Over the past several months, I've been dealing with my own proverbial onion. I usually like onions- cooked and in stuff. Well, then there's onion rings. Mmm. Then again, pretty much anything battered and fried is scrumptious. Okay. Enough. My metaphorical onion with my injuries is really large and has lots of layers. The "fun" part has been peeling away all those layers to get to the actual problem, the root of it all.
There's a muscle called the iliopsoas. It's the main hip flexor. It attaches to the front of your lower spine and then runs down, underneath all your gut organs, and attaches to the front of your hip bones. Due to poor hip posture and weak inner abdominal muscles (the outer ones are strong), my lower back muscles (the ones on the actual back side) have tightened up. Then my hip joints have gone loosy-goosy to compensate. Add however many number of years, 3 babies, and wham, we get a whole series of lovely problems that all mask the root cause. Oh what fun!
Enough anatomy. When you love running, racing, and seeing how fast you can get, being put on the sidelines with something of this magnitude plays with your psychie. A lot. Going from 10-15 miles being easy peezy to eeking out 2-3 can be extremely demoralizing. It almost feels like a waste to bother getting your running clothes on for such a short distance.
You see other runners and wonder how much farther than you they get to run. Seeing those with hydration packs on really punches you in the gut (let's be abundantly clear- wearing a hydration pack for short runs is pointless, especially races. Aid stations, people!). You want that freedom too, but running that far would cause pain so great as to put you out of commission for normal day-to-day stuff. You try not to let the Emotional Eating Monster haunt you like it used to years ago. Besides, who wants to buy larger sizes cuz they're depressed and can't run as far as they want? Yeah, pathetic. So, you do your best to keep your pant size the same. Vanity is real, my friends. You find a way force yourself to take things one at a time, make each run count, do your physical therapy exercises, and count your blessings (through your teeth at times).
For me, thankfully my life is busy. Sometimes it feels like a curse, but taking care of my 3 little boys and husband has helped keep my mind off the fact that my body is not where I want it to be. Another grace from God with it all is the timing. That may seem crazy to say, but I mean it.
A year and a half ago my oldest son was diagnosed with leukemia, when my youngest was 7 weeks old. Yeah, Life basically pinned us against the wall and turned everything topsy-turvy. Thankfully the kind of leukemia my son suffers from has a 90%+ cure rate. It does involve more than 3 years of treatment, but it's not going to take his life.
As our lives changed, I clung to running like never before. I couldn't control hardly anything else, so I trained my butt off. It felt good. Really good. The first 8-9 months of chemotherapy were a doozy. After that, things calmed down a lot. Phew! If all this injury crap had reared its ugly head in the middle of all the chaotic chemo, it would've crushed me. No joke. Given that my injury was slowly building up over time, I'm extremely grateful it waited just a tad longer to explode.
Over the past months as I've slowly added miles (currently at 5). Focusing on one thing at a time has been my mantra. I'm usually the type that likes to plan 5 years in advance, or maybe 20. So taking things one at a time has been like stuffing a turkey through its beak. It's been a struggle to say the least. But like I said, I'm grateful my little family has kept me occupied. At times I've wondering if I'll want to take up so much time running again in the future- if I'll actually want to run marathons and half marathons again. Being a mom is where it's at!
A few weeks ago I took my kids to a park I run by a lot when running 8+ miles. It's not a park I'd taken them to before. As I turned on to the street, I realized how much I miss long distances!!! Words cannot describe how my heart ached to run 8 miles or more, to feel the wind against my face, to feel the exhilaration of the runner's high. Guess that answered that! I will be running marathons again. Some day. Yes, being a mom is still the ultimate. But I can do both- in time! Ha!
These days my goal is my favorite half marathon in June. It's currently December. How strange. I used to be able to do a half marathon on a whim, and get a decent time. Not these days. I may not even be up for a full marathon until 2018. It all depends on how things come together. A large part of my anguish is I'm not getting any younger (I know, like any of us are right?). 40 is fast approaching and I have PRs left to chase. I kinda feel like after 40 it's too hard. That whole aging thing. Getting old BLOWS! So there's that.
Sometimes I just want to know what to think of it all. I strongly believe there's something to be learned here. I'm searching to know what it is. Not only do I want to be a better runner when all this is said and done, I want to be better in my heart. I want to be a better Me.
Monday, December 12, 2016
Thursday, November 24, 2016
Memoirs of an Injured Runner- Part 1
As a tween I was a major wimp. My mom made me bike to school in junior high- a whole whopping 5 mile round trip every day. I know, cru-el! At that time of my life I was also kinda tubby. When puberty hits, we all either get ridiculously skinny or tubby. My genetics demonstrated the latter set of traits, much to my chagrin. We all know that "larger" females, in American teen culture, aren't accepted as much as the thin and trim ones.
Back to me being a wimp... I think it was the summer before 6th grade, maybe the one after, when we went on a horse pack camping trip in the Tetons. My late father is from the Teton Valley and such trips were a regular thing for him growing up. He wanted to give us that kind of experience. So, he and my Uncle Fritz (this uncle was a cowboy in every way), packed up a few horses with all our stuff and we all hiked to our destination. As it would be, I fell behind everyone, significantly. My sister and others were really irritated with me wishing I hiked faster. I seriously couldn't do it. My dad had to keep up with the horses and we lost sight of him. There wasn't really a trail (my father and uncle knew those mountains that well). Us losing my dad escalated the frustration of everyone I was trying to hike with. In the end, we found my dad, had a great time, life went on.
That experience was a turning point for me. I did not want to be the wimp. Ever again. Even with my tubbiness I began to exercise. One of my 5 sisters got me into jogging (I won't call it running, because it wasn't- yet). We lived 1 mile from the Mesa, Arizona LDS temple. We'd go on oober slow jogs around the temple block for a grand total of 2 miles. In fact, she'd run faster, and then keep doubling back to make sure I was doing OK. By 9th grade I wanted to give track a try.
In high school I did track 2 years and cross country for 1. At BYU I ran with a freshman roommate and later spent a lot of time with a "walk-on" to the men's cross country team. Hook, line, and sinker, I became a distance runner.
Since then, I've served an 18 month LDS mission in Brazil, got married, done close to 20 half marathons 7 full marathons, and countless 10k's and 5k's- while having 3 babies and working. Through all of it there have been few constants. Life is like that. Faith, family, a few close friends, and (you guessed it) running, have been my glue. Then, BOOM! I couldn't run like normal anymore.
When something that substantial is temporarily taken, some emotional upheaval is inevitable. Add to the fact that I'm female, and it's a recipe for lots of tears, frustration, and moodiness. Boo, hiss.
It all started on a 21+ mile run April 2016. I was training for marathon #8 down a local canyon. My left knee started hurting, on the front, on the inside. Weird. I stopped a few times to massage it, and it eventually went away. I finished my run and didn't think much of it. My inner hamstring on the same side also started acting up not much later. Lovely.
In the middle of that, I attempted that 8th marathon. Due to extreme weather conditions I dropped out at mile 15. I heard later that the race had a 40% drop out rate. Yep, the weather was *that* bad. Knowing what's happened since, it was probably an act of Heaven that stopped me.
I saw a physical therapist that specializes in runners who helped the hamstring. Months later when things weren't 100% better and they should've been, I returned to him and he discovered my hips were out of alignment. My hamstring was masking a much larger issue. Great (insert grimace). He referred me to a hip specialist.
Sometimes getting to the root of a problem is like peeling off the layers of an onion. Such has been the past several months. Injury is rarely a problem for me, thankfully. I'm regularly faithful with strength training, cross-training, my form is decent, etc. What the crap?! Stuff like this isn't supposed to happen to runners like me. Ugh. One day, before realizing the magnitude of my problem, and waiting for my appointment with the hip specialist, I was dealing with really painful aftermath from a 10 mile run. My husband wisely told me I'd probably have to start all over. My heart sank, but I knew he was right. And so began a long journey to recovery. Back and hip pain cannot be ignored. I dropped to 3 miles at a time and did my best to be grateful I could still run at all.
Lots of questions entered my mind. I could tell my dysfunctional relationship with patience was going to be tested. I was not eager for that dimension of injury. Oh well. Whad'ya do? Suck it up, cupcake.
Back to me being a wimp... I think it was the summer before 6th grade, maybe the one after, when we went on a horse pack camping trip in the Tetons. My late father is from the Teton Valley and such trips were a regular thing for him growing up. He wanted to give us that kind of experience. So, he and my Uncle Fritz (this uncle was a cowboy in every way), packed up a few horses with all our stuff and we all hiked to our destination. As it would be, I fell behind everyone, significantly. My sister and others were really irritated with me wishing I hiked faster. I seriously couldn't do it. My dad had to keep up with the horses and we lost sight of him. There wasn't really a trail (my father and uncle knew those mountains that well). Us losing my dad escalated the frustration of everyone I was trying to hike with. In the end, we found my dad, had a great time, life went on.
That experience was a turning point for me. I did not want to be the wimp. Ever again. Even with my tubbiness I began to exercise. One of my 5 sisters got me into jogging (I won't call it running, because it wasn't- yet). We lived 1 mile from the Mesa, Arizona LDS temple. We'd go on oober slow jogs around the temple block for a grand total of 2 miles. In fact, she'd run faster, and then keep doubling back to make sure I was doing OK. By 9th grade I wanted to give track a try.
In high school I did track 2 years and cross country for 1. At BYU I ran with a freshman roommate and later spent a lot of time with a "walk-on" to the men's cross country team. Hook, line, and sinker, I became a distance runner.
Since then, I've served an 18 month LDS mission in Brazil, got married, done close to 20 half marathons 7 full marathons, and countless 10k's and 5k's- while having 3 babies and working. Through all of it there have been few constants. Life is like that. Faith, family, a few close friends, and (you guessed it) running, have been my glue. Then, BOOM! I couldn't run like normal anymore.
When something that substantial is temporarily taken, some emotional upheaval is inevitable. Add to the fact that I'm female, and it's a recipe for lots of tears, frustration, and moodiness. Boo, hiss.
It all started on a 21+ mile run April 2016. I was training for marathon #8 down a local canyon. My left knee started hurting, on the front, on the inside. Weird. I stopped a few times to massage it, and it eventually went away. I finished my run and didn't think much of it. My inner hamstring on the same side also started acting up not much later. Lovely.
In the middle of that, I attempted that 8th marathon. Due to extreme weather conditions I dropped out at mile 15. I heard later that the race had a 40% drop out rate. Yep, the weather was *that* bad. Knowing what's happened since, it was probably an act of Heaven that stopped me.
I saw a physical therapist that specializes in runners who helped the hamstring. Months later when things weren't 100% better and they should've been, I returned to him and he discovered my hips were out of alignment. My hamstring was masking a much larger issue. Great (insert grimace). He referred me to a hip specialist.
Sometimes getting to the root of a problem is like peeling off the layers of an onion. Such has been the past several months. Injury is rarely a problem for me, thankfully. I'm regularly faithful with strength training, cross-training, my form is decent, etc. What the crap?! Stuff like this isn't supposed to happen to runners like me. Ugh. One day, before realizing the magnitude of my problem, and waiting for my appointment with the hip specialist, I was dealing with really painful aftermath from a 10 mile run. My husband wisely told me I'd probably have to start all over. My heart sank, but I knew he was right. And so began a long journey to recovery. Back and hip pain cannot be ignored. I dropped to 3 miles at a time and did my best to be grateful I could still run at all.
Lots of questions entered my mind. I could tell my dysfunctional relationship with patience was going to be tested. I was not eager for that dimension of injury. Oh well. Whad'ya do? Suck it up, cupcake.
Monday, November 14, 2016
Because of My Mother
When I was little, I was traumatized by my mother's gray grandma hair and varicose veins (now I sport nasty veins as well- yay...?). All my friends at school had moms who were young. I didn't. I'm the youngest of 6 and my mom was 38 when I was born (yep, I was a "surprise"). I realize that 38 really isn't "old," but when you're 7 or 8, you think having a mom in her 40's really makes you different than everyone else, and that's bad. Sadly enough, my feelings toward her only intensified as a teenager. I mean, really. What teenager thinks his/her mom is cool? Most don't. I was no exception. All growing up I wanted to emulate as many of my father's traits as possible, and to minimize anything resembling my mom. She was so, well, nerdy. I was certain everyone else saw it too.
My first 3 years of college she and my father were serving a church mission in South Korea. The last night I spent in the house where I grew up, before they left, was a memorable one. My mom and I sat on the floor of my empty bedroom, in the dark, staring at all the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling and walls, crying and sharing memories. I knew, that even though I never really liked my mom, I loved her. All those years growing up I never once doubted her love for me. Despite my immature and negative feelings, I always knew I could confide in her, that she cared, and always wanted what was best for me.
Years later, after college, a mission of my own in Brazil, and the passing of my father, I was living with her again. Habits of her's still irked me. I hated it when she'd fold my laundry (she didn't do it right). I got annoyed when she'd want to have group prayer. I found myself getting ridiculously irritated with her over things I knew were pointless. Hadn't I matured at all? Perhaps not. I eventually came to the realization that I needed outside help if I was ever going to love my mother freely.
For a while I saw a therapist. He helped me with various issues, including the incorrect ways I viewed my dear, angelic mother. I remember one day watching her speak in church and it hit me. Here was a woman who had struggled with depression, already lost both her parents, and had been trying her upmost to be a good mom, wife, and woman. Maybe I had been expecting perfection out of her. How unfair and cruel of me. I finally saw my mom as a dynamic person. I saw her for who she really was.
The irony of it all is that through all those years she never let my awful treatment towards her really get to her. She kept loving me anyways. I'm sure she had plenty of moments when she wanted to wring my neck. But I never knew. I never felt anything but love from her. I not once deserved it, and was given it anyways.
She is one of the proofs that God does not give up on us. If someone as ornery as I is given such a mother to perhaps learn to love, than we are all given ample chances to be better. Oddly enough, being the mother to a leukemia patient has provided more such opportunities. We have witnessed some of the best of humanity as people have reached out, given presents, money, time, food, etc. This past fall we witnessed even more.
Derek qualifies for Make A Wish. The evening he officially declared his wish was magical. I have been blessed to have lots of loving people in my life, but not once have I been treated like we were that night. I felt like our little family was the most important in the world. Now, come March, we will head to Florida to party it up in Legoland, Disney World, and Sea World! Wahoo! Honestly, it still doesn't seem real. Weird.
A few weeks ago, Make A Wish called. A local high school is doing their yearly fundraiser for them and they like to have the face of a "wish child" to promote their efforts. I was asked if Derek could be that face. What?! How could I decline? In all of this cancer stuff, I've usually wanted to keep it all in the shadows, not talk about it unless it was on my terms. I knew this was a chance to let go of that and just let it all be.
The Friday before Halloween, Derek and I went to the kick-off assembly. I figured we'd be treated kindly, but my expectations were not only exceeded, they were blown out of the water. Derek was pretty much a celebrity. The student council members wanted to know everything about him- interests, favorite movies, favorite toys, friends, etc. The treated him like their favorite younger brother. As a mother, they won me over (secret: if you want to win the heart of a mother, be good to her children).
When Derek and I went up on stage for me to talk a bit about him, his situation, and such, that whole teenage student body stood and cheered. It stunned me. I'm surprised I didn't break in to tears. Poor Derek didn't quite know how to take it. He clung to me. As I started talking, he relaxed. At one point he sat down, right on the stage, because he was bored. Typical 7 year old. 😊 His humility. His natural love for others. His eagerness to be friendly and accept people. I saw all of that in his simple behavior on that stage.
Once again, the generosity of strangers softened my naturally thorny heart. I guess the hardest part of all of it is this: I'm not that nice of a person! Why are they being so nice to me? If they really knew me I don't think they'd bother. But it's for Derek! I can't deny him because of my faults.
I'm learning to be gracious (well, awkwardly). I have a desire to pay it forward more than I knew was possible. I've seen more of the connection we all share as children of God. We honor it when we love and forgive. We deny it when we bicker, blame, and hold on to grudges. I want to do more of the former, not the latter. Denying that connection between us all does not make me happy. Honoring it brings me the most joy and happiness I've yet experienced. So, one day at a time, I'll try to find opportunities to serve, pay it forward, and make people feel special. Who doesn't want more of that?
My first 3 years of college she and my father were serving a church mission in South Korea. The last night I spent in the house where I grew up, before they left, was a memorable one. My mom and I sat on the floor of my empty bedroom, in the dark, staring at all the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling and walls, crying and sharing memories. I knew, that even though I never really liked my mom, I loved her. All those years growing up I never once doubted her love for me. Despite my immature and negative feelings, I always knew I could confide in her, that she cared, and always wanted what was best for me.
Years later, after college, a mission of my own in Brazil, and the passing of my father, I was living with her again. Habits of her's still irked me. I hated it when she'd fold my laundry (she didn't do it right). I got annoyed when she'd want to have group prayer. I found myself getting ridiculously irritated with her over things I knew were pointless. Hadn't I matured at all? Perhaps not. I eventually came to the realization that I needed outside help if I was ever going to love my mother freely.
For a while I saw a therapist. He helped me with various issues, including the incorrect ways I viewed my dear, angelic mother. I remember one day watching her speak in church and it hit me. Here was a woman who had struggled with depression, already lost both her parents, and had been trying her upmost to be a good mom, wife, and woman. Maybe I had been expecting perfection out of her. How unfair and cruel of me. I finally saw my mom as a dynamic person. I saw her for who she really was.
The irony of it all is that through all those years she never let my awful treatment towards her really get to her. She kept loving me anyways. I'm sure she had plenty of moments when she wanted to wring my neck. But I never knew. I never felt anything but love from her. I not once deserved it, and was given it anyways.
She is one of the proofs that God does not give up on us. If someone as ornery as I is given such a mother to perhaps learn to love, than we are all given ample chances to be better. Oddly enough, being the mother to a leukemia patient has provided more such opportunities. We have witnessed some of the best of humanity as people have reached out, given presents, money, time, food, etc. This past fall we witnessed even more.
Derek qualifies for Make A Wish. The evening he officially declared his wish was magical. I have been blessed to have lots of loving people in my life, but not once have I been treated like we were that night. I felt like our little family was the most important in the world. Now, come March, we will head to Florida to party it up in Legoland, Disney World, and Sea World! Wahoo! Honestly, it still doesn't seem real. Weird.
A few weeks ago, Make A Wish called. A local high school is doing their yearly fundraiser for them and they like to have the face of a "wish child" to promote their efforts. I was asked if Derek could be that face. What?! How could I decline? In all of this cancer stuff, I've usually wanted to keep it all in the shadows, not talk about it unless it was on my terms. I knew this was a chance to let go of that and just let it all be.
The Friday before Halloween, Derek and I went to the kick-off assembly. I figured we'd be treated kindly, but my expectations were not only exceeded, they were blown out of the water. Derek was pretty much a celebrity. The student council members wanted to know everything about him- interests, favorite movies, favorite toys, friends, etc. The treated him like their favorite younger brother. As a mother, they won me over (secret: if you want to win the heart of a mother, be good to her children).
When Derek and I went up on stage for me to talk a bit about him, his situation, and such, that whole teenage student body stood and cheered. It stunned me. I'm surprised I didn't break in to tears. Poor Derek didn't quite know how to take it. He clung to me. As I started talking, he relaxed. At one point he sat down, right on the stage, because he was bored. Typical 7 year old. 😊 His humility. His natural love for others. His eagerness to be friendly and accept people. I saw all of that in his simple behavior on that stage.
Once again, the generosity of strangers softened my naturally thorny heart. I guess the hardest part of all of it is this: I'm not that nice of a person! Why are they being so nice to me? If they really knew me I don't think they'd bother. But it's for Derek! I can't deny him because of my faults.
I'm learning to be gracious (well, awkwardly). I have a desire to pay it forward more than I knew was possible. I've seen more of the connection we all share as children of God. We honor it when we love and forgive. We deny it when we bicker, blame, and hold on to grudges. I want to do more of the former, not the latter. Denying that connection between us all does not make me happy. Honoring it brings me the most joy and happiness I've yet experienced. So, one day at a time, I'll try to find opportunities to serve, pay it forward, and make people feel special. Who doesn't want more of that?
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