Yesterday, I had a good day condition-wise. Monday is my designated training rest day, but because my training had been spotty this weekend, I was chomping at the bit last night to get down to business today. When you have an autoimmune condition that involves pretty intense pain and fatigue, you do not take the good days for granted. And yet, that excitement and willingness to get to work can be a bit of a curse.
I took Election Day off of work this past November because I wanted to give myself permission to be glued to coverage all day long. My polling place is a cute little museum right on Lake Calhoun. So my plan had been to get up, enjoy the early coverage and then vote once the lines had died down at around 10:30am. I was so excited to vote (I’m just that kind of girl) that I was up half the night and ended up in line before the building even opened. I just couldn’t contain all that democratic joy until after the lines had died down.
Last night, I had decided to commit to a 6am yoga class immediately followed by a four mile bike ride before work. I am trying to shift more of my training to the morning hours for several reasons. First, I am plagued by pain and fatigue far less often in the morning. Second, my girl is coming home very soon and she has fallen truly, madly, deeply in love with sleep. Does anyone remember how great sleep was when you were a tween/teen? My Samantha has found that joy. Therefore, if I shift my training primarily to the morning hours, I can have more time with her once she finally decides to get up.
The combination of Prednisone blocking my ability to sleep and the excitement of my approaching morning workout kept me up until 3:17am. It was at that exact minute that I said, “Enough… I cannot train if I cannot sleep. I will try again tomorrow.” And yet, when my alarm went off at 5:12am, I bolted awake like I used to when I was younger and there was a field trip or birthday party scheduled on my day’s agenda.
On less than two hours sleep, I found myself in a yoga studio inhabited only by 20-something beautiful women and one beautiful male instructor. My gym is full of absurdly beautiful people. I had a moment of self doubt early in the session, because I was feeling quite out of place. I love my practice. Adore it, actually. But my condition has rendered my strength and flexibility into concepts rather than realities. And the beautiful people never seem to struggle. However, I was able to physically handle 30 minutes of the 60 minute class, which was exactly what I had aimed for. Triumph!
Then… I hopped on my bike. And my quads and backside said, “Excuse me? You want us to do what now? Weren’t we just in a yoga class?” I attempted to ignore the complaining. However, that four mile bike ride was ultimately both gloriously beautiful and excruciatingly tough. Four miles is not a long way to ride on a bike. But my eagerness to get in my training session was not exactly enough to keep my tired body in check and my mind away from the “Are you crazy? And what are you doing this all for, again?” demons.
After digging into work for several hours, I was forced to spend four hours at the University of Minnesota Medical Center for testing. My favorite moment had to be when a nurse put glue-like drops in my eyes and poked directly onto them with some sort of scanner to test my eye pressure. I swear, the tests I get just keep getting weirder.
The day quickly became defined by work and medical challenges and a few practical ones to boot. However, even though I’ve been hit hard by the lack of sleep, it is the yoga and the painful bike ride that have gotten me through the day. Training can be so difficult sometimes. But the excitement it inspires in me and the rewards it renews in me throughout the day make all the effort completely worth the challenge. In fact, I wish my body could handle far more. But I suppose I will just finally have to learn to be patient until it can.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Day Thirty-One: Tipping the Scale
So, today I’m working with Brian my PT guy when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I am so blown away by what I see that I almost drop the weights he has just placed in my hands. In order to confirm that the mirror is not lying, I weighed myself after our session. Since starting Prednisone less than six weeks ago, I have gained 14 pounds. Yes, you read that right. 14 pounds. And I found out yesterday that I need to continue on this drug for at least several more weeks.
Now, I am not one of those women who obsesses about her weight. I get frustrated by bits and pieces of my silhouette. I do complain when I put on a few pounds. But in general, I sincerely like my size and shape. When I’m looking and feeling my healthiest, I weigh around 118 pounds, which works well on my 5 foot, 3 and 1/2 inch (that half inch is important. If you don’t believe me, ask another short girl) frame. If I go too far below that mark, I start to look sickly. If I gain too much beyond that mark, the extra weight sits in weird places and makes me look unbalanced. Usually, I have a short girl, dancer body with decent definition.
I knew that I had been gaining weight even before being placed on the Prednisone. Several months of battling nasty flares and basically living in bed will do that to a person. And I was growing uncomfortable with how I was starting to look, but I was so much more concerned with my severely worsening symptoms that the weight gain seemed much like the significant hair loss… cosmetic and not a big enough priority to deal with RIGHT NOW.
When I started on the Prednisone, I weighed 132 pounds. Less than six weeks later, the scale reads 146. Other than when I was pregnant with Samantha, I have only ever come close to weighing this much when I was studying for the bar exam. And that was only because I lived at Starbucks and was hooked on mochas and cream cheese Danish. So… I am officially the largest non-pregnant Kassie I have ever been. Even typing that sentence is rough.
However, I feel like this is an important topic to put out there. I am training for a marathon, but I’m also sick. And it has gotten to the point where I am getting embarrassed to go out in public. I still fit into size 6 jeans, but my body is covered in an unrecognizable, soft, wiggly layer that makes me want to put on huge sunglasses, an oversized hat and walk around exclusively in giant, stretched out hoodies. And I can’t be the only woman (sick or otherwise) who has ever felt this way.
Today at the gym, my reflection shocked me so much in part because I have been avoiding mirrors. It happened gradually. Normally, I never fear mirrors. As a dancer and yogi, I am accustomed to staring at my own reflection. In an odd way, it can be truly grounding to embrace your reflection in that kind of way. In addition, I usually get a kick out of how I look when I’m all dressed up in workout gear, sporting a cute dress or just running around in my Batman t-shirt and humming the classic Batman theme song. But lately, looking in the mirror reminds me that my hair is falling out and that I’m sporting skin cancer surgery scars and that I’ve put on so much medication-related and illness-related weight that I don’t even look like ME anymore. It has become easier not to look.
To any woman out there who has struggled with looking unrecognizable due to illness, stress, medication, surgery or some other factor, know that I am there too. However, I promise that even though looking in the mirror may truly suck, not looking is far worse.
My PT guy Brian gave me some good tips to try and manage the weirdly (and astonishingly) crazy amount of weight I’ve been gaining on this medication. But ultimately, I know that I need to start by looking in the mirror. Because as cheesy as it sounds, if I can’t love my sick, half-bald, floppy body the way it is, I don’t think I’ll love it nearly as much as I could when I regain my health and strength and definition. This poor body has been through so much. And when I refuse to look at it, I am disrespecting all the efforts it is making on my behalf. So, this newly curvy (and slightly crabby) girl is going to go put on a pink-colored moisturizing face mask… because starting to look at myself again is going to be a little easier if I can laugh at how ridiculous I look for a moment first.
Now, I am not one of those women who obsesses about her weight. I get frustrated by bits and pieces of my silhouette. I do complain when I put on a few pounds. But in general, I sincerely like my size and shape. When I’m looking and feeling my healthiest, I weigh around 118 pounds, which works well on my 5 foot, 3 and 1/2 inch (that half inch is important. If you don’t believe me, ask another short girl) frame. If I go too far below that mark, I start to look sickly. If I gain too much beyond that mark, the extra weight sits in weird places and makes me look unbalanced. Usually, I have a short girl, dancer body with decent definition.
I knew that I had been gaining weight even before being placed on the Prednisone. Several months of battling nasty flares and basically living in bed will do that to a person. And I was growing uncomfortable with how I was starting to look, but I was so much more concerned with my severely worsening symptoms that the weight gain seemed much like the significant hair loss… cosmetic and not a big enough priority to deal with RIGHT NOW.
When I started on the Prednisone, I weighed 132 pounds. Less than six weeks later, the scale reads 146. Other than when I was pregnant with Samantha, I have only ever come close to weighing this much when I was studying for the bar exam. And that was only because I lived at Starbucks and was hooked on mochas and cream cheese Danish. So… I am officially the largest non-pregnant Kassie I have ever been. Even typing that sentence is rough.
However, I feel like this is an important topic to put out there. I am training for a marathon, but I’m also sick. And it has gotten to the point where I am getting embarrassed to go out in public. I still fit into size 6 jeans, but my body is covered in an unrecognizable, soft, wiggly layer that makes me want to put on huge sunglasses, an oversized hat and walk around exclusively in giant, stretched out hoodies. And I can’t be the only woman (sick or otherwise) who has ever felt this way.
Today at the gym, my reflection shocked me so much in part because I have been avoiding mirrors. It happened gradually. Normally, I never fear mirrors. As a dancer and yogi, I am accustomed to staring at my own reflection. In an odd way, it can be truly grounding to embrace your reflection in that kind of way. In addition, I usually get a kick out of how I look when I’m all dressed up in workout gear, sporting a cute dress or just running around in my Batman t-shirt and humming the classic Batman theme song. But lately, looking in the mirror reminds me that my hair is falling out and that I’m sporting skin cancer surgery scars and that I’ve put on so much medication-related and illness-related weight that I don’t even look like ME anymore. It has become easier not to look.
To any woman out there who has struggled with looking unrecognizable due to illness, stress, medication, surgery or some other factor, know that I am there too. However, I promise that even though looking in the mirror may truly suck, not looking is far worse.
My PT guy Brian gave me some good tips to try and manage the weirdly (and astonishingly) crazy amount of weight I’ve been gaining on this medication. But ultimately, I know that I need to start by looking in the mirror. Because as cheesy as it sounds, if I can’t love my sick, half-bald, floppy body the way it is, I don’t think I’ll love it nearly as much as I could when I regain my health and strength and definition. This poor body has been through so much. And when I refuse to look at it, I am disrespecting all the efforts it is making on my behalf. So, this newly curvy (and slightly crabby) girl is going to go put on a pink-colored moisturizing face mask… because starting to look at myself again is going to be a little easier if I can laugh at how ridiculous I look for a moment first.
Monday, May 20, 2013
Day Twenty-Eight: Best. Presents. Ever.
It has been said that friends are the family you choose for yourself. I have been truly lucky enough to have had incredible friends at every stage of my life. Despite its multitude of flaws, I am a little in love with Facebook, simply because it serves as a constant reminder that I have an army of incredible friends. Whether we speak very infrequently, on our weekly Caribou walks at work or nearly every day, I appreciate every person that I have the privilege to call friend.
However, there are two in particular who are so close to my heart and so consistently my personal inspiration, my favorite company and my physical and emotional saviors that they have truly become the sisters I’ve chosen for myself. They know me through and though, have cared for me when times were tough and have never ever made me feel that they did not love me exactly as I am. And today… a package arrived from the one who lives far away.
I am spoiled rotten to have Amanda reside 15 minutes from my apartment. My dear Sarah lives five hours away. So naturally, our relationships differ not only because my girls have distinct personalities but also because the distances affect our approaches. When Amanda or I need some TLC, we just head out to Big Bowl and Barnes and Noble. When Sarah and I need some extra love, we use the phone, email and the availability of the U.S. Postal Service.
Sarah knows that I’ve been struggling with a flare lately, so I was thrilled (though not surprised, because she really is that thoughtful) to discover that a package was waiting for me when I returned home. And tucked inside the waiting box was Sarah’s version of the Best. Present. Ever.
There are two kinds of presents: time/effort and thoughtful objects/experiences. Amanda and Sarah both recently gave me the absolute best presents I have ever gotten, one in each category. Amanda’s falls into the time/effort category. Amanda loves both me and my daughter Samantha so much that she is going to be watching Samantha two days a week (so that I can work) for the third summer in a row. To everyone who has ever watched Samantha lovingly and free of charge, I can truly never repay you. And Amanda signs up for this duty eagerly and lovingly every time Samantha comes home. This is the Best. (Time/Effort) Present. Ever. Seriously.
And what did I discover when I opened that waiting package? Not only had Sarah sent me soup, granola and energizing tea to help me through my flare, she made me two running cds and designed (DESIGNED just for me!) me a “Fight Like a Girl” t-shirt emblazoned with a purple autoimmune condition awareness ribbon and a butterfly. This is truly the most loving, thoughtful and bad-ass object I’ve ever received. Best. (thoughtful object/experience) Present. Ever. Seriously.
When individuals are diagnosed with serious conditions or when they set massive training goals, they are encouraged to seek support. I am lucky to have a number of supportive people in my life. But none are quite like the sisters I have chosen for myself. Thank you, Amanda and Sarah. Thank you for being my support, for loving me exactly for who I am and for the best presents ever.
However, there are two in particular who are so close to my heart and so consistently my personal inspiration, my favorite company and my physical and emotional saviors that they have truly become the sisters I’ve chosen for myself. They know me through and though, have cared for me when times were tough and have never ever made me feel that they did not love me exactly as I am. And today… a package arrived from the one who lives far away.
I am spoiled rotten to have Amanda reside 15 minutes from my apartment. My dear Sarah lives five hours away. So naturally, our relationships differ not only because my girls have distinct personalities but also because the distances affect our approaches. When Amanda or I need some TLC, we just head out to Big Bowl and Barnes and Noble. When Sarah and I need some extra love, we use the phone, email and the availability of the U.S. Postal Service.
Sarah knows that I’ve been struggling with a flare lately, so I was thrilled (though not surprised, because she really is that thoughtful) to discover that a package was waiting for me when I returned home. And tucked inside the waiting box was Sarah’s version of the Best. Present. Ever.
There are two kinds of presents: time/effort and thoughtful objects/experiences. Amanda and Sarah both recently gave me the absolute best presents I have ever gotten, one in each category. Amanda’s falls into the time/effort category. Amanda loves both me and my daughter Samantha so much that she is going to be watching Samantha two days a week (so that I can work) for the third summer in a row. To everyone who has ever watched Samantha lovingly and free of charge, I can truly never repay you. And Amanda signs up for this duty eagerly and lovingly every time Samantha comes home. This is the Best. (Time/Effort) Present. Ever. Seriously.
And what did I discover when I opened that waiting package? Not only had Sarah sent me soup, granola and energizing tea to help me through my flare, she made me two running cds and designed (DESIGNED just for me!) me a “Fight Like a Girl” t-shirt emblazoned with a purple autoimmune condition awareness ribbon and a butterfly. This is truly the most loving, thoughtful and bad-ass object I’ve ever received. Best. (thoughtful object/experience) Present. Ever. Seriously.
When individuals are diagnosed with serious conditions or when they set massive training goals, they are encouraged to seek support. I am lucky to have a number of supportive people in my life. But none are quite like the sisters I have chosen for myself. Thank you, Amanda and Sarah. Thank you for being my support, for loving me exactly for who I am and for the best presents ever.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Day Twenty-Seven: Sometimes You Just Have to Laugh
In a previous post entitled “The Anti-Inflammatory Diet” I mentioned that my favorite manmade food is Dark Chocolate Zin ice cream from Izzy’s in Saint Paul. The makers of this perfect desert combine incredibly smooth dark chocolate ice cream with Zinfandel and balsamic vinegar to produce a flavor combination that is rich, complex and playful. It is good enough to blog about… and I don’t like eating as a general rule.
I’ve had a rough go of it lately. Coming down off the Prednisone is making my mind more clear but making my pain level increase, so it has been a challenging week or so physically for me. And even though it is not generally a good idea to make someone with an autoimmune disorder feel better by feeding them inflammatory food, when I discovered that Izzy’s was making Dark Chocolate Zin today for the first time in months, I started dialing the phone to place an order.
It has been storming in the Twin Cities for the past few days, but I wasn’t going to let a downpour stop me from my treat. I was feeling mentally exhausted and pain was radiating through every major joint in my body and along all my long bones, but dammit, there was Dark Chocolate Zin to be eaten!
So, I get in my trusty Saturn and drive out towards Saint Paul. When… the GPS on my phone fails. No matter how far I drive along the major highway, the GPS just will not receive a signal. So I remember vaguely that Izzy’s is located near my friend Brian’s place and I get off at the major exit near where he lives. After about 15 minutes, I manage to find the street I’m looking for and then spend another 20 minutes driving up and down it until I find the store. Success! (Yes, the ice cream is that good, and yes, I am that emotionally invested in said ice cream at this point that I waste an hour getting to the store.)
I then pick up the bag with my name on it, pay for my purchase and head back out into the blinding rain with my broken GPS and drive in the direction of home. ***Flash forward to me grabbing a spoon to taste my reward right out of the carton. It isn’t bad… but it isn’t Dark Chocolate Zin. I taste again… The store has packaged me up PLAIN. OLD. CHOCOLATE.
And that is when I started to laugh. I laughed so hard that I actually started to cry a little. Because really, what is the alternative? Yes, I have been having a rough time of it. It has been lonely and frustrating battling this flare. And I was so looking forward to the delicious treat that unquestionably would have made me feel better. But when I was faced with taking an hour and a half to retrieve the wrong flavor of expensive ice cream I normally wouldn’t dream of justifying… the choices were laughter or anger. And in the end, I would hope to choose laughter every time.
Whether the challenges are great or small, it is ultimately so much easier to greet them with a sense of humor and optimism. I do not always embrace this approach, because I am human. But I aim to embrace it far more often than not. In healing, in training and in life, sometimes you just have to laugh.
I’ve had a rough go of it lately. Coming down off the Prednisone is making my mind more clear but making my pain level increase, so it has been a challenging week or so physically for me. And even though it is not generally a good idea to make someone with an autoimmune disorder feel better by feeding them inflammatory food, when I discovered that Izzy’s was making Dark Chocolate Zin today for the first time in months, I started dialing the phone to place an order.
It has been storming in the Twin Cities for the past few days, but I wasn’t going to let a downpour stop me from my treat. I was feeling mentally exhausted and pain was radiating through every major joint in my body and along all my long bones, but dammit, there was Dark Chocolate Zin to be eaten!
So, I get in my trusty Saturn and drive out towards Saint Paul. When… the GPS on my phone fails. No matter how far I drive along the major highway, the GPS just will not receive a signal. So I remember vaguely that Izzy’s is located near my friend Brian’s place and I get off at the major exit near where he lives. After about 15 minutes, I manage to find the street I’m looking for and then spend another 20 minutes driving up and down it until I find the store. Success! (Yes, the ice cream is that good, and yes, I am that emotionally invested in said ice cream at this point that I waste an hour getting to the store.)
I then pick up the bag with my name on it, pay for my purchase and head back out into the blinding rain with my broken GPS and drive in the direction of home. ***Flash forward to me grabbing a spoon to taste my reward right out of the carton. It isn’t bad… but it isn’t Dark Chocolate Zin. I taste again… The store has packaged me up PLAIN. OLD. CHOCOLATE.
And that is when I started to laugh. I laughed so hard that I actually started to cry a little. Because really, what is the alternative? Yes, I have been having a rough time of it. It has been lonely and frustrating battling this flare. And I was so looking forward to the delicious treat that unquestionably would have made me feel better. But when I was faced with taking an hour and a half to retrieve the wrong flavor of expensive ice cream I normally wouldn’t dream of justifying… the choices were laughter or anger. And in the end, I would hope to choose laughter every time.
Whether the challenges are great or small, it is ultimately so much easier to greet them with a sense of humor and optimism. I do not always embrace this approach, because I am human. But I aim to embrace it far more often than not. In healing, in training and in life, sometimes you just have to laugh.
Friday, May 17, 2013
Day Twenty Five: Crazy Sexy Manifesto
Ah, the joys of autoimmune conditions. Yes, that’s right. I’m home in bed blogging on a Friday night because my body is not cooperating. However, this lovely flare o’ mine has given me a great opportunity to dig into additional research that will help me prevent future flares and will undoubtedly help me in my marathon training.
I have previously mentioned Kris Carr in other blog posts, but for those of you who have yet to “meet” this phenomenal woman, let me tell you a bit about her and the Crazy Sexy Manifesto she has authored that is helping me plan for my next round of flare prevention.
Kris was a beautiful, bubbly, blonde, twenty-something actress/model who had just appeared in speaking roles in two Super Bowl commercials when she suspected that she had suffered an injury during a yoga class. The pain inspired a trip to the doctor where her care team discovered that she had stage four cancer on her liver and lungs. She has an incurable tumor condition that cannot be eliminated.
Her version of panicking was to go on a healing quest to determine the best courses of clinical and home-based remedies to keep the cancer at bay. This past February 14, she celebrated her 10 year survivor anniversary. Over the course of those ten years, she created the documentary “Crazy Sex Cancer,” authored several books (I own almost all of them) and created a fabulous website (http://kriscarr.com/). She also hosts a radio show and publishes weekly e-newsletters that I usually squeal about when I open them.
Kris is my anti-inflammatory heroine role model. She embraces Western medicine but has also done her research (and I love anyone willing to really, really do their research) on how nutrition, diet, exercise, meditation, yoga and even body brushing (yep, I do it every morning) can help to keep inflammation and cancer in as much “check” as is possible for each individual. She is also just generally in love with life and is both brave and bad-ass, which I appreciate.
I have been tweaking her “Crazy Sexy Manifesto” (So named because if you let it, cancer and autoimmune conditions can inspire you to be the kind of CrazySexy that most adults aspire to be) to my healing journey and my training journey as well. I sincerely recommend checking it out if her approach interests you in the least. But in case you’re wondering what exactly she (and frankly, many other experts on leading a healthy, anti-inflammatory lifestyle if you are so afflicted) recommends for those of us struggling with abusive immune systems, let me introduce you to some of the highlights.
1. Aim to follow an anti-inflammatory diet (as whole foods vegan and gluten free as you can get)
2. Avoid refined sugars and drink green juice
3. Sleep
4. Shake your booty and stretch your body frequently
5. Set boundaries
6. Enjoy life (read: actually have fun)
7. An anti-inflammatory lifestyle must involve bringing chronic stress down a notch
8. Seek support
9. Seek to detox flare-inducing, cancer-inducing and inflammation-inducing triggers
10. Do not seek perfection
Obviously, this advice is quite simplified and there is a great deal of science and nuance that feeds these suggestions. But the message is fairly obvious: inflammation/cancer prevention and management is a lifestyle. And blogging in bed on a Friday night is helping me to structure my next steps.
Also, I just posted a picture to my Facebook account that is just so Samantha. Man, I love that kid. Have a lovely evening, everyone. I am going to dig into some more prevention research and do my best not to eat the cookie dough I found in my freezer earlier…
I have previously mentioned Kris Carr in other blog posts, but for those of you who have yet to “meet” this phenomenal woman, let me tell you a bit about her and the Crazy Sexy Manifesto she has authored that is helping me plan for my next round of flare prevention.
Kris was a beautiful, bubbly, blonde, twenty-something actress/model who had just appeared in speaking roles in two Super Bowl commercials when she suspected that she had suffered an injury during a yoga class. The pain inspired a trip to the doctor where her care team discovered that she had stage four cancer on her liver and lungs. She has an incurable tumor condition that cannot be eliminated.
Her version of panicking was to go on a healing quest to determine the best courses of clinical and home-based remedies to keep the cancer at bay. This past February 14, she celebrated her 10 year survivor anniversary. Over the course of those ten years, she created the documentary “Crazy Sex Cancer,” authored several books (I own almost all of them) and created a fabulous website (http://kriscarr.com/). She also hosts a radio show and publishes weekly e-newsletters that I usually squeal about when I open them.
Kris is my anti-inflammatory heroine role model. She embraces Western medicine but has also done her research (and I love anyone willing to really, really do their research) on how nutrition, diet, exercise, meditation, yoga and even body brushing (yep, I do it every morning) can help to keep inflammation and cancer in as much “check” as is possible for each individual. She is also just generally in love with life and is both brave and bad-ass, which I appreciate.
I have been tweaking her “Crazy Sexy Manifesto” (So named because if you let it, cancer and autoimmune conditions can inspire you to be the kind of CrazySexy that most adults aspire to be) to my healing journey and my training journey as well. I sincerely recommend checking it out if her approach interests you in the least. But in case you’re wondering what exactly she (and frankly, many other experts on leading a healthy, anti-inflammatory lifestyle if you are so afflicted) recommends for those of us struggling with abusive immune systems, let me introduce you to some of the highlights.
1. Aim to follow an anti-inflammatory diet (as whole foods vegan and gluten free as you can get)
2. Avoid refined sugars and drink green juice
3. Sleep
4. Shake your booty and stretch your body frequently
5. Set boundaries
6. Enjoy life (read: actually have fun)
7. An anti-inflammatory lifestyle must involve bringing chronic stress down a notch
8. Seek support
9. Seek to detox flare-inducing, cancer-inducing and inflammation-inducing triggers
10. Do not seek perfection
Obviously, this advice is quite simplified and there is a great deal of science and nuance that feeds these suggestions. But the message is fairly obvious: inflammation/cancer prevention and management is a lifestyle. And blogging in bed on a Friday night is helping me to structure my next steps.
Also, I just posted a picture to my Facebook account that is just so Samantha. Man, I love that kid. Have a lovely evening, everyone. I am going to dig into some more prevention research and do my best not to eat the cookie dough I found in my freezer earlier…
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Day Twenty-Three: Stitches Out, Training Shoes On
I need to apologize for disappearing for the last week. I have been struggling with an autoimmune flare... I won't get into details, but I will say that I don't prefer to write when being tired and in pain get the better of me. However, I am happy to report that the stitches are now out and I will officially be off Prednisone within the next two days. I am still not feeling well enough to run (or write, frankly) tonight, but I am feeling better progressively and am confident that I will be back blogging tomorrow and running by Friday at the latest. Thank you for your patience!
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Day Seventeen: Another Mother Runner
Today, celebrations have erupted throughout Minnesota. My new home state has embraced the idea that love arrives in many forms. And I am grateful that many of my dear friends will soon be able to express their affections and allegiance to each other in ways that they have not been previously allowed to by law. I too am thinking about love today. Love for my little girl that has allowed me to join the ranks of “Another Mother Runner.”
Mother’s Day is fast approaching. And because my little girl lives in California during the school year, I will unfortunately not be spending the day with her. However, she is sending me a video diary and her headshot from her recent middle school production of “42nd Street,” so I am not complaining. I try not to complain about the distance between us. Because even though it is more difficult than I can express to be away from her, when you are the mother of the world’s most amazing daughter, you understand how lucky you are… distance or not.
There is a community of mother runners in this country that bond over the two things that universally bind them: motherhood and running. I have shied away from this community for some time now, simply because my challenges as a mother runner are different from most others. Certainly, when my daughter is home, I struggle to balance training with my everyday motherhood duties. But throughout the school year, I struggle to balance training with the weight of simply missing my girl.
Other mothers wrestle with babysitting schedules, juggle their runs with making dinner and try to navigate how to run while pregnant/breastfeeding/potty training/etc. For a long time, I haven’t felt like I belong to this club. By showing up at events, posting on forums and even reading books about being a mom on the run, I feel judged by the invisible masses of mothers who might insist that because my girl is far away and I only get to talk to her for a half hour a day that I somehow don’t fit the criteria of “mother” within the “mother runner” community.
Thankfully, my autoimmune condition has given me time to reflect, to gain some perspective and to get out of my own way. I have never felt that I am less of a mother to Samantha simply because I parent from afar. Why would I allow that terrible distance to foster distance between myself and the mothering community as well? As a lifelong feminist (no, the label doesn’t scare me personally) I have recognized that the “female experience” is characterized as much by diversity as it is by common bonds. In denying my status as a “mother runner” I have limited my capacity. The fault for that misstep is completely my own, and has nothing to do with the many wonderful members of the mother runner community.
I have recently enjoyed the books “Run Like a Mother” and “Train Like a Mother” written by the two friends who run the Another Mother Runner website (http://anothermotherrunner.com/). In addition, I have signed up for the site’s email alerts and have begun researching mother runner groups here in the Twin Cities. I may even splurge and buy myself a neato mother runner t-shirt in honor of Mother’s Day. Just because I can’t be with my favorite girl on Sunday doesn’t mean I can’t honor our bond in every which way I please.
Some moms run to (understandably) get some alone time away from the kids. One of the reasons I run is rooted in the reality that I have too much alone time away from my daughter. But at the end of the day, no matter how many little ones we have or why we choose to run, I belong to the ranks of all the other mother runners out there, and I am terribly proud to say that this is so.
Mother’s Day is fast approaching. And because my little girl lives in California during the school year, I will unfortunately not be spending the day with her. However, she is sending me a video diary and her headshot from her recent middle school production of “42nd Street,” so I am not complaining. I try not to complain about the distance between us. Because even though it is more difficult than I can express to be away from her, when you are the mother of the world’s most amazing daughter, you understand how lucky you are… distance or not.
There is a community of mother runners in this country that bond over the two things that universally bind them: motherhood and running. I have shied away from this community for some time now, simply because my challenges as a mother runner are different from most others. Certainly, when my daughter is home, I struggle to balance training with my everyday motherhood duties. But throughout the school year, I struggle to balance training with the weight of simply missing my girl.
Other mothers wrestle with babysitting schedules, juggle their runs with making dinner and try to navigate how to run while pregnant/breastfeeding/potty training/etc. For a long time, I haven’t felt like I belong to this club. By showing up at events, posting on forums and even reading books about being a mom on the run, I feel judged by the invisible masses of mothers who might insist that because my girl is far away and I only get to talk to her for a half hour a day that I somehow don’t fit the criteria of “mother” within the “mother runner” community.
Thankfully, my autoimmune condition has given me time to reflect, to gain some perspective and to get out of my own way. I have never felt that I am less of a mother to Samantha simply because I parent from afar. Why would I allow that terrible distance to foster distance between myself and the mothering community as well? As a lifelong feminist (no, the label doesn’t scare me personally) I have recognized that the “female experience” is characterized as much by diversity as it is by common bonds. In denying my status as a “mother runner” I have limited my capacity. The fault for that misstep is completely my own, and has nothing to do with the many wonderful members of the mother runner community.
I have recently enjoyed the books “Run Like a Mother” and “Train Like a Mother” written by the two friends who run the Another Mother Runner website (http://anothermotherrunner.com/). In addition, I have signed up for the site’s email alerts and have begun researching mother runner groups here in the Twin Cities. I may even splurge and buy myself a neato mother runner t-shirt in honor of Mother’s Day. Just because I can’t be with my favorite girl on Sunday doesn’t mean I can’t honor our bond in every which way I please.
Some moms run to (understandably) get some alone time away from the kids. One of the reasons I run is rooted in the reality that I have too much alone time away from my daughter. But at the end of the day, no matter how many little ones we have or why we choose to run, I belong to the ranks of all the other mother runners out there, and I am terribly proud to say that this is so.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Day Sixteen: SuperBetter
When I was four years old, I had a glow in the dark sword. That sword made me He-Man. So I walked around with it tucked into the elastic waistband of my pants and pulled it out and roared my superhero name whenever I felt compelled to. I do not remember if I ever paired said sword with the bright blue tutu I wore obsessively at this age, but I do remember both the sword and the tutu served as equal sources of four-year-old power.
We all have some urge within us to be superhuman. We crave the ability to transcend our limits and reach new heights in the name of something larger than ourselves. In my own way, I seek these things both by training and by healing. But I’ve had enough bumps in the road lately on both journeys that I am now calling upon a tool of inspiration, focus and power that will help me reach my superhuman heights. It is a site called “Superbetter” and it will serve the same functions as my tutu and glow in the dark sword did when I was small but felt braver and more capable than I often do now.
I was introduced to the concept of Superbetter roughly one year ago, but life barreled into my way almost as soon as I had started to navigate it. Thankfully, websites like Superbetter (https://www.superbetter.com/) wait patiently for a follower’s return. And should you ever care to try either this site or any other tool like it, know that there is comfort to be found in that stability.
Superbetter is a free site designed to aid people in reaching “epic wins.” An epic win can be whatever you want it to be. My current epic win goal is completing the 2013 Twin Cities Marathon. But it could be whatever on Earth I care to reach for. The site helps motivate users towards epic wins by both urging them to “complete quests” (ex: get in a training session, drink my daily tea and green juice, meditate) and “battle bad guys” (ex: properly tend to the pain in my hip sockets, avoid inflammatory foods) as well as “activate power ups.” Power ups are those habits, choices and activities that allow us to be rejuvenated and empowered.
The site is completely customizable for every single “player.” What I love about its concept and putting it into use is that it is a motivator/inspiration tool/kick in the ass/progress tracker all in one. As an added bonus, it reminds me of that raw, joyous power we have as young children that gets slowly crushed by age. I may just be playing superhero, but the victories I have are no less real.
I won’t dig into every detail about how the site works or the benefits it has to offer. However, I would encourage any curious individuals to check it out. We all need a boost now and then. Superbetter and tools like it remind us that we alone have the power we need to succeed wildly… if we only channel our energy, keep up our strength and focus in the ways we truly desire to.
We all have some urge within us to be superhuman. We crave the ability to transcend our limits and reach new heights in the name of something larger than ourselves. In my own way, I seek these things both by training and by healing. But I’ve had enough bumps in the road lately on both journeys that I am now calling upon a tool of inspiration, focus and power that will help me reach my superhuman heights. It is a site called “Superbetter” and it will serve the same functions as my tutu and glow in the dark sword did when I was small but felt braver and more capable than I often do now.
I was introduced to the concept of Superbetter roughly one year ago, but life barreled into my way almost as soon as I had started to navigate it. Thankfully, websites like Superbetter (https://www.superbetter.com/) wait patiently for a follower’s return. And should you ever care to try either this site or any other tool like it, know that there is comfort to be found in that stability.
Superbetter is a free site designed to aid people in reaching “epic wins.” An epic win can be whatever you want it to be. My current epic win goal is completing the 2013 Twin Cities Marathon. But it could be whatever on Earth I care to reach for. The site helps motivate users towards epic wins by both urging them to “complete quests” (ex: get in a training session, drink my daily tea and green juice, meditate) and “battle bad guys” (ex: properly tend to the pain in my hip sockets, avoid inflammatory foods) as well as “activate power ups.” Power ups are those habits, choices and activities that allow us to be rejuvenated and empowered.
The site is completely customizable for every single “player.” What I love about its concept and putting it into use is that it is a motivator/inspiration tool/kick in the ass/progress tracker all in one. As an added bonus, it reminds me of that raw, joyous power we have as young children that gets slowly crushed by age. I may just be playing superhero, but the victories I have are no less real.
I won’t dig into every detail about how the site works or the benefits it has to offer. However, I would encourage any curious individuals to check it out. We all need a boost now and then. Superbetter and tools like it remind us that we alone have the power we need to succeed wildly… if we only channel our energy, keep up our strength and focus in the ways we truly desire to.
Monday, May 6, 2013
Day Fourteen: Giving Ourselves and Our Daughters Heroines
This weekend had its challenges. The Prednisone isn’t helping much with the pain or fatigue and my stitches are keeping me from being as active and engaged in my life as I’d like to be. However, the silver lining at the end of any day where my condition seems to get the better of me is that I have time to read.
My daughter and I can best be described as voracious readers. I taught myself to read so early that I honestly have no memory of a time during which I could not read chapter books. This is no brag… I take zero credit for whatever compelled my three and four-year-old selves to figure out the concept of words in general. But I will take credit for passing passion for the written word down to my precocious daughter Samantha.
Stories are how I teach her when she is far from home. Stories are how I show her what I see and know and dream about the world. Stories are as integral to our relationship as any other vitally important element. And that is why I have attempted to fill her world with an abundance of heroines. And in giving them to her and revisiting them myself, I continually renew my commitments to my goals, my health, my passions and my life in general.
I have recently become quite enamored with a website called “A Mighty Girl.” It is a site devoted primarily to books, magazines, movies and media parents can feel truly good about sharing with their daughters. Nearly every recommendation stars a truly mighty heroine. When I stumbled across one of their many reading lists (my favorite can be viewed here: http://www.amightygirl.com/mighty-girl-picks/top-read-alouds) I was astounded. Not only had this site chosen the obvious (“Matilda,” “The Secret Garden,” “Little House on the Prairie,” etc.) it had also tapped into some of my absolute favorites that no one else seems to have ever heard of “Ronia the Robber’s Daughter,” “Emily of New Moon,” “In the Year of the Boar and Jackie Robinson,” etc.)
In “You’ve Got Mail” Nora Ephron reminds us that “When you read a book as a child, it becomes a part of your identity in a way that no other reading in your whole life does.” I can tell you honestly that these heroines that I was introduced to as a child and am now revisiting through my daughter’s reading journey continue to influence my adult life. When the pain and fatigue threaten to derail an entire day (week, month… sigh) I am inspired to work with the strength I have in part because I have been so consistently inspired by female heroines.
Would Anne or Emily stop writing simply because they were tired? Would Tish or Jo be unreliable simply because they were struggling with pain? Would Jessica skip a training session just because she couldn’t seem to bend over far enough to tie her shoes? (Damn, these stitches!) I may not call them to mind by name when I need to tap into their strength, but they seem to be there at all times just the same.
My beautiful, smart, kind, funny, capable daughter has recently been battling some of the forces that often threaten to crush girls her age. Her story is her own, so I will not dig into details. But it is enough to say that at a certain age, some boys simply don’t know how to interact with strong, lovely, smart girls. So they try to tear them apart in order to see what happens. They can be mean and direct or they can use unwanted sexual advances and ridicule. The challenges can come in a variety of forms. I am proud to say that she is weathering this time with grace and a brave sense of self that is all her own. However, I can’t help but wonder if in doing so, she has tapped into all those stories of strong women and girls I try to put in her hands on a daily basis.
We do not always think of those who have inspired us directly every time we lace up our sneakers, stand up to injustice, navigate the fatigue or simply move forward when we’d prefer to stand still. But I believe strongly that the heroines I have given myself and Samantha are helping us through our journeys at the moment. And I truly hope that if you find yourself in need of a little inspiration, that you will wander over to Barnes and Noble, A Mighty Girl, Netflix or some other tool that will allow you to access brilliant stories. Because I have found that unlike anything else, stories will inspire you long after the last page has been turned or the credits have rolled.
My daughter and I can best be described as voracious readers. I taught myself to read so early that I honestly have no memory of a time during which I could not read chapter books. This is no brag… I take zero credit for whatever compelled my three and four-year-old selves to figure out the concept of words in general. But I will take credit for passing passion for the written word down to my precocious daughter Samantha.
Stories are how I teach her when she is far from home. Stories are how I show her what I see and know and dream about the world. Stories are as integral to our relationship as any other vitally important element. And that is why I have attempted to fill her world with an abundance of heroines. And in giving them to her and revisiting them myself, I continually renew my commitments to my goals, my health, my passions and my life in general.
I have recently become quite enamored with a website called “A Mighty Girl.” It is a site devoted primarily to books, magazines, movies and media parents can feel truly good about sharing with their daughters. Nearly every recommendation stars a truly mighty heroine. When I stumbled across one of their many reading lists (my favorite can be viewed here: http://www.amightygirl.com/mighty-girl-picks/top-read-alouds) I was astounded. Not only had this site chosen the obvious (“Matilda,” “The Secret Garden,” “Little House on the Prairie,” etc.) it had also tapped into some of my absolute favorites that no one else seems to have ever heard of “Ronia the Robber’s Daughter,” “Emily of New Moon,” “In the Year of the Boar and Jackie Robinson,” etc.)
In “You’ve Got Mail” Nora Ephron reminds us that “When you read a book as a child, it becomes a part of your identity in a way that no other reading in your whole life does.” I can tell you honestly that these heroines that I was introduced to as a child and am now revisiting through my daughter’s reading journey continue to influence my adult life. When the pain and fatigue threaten to derail an entire day (week, month… sigh) I am inspired to work with the strength I have in part because I have been so consistently inspired by female heroines.
Would Anne or Emily stop writing simply because they were tired? Would Tish or Jo be unreliable simply because they were struggling with pain? Would Jessica skip a training session just because she couldn’t seem to bend over far enough to tie her shoes? (Damn, these stitches!) I may not call them to mind by name when I need to tap into their strength, but they seem to be there at all times just the same.
My beautiful, smart, kind, funny, capable daughter has recently been battling some of the forces that often threaten to crush girls her age. Her story is her own, so I will not dig into details. But it is enough to say that at a certain age, some boys simply don’t know how to interact with strong, lovely, smart girls. So they try to tear them apart in order to see what happens. They can be mean and direct or they can use unwanted sexual advances and ridicule. The challenges can come in a variety of forms. I am proud to say that she is weathering this time with grace and a brave sense of self that is all her own. However, I can’t help but wonder if in doing so, she has tapped into all those stories of strong women and girls I try to put in her hands on a daily basis.
We do not always think of those who have inspired us directly every time we lace up our sneakers, stand up to injustice, navigate the fatigue or simply move forward when we’d prefer to stand still. But I believe strongly that the heroines I have given myself and Samantha are helping us through our journeys at the moment. And I truly hope that if you find yourself in need of a little inspiration, that you will wander over to Barnes and Noble, A Mighty Girl, Netflix or some other tool that will allow you to access brilliant stories. Because I have found that unlike anything else, stories will inspire you long after the last page has been turned or the credits have rolled.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Day Ten: Prednisone and Pigeon Pose
The wisdom of established yoga practices holds that certain physical poses can help to release, inspire or heighten awareness related to various emotional states of being. For example, Child’s pose helps to facilitate calm and restoration. Other poses trigger various alternative effects. As a result, I ultimately adore certain poses and struggle with others both due to their physical demands and their emotional ones.
Though I grow frustrated with Warrior series on a physical level, Pigeon is my emotional nemesis. Forward-bending Pigeon pose requires one to lean over a severely angled bent leg with the other leg outstretched behind the core of the body. (Please feel free to learn more about this pose here: http://www.yogajournal.com/basics/2313)
This pose is meant to allow the yogi to release deeply held stress and trauma. When I settle into Pigeon, I find myself to be immediately angry, every single time. No matter how hard I try to relax (even though one isn’t exactly supposed to try hard to relax during yoga practice) when this pose is called for, I find myself awash with anger so vivid that it inspires my body to heat up. If I hold the pose long enough and really sink into my hips, the anger changes to something deeper, truer and more lasting. But I am always struck most by that rush of anger that greets me every time I attempt to make peace with Pigeon pose.
It turns out that the drug Prednisone serves as a medication metaphor for Pigeon pose. I am on a high level, short-course dosing of this drug and have a little more than two weeks left on it before I likely will need to be put on some sort of intense anti-Malaria drug often used in patients with chronic inflammatory issues. When the psychological Prednisone symptoms hit, Mark refers to the phenomenon as “nighttime Kassie.”
Last night, Mark and I were enjoying a quiet late evening at Barnes and Noble. While he did some crossword puzzles, I researched anti-inflammatory cures, took notes on anti-cancer approaches and read a fascinating piece on Steve Prefontaine. I was feeling peaceful and happy. That is, until we went to the checkout counter and headed for the car. Then our conversation went like this:
Me: “My bag is really heavy and it is pulling on my stitches. But I can’t leave anything at home because I need all this stuff. Man, why does this have to be so hard? Why can’t any of this be easier? Why won’t this door open? And can you please move that out of the cup holder, I NEED IT FOR MY TEA!”
Mark: (Take a minute and stares at me) “Ah, nighttime Kassie. It’s all ‘calm and serene, calm and serene’ until BAM… and then there she is.”
I’ve been dealing with several side effects from this medication, but the one that I actually resent is my late evening mood swings. Even though my loved ones understand that my crabbiness is the drugs talking and not my conscious mind, I get frustrated when I cannot completely control my moods and their manifestations.
Being sick is challenging for a myriad of reasons. It makes training less straightforward, consistency of approach to my workdays less sure and it is sometimes simply quite distracting. But anyone who has ever had a chronic condition can attest that being sick is perhaps most frustrating when it inspires a feeling akin to loss of control. My mind is conscious that if I do everything I can do to remain healthy and optimistic that I will live with no regrets about my condition. However, my body likes to rebel against this approach especially when I am on Prednisone.
This drug likes to temporarily take my legs out from under me by giving me a once-daily rush of anger, resentment and frustration about all the things in life that don’t really seem so bad at all during the day. I cannot wait to be taken off of this drug and to see how the change impacts my outlook, my training and my approach to late evenings.
However, I cannot help but wonder if I have something to learn from Prednisone. Just as I have come to expect that Pigeon will let me know that I have anger yet to be worked through, Prednisone lets me know that I tend to bottle my condition’s little frustrations until the pressure mounts and the medication inspires the lid to pop off.
It seems that if I am going to successfully train for the marathon while navigating my autoimmune disorder that I am going to need to incorporate some release valves into the process. Perhaps I will just need to allow myself to complain from time to time, to take my frustrations out during occasional kickboxing classes or to indulge in some sort of treat to sooth my slightly bruised body and ego. Pigeon pose will not allow me to hide from negative emotions yet to be worked through. Prednisone apparently won’t either and it would be deeply unwise not to embrace that fact in a healthy way.
Though I grow frustrated with Warrior series on a physical level, Pigeon is my emotional nemesis. Forward-bending Pigeon pose requires one to lean over a severely angled bent leg with the other leg outstretched behind the core of the body. (Please feel free to learn more about this pose here: http://www.yogajournal.com/basics/2313)
This pose is meant to allow the yogi to release deeply held stress and trauma. When I settle into Pigeon, I find myself to be immediately angry, every single time. No matter how hard I try to relax (even though one isn’t exactly supposed to try hard to relax during yoga practice) when this pose is called for, I find myself awash with anger so vivid that it inspires my body to heat up. If I hold the pose long enough and really sink into my hips, the anger changes to something deeper, truer and more lasting. But I am always struck most by that rush of anger that greets me every time I attempt to make peace with Pigeon pose.
It turns out that the drug Prednisone serves as a medication metaphor for Pigeon pose. I am on a high level, short-course dosing of this drug and have a little more than two weeks left on it before I likely will need to be put on some sort of intense anti-Malaria drug often used in patients with chronic inflammatory issues. When the psychological Prednisone symptoms hit, Mark refers to the phenomenon as “nighttime Kassie.”
Last night, Mark and I were enjoying a quiet late evening at Barnes and Noble. While he did some crossword puzzles, I researched anti-inflammatory cures, took notes on anti-cancer approaches and read a fascinating piece on Steve Prefontaine. I was feeling peaceful and happy. That is, until we went to the checkout counter and headed for the car. Then our conversation went like this:
Me: “My bag is really heavy and it is pulling on my stitches. But I can’t leave anything at home because I need all this stuff. Man, why does this have to be so hard? Why can’t any of this be easier? Why won’t this door open? And can you please move that out of the cup holder, I NEED IT FOR MY TEA!”
Mark: (Take a minute and stares at me) “Ah, nighttime Kassie. It’s all ‘calm and serene, calm and serene’ until BAM… and then there she is.”
I’ve been dealing with several side effects from this medication, but the one that I actually resent is my late evening mood swings. Even though my loved ones understand that my crabbiness is the drugs talking and not my conscious mind, I get frustrated when I cannot completely control my moods and their manifestations.
Being sick is challenging for a myriad of reasons. It makes training less straightforward, consistency of approach to my workdays less sure and it is sometimes simply quite distracting. But anyone who has ever had a chronic condition can attest that being sick is perhaps most frustrating when it inspires a feeling akin to loss of control. My mind is conscious that if I do everything I can do to remain healthy and optimistic that I will live with no regrets about my condition. However, my body likes to rebel against this approach especially when I am on Prednisone.
This drug likes to temporarily take my legs out from under me by giving me a once-daily rush of anger, resentment and frustration about all the things in life that don’t really seem so bad at all during the day. I cannot wait to be taken off of this drug and to see how the change impacts my outlook, my training and my approach to late evenings.
However, I cannot help but wonder if I have something to learn from Prednisone. Just as I have come to expect that Pigeon will let me know that I have anger yet to be worked through, Prednisone lets me know that I tend to bottle my condition’s little frustrations until the pressure mounts and the medication inspires the lid to pop off.
It seems that if I am going to successfully train for the marathon while navigating my autoimmune disorder that I am going to need to incorporate some release valves into the process. Perhaps I will just need to allow myself to complain from time to time, to take my frustrations out during occasional kickboxing classes or to indulge in some sort of treat to sooth my slightly bruised body and ego. Pigeon pose will not allow me to hide from negative emotions yet to be worked through. Prednisone apparently won’t either and it would be deeply unwise not to embrace that fact in a healthy way.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Day Nine: A Raven and a Writing Desk
“Why,” the Mad Hatter inquires of Alice “is a raven like a writing desk?” Lewis Carroll apparently meant for this answer’s riddle to remain a mystery, though legend has it that he eventually divulged a rather unsatisfactory response after being harassed by hundreds of frustrated readers insisting that he set the record straight. I am less concerned with this riddle than I am “Why is a training schedule like a writing desk?”
Tonight I had the privilege of dining with a friend who is training for the famous Grandma’s Marathon to be held in Duluth in late June. She has completed two previous marathons and is feeling stronger and more prepared than ever. I am both thrilled for her and proud of her progress. I however, am still feeling as jittery in the face of my current training schedule as I am in the face of my completed first draft of my YA novel that I just cannot seem to bring myself to edit.
It is in this way that I have answered my own riddle. My training schedule and my writing desk are the places I go to be truly vulnerable. Some individuals feel vulnerable loving and connecting to others. I feel quite at home being in love with the people in my life and my life itself. Some people shy away from the vulnerability of exposing their weaknesses. I on the other hand, wear my heart and weak spots equally so squarely on my sleeve that this approach can get me into trouble. It is in pursuit of my personal passions and life’s work that I struggle with vulnerability.
Perhaps it is because I know that I contain the capacity to be both a strong and dependable loved one and an honorable woman generally that my relationships and with others and myself generally inspire far less panic than training and writing do. I have yet to cross a finish line or edit my novel. I have yet to prove myself as a runner or as a writer. And thus approaching my training schedule and my writing desk seem so much more daunting than nearly any other realities of my life. Even my illness often seems far more surmountable than running 26.2 miles or getting my novel ready to send to editors.
My favorite episode of “Grey’s Anatomy” is entitled “Give Peace a Chance.” In this episode, a patient with an inoperable tumor tells his nervous but brilliant surgeon two things that I have long-since written on my bathroom mirror so that I might see them everyday. The patient assures the surgeon that “There is always a way. Even when you think there is no way, there is a way.” He also instructs him that “If today you become afraid, instead become inspired.” This is the way that I have always approached fear and vulnerability. And yet, as humans we all need reminders of the approaches that have brought us success in the past as we look forward to adapting ourselves to new challenges.
I was not always so comfortable or secure in my relationships with others or with myself. Until just a few years ago I struggled mightily with both more often than not. And yet by becoming inspired at the thought that working to achieve pride and security in myself alone and myself with others I ultimately achieved a state of accomplishment and grace in my approach. I am a deeply imperfect person, but I have worked extremely hard to become someone that I love and that others can profess to be proud to know.
It is now time to put the same kinds of efforts into my passions and creative work that I have put into my relationships with others and myself. Hence, the creation of training schedules and writing goals. I struggle with pursuing them divorced of old habits tied to the false promises of perfectionism. But I am pursuing them nonetheless, because the alternative of not pursuing my passions is far darker than my fear of failure and my discomfort in being vulnerable.
For everyone out there struggling with vulnerability, please know that you are not alone. Every time I climb onto the treadmill, step onto the yoga mat, slip on my dance shoes or put pen to paper, I am right there with you. Confident in the knowledge that even though I am deeply uncomfortable in the moment, that discomfort will lessen over time and yield to confidence, grace and an even more solid purpose-driven focus for my life.
(Speaking of being uncomfortable, my stitches are driving me nuts. However, I am hoping that they will stop pulling enough by Friday that I can return to the gym in order to get my groove on… responsibly and respectfully of course. But I will be groovy and forward-focused all the same.)
Tonight I had the privilege of dining with a friend who is training for the famous Grandma’s Marathon to be held in Duluth in late June. She has completed two previous marathons and is feeling stronger and more prepared than ever. I am both thrilled for her and proud of her progress. I however, am still feeling as jittery in the face of my current training schedule as I am in the face of my completed first draft of my YA novel that I just cannot seem to bring myself to edit.
It is in this way that I have answered my own riddle. My training schedule and my writing desk are the places I go to be truly vulnerable. Some individuals feel vulnerable loving and connecting to others. I feel quite at home being in love with the people in my life and my life itself. Some people shy away from the vulnerability of exposing their weaknesses. I on the other hand, wear my heart and weak spots equally so squarely on my sleeve that this approach can get me into trouble. It is in pursuit of my personal passions and life’s work that I struggle with vulnerability.
Perhaps it is because I know that I contain the capacity to be both a strong and dependable loved one and an honorable woman generally that my relationships and with others and myself generally inspire far less panic than training and writing do. I have yet to cross a finish line or edit my novel. I have yet to prove myself as a runner or as a writer. And thus approaching my training schedule and my writing desk seem so much more daunting than nearly any other realities of my life. Even my illness often seems far more surmountable than running 26.2 miles or getting my novel ready to send to editors.
My favorite episode of “Grey’s Anatomy” is entitled “Give Peace a Chance.” In this episode, a patient with an inoperable tumor tells his nervous but brilliant surgeon two things that I have long-since written on my bathroom mirror so that I might see them everyday. The patient assures the surgeon that “There is always a way. Even when you think there is no way, there is a way.” He also instructs him that “If today you become afraid, instead become inspired.” This is the way that I have always approached fear and vulnerability. And yet, as humans we all need reminders of the approaches that have brought us success in the past as we look forward to adapting ourselves to new challenges.
I was not always so comfortable or secure in my relationships with others or with myself. Until just a few years ago I struggled mightily with both more often than not. And yet by becoming inspired at the thought that working to achieve pride and security in myself alone and myself with others I ultimately achieved a state of accomplishment and grace in my approach. I am a deeply imperfect person, but I have worked extremely hard to become someone that I love and that others can profess to be proud to know.
It is now time to put the same kinds of efforts into my passions and creative work that I have put into my relationships with others and myself. Hence, the creation of training schedules and writing goals. I struggle with pursuing them divorced of old habits tied to the false promises of perfectionism. But I am pursuing them nonetheless, because the alternative of not pursuing my passions is far darker than my fear of failure and my discomfort in being vulnerable.
For everyone out there struggling with vulnerability, please know that you are not alone. Every time I climb onto the treadmill, step onto the yoga mat, slip on my dance shoes or put pen to paper, I am right there with you. Confident in the knowledge that even though I am deeply uncomfortable in the moment, that discomfort will lessen over time and yield to confidence, grace and an even more solid purpose-driven focus for my life.
(Speaking of being uncomfortable, my stitches are driving me nuts. However, I am hoping that they will stop pulling enough by Friday that I can return to the gym in order to get my groove on… responsibly and respectfully of course. But I will be groovy and forward-focused all the same.)
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