themselves in blood test after blood test. I think often of Katniss on literal and metaphorical fire and spend too much time wishing I could afford the sympathetic Zazzle tshirts emblazoned with purple ribbons and phrases including “Fight Like a Girl” and “Losing is not an Option.” I wonder if others struggling with similar conditions have developed a habit of calling phoenixes to mind when they attempt to leave their beds after the worst flares have been tamed into submission. Over the course of the last months, I began to grow weary of the volume and nature of my thoughts related to my worsening condition until I realized that they had taken on an unexpected theme.
I have failed again and again to pursue the brilliantly intense goals I set for myself because I have a compulsion to do everything perfectly. If I misstep, I reassess my goals and begin again. But all this beginning again and again means that I accomplish nothing but getting up after every perceived fall. I do not ever allow myself the pride and frustration of the middle of the racecourse, let alone the finish line. I stand at the starting line, begin striding along and after detecting small imperfections in my form, I return to the starting line to have another go.
There is freedom, I have discovered, in this autoimmune condition. It is forcing me to a blinding halt again and again. I am no longer responsible for stopping myself for being imperfect. My body is doing that for me. It is now my purpose to figure out how to adapt, strengthen and become flexible enough to continue from the exact spot my body has determined I must stop.
There never was the possibility of perfection in my life. Like all others, I am deeply and profoundly human. But it took the pain and fatigue inspired by internal fire to allow me to understand this brutal and beautiful fact. I can now run a marathon, write a novel, publish a blog and pursue my work unburdened by the shackles of irrationality tied to my quest for perfection. Because I am imperfect, my novel, my marathon, my blog, my work, my life will be imperfect. And because of this simple and glaringly obvious reality, I can now write, run and live boldly and brilliantly even when and because I am on fire. My pursuits will be imperfect, but I will strive to achieve them in spite, in honor and because of that fact.
So, tomorrow I will begin training for the 2013 Twin Cities Marathon. I will also soon be working on my fiction in bold ways… but I am going to take this first step towards one goal before I dig significantly into the other. Once my training is underway, I will pick up my novel-writing pens. For now, it is enough to begin training in earnest, fully aware that I will be forced at times to modify my training plan in order to tend to my condition. For now, it is enough to move past the starting line by both lacing up my shoes and by sharing my experiences with all of you.
Perfectionism has not traditionally served me well, though it has taken a medical crisis for me to distance myself from this approach. It is quite simply impossible to achieve anything flawlessly when a spell of severe fatigue, pain or brain fog could potentially strike in the middle of any given attempted task. So, inspired by the fire raging within my own immune system, I am abandoning the irrational promises of perfection for imperfect concrete action. After countless false starts halted abruptly after single missteps, it is time to train, write and live imperfectly, boldly and brightly.
I have recently become intimately familiar with several acronyms. Only months ago, the shorthand phrases of CRP, ESR and ANA meant nothing to me. Today, they serve as reference points for why my life experience has recently become too-broadly defined by lack of appetite, fevers, headaches, light sensitivity, breathing problems, eye issues, Raynaud’s disease, pain and fatigue. So much pain and such severe fatigue. I have struggled with various health issues for some time. But in October 2012, my symptoms changed and after several months, so did my perspective.
These acronyms have served as points of frustration and comfort in the past few months. Because along with a host of tests they have helped me to understand that I do not have the tumors my doctor suspected when she scanned my legs with CT and MRI technology. Nor, assures my rheumatologist, is any of this in my head. No, I am not cancer-ridden or crazy. I am on fire internally. And when my symptoms are particularly debilitating, I have been told to embrace the phrase “flare.” Every aspect of my condition is marked with literal and metaphorical references to flames.
The markers of my severe and chronic inflammation vividly announce themselves in blood test after blood test. I think often of Katniss on literal and metaphorical fire and spend too much time wishing I could afford the sympathetic Zazzle tshirts emblazoned with purple ribbons and phrases including “Fight Like a Girl” and “Losing is not an Option.” I wonder if others struggling with similar conditions have developed a habit of calling phoenixes to mind when they attempt to leave their beds after the worst flares have been tamed into submission. Over the course of the last months, I began to grow weary of the volume and nature of my thoughts related to my worsening condition until I realized that they had taken on an unexpected theme.
I have failed again and again to pursue the brilliantly intense goals I set for myself because I have a compulsion to do everything perfectly. If I misstep, I reassess my goals and begin again. But all this beginning again and again means that I accomplish nothing but getting up after every perceived fall. I do not ever allow myself the pride and frustration of the middle of the racecourse, let alone the finish line. I stand at the starting line, begin striding along and after detecting small imperfections in my form, I return to the starting line to have another go.
There is freedom, I have discovered, in this autoimmune condition. It is forcing me to a blinding halt again and again. I am no longer responsible for stopping myself for being imperfect. My body is doing that for me. It is now my purpose to figure out how to adapt, strengthen and become flexible enough to continue from the exact spot my body has determined I must stop.
There never was the possibility of perfection in my life. Like all others, I am deeply and profoundly human. But it took the pain and fatigue inspired by internal fire to allow me to understand this brutal and beautiful fact. I can now run a marathon, write a novel, publish a blog and pursue my work unburdened by the shackles of irrationality tied to my quest for perfection. Because I am imperfect, my novel, my marathon, my blog, my work, my life will be imperfect. And because of this simple and glaringly obvious reality, I can now write, run and live boldly and brilliantly even when and because I am on fire. My pursuits will be imperfect, but I will strive to achieve them in spite, in honor and because of that fact.
So, tomorrow I will begin training for the 2013 Twin Cities Marathon. I will also soon be working on my fiction in bold ways… but I am going to take this first step towards one goal before I dig significantly into the other. Once my training is underway, I will pick up my novel-writing pens. For now, it is enough to begin training in earnest, fully aware that I will be forced at times to modify my training plan in order to tend to my condition. For now, it is enough to move past the starting line by both lacing up my shoes and by sharing my experiences with all of you.
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