In our American culture, we hear an awful lot about stress. There are seminars on how to decrease stress, yoga classes fill up as people hope it will help lower stress. There are articles, books, gadgets, hypnosis, etc. It's all aimed at getting us to manage or decrease our stress. Frankly, all this attention on stress stresses me out! Can I just live my life calmly and enjoy it?! Sadly, I'm often too high-strung for that. Sometimes even that part of myself stresses me out. Ya, I know.
Do I have stress? Well, I'm a mom of 3, I work part time (thankfully not full time), my husband is a law enforcement officer (parole agent), I've been suffering from low back and hip pain for months now agonizing through physical therapy and hoping to run free and clear, my mom's health is slowly failing, and my oldest child is smack dab in the middle of 3+ years of leukemia treatment. So, the answer is a resounding, "YES!" Sometimes I think I ignore how much I let all that get to me. I went to the dentist recently. My gums are swollen and I am diligent with oral care. The only thing I can chalk it up to is stress. Some may think the mind-body connection that would account for my swollen gums is poppy cock. I don't. Soul=Mind+Body I was once decent at math. This equation is just as scientific as 2+2=4. So there.
There's a TED talk by Kelly McGonigal called, "Making Stress Your Friend." My oldest sister recommended it to me months ago. I think Ms. McGonigal nailed it. She basically says that if we can view stress differently, it can bring us joy. I think everyone should watch it.
Let's face it, actually living a stress-free life is 100% impossible. It's a natural consequence of being human. If you disagree with me, you're either young and haven't had any big hard knocks yet, or you're dilusional. I'm not suggesting that stress has to cause coniptions, but hard things happening is inevitable. Suck it up, cupcake.
I wish I had the secret on how to embrace Life's challenges and be okay with how they're meant to change us. I wish I responded better when crap hits the fan. I've discovered fears in the past 2 years I didn't know could exist. I've questioned my purpose. I've questioned my faith. I've re-evaluated again and again what I want out of life. I haven't come to many conclusions... yet. At least my faith is stronger than ever and I will do all I can to facilitate its continued growth. It is my anchor. As for the other things, I'm still working on them.
There is one major thing I think our American Culture has really gotten wrong- the value we put on things. How does this relate to stress? Think about it: keeping up with the Jones', feeling a "need" to look a certain way, make a certain amount of money, drive a specific kind of car, own certain things, live in a certain kind of house, etc. Sounds like a moving target to me. Our houses are full of purely pointless stuff. We keep buying and trying to make more money to buy even more. And are we happier for it? Re-read the first paragraph. I really don't think, as a whole, we are.
We've traveled so far along this path that people go in to debt for clothes, toys, experiences, and even emergencies (because they didn't save their money and spent it on stuff instead). As a society we place a large amount of value on things that really have no value at all. Do your income and sociel status matter more than time with loved ones, relationships, or quality experiences that change you? Not on your life. And yet we think, "Oh, I'll eventually get there, after I buy this, pay that off, get a better job, buy a different house, etc" We think we're going to "arrive." We get caught in the trap of believing our stress level and happiness are circumstantial and that more outside forces control it all than really do.
Who is the captain of your soul? Is it money? Is it status? Is it a certain lifestyle? I'm tired of politicians telling me what the American Dream is. I took AP American History in high school. I know, really not a big deal, but I learned a lot because I studied my butt off (I did score a 4 on the test- 5 is the highest). No joke. Ask my mom. The American Dream is that each one of us can decide what we want for ourselves and if we work hard enough, we can achieve it. If you want 3 kids all with blue hair, you can have it (they may choose a different color as they get older- agency does that). If you want to live in a cabin in the mountains and drink herbal tea and read novels every day, you can have it. If you want to work Wall Street and make millions, you can do it. If you want to raise dozens of chickens, give them names, and show countless pictures of them to a complete stranger on an airplane, go for it (actually happened to me, by the way- I'm not the one with the chickens). We live in the Land Of Opportunity, for crying out loud! And yet so many of us heed the propaganda (probably sub-consciously) that tells what we want as opposed to us deciding that for ourselves.
And this is a major reason why I believe, as an American People, our stress levels are so unmanagable. I'm not a social scientist. I haven't traveled a ton (I have traveled some). I just know everywhere I go, I see that happiness and how stress is handled (they are closely connected) have absolutely nothing to do with materialistic pursuits (basic needs aside- I could write a whole other post on what we actually need). That's right, NOTHING!
So, since this post is now oober long, I hope we all tell Pop Culture to "shove it." I hope we ignore the sales to "save big" on stuff we don't even need. I hope we all take our lives into our own hands (even if we think we've already done that). I hope we listen to the voice within, not all the voices without all clamoring for our attention. I hope we remember what really matters and live for it- not dream about it. It takes a lot of effort and practice, continually. But, it pays dividends. Big ones. And I hope and pray I'm on that path.
Monday, February 6, 2017
Monday, December 12, 2016
Memoirs of An Injured Runner- Part 2, The Mental Anguish
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.
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.
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.
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