Without making excuses for myself, I know I should be updating this more frequently. Life, however, sometimes gets in the way, and the past two weeks have just been jam-packed with running, working, working some more, running a little bit more, and a decent amount of socializing. Hooray! Life. If you find yourself jonesing for that Caroline-fix though, you can always follow me on twitter: @cc_bridges. How's that for a shameless plug?
So I haven't actually been running as much as I would like. Without grossing anyone out too much, I have been having some gnarly intestinal/digestion issues, and they are seriously detracting from my desire to pound out the miles. I am struggling with what to eat that won't give me crazy stomach cramps, especially what to eat before I go for a run. For my mid-week runs, which aren't that long and typically in the morning, I seem to be okay with water and an energy gel right before I head out. The difficulties lie with the long runs, for which I need more energy (calories...). When and what should I eat to be properly fueled without having to run to a bathroom after 40 minutes? This weekend should be an interesting test: I am supposed to run 8 miles, my longest run yet in this training regime. I didn't think I could run six miles straight a few weeks ago, but I somehow did. I don't know if I'll get eight miles straight, but we'll see what happens. I've read a bit about visualization and the idea that if you picture your run and picture yourself killing it, it will go well. So I am trying to visualize eight miles, picturing pushing past that six-mile limit I have so far reached. Again, we'll see how it all ends up.
What defines a "runner?" Is it your speed, the distance you can run, your body fat percentage? Or is it something more fundamental than that, a less quantifiable knowledge or belief in this certain activity? Possibly it is different for everyone and so not fairly definable. I have always sort of considered myself a runner, even when I was sick or in the ensuing years when I wasn't running regularly. It seems to be a key factor in my happiness, in my general acceptance of the daily trials that naturally arise in our lives. Yesterday, I went in to work having slept over nine hours and eaten a healthy, satisfying breakfast. Yet, something was noticeably off, and one of my coworkers asked if I was okay. I thought about it and realized that, actually, I felt like a slug, sort of merely pushing through the air, going through the motions. I wasn't fully present. And I realized that it was most likely because I hadn't run earlier in the morning. My body hadn't been jump-started into life with a run in sub-freezing temperatures, greeted by the sunrise. My endorphins remained dormant and my energy levels just weren't what they normally are.
Even this morning, I struggled to push myself out the door knowing how warm my apartment was. I actually cut my run short by about half a mile because I had reached my coffee shop and was pretty cold. But I still chugged out those four miles in 20-degrees and unlimited early-morning sunshine, and I feel so different this morning, so much more alert and functional. So, I guess that's what makes me a runner: on the days I don't run, I just don't feel like myself. In fact, I feel terrible. I may not be the most hardcore (just look at my diet...), but my heart is fully in it. If you define yourself as a runner, why and how? I'd like to know!
Thanks so much for stopping by, and happy weekend to all! Thinking less, running more...
Friday, December 16, 2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Putting the miles between myself and I
I am a survivor. I am a force to be reckoned with. I have been broken in so many different places and every one of them has healed stronger than before. I understand what it means to be truly happy, and I will do whatever it takes to share that understanding with others. I also understand that those moments of happiness are the exception rather than the rule and must be held onto as gifts distributed sparingly. I am a runner. I have spent the past five years not running away but running towards a future full of promise. I have run so many miles towards this life I now live.
Five years ago today, I was ushered into a cab by two incredulous doctors at the Boston University health center with the directive to go straight to the ER. They had never before come across a student with such low blood counts. "What do you mean, you 'walked here'?" Apparently, I should have passed out weeks earlier. Thus began my relationship with medical professionals wherein they do a poor job covering their shock at the crazy, awesome anomaly that is my body and my dogged persistence at living. The second such exchange came a few hours later when an hematologist examined me and exclaimed, "Even your tongue is pale!" Who knew. Two days later, on December 8, a wizened and certainly well-meaning older oncologist asked me if I would rather wait for my mother before he told me what was wrong with me. Thus began my continued frustration with medical professionals and their (mostly) unwittingly treating me like a child. Anyway, he told me I had leukemia. So much, then, for life.
Except that absolutely not: I was going to take this cancer thing and deal with it using whatever means necessary. I had to get back to school; I had so many things to do. As cliche as it really is, giving up was never an option. That was five years ago. Technically, I have been cancer-free for most of those five years. The chemo worked quickly and thoroughly on my leukemia, though there have been latent side-effects and residual issues as a result of the powerful drugs. So, still dealing with that nonsense. At this point though, it is just one more thing; my weekly and monthly doctor's visits are just something I have to do on Tuesdays. Maybe somewhere in the back of my mind if I am honest and looking straight at it, I am still sort of waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting to hear that this time it actually is cancerous. But there is absolutely no point in thinking or living that way. That thought-box is locked and under a pile of essays I wrote in college about Thomas Hardy. Not something I frequently examine. (Though I do love Hardy.)
I went for a run today, my first since last Wednesday. (It's been snowing and super-cold in Denver and I haven't quite psyched myself up to run in those conditions. Yet.) But today I ran, and I ran six awesome miles. It was 15 degrees when I headed out my door, and Denver being the strange weather-freak it is, I was over-heated in about 20 minutes. Seriously, wearing a Nike cold-gear shirt and a fleece sweater, I was so warm. I had to take off my gloves. Anyway, the point of All of this, including my extended build-up, is that I cannot believe the path my life has taken since its abrupt detour five years ago. I am a barista in Denver, training for a marathon, living with a craigslist-found roommate who has turned out to be a really awesome person and a pretty positive influence in my life here. I smile Every Time I see the mountains. Yesterday, walking to work at sunrise, they were snow-capped and glowing salmon-colored. They remind me that there are things in this world larger and stronger than myself. I am literally surrounded by mountains in my life and while they are imposing, they are beautiful. You have to appreciate the beauty while respecting their power.
I ran six miles today like it was nothing. Myself five years ago couldn't have done that. Myself five years ago was a naive, young and totally uncertain version of this person I have grown into. It has taken me So Long to get to this point, and not just chronologically speaking. The doctors and nurses whose names I'll never remember; the liters of blood drawn and infused; the emotional blocks to healing I had to find a way around and over and through. The friends who believed in me when I really didn't have any confidence in my own ability to succeed. Finally, I have reached a point where I feel truly healthy. Finally, I have reached a place where I am giddy every time I look around, whether in my apartment, in the city or in the mountains. This life is not without its challenges; cancer is still a large part of my life, but it is so different, so much better.
I have come so far and yet this is all only just beginning. I cannot wait to see what the new year brings. In a sense, I am five years old and the whole wide world is open and full of wonder. Have you ever watched a five year-old? Their expressions are suffused with excitement and awe at Everything. Why can't we be like that now? Why can't we be 25 or 45 or 75 and wondering at the beauty of the world every single day? I'm pretty sure we can. So on this, the anniversary of my cancer diagnosis and the day I've run six miles and hung out with amazing people and baked a squash and listened to great jazz, I can only entreat you to look around and smile at what you see. Five years later, and I can do nothing but smile at where I am and everything I have survived.
Thanks for bearing with me yet again. Cheers and happy Tuesday...
Five years ago today, I was ushered into a cab by two incredulous doctors at the Boston University health center with the directive to go straight to the ER. They had never before come across a student with such low blood counts. "What do you mean, you 'walked here'?" Apparently, I should have passed out weeks earlier. Thus began my relationship with medical professionals wherein they do a poor job covering their shock at the crazy, awesome anomaly that is my body and my dogged persistence at living. The second such exchange came a few hours later when an hematologist examined me and exclaimed, "Even your tongue is pale!" Who knew. Two days later, on December 8, a wizened and certainly well-meaning older oncologist asked me if I would rather wait for my mother before he told me what was wrong with me. Thus began my continued frustration with medical professionals and their (mostly) unwittingly treating me like a child. Anyway, he told me I had leukemia. So much, then, for life.
Except that absolutely not: I was going to take this cancer thing and deal with it using whatever means necessary. I had to get back to school; I had so many things to do. As cliche as it really is, giving up was never an option. That was five years ago. Technically, I have been cancer-free for most of those five years. The chemo worked quickly and thoroughly on my leukemia, though there have been latent side-effects and residual issues as a result of the powerful drugs. So, still dealing with that nonsense. At this point though, it is just one more thing; my weekly and monthly doctor's visits are just something I have to do on Tuesdays. Maybe somewhere in the back of my mind if I am honest and looking straight at it, I am still sort of waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting to hear that this time it actually is cancerous. But there is absolutely no point in thinking or living that way. That thought-box is locked and under a pile of essays I wrote in college about Thomas Hardy. Not something I frequently examine. (Though I do love Hardy.)
I went for a run today, my first since last Wednesday. (It's been snowing and super-cold in Denver and I haven't quite psyched myself up to run in those conditions. Yet.) But today I ran, and I ran six awesome miles. It was 15 degrees when I headed out my door, and Denver being the strange weather-freak it is, I was over-heated in about 20 minutes. Seriously, wearing a Nike cold-gear shirt and a fleece sweater, I was so warm. I had to take off my gloves. Anyway, the point of All of this, including my extended build-up, is that I cannot believe the path my life has taken since its abrupt detour five years ago. I am a barista in Denver, training for a marathon, living with a craigslist-found roommate who has turned out to be a really awesome person and a pretty positive influence in my life here. I smile Every Time I see the mountains. Yesterday, walking to work at sunrise, they were snow-capped and glowing salmon-colored. They remind me that there are things in this world larger and stronger than myself. I am literally surrounded by mountains in my life and while they are imposing, they are beautiful. You have to appreciate the beauty while respecting their power.
I ran six miles today like it was nothing. Myself five years ago couldn't have done that. Myself five years ago was a naive, young and totally uncertain version of this person I have grown into. It has taken me So Long to get to this point, and not just chronologically speaking. The doctors and nurses whose names I'll never remember; the liters of blood drawn and infused; the emotional blocks to healing I had to find a way around and over and through. The friends who believed in me when I really didn't have any confidence in my own ability to succeed. Finally, I have reached a point where I feel truly healthy. Finally, I have reached a place where I am giddy every time I look around, whether in my apartment, in the city or in the mountains. This life is not without its challenges; cancer is still a large part of my life, but it is so different, so much better.
I have come so far and yet this is all only just beginning. I cannot wait to see what the new year brings. In a sense, I am five years old and the whole wide world is open and full of wonder. Have you ever watched a five year-old? Their expressions are suffused with excitement and awe at Everything. Why can't we be like that now? Why can't we be 25 or 45 or 75 and wondering at the beauty of the world every single day? I'm pretty sure we can. So on this, the anniversary of my cancer diagnosis and the day I've run six miles and hung out with amazing people and baked a squash and listened to great jazz, I can only entreat you to look around and smile at what you see. Five years later, and I can do nothing but smile at where I am and everything I have survived.
Thanks for bearing with me yet again. Cheers and happy Tuesday...
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Turkey...
Bacon! Surprisingly or not, turkey bacon just isn't as good as regular bacon. Oh well; I have both in my fridge. Things could be worse. November 24 and I am sitting on my veranda in a tank top. Listening to classical music and eating barbecue chicken pizza, I can't help but marvel at where I am and how I got here. Most importantly, I am alive. This time of year, late November/early December, is typically a strange and introspective time for me. Five years ago at this time, I was pretty much dying, and then two weeks later I was diagnosed with cancer. I was a sophomore in college, and I was so deluded. Depressed and sick, I honestly thought I was living the good life because I was working 40 hours a week and going to school. Independent! It still bothers me a little when I consider just how naive I was.
People grow and change over the course of five years; it is normal. I just can't believe how much my life has changed since I was 20. Honestly, how much my life has changed over the past year. It is the strangest thing, too: I have a public record of my feelings and thoughts each year for the past five years. I kept a cancer-blog pretty much from my date of diagnosis until earlier this year, and my posts from around Thanksgiving are eerie to reread. Last year, my writings reflect a serious discontent with my life. I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing; I was still so lost and so uncertain about everything. Yet, somehow I powered through that depression and even more strangely, somehow I ended up in Denver, Colorado. One year ago, I had no idea I would be here right now, sitting outside wearing a tank top on Thanksgiving, watching people come home from a day skiing or snowboarding in the mountains. Literally: A lady just walked into my apartment building carrying her snowboard and a six pack of Fat Tire. I love Colorado.
True gratitude: this moment, right now. I am beyond thankful for this, for where my life has magically delivered me. Certainly, everything is still difficult; I'm still not working in a job I want to be, and it would be nice to be with my family today. But there are glimpses! Last night, I photographed my first concert in Denver for HeyReverb, the Denver Post's music website. I wasn't paid for it, but shoot, I am published and on the contributor's list for a Denver Post affiliate! My heart was a bit broken a week ago, but even since then, I can feel it healing, and I am grateful for what will one day be a solid friendship. Grateful to my family who, even if they didn't quite believe I'd be able to make it out here on my own working as a barista, have never stopped supporting me. I have lived here nearly seven months, and I am not going anywhere. Five years after my cancer diagnosis, I can say honestly and with no delusions that I am Healthy, capital "H." The cancer nonsense still isn't over; in fact, it's going to be a part of my life for a few more years than I expected (thanks, FaceTumor!). But it is no longer holding me back health-wise. I actually did Two pull-ups yesterday in addition to some halfhearted intervals. Thankfully, today is a rest day.
A strange thought occurred to me the other night as I was lying in bed, contemplating my next steps and whether or not anyone will ever actually want to date me... I realized that this is life: this is what it feels like to grow up and have experiences that normal people have, unrelated to cancer and fast-forwarded maturity. Having a cold and then it going completely away after a week; dating someone then it not working out; struggling to figure out how to pay all my bills without completely giving up delicious cheese. I hope I never grow up, but I am starting to feel more "adult," and I am okay with that. I have entered into the second half of my twenties, and I am pretty sure they are going to be a lot better than the first half. I am grateful and amazed to be alive to see and experience everything that comes my way. I am probably still pretty naive. There are a lot of things I know nothing about and many different types of pain I have yet to work through. But just because I look young (am young...) doesn't mean I don't know a thing or two about life, and it certainly doesn't mean I don't have a different perspective and my own survival techniques. I am grateful for that perspective. I am grateful for what the past five years have brought me, where they have led me to, where my life continues to go. In particular, the people who have come into my life and brought me more joy than I could have imagined. Friends are the best thing. Laughing, smiling, enjoying This Moment, Right Now. Thank you all for spending some time reading this, if you have. Thank you for humoring my ramblings. I hope you are enjoying your Thanksgiving, or finding something to enjoy about your Thanksgiving, even if it's only that tomorrow, it will be finished. Thank you, thank you thank you!! Fill your hearts with gratitude for what you've been given today. Mine is practically bursting with everything I've been given, filled with the knowledge that life is difficult and will always be in some way or another, but I am Alive to greet it all and continue to grow and most of all, continue to love.
Love from me, today.
People grow and change over the course of five years; it is normal. I just can't believe how much my life has changed since I was 20. Honestly, how much my life has changed over the past year. It is the strangest thing, too: I have a public record of my feelings and thoughts each year for the past five years. I kept a cancer-blog pretty much from my date of diagnosis until earlier this year, and my posts from around Thanksgiving are eerie to reread. Last year, my writings reflect a serious discontent with my life. I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing; I was still so lost and so uncertain about everything. Yet, somehow I powered through that depression and even more strangely, somehow I ended up in Denver, Colorado. One year ago, I had no idea I would be here right now, sitting outside wearing a tank top on Thanksgiving, watching people come home from a day skiing or snowboarding in the mountains. Literally: A lady just walked into my apartment building carrying her snowboard and a six pack of Fat Tire. I love Colorado.
True gratitude: this moment, right now. I am beyond thankful for this, for where my life has magically delivered me. Certainly, everything is still difficult; I'm still not working in a job I want to be, and it would be nice to be with my family today. But there are glimpses! Last night, I photographed my first concert in Denver for HeyReverb, the Denver Post's music website. I wasn't paid for it, but shoot, I am published and on the contributor's list for a Denver Post affiliate! My heart was a bit broken a week ago, but even since then, I can feel it healing, and I am grateful for what will one day be a solid friendship. Grateful to my family who, even if they didn't quite believe I'd be able to make it out here on my own working as a barista, have never stopped supporting me. I have lived here nearly seven months, and I am not going anywhere. Five years after my cancer diagnosis, I can say honestly and with no delusions that I am Healthy, capital "H." The cancer nonsense still isn't over; in fact, it's going to be a part of my life for a few more years than I expected (thanks, FaceTumor!). But it is no longer holding me back health-wise. I actually did Two pull-ups yesterday in addition to some halfhearted intervals. Thankfully, today is a rest day.
A strange thought occurred to me the other night as I was lying in bed, contemplating my next steps and whether or not anyone will ever actually want to date me... I realized that this is life: this is what it feels like to grow up and have experiences that normal people have, unrelated to cancer and fast-forwarded maturity. Having a cold and then it going completely away after a week; dating someone then it not working out; struggling to figure out how to pay all my bills without completely giving up delicious cheese. I hope I never grow up, but I am starting to feel more "adult," and I am okay with that. I have entered into the second half of my twenties, and I am pretty sure they are going to be a lot better than the first half. I am grateful and amazed to be alive to see and experience everything that comes my way. I am probably still pretty naive. There are a lot of things I know nothing about and many different types of pain I have yet to work through. But just because I look young (am young...) doesn't mean I don't know a thing or two about life, and it certainly doesn't mean I don't have a different perspective and my own survival techniques. I am grateful for that perspective. I am grateful for what the past five years have brought me, where they have led me to, where my life continues to go. In particular, the people who have come into my life and brought me more joy than I could have imagined. Friends are the best thing. Laughing, smiling, enjoying This Moment, Right Now. Thank you all for spending some time reading this, if you have. Thank you for humoring my ramblings. I hope you are enjoying your Thanksgiving, or finding something to enjoy about your Thanksgiving, even if it's only that tomorrow, it will be finished. Thank you, thank you thank you!! Fill your hearts with gratitude for what you've been given today. Mine is practically bursting with everything I've been given, filled with the knowledge that life is difficult and will always be in some way or another, but I am Alive to greet it all and continue to grow and most of all, continue to love.
Love from me, today.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
"You look like a runner."
Hubba, wha?? Yet so said my nurse this morning as she was setting up the IV in my left arm-crook, prepping me for the maintenance drugs I receive once a month to keep the cancer-beasties at bay. She had asked me if I was an athlete, and when I replied, "Yes, I run," she nodded knowingly and told me I look like a runner. I am taking this as a tremendous compliment, especially the 'athlete' part. I live in Denver. There are Real athletes out here. I don't consider it fair to count myself among their ranks. Yes, I am a tiny bit more than a recreational runner, but I am certainly no "athlete." Apparently, though, I look the part, and I am starting to feel the part.
Yesterday, with only a small amount of trepidation, I went for a run in the morning. I ran all four of the miles that my training plan called for. That makes twice in three days I've run over four miles, the first time I've done that since August. After August's Colorado Relay, I burned out pretty hard. I was dealing with the facetumor and a tremendous amount of stress at work and a vague but persistent Sickness. Running regularly was not high on my to-do list, although I still biked everywhere and walked quite a lot. I managed to maintain something of a level of fitness so that when I finally started feeling Amazing about a month ago, that whole running thing wasn't such an epic battle to begin again.
So I look like a runner for the first time maybe ever. Surely that's a good first step on the road to being a marathoner, rocking Boston in less than five months. As long as you Look the part, right? But in truth, I can't believe how strong I feel. I've said this before and I will probably say it many more times, but it never ceases to amaze me the things we can do, particularly in terms of physical feats. I was sick for so long - for five long years, I have struggled with feeling unwell. Now, here I am, almost exactly five years after my diagnosis with acute leukemia, training for a marathon, biking everywhere, eating so healthily, and feeling like I can take over the world. And apparently, looking like a runner. Five years. But that's a post for another day (probably Thursday, actually).
I really hope everyone is having a Spectacular week. Do you have your turkey thawed out yet? Did you find something to look forward to today? Tomorrow? I'm looking forward to a concert I'll be photographing tomorrow night. Keep on keeping on, and happy Thanksgivings a wee bit early. Peace.
Yesterday, with only a small amount of trepidation, I went for a run in the morning. I ran all four of the miles that my training plan called for. That makes twice in three days I've run over four miles, the first time I've done that since August. After August's Colorado Relay, I burned out pretty hard. I was dealing with the facetumor and a tremendous amount of stress at work and a vague but persistent Sickness. Running regularly was not high on my to-do list, although I still biked everywhere and walked quite a lot. I managed to maintain something of a level of fitness so that when I finally started feeling Amazing about a month ago, that whole running thing wasn't such an epic battle to begin again.
So I look like a runner for the first time maybe ever. Surely that's a good first step on the road to being a marathoner, rocking Boston in less than five months. As long as you Look the part, right? But in truth, I can't believe how strong I feel. I've said this before and I will probably say it many more times, but it never ceases to amaze me the things we can do, particularly in terms of physical feats. I was sick for so long - for five long years, I have struggled with feeling unwell. Now, here I am, almost exactly five years after my diagnosis with acute leukemia, training for a marathon, biking everywhere, eating so healthily, and feeling like I can take over the world. And apparently, looking like a runner. Five years. But that's a post for another day (probably Thursday, actually).
I really hope everyone is having a Spectacular week. Do you have your turkey thawed out yet? Did you find something to look forward to today? Tomorrow? I'm looking forward to a concert I'll be photographing tomorrow night. Keep on keeping on, and happy Thanksgivings a wee bit early. Peace.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
This is only the beginning
Yesterday I had the run I had hoped for on Friday. 4.2 miles after work on a brisk November afternoon with clouds scudding across the sky and the wind cutting over the mountains but not into my new cold-weather running shirt. My breathing was easy and my legs weren't hurting at all. My muscles were a tad sore later in the afternoon, but after a dinner of sockeye salmon and roasted vegetables, I felt good to go all over again. Today was my so-called rest day, which involved work in the morning and football and beer in the afternoon. I'd say it was a successful rest day, although I certainly could have eaten better. Soon enough, I'll be heading to bed for hopefully some good sleeps.
Tomorrow, the week starts all over again. Here is my question to myself: will I be able to get out of bed and run again in the morning? The only way to get better is to keep trying, keep pushing myself. Historically, though, I have had a hard time pushing myself into and through difficult situations. No, really! With few exceptions, notably ones involving poetry analyses and photo opportunities, I have tended towards the easy road. Even with the Chicago Marathon, I could have trained harder, tried harder and maybe finished in less pain. I want this so badly, but it is going to be So Hard. Everything is important - staying healthy; stretching properly; the amount of sleep I get; properly fueling myself; maintaining a level of confidence in myself; believing this is possible.
Believe in the possibility that this will all work out the way it is supposed to... I can't afford to doubt myself, but there are many weeks ahead and many early mornings and long slogs through possibly not-so-sunny afternoons. I am full of uncertainty and candied pecans (thanks to my roommate...) and life may still amaze me every day but it isn't great right now. Tomorrow brings with it so much potential. Basically, this post is just to throw it all out there that I am so terribly human, and this is one hell of a difficult task I've given myself. But it will all be worth it, in the end, if I can make it happen.
Best of luck with your tomorrows. Hopefully you can find something to look forward to... I work at a coffee shop and like to ask my customers while they're waiting for me to finish their delicious beverage: What are you looking forward to today? Most people don't consider that question on their own; I truly like to know and to get people thinking about something awesome in their lives. Everyone has something awesome to look forward to, even if it's only sitting for 10 minutes with a chai and some good music. So. Figure out what you've got to look forward to tomorrow or today or whenever. Good luck. We all need it.
Tomorrow, the week starts all over again. Here is my question to myself: will I be able to get out of bed and run again in the morning? The only way to get better is to keep trying, keep pushing myself. Historically, though, I have had a hard time pushing myself into and through difficult situations. No, really! With few exceptions, notably ones involving poetry analyses and photo opportunities, I have tended towards the easy road. Even with the Chicago Marathon, I could have trained harder, tried harder and maybe finished in less pain. I want this so badly, but it is going to be So Hard. Everything is important - staying healthy; stretching properly; the amount of sleep I get; properly fueling myself; maintaining a level of confidence in myself; believing this is possible.
Believe in the possibility that this will all work out the way it is supposed to... I can't afford to doubt myself, but there are many weeks ahead and many early mornings and long slogs through possibly not-so-sunny afternoons. I am full of uncertainty and candied pecans (thanks to my roommate...) and life may still amaze me every day but it isn't great right now. Tomorrow brings with it so much potential. Basically, this post is just to throw it all out there that I am so terribly human, and this is one hell of a difficult task I've given myself. But it will all be worth it, in the end, if I can make it happen.
Best of luck with your tomorrows. Hopefully you can find something to look forward to... I work at a coffee shop and like to ask my customers while they're waiting for me to finish their delicious beverage: What are you looking forward to today? Most people don't consider that question on their own; I truly like to know and to get people thinking about something awesome in their lives. Everyone has something awesome to look forward to, even if it's only sitting for 10 minutes with a chai and some good music. So. Figure out what you've got to look forward to tomorrow or today or whenever. Good luck. We all need it.
Friday, November 18, 2011
The thing about pain
There are so many different types of it. A friend of mine has been in an absurd amount of pain this week because her wisdom teeth are giving her too much grief. She is on some heavy duty painkillers that are causing their own difficulties, particularly the side effects. Sadly, there isn't much she can do about it until she has the teeth pulled, in two weeks. Yesterday, I went for a run for the first time in 13 days, and I felt great. I ran 3.5 miles at a moderate pace, and I was amazed that my body could do such a thing after so valiantly battling the Sickness. Yet today when I tried to run, there was the pain; there, the fatigue. And later today, I realized my legs were super sore because I had asked them to pick right up where we left off two weeks ago. My body may be mostly recovered from the cold, but I can't ignore that I was pretty much inactive for a decent period of time. So much for easing back into it.
Physical pain: we feel it, acknowledge it, then do what we can to push past it. We take the Advils and Tylenols and whatever else to reduce the inflammation and the discomfort. We recognize that our bodies are hurting from lack of use, but we stretch it out and walk it off. We run again tomorrow. That stuff is easy. There are other types of pain, less obvious, more sinister for their sneakiness. The pain of loss; the pain of heartbreak. I've been dealing with that pain today. I thought I could run it away, or run away from it, but 20 minutes into my run this morning, the fact that I'm "out of shape," and hardly slept last night caught up with me. My legs were hurting, but that discomfort did nothing to take away the numb tightness in my chest that had nothing to do with my heart rate. What do you do with that pain? Drugs don't do a thing for it, really. Running may abate it for 20 or 40 or 70 minutes, but then it comes slouching back in, snuggling up where that warm fuzzy feeling used to live.
I have heard that Time helps. Eventually, feeling returns and the little pieces of yourself that you'd given away gradually heal over. In high school, I started running as a means of avoiding my personal demons. Those specific demons are long gone. I run now for myself and for my health, and if I can, I run to inspire and do something for others. Right now, it would be so easy and so much more comfortable to crawl in bed and stay there, nursing these stupid emotional wounds, filling the tiny holes in my heart with hot chocolate and refined carbohydrates. But that would be counterproductive and beneficial to nobody, least of all First Descents and the people I have supporting my running endeavors.
The thing about pain is that you can only give in to it so much before you have to take a step back, reassess the situation, and figure out what else you can do. If it's physical pain that you know won't go away for a while, you grin (if you can) and bear it. You still have a life to live. If the pain is much deeper than that and emanates from somewhere dark and private inside you, you still have a life to live. I still have this crazy life to live and a race to run and the more I train, the stronger I become, in general.
Last night, still in shock over the sadness wrench that had just been thrown in my previously extraordinarily happy life, I asked a very good friend what on earth I am supposed to do now. She, in her fantastic, straightforward NorCal way, replied, "No one ever knows what they are doing, and it's a miracle that any of us survive any of this kind of shit at all." Who knows why any of us are still here, with all the small tragedies that happen every single day. I believe everything balances out, and I have to hope that things happen for a reason. Although I still have no idea what I'm doing, really. I know tomorrow I'm going for a run; I know I'll still be writing about running and life and so many other things. I know it's going to be sunny in Denver tomorrow, and I have a lovely little sockeye fillet waiting for me when I get home from work. I know for sure that most every pain comes and goes, and this is no different. It will just take time. Meanwhile, the road is beckoning, calling louder than my bed and self-pity. Although I don't know how right now, I know this, too, shall pass.
Thanks much. Happy weekend, Please!! enjoy it.
Physical pain: we feel it, acknowledge it, then do what we can to push past it. We take the Advils and Tylenols and whatever else to reduce the inflammation and the discomfort. We recognize that our bodies are hurting from lack of use, but we stretch it out and walk it off. We run again tomorrow. That stuff is easy. There are other types of pain, less obvious, more sinister for their sneakiness. The pain of loss; the pain of heartbreak. I've been dealing with that pain today. I thought I could run it away, or run away from it, but 20 minutes into my run this morning, the fact that I'm "out of shape," and hardly slept last night caught up with me. My legs were hurting, but that discomfort did nothing to take away the numb tightness in my chest that had nothing to do with my heart rate. What do you do with that pain? Drugs don't do a thing for it, really. Running may abate it for 20 or 40 or 70 minutes, but then it comes slouching back in, snuggling up where that warm fuzzy feeling used to live.
I have heard that Time helps. Eventually, feeling returns and the little pieces of yourself that you'd given away gradually heal over. In high school, I started running as a means of avoiding my personal demons. Those specific demons are long gone. I run now for myself and for my health, and if I can, I run to inspire and do something for others. Right now, it would be so easy and so much more comfortable to crawl in bed and stay there, nursing these stupid emotional wounds, filling the tiny holes in my heart with hot chocolate and refined carbohydrates. But that would be counterproductive and beneficial to nobody, least of all First Descents and the people I have supporting my running endeavors.
The thing about pain is that you can only give in to it so much before you have to take a step back, reassess the situation, and figure out what else you can do. If it's physical pain that you know won't go away for a while, you grin (if you can) and bear it. You still have a life to live. If the pain is much deeper than that and emanates from somewhere dark and private inside you, you still have a life to live. I still have this crazy life to live and a race to run and the more I train, the stronger I become, in general.
Last night, still in shock over the sadness wrench that had just been thrown in my previously extraordinarily happy life, I asked a very good friend what on earth I am supposed to do now. She, in her fantastic, straightforward NorCal way, replied, "No one ever knows what they are doing, and it's a miracle that any of us survive any of this kind of shit at all." Who knows why any of us are still here, with all the small tragedies that happen every single day. I believe everything balances out, and I have to hope that things happen for a reason. Although I still have no idea what I'm doing, really. I know tomorrow I'm going for a run; I know I'll still be writing about running and life and so many other things. I know it's going to be sunny in Denver tomorrow, and I have a lovely little sockeye fillet waiting for me when I get home from work. I know for sure that most every pain comes and goes, and this is no different. It will just take time. Meanwhile, the road is beckoning, calling louder than my bed and self-pity. Although I don't know how right now, I know this, too, shall pass.
Thanks much. Happy weekend, Please!! enjoy it.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Things you should maybe read!
While perhaps only touching the surface of so many young-adult survivorship issues, there was a pretty good column by Ali Ansary in the Huffington Post earlier today discussing the idea of establishing "A New Field of Medicine: Adolescent and Young Adult Medicine." What saddens me is that this is a relatively new way of thinking, but it makes so much sense. We, the AYAs, are neither children nor "old people," and we don't deserve to be treated as such. Cancer survival rates for my demographic haven't dramatically improved since the 70s, but hopefully that will soon be changing. We are growing more vocal as a whole; we are beginning to realize we can demand proper care. And the children who were treated for cancer in the 70s and 80s and survived are now young adults themselves and are finding latent side effects of the crazy chemo and radiation they received. It never really stops, but hopefully, soon, we can reduce the reach of cancer into the lives of young adults. It starts with Awareness!! It continues with you being your own best advocate. And it keeps on going with the support of physicians across the country. Change is unquestionable. This ball has already started rolling, and I cannot wait to see where it goes.
So that's my PSA for the day. No run this happy hump day... I'm saying it here though: tomorrow, I'm running. Right. Also! In case you haven't seen it, the link to my First Descents Boston Marathon fundraising page is below. I'm also putting it up on the side of this blog, to your right! Look to your right!! Check it out; share it; love you all so much! Enjoy your weeks and many thanks from here. More running; less coughing.
http://www.crowdrise.com/TeamFDBoston2012/fundraiser/CarolineBridges
So that's my PSA for the day. No run this happy hump day... I'm saying it here though: tomorrow, I'm running. Right. Also! In case you haven't seen it, the link to my First Descents Boston Marathon fundraising page is below. I'm also putting it up on the side of this blog, to your right! Look to your right!! Check it out; share it; love you all so much! Enjoy your weeks and many thanks from here. More running; less coughing.
http://www.crowdrise.com/TeamFDBoston2012/fundraiser/CarolineBridges
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