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Posts tagged ‘health’

Jan 26

This is going to be harder than I thought

I’ve run all of six miles since I got cleared to officially run. Six miles. And the first two were slow-as-molasses miles. I’m talking 12-minute mile zone. That’s usually my warm-up pace for the first half mile.

Yesterday, it was a nice comfort zone that took me two miles to break out of.

Let me explain.

Today, I was supposed to pumping out a record-fast 10K at the 2013 version of this race:

coyotehills

Instead, I’m trying to find my balance again running, literally.

A week ago, after looking at my half marathon plans for Feb. 17 I realized most of my workouts were going to be treadmill activities. Not because I’m so in love with my treadmill I don’t want to leave the house. It’s because I’m still having some balance issues from the gallbladder removal surgery.

My surgeon said the issues will go away within a month. And while I could just say “oh well, no running for a month,” I can’t do that if I am really adamant about running Rock ‘n’ Roll Pasadena.

To be fair, anyone can walk/run a half without a ton of training. I want to do better than I did last year.

Basically if I get deep into a run, I start to feel as if my head is spinning. Then I wobble a little bit. Then my balance goes right out the window. It sounds really dangerous, yes. You’re thinking: “WHY THE HELL ARE YOU RUNNING?”

I sound naive, but it’s not as bad now as it was on Monday when I ran four miles. I’m hoping if I hit the treadmill today it would be as bad as it was yesterday. It will wear off, I was assured. So when I hopped on the treadmill for my six-mile run yesterday, I spent 24 minutes over two miles making sure I didn’t lose my balance.

I also ran later in the day.

Being without the dread of my full-time job means I can be creative again (not even kidding). It also means I can take on freelance assignments. I’m lucky enough to have a friend I greatly admire, who is sending some awesome coding/web building assignments my way. So I woke up at 7 a.m. Friday, put on my running clothes and then proceeding to alter alter CSS for five hours before deciding it was time to run. (My husband probably shouldn’t know that.) The good news is, the website I’m working on is starting to look like the mocks up. And I ran with only one short dizzy spell.

I WANT to be ready for Pasadena. I WANT to do better than last year. But right now I’m having some serious doubts in my capabilities to run a half. That gives me serious doubts in running the April 7 marathon too. (I hate even writing that because I’ve already paid for it, we already know we are going and I know I WANT to do that race too.)

Maybe this is still the post-operative fog talking. After a similar surgery in 2010, I only took a week off work. I ended up taking nearly six weeks off running. I don’t want to do that again. That was also a planned surgery. The gallbladder removal was an emergency. I can’t imagine what I’d be feeling, the back and forth thoughts and all, if it had happened closer to the Oakland Half Marathon, closer to the San Luis Obispo Marathon. I’d be devastated.

Right now? I’m mildly disappointed. I don’t think I’ve ever written a letter as sad for me as the one I did to the Brazen race director two weeks ago. I really just wanted to be there today. And not sitting at home wondering what might have been if my gallbladder had decided not to, for lack of better visual, explode on me.

Jan 23

Guess who got cleared to run?

That would be ME!

Today marked two things: I was released from medical leave, thereby could officially end my employment. I’m relieved. I felt like I was waiting to bury someone. Those of you who know what it’s like between a death and the funeral know what I mean.

And I was told I can resume all normal athletic or exercise activities, which means I’m going to be busting my butt for the next three weeks to train for the Rock ‘n’ Roll Pasadena Half Marathon.

To be fair, I’ve run nine miles in the past two days, but always slow and always against medical advice. Now that I know I’ve “healed nicely” I can beat my little legs into the ground again. Words cannot describe how incredibly excited I am to run again.

Stupid gallbladder removal. No more delaying my training.

Jan 16

Lessons in anatomy and physiology

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Do you know how hard it is to find a picture of a gallbladder on Wikimedia Commons? They are all ultrasound images. All kind of lame. I found a nice anatomy/physiology class look at the whole body, though, that seems to fit the purpose.

Let’s talk gallbladders.

There are three organs deemed “non existential” to the maintaining of life. We’ve all heard horror stories of people having their appendixes removed, usually with dramatic stories about it happening before high school graduation or grad night or, this one is real, I know someone who had her appendix removed a week before her wedding. She always says that’s the only reason she could fit into her dress.

Then there’s the spleen. The only people I know who have had theirs removed are people who have been in serious accidents.

Until last week, I wasn’t even aware my gallbladder could be what was causing me so many intestinal problems.

Now it makes sense.

Let’s backtrack.

The pain I’d been experiencing had been diagnosed as everything from “female troubles” to kidney stones to a “physical manifestation of stress.” I nearly kicked the doctor who diagnosed the latter of the three. Wow. If only stress could manifest as a removal appendage instead and we could just remove it from our lives.

In the last four months, as other craziness was going on in my life, it became considerably worse. I scaled back my food intake to get a little control over it. But I still had bowel issues (sorry, TMI, but necessary) and couldn’t drop a single pound on the scale. Something was up. Now that I look back at it, as my pain increased over the past couple years, the pounds stacked back on.

And I wasn’t eating bad. My husband joked that on paper, he is healthier than me. But what people don’t see is that I run 30-plus miles a week, eat healthy and take incredibly good care of myself. When I have pain, I know whether it’s expected or weird.

I’m still a little set back by the fact that my gallbladder was removed just a week ago.

But I’m learning to work within a new reality. Why? Because you can live without a gallbladder, but it does serve a vital body function.

The gallbladder holds bile. It rests under the liver. When we eat, it releases bile to the intestines to help with the moving of food and absorption. That’s why doctors introduce a liquid diet initially. Lots of Jello. Lots of broth. I’ve been gradually increasing my food intake.

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It started out with lots of soup. This is a homemade chicken bow-tie soup that I made the other night. My husband says that he’ll eat anything I put on the table, so this was the first of a series of challenges I’m putting him up to. It passed. All he added was pepper. I can’t handle a lot of salt and pepper.

The problem is that a week after surgery, I’m still lacking an appetite. I’m eating. But not much. And everything I am eating is as much as I was before. My husband and I talked about my diet last night, as we realized a couple things:

– I haven’t started taking any of the medication I was on prior to surgery (and I mean ALL medication outside of the pain meds)

– I’ve stopped drinking Diet Coke for the time being because I was told my stomach probably couldn’t handle the carbonation.

– I’ve prepared nearly every meal or had soup since leaving the hospital

– I haven’t ran all but a mile, and it was slightly disastrous and I nearly threw up doing it

Today, I weighed myself and I’m six pounds less than I did before surgery. I’m not sure if that’s because of surgery and a hospital stay, which usually happens. But my calorie consumption has gone down too.

I’ve been trying out new recipes that are low-fat or no fat based.

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I made a simple pizza, sans sauce. I used a French-bread crust, spread it out. I used low-fat mozzarella cheese, no fat cooking spray, sliced tomatoes and a little bit of basil. I also used some low-fat Parmesan cheese for taste. My husband loved it and it only took 20 minutes from prep to table.

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I have some leftovers I’m planning on warming up today, in the oven instead of the microwave. It will be nice to have a little crunch. I haven’t gone as far as figuring out the calories for something like this, but it treated my stomach well. I had a couple little slices (it’s not a big pizza).

And so far my stomach is handling things decently. I think over the next couple weeks it will be really a “try and see” thing. Because my gallbladder isn’t stockpiling bile, sometimes too much fat is released. Then I have some stomach cramps and other issues that may or may not involve me running to the bathroom.

Another new addition to my diet is soy-based products.

I bought Boca chicken burgers. which have been relatively easy on my stomach as well.

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Except I eat them as sandwiches, with low-fat cheese. And it tastes so good. This is one new food item my husband won’t be partaking in. I went to Berkeley for graduate school. I own Birkenstocks. He already tells me I’m a hippie. Eating anything Boca related doesn’t help, believe me.

So a week out, I’m relearning how to eat. I’m also dealing with very little appetite and other issues.

On a running note, I finally sent the email to the race director admitting I probably wouldn’t be able to run in the 10K next week. I figured I’d be feeling a lot better by now, but I’m still dozing off in the afternoon when my head starts to hurt. If I try to do too much, I end up having moments where I’m dizzy. If I want to drive, I can’t take my pain pills. So I’m kind of a mess still.

But my running buddy Sam scolded me for even thinking about running. She reminded me that we had a trip to Pasadena planned for next month. And it should likely now be my first race for 2013.

Jan 15

Today, in video

I’ve quoted this song before, probably more than I think on the blog. Today it’s more relevant. More personal.

“Regrets collect like old friends

Here to relive your darkest moments

I can see no way, I can see no way

And all of the ghouls come out to play

And every demon wants his pound of flesh

But I like to keep some things to myself…”

Today the news was bad, what I am hoping is the end of four months of bad. All bad.

Today, I’m not letting it ruin me. I’m dancing again. A little lighter.

The crying is hopefully over. The worry is gone.

“I am done with my graceless heart

So tonight I’m gonna cut it out and then restart…“

And that’s exactly what I’m going to do tonight. With one less job. With more hope. And a semester’s worth of planning for my class derailed by the missing gallbladder to do.

Today, I’m smiling for the first time in a long time. Because even bad news bring new possibility.

Jan 13

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Getting through the post-operative fog

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The past couple days, when I try to take photos, they mostly look like the image above. Actually, a lot of things look like the image above.

I’ve been doing something fancy Google searching only to find out about all the post-operative side effects that come along with having general anesthesia.

Because this isn’t pain induced. I’m kind of past the pain today. Or at least I haven’t been taking my medications that leave me even more tired and loopy than I am right now. Though this morning was pretty epic when I congratulated myself for finally being able to wear real clothes (hello jeans! hello actual shirt!), then promptly fell asleep on my couch for what is like the umpteenth time.

So lame.

The good news is that I’ve been able to wear real clothes all day without pain.

The bad news is that I’m still suffering the side effects of being put under, much worse than the last time I had surgery in 2010.

I stand up and have dizzy spells. I can’t stay awake for more than four or five hours at a time. Then, for some reason, it takes me forever to fall asleep. Then I’m stuck in this great semi-somnia where I feel awake and can sense everything around me, but feel kind of paralyzed. Weird stuff is going on up in this body.

It may surprise then that when I woke up this morning I said “oh hey, maybe since I’m not in horrible pain anymore, I can actually run on the treadmill.” Then I stood up and realized the room was spinning. And my ears were doing this weird throbbing thing.

I’m pretty sure I’d be a disaster in my running shoes right now.

But I can’t help but feel a great need to get back to running as soon as possible. I haven’t even sent an email to the race director of the upcoming race because I keep thinking that maybe, just maybe, I can run the 10K. It will be alright, yes?

I’m probably so wrong.

I’m barely eating solid foods.

postop2

But I’m taking down a lot of soup. My mother in law made the bowl above. She actually made enough for two, but I made my husband eat his fatty chicken strips from the night before. (That’s what he gets for eating in front of me. The chicken smelled so good I wanted to grab the strip right from his hand.)

Since I can’t drive until I am done with my pain pills, I asked him if he could take me to the store yesterday. I had to throw away most of what was in our pantry because it’s not exactly considering healthy or low fat by any means.

“We need food,” I said.

He gave me this look that bordered between sympathy and annoyance.

But he took me. Since I had a $10 off $50 coupon at Winco, he went there. Speaking of coupons, when I got to the register the clerk nearly freaked out when she saw I had about 10 other coupons to use.

She actually said “Oh Lord!” like I was one of those crazy coupon ladies who was going to get my grocery bill down to $1.50 or something like that. Yeah, we only saved $14.40.

We spent an hour in the store, picking up lots of fruits and vegetables (my snack staples). We also grabbed chicken and pork chops, to supplement the ground beef and stew meat we already have. We made a pact: no grocery shopping for two weeks. Instead, we need to eat everything in our pantry and refrigerator. The only thing I’d buy is fruits. Those seem to go pretty quickly.

My husband and I haven’t shopped together in a long time. The last time was probably before I started working two jobs. It was nice, if only because I’m not supposed to push the cart.

But the fog followed me to the store too, where the lights seemed to be screaming at me. I nearly fell over a couple times. If it hadn’t been for the shopping cart, I probably would have fallen in an aisle and had cans all over me.

Our mission to get low-fat and non-fat foods was a success, though.

We came home with a lot of good food and a meal plan.

So as much as I think I’m feeling better, I’m still realizing that this whole gallbladder episode was bigger than even I could imagine. I still have sterile-strips across the four holes in my abdomen. I’m supposed to wait until they “fall off” in the shower. I’m also supposed to call Monday and make a follow-up appointment with my surgeon to make sure everything is healing okay.

And yet, all I can think about is putting my Nikes back on and hitting the road.

Jan 12

My (somewhat) daily diet

diet2

First thing: I’m very grateful for the thoughts, sentiments and such I’ve received through email. This hasn’t exactly been the easiest week of my life. And I think it’s awesome that people I don’t even know personally choose to reach out.

Second: I’ve been asked about what my diet is typically like on a day-to-day basis.

It’s a good question, especially considering that the gallstone my doctor found was incredibly huge.

So what does a typical, not splurging at Boudin day, look like for me? It’s pretty basic.

Breakfast

– Banana

– 100 calorie Grek yogurt

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Lunch

– Weight Watchers or Lean Cuisine meal

– Or a peanut butter sandwich on wheat bread

– Or a quick, small salad

diet4

Snack options (Usually two or three during the day)

– Simply Fruit Rolls or sticks

– Granola bar

– Banana

– Golden Delicious apple

– Wheat thins

– Sugar Free Jello

– Another Greek yogurt

diet1

Dinner

If I’m alone…

– Progresso Light Soup

– Sushi (Because my husband hates sushi, so if I’m alone this is the only time I can actually eat sushi)

– Weight Watchers or Lean Cuisine meal

If my husband is around…

– Chicken breast

– Side vegetable, usually corn, but sometimes zucchini

– Potatoes, pasta or some other starch

Doesn’t seem too bad, right?

My problem is overeating. If I make potatoes au gratin, I’m only really supposed to eat about a cup full. But, unfortunately, I have to eat more than that. I usually go back for seconds and thirds without hesitation.

Or when I eat chips, I grab more than the handful I am supposed to. I can’t seem to control it very well.

Is that what let to the gallstone and gallbladder issues? Maybe. Who knows. I’ve been dealing with these pains since a long time before I gained a ton of weight. The first time I can remember having this pain, I was in high school. At that point, I was only 135 pounds.

But my issue has always been the overeating. I eat a lot of good stuff.

In fact, when my husband brought me home from the hospital he started searching around for the things I could eat. He found sugar free Jello and the soup and a bunch of low-fat foods. He didn’t need to go buy much at all.

So if I had been eating this stuff all along, why has my stomach hurt so bad lately?

I don’t know. But I went back and looked at recent posts where I complained about abdomen issues while running, I can say that it was likely the result of the gallbladder issues getting really, really severe. Two emergency room visits in two weeks? Yes, that should tell me something.

But now my diet is definitely more exclusive than inclusive.

So I’m cutting back even more so. But my diet will likely stay very, very similar. Now, though, it’s much more important to stay within portion limits and not overdo the fat.

Jan 10

A new emergency, complete with surgery

hospital1

That whole post about bad luck? It just keeps getting worse.

The culmination of it all was an emergency surgery to remove my gallbladder (yes, the whole freaking thing) and a gallstone the size of a quarter from my body on Wednesday morning.

Let me go back to Jan. 1.

That emergency room trip where the CT scan showed nothing? Where blood tests were inconclusive?

I was sent home, that night, after being loaded up with painkillers. The good painkillers, not the ones that make me feel like I’m on fire (looking at you Morphine). I was also prescribed a bottle of Vicodin and some anti-nausea medication. Good thing too, because I had to keep taking it.

I can’t even begin to describe the pain I feel when it happens. It starts dull, then radiates throughout my abdomen. Then my stomach seems to get bloated. Last week, I couldn’t wear my jeans. It was that bad. And when all is said and done, it passes. Like nothing. It usually only lasts a night or so, then I’m back at it.

But this time, the pain stuck around. I noticed it when I was shooting a video on Thursday of last week. As I sat on the floor, something I usually do when shooting video. I all of the sudden had a sharp pain in my side. Then I felt a little sick. I was able to finish the video without any other incident.

On Saturday, it felt like it was kicking up again. By Monday, I was harboring a dull pain as I went throughout my day. I’ve been dealing with this since graduate school. Doctors first diagnosed me with an ulcer. That was a lucky guess … because I ended up having a pretty gnarly ulcer. My husband rushed me to the ER the year we got married after I could barely stand up. Then doctors said it was kidney stones. In 2010, I had surgery to look for “lady problems” that could be causing the pain.

Another doctor told me I needed to lose some weight. I proceeded forward with that. Thirty-pounds lighter, the pain came back.

And it kept coming, until Tuesday when, at another video assignment, it was full blown. Just crazy bad. Tuesday ended for me in a way that I should have predicted a few weeks ago when I decided to go back to work, except in the real-life version I was called self absorbed. (Not for this post.)

I came home upset Tuesday night. I took a Xanax to calm down. I fell asleep fast.

By midnight, I was wide awake trying to get the pain to pass again. I tried to go to the bathroom. I drank water, a ton of water. I used the heating pad. I took a shower. I did everything.

Then I started throwing up. Everything. Nothing stayed down. (Even that $10, super delicious Togo’s sandwich. Damn.)

So at 4 a.m., I woke my husband up by collapsing on our bedroom floor.

“I’m dying,” I cried.

“You’re not dying,” he said.

But he couldn’t deny I was in pain.

It took them an hour to get me painkillers. I hadn’t even had time, since the previous visit, to check in with my regular physician. This time, the emergency room doctor (a really young looking guy), ordered up a CT with contrast.

Less than 30 minutes later, he was back in my ER bay telling me by gallbladder looked inflamed. He brought in an ultrasound machine. He felt around. He said he wanted to consult the surgeon.

By 9 a.m. I was being wheeled into the surgery room to have my gallbladder removed.

I woke up in recovery, still dazed about all that had transpired in less than 12 hours.

And greeted by a clear liquid diet.

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Chicken broth. Jello. Yum. I also got juice. No carbonated beverages, though. Apparently, I may not be able to drink carbonated beverages for a while now.

Oh, and new holes all over my abdomen. I felt like a human pincushion.

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That’s what I look like after having a organ removed. And being put under general anesthesia. And being hooked up to a major massive IV delivering more painkillers.

So I’m sans gallbladder. My husband was right: I wasn’t dying.

But I’m not supposed to lift anything more than 15 pounds for the next month. I have an awesome sheet full of lots of fun doctor orders. No this. No that. No running. For at least two weeks.

So that 10K I was so jazzed about? Not happening, according to my husband. It’s only 16 days away. He wants me to contact the race company and transfer my entry to another event. I’ll get around to it, when I have a moment of clarity without the pain medication. (Like right now, when I’m not nearly as groggy as I thought I’d be.)

I’m trying not to be iffy about my half marathon in February, but you never know about these things. I’m in a lot of pain right now. I can barely stay awake for more than three hours, apparently a result of being put under.

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That was my view for the day/night. The night was ridiculous. There was no way I could get a good night’s rest. I had nurses coming in every two hours to check my vitals and make sure I was still alive. If they hadn’t have kept giving me pain medication, I probably wouldn’t have gone back to sleep.

One of the orderlys was really nice, though. She saw I was having trouble navigating something simple like opening up a sugar packet, for my tea, and she offered to make it for me.

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I nearly cried when she left. Lately I’ve been greeted with questioning looks and doubtful smiles. This woman was genuinely nice to me. She even opened up my napkin and put it on my lap. Why can’t more people be like that? (I may sound cheesy right now, but I’m had a hellish three weeks that has made me question nearly everything I knew about friendship and proper decorum.)

I kept getting zonked out with the IV painkillers.

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That little bag was both my friend and my enemy. They had to remove the original IV from my right hand and move it to my left late last night because the original one had saturated my arm. Every time my nurse “flushed” the line, it burned.

This morning, my husband came and bailed me out. We only live right down the street from the hospital, but the trip felt long. I really just wanted to go home and crawl into bed. When I finally did, I fell fast asleep.

I’m a little hunched over when I walk now. And the pain is still radiating, but this time I know it’s from the holes, not the gigantic gallstone.

I keep asking myself: Why is all this happening? What is it setting me up for?

One of my favorite songs says “it’s always darkest before the dawn.” I keep hoping that’s true. I keep thinking positively. It will all mean something, anything, eventually. But what matters right now, what I know matters, is that I am home, And safe. And my husband is taking care of me. And a friend who mattered came to see me. And my mom showed up without hesitation when she was called.

I know I’m loved, even if everything is falling apart all around me.

Jan 5

If I didn’t have bad luck …

I wouldn’t have any. Or so the saying goes.

The first hours of 2013 were great. No problems. I just hung out on my couch. I decided not to go for a run because my left IT band was still bothering me. My left big toenail (the one that is becoming increasingly black), also started hurting a little bit more.

Then, at about 4 p.m. my abdomen started hurting.

It wasn’t just as little pain, it was a horrible stabbing pain. I tried heat. I tried an ice pack. I took a bath. I took some pain relievers. I did everything. But 8 p.m. I was so sick and disoriented that I could barely stand up. Every time I moved it hurt.

I kept thinking it would get better. It didn’t.

Finally, fearing that my appendix was exploding or some other extreme malady was occurring, my husband high-tailed me to the hospital.

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I think the fact that I threw up, pretty significantly, in triage got me in quicker than I imagined I would. I was keeling over in pain. I could barely get into the hospital gown. But they loaded me up with Dilaudid, a pain reliever that’s not morphine (I’m allergic to morphine), and I suddenly felt so much better.

I had an x-ray done. They found nothing.

No explanation. To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. It’s not that I wanted my appendix to be exploding. Not at all. That would have set my running back months (I had a surgery in July 2010 and couldn’t run for four weeks, longest four weeks of my life). But I wanted something to be happening so I could have a diagnosis and get work on making it better.

Instead, they told me to visit a gastrointestinal doctor.

Let’s me real: I’ve seen a lot of doctors lately. The thought of another one just bums me out.

So I started this year bummed out, doped up on pain relievers in an emergency room bed. After two months on leave, I didn’t have the heart to call in sick to work the next day. I was tired, and the pain still resonated, but I made it through.

On Thursday, I headed out to my car to go to work and noticed a strange scratch on the door.

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It didn’t look right. I opened the door and found something much, much worse inside.

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You’ve got to be kidding me?

No. Way.

Someone tried to break into my car. The only place I’d been? Work.

My car is in the garage when I’m at home. I sent my husband an email when I got to work.

“I think someone tried to break into the Jeep,” it said. He had me send photos. When he received them, he was livid.

I mentioned it to the security guard at work. He told me that someone else’s car was broken into earlier in the week, but no one was in the lot last night, etc.

My husband was firm: The only place it could have happened was in the lot at work.

The damage is fairly significant, especially on a new car.

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I filed a police report. We’re turning it into insurance. My typically mild-mannered husband was cursing and upset when I got home and showed him. I told him I impressed by the Jeep’s durability. The bad guys didn’t get in. Nothing was stolen. And it’s not like they can steal the car anyway, since a proximity chip is needed to start it.

Then on Friday, after all of this happens during the week, the cracks in the facade start to show a little in my anxiety. It turned into a bad day.

One bad day after another.

But … my IT band isn’t in as much pain as it was a couple days ago. I’ve been stretching it every night and rolling it out with my Grid roller. I’ve also been using my TriggerPoint ball to massage the ends of my IT band.

I ran six miles yesterday. I ran five miles today.

I’m hoping to run eight to 10 tomorrow morning.

The running is going well. I’m hopeful that I’ll be ready to tackle that trail 1oK on Jan. 26. (And start upping the ante for the half marathon in February.) So I guess there is good luck too in all this.

Since I keep having issues with that particular IT band, I’m considering investing in one of those physical therapy-style rubber straps to use to get some more mobility in that leg. I’m already rolling it out everyday. I’m stretching it out as much as possible. But the problem keeps coming back.

I suppose it’s better than having constant knee issues, but still. We’ll see if I can figure out a plan of attack on the IT band from hell.

Nov 20

1 Comment

A public service announcement on chafing

This is going to be a rather gross post. For that, I apologize in advance. But I think this sort of thing is important to address, especially with the number of winter races coming up.

This weekend, my mom and I ventured to Monterey for me to run the Big Sur Half Marathon on Monterey Bay. This was my second year doing so. And, for all my hiding in the portable toilet for 15 minutes and not being able to sleep too well the night before, I did really well. I knocked nine minutes off my time from last year, running a 2:28:27.

I also now know that, if I can pull myself together, I have a good chance of doing well at the California International Marathon in a couple weeks.

But that’s not what this post is about. I’ll get to weekend specifics and the race in the next couple days.

It’s about chafing.

Specifically, how bad it can get really quick.

Behold, the grossness of chafing.

That’s why I buried the lede here. It’s pretty gross. And this isn’t exactly the best photo. But you can see how badly torn up my fat little arms are. I’ve mentioned before that my upper arms don’t ever seem to lose weight. So my “fat little arms” are always rubbing.

I started the run with a long-sleeve shirt on. But by the time I hit the underground tunnel taking runners from downtown Monterey en route to Pacific Grove, I was taking it off and wrapping it around my waist.

That meant that my arms were exposed.

I usually wear Lululemon Run:Swifty shirts when I run. This time, I wore my Big Sur Half Marathon short-sleeve tech shirt under my long-sleeve layer.

I didn’t notice the chub rub at first. As we got to the turn around at Asilomar State Beach, I wasn’t feeling any pain. It was about the time I hit the mile ten marker that my arms started hurting. I looked down and realized my arms were chafing. Bad.

And it kept getting worse.

That was the point, too, where I hit two water stops without medical tents with Vasoline. Usually there’s someone waving a cardboard around with it. I couldn’t find anyone.

My fat little under arms were burning. I took my Lululemon long-sleeve from around my waist and stuck it under my arms. I was doing anything I could to keep the sweaty skin from rubbing anymore against my shirt’s sleeve. This is a shirt I’ve worn on runs before, but never sweating as much as I did for this run.

I held the long-sleeve between both my arms as tight as I could and just kept running. Finally, I saw a guy with a panel of Vasoline. I grabbed a huge lob and threw it, literally, under both arms. I was completely unapologetic about it. It was gross. It hurt. And I did it to myself.

And yet, it was still bad. These blurry photos are two days later. My arms are just now feeling as if I could maybe wear a running shirt again. And I’ve used lots of cream, specifically Aquaphor, to help the wounds heal. It hurt to even put a shirt on after the run.

By the way those lines are stretch marks. They’ve been there since I lost the 30-plus pounds when I started running.

Still, my fat little arms aren’t losing any weight.

So I figured I’d write a more lighthearted post from some of the more serious, personal ones I’ve done lately. This is a public service announcement on chafing.

Buy Glide. Or something similar. Even during the winter months, when it seems as if you won’t necessarily be sweating as much, it’s best to apply and reapply the glide. Just do it.

And also, stick to what you know for race clothes. I wear different shirts on my short runs than on my long runs. I should have known better. I should have stuck with my tank top instead. But it wasn’t “something new” on race day, so I figured I’d be okay.

Nope.

Wear Glide. Save your arms. Simple enough.

And that concludes my public service announcement.

Nov 15

Worst. Marathon. Ever.

No. I didn’t run a marathon and forgot to tell on here. Though, if there was a marathon that offered a medal of Domo, I’d be all in. Like right now.

The marathon I’m running right now isn’t even one I have to lace up my Nikes for. It’s the marathon happening in my life.

If you could equate a lifetime to 26.2, I would be hitting “the wall” relatively early. Right now, I’m hitting it everyday.

Simple things are hard at first. Deciding when to wake up? Difficult. Getting out of bed? Tough. Getting in the car to drive? Scary. Trying to have some semblance of life before the panic attack? Seemingly impossible.

Five days after it happened, I realized I was different.

“Did I have a breakdown?” I asked my mom.

She responded in the affirmative.

Well crap.

A friend the other day referred to it as “the episode.” People ask me how I am. They don’t know that by the time they see me, I’ve usually had to overcome four or five moments of sheer terror before I can even get myself going in the morning.

I’m not going to lie, I’m not doing well. I thought, three weeks out, I’d be better. I thought the confidence in my voice would return. I thought I’d be cleared to return to work. I thought this would all be past me.

Yesterday marked the first time since “the episode” (sounds funny like that doesn’t it?), that I was able to talk about it without completely breaking down. Progress? Yes. Enough? No.

I got in my car on Monday to go to the store only to sit in it for 20 minutes while I figured out what, exactly, was making me so worried. Why was I so anxious?

I’m told I have to retrain my mind to get past the objections and the fear. I told my therapist that I’d been avoiding filling my gas tank up in my car. She asked why. Because I’d have to get a full tank. Then I’d have to wash the window. Then it would just be better to wash the whole car. And what if, at the gas station, I realized I needed something from the store? I’d have to go.

It sounds irrational as I type it. But I still don’t want to go get gas.

It took me six days to make a phone call necessary to my recovery. Six days. I would normally not have a problem picking up the phone.

A letter from work tells me I’m “required” to apply for disability. Fine. Doing the actual paperwork was a lesson in humility.

I couldn’t get through the little red boxes for days. And all I was doing was entering my name and other basic information.

What happened to me? Where did I go?

Today I’m angry about it. Today I’m upset that the people who should have noted a change in my behavior instead ignored it. Today I’m heartbroken because there were so many chances for someone to intervene.

I didn’t hide it. Not at all. My self-destruction was evident. I joked about my anxiety initially. It’s not so funny now. Not when it’s become paralyzing.

I was told to journal my thoughts. That part is easy. In written words, it flows. I feel more normal than I typically do. I’m able to reach a part of me that seems distant. But in person, I’m still clinging for familiarity. I can be in larger environments, because anonymous people don’t bother me.

But the thought of signing up for a local 10K Turkey Trot? I don’t even want to go there. I’ll see people I know. People who read this blog. People who want to ask how I’m doing. And I’ll shut down.

In Kindergarten I had a teacher who pin notes on my back so I’d remember to take it home to my parents. I’m tempted to pin a note to myself that says “leave me alone” and leave it at that.

I’m trying to grasp this in a way that will help me see through it, so I know there will eventually be an end to all of this. That’s where the marathon comes in. But this one is much worse than San Diego. This one doesn’t just rub your feet raw, it also hurts your lower back and breaks your will. This marathon is mean. And it knows it to.

So how do you attack a mean marathon? Training. Lots of training. Distance runs. Speed work.

It’s like running a race and powering through the water stops where they’ve run out of water, or where you can’t feel your toes anymore.

You just keep going. Right?

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